Skip to main content

Full text of "Barabbas : a dream of the world's tragedy"

See other formats 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 

GIFT  OF 

Dr.   Waldemar  Westergaard 


BAR ABB  AS 


A  DREAM  OF  THE  WORLD'S  TRAGEDY 


BY 

MARIE    CORELLI 

AUTHOR  OP 

'VENDETTA!"  "A  ROMANCE  OF  Two  WORLDS,"  "ARDATH,"  ETC.,  ETC. 


"And  they  consulted  how  they  might  take  him  by 
•ubtilty."— ST.  MATT.  xxvi.  v.  4 


PHILADELPHIA 

J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT   COMPANY 
1896 


COPYRIGHT,  1893, 

BY 
|.  B.  LIPPINCOTT  COMPANY. 


ElECTROTVPED   AND    PRINTED   BY   J.    B.    LlPPINCOTT   COMPANY,    PHILADELPHIA,    U.  S.  A. 


"  And  they  had  then  a  notable  prisoner  called  Barabbas."— 
Matthew  xxvii.  v.  16. 

"  One  named  Barabbas  which  lay  bound  with  them  that  had 
made  insurrection  with  him." — Mark  xv.  v.  7. 

"Barabbas,  who  for  a  certain  sedition  made  in  the  city  and 
for  murder  was  cast  into  prison." — Luke  xxiii.  v.  18,  19. 

"  Now  Barabbas  was  a  robber."—; John  xviii.  v.  40. 


BARABBAS 


CHAPTER  I. 

A  LONG  sultry  Syrian  day  was  drawing  near  its  close. 

The  heavy  heat  was  almost  insupportable,  and  a  poisonous 
stench  oozed  up  from  the  damp  earth-floors  of  the  Jewish 
prison,  charging  what  little  air  there  was  with  a  deadly  sense 
of  suffocation.  Down  in  the  lowest  dungeons  complete  dark- 
ness reigned,  save  in  one  of  the  cells  allotted  to  the  worst 
criminals ;  there,  all  through  the  slow  hours  a  thin  white  line 
of  light  had  persistently  pierced  the  thick  obscurity.  It  was 
the  merest  taper-flame  reflection  of  the  outside  glowing  East- 
ern sky,  yet  narrow  as  it  was,  it  had  vexed  the  eyes  of  the 
solitary  prisoner  on  whom  it  fell,  and  he  had  turned  from  its 
hot  flash  with  a  savage  curse  and  groan.  Writhing  back  as 
far  as  his  chains  would  allow,  he  covered  his  face  with  his 
manacled  hands,  pressing  his  eyelids  down,  and  gnawing  his 
lips  in  restless  fury  till  his  mouth  was  bitter  with  the  taste  of 
his  own  blood.  He  was  seized  with  such  impotent  rages 
often.  He  mentally  fought  against  that  poignant  light-beam 
cutting  like  a  sword  through  deep  darkness, — he  regarded  it 
as  a  positive  foe  and  daily  source  of  nervous  irritation.  It 
marked  for  him  the  dismal  time, — when  it  shone  he  knew 
it  was  day, — when  it  vanished,  it  was  night.  Otherwise, 
whether  minutes  or  hours  passed,  he  could  not  tell.  His 
existence  had  merged  into  one  protracted  phase  of  dull  suffer- 
ing, varied  with  occasional  fits  of  maniac  ferocity  which  only 
relieved  him  for  the  moment  and  left  him  more  stupefied  and 
brutish  than  before.  He  had  no  particular  consciousness  of 
anything  except  of  that  needle-pointed  ray  which,  falling 
obliquely  upon  him,  dazzled  and  hurt  his  eyes.  He  could 
have  endured  the  glare  of  the  Syrian  sun  in  the  free  and 
open  country, — no  one  better  than  he  could  have  turned  a 
1*  6 


6  BARABBAS 

bold  gaze  to  its  amber  flame  radiating  tbrougb  the  vast  blue 
dome  of  ether,— but  here  and  now,  that  thin  shaft  of  bright- 
ness pouring  slantwise  through  the  narrow  slit  in  the  wall 
which  alone  served  as  an  air-passage  to  the  foul  den  in  which 
he  was  caged  seemed  an  aggression  and  a  mockery.  He  made 
querulous  complaint  of  it,  and  huddling  on  his  bed  of  dirty 
straw  in  the  furthest  darkness  refreshed  himself  anew  with 
curses.  Against  God  and  Fate  and  man  he  railed  in  thick- 
throated  blasphemies,  twisting  and  turning  from  side  to  side 
and  clutching  now  and  again  in  sheer  ferocity  at  the  straw  on 
which  he  lay.  He  was  alone,  yet  not  altogether  lonely,  for 
close  beside  him  where  he  crouched  like  a  sullen  beast  in  the 
corner  there  was  a  crossed  grating  of  thick  iron  bars,  the  only 
air-aperture  to  the  neighbouring  cell,  and  through  this  there 
presently  came  a  squat  grimy  hand.  After  feeling  about  for 
a  while,  this  hand  at  last  found  and  cautiously  pulled  the  edge 
of  his  garment,  and  a  faint  hoarse  voice  called  him  by  name. 

"  Barabbas !" 

He  turned  with  a  swift  savage  movement  that  set  his  chains 
clanking  dismally. 

"  What  now  ?" 

"They  have  forgotten  us,"  whined  the  voice.  "Since 
early  morning  they  have  brought  no  food.  I  am  perishing 
with  hunger  and  thirst !  Ah,  I  would  I  had  never  seen  thy 
face,  Barabbas,  or  had  aught  to  do  with  thine  evil  plotting  1" 

Barabbas  made  no  answer. 

"  Knowest  thou  not,"  went  on  his  invisible  fellow-felon, 
"  what  season  this  is  in  the  land  ?" 

"How  should  I  know!"  retorted  Barabbas  disdainfully. 
"  What  are  seasons  to  me  ?  Is  it  a  year  or  years  since  we 
were  brought  hither?  If  thou  can'st  tell,  I  cannot." 

"  'Tis  eighteen  months  since  thou  did'st  slay  the  Pharisee," 
replied  his  neighbour  with  marked  malignity  of  accent, — 
"  And  had  it  not  been  for  that  wicked  deed  of  thine,  we 
might  have  missed  this  present  wretchedness.  Verily  it  is  a 
marvel  we  have  lived  so  long,  for  look  you,  now  it  is  Pass- 

Barabbas  uttered  no  word,  either  of  surprise  or  interest. 

"  Reraemberest  thou  the  custom  of  the  Feast?"  pursued 

the  speaker,  "  How  that  one  captive  chosen  by  the  people 

shall  be  set  at  liberty?     Would  that  it  might  be  one  of  us, 

(arabbas  !     There  were  ten  of  our  company ,—ten  as  goodly 

nen  as  ever  were  born  in  Judaea,  always  excepting  thee. 


A  DREAM  OF  THE   WORLD'S  TRAGEDY          7 

For  thou  wert  mad  for  love,  and  a  frenzied  lover  is  the  worst 
of  fools." 

Barabbas  still  kept  silence. 

"  If  innocence  hath  any  merit,"  continued  the  voice  behind 
the  grating  anxiously,  "  then  perchance  the  choice  will  fall 
on  me  !  For  am  I  not  an  innocent  man  ?  The  God  of  my 
fathers  knoweth  that  my  hands  are  not  stained  with  the  blood 
of  the  virtuous ;  I  slew  no  Pharisee  !  A  little  gold  was  all  I 
sought" 

"  And  did'st  thou  not  take  it  ?"  rejoined  Barabbas  suddenly 
and  with  scorn, — "  Thou  hypocrite  !  Did'st  thou  not  rob  the 
Pharisee  of  all  he  had  upon  him  even  to  his  last  jewel  ?  Did 
not  the  guard  capture  thee  in  the  very  act  of  breaking  with 
thy  teeth  the  gold  band  from  his  arm  ere  the  breath  left  his 
body  ?  Cease  thy  prating  !  Thou  art  the  worst  thief  in 
Jerusalem  and  thou  knowest  it !" 

There  was  a  sound  behind  the  bars  as  of  something  between 
a  grunt  and  a  snarl,  and  the  squat  hand  thrust  itself  through 
with  vicious  suddenness,  to  be  as  suddenly  withdrawn.  A 
pause  ensued. 

"  No  food  all  day !"  moaned  the  voice  again  presently — 
"  And  not  a  drop  of  water  !  Surely  if  they  come  not  I  shall 
die !  I  shall  die  in  this  darkness, — this  dense  pitch  black- 
ness"— and  the  faint  accents  grew  feebly  shrill  with  fear — 
"Dost  thou  hear  me,  thou  accursed  Barabbas?  I  shall 
die!" 

"  And  so  there  will  be  an  end  of  thee,"  returned  Barabbas 
indifferently — "And  those  who  hoard  gold  in  the  city  can 
sleep  safely  henceforth  with  open  doors  !" 

Out  came  the  ugly  hand  again,  this  time  clenched,  giving 
in  its  repulsive  shape  and  expression  a  perfect  idea  of  the 
villainous  character  of  its  unseen  owner. 

"  Thou  art  a  devil,  Barabbas!"  and  the  shadowy  outline 
of  a  livid  face  and  wild  hair  appeared  for  an  instant  against 
the  grating — "  And  I  swear  to  thee  I  will  live  on,  if  only  in 
the  hope  of  seeing  thee  crucified !" 

Barabbas  held  his  peace,  and  dragged  himself  and  his 
clanking  chains  away  from  his  spiteful  fellow-prisoner's  vicinity. 
Lifting  his  eyes  distrustfully  he  peered  upward  with  a  smart- 
ing sense  of  pain, — then  heaved  a  deep  sigh  of  relief  as  he 
saw  that  the  burning  arrow  line  of  white  radiance  no  longer 
lit  the  cell.  It  had  changed  to  a  beam  of  soft  and  dusky 
crimson. 


g  BARABBAS 

«  Sunset !"  he  muttered.  "  How  many  times  hath  the  sun 
gone  down  and  risen  since  I  beheld  her  last !  This  is  the 
hour  she  loves, — she  will  go  with  her  maidens  to  the  well 
behind  her  father's  house,  and  underneath  the  palm-trees  she 
will  rest  and  rejoice,  while  I,— I, — 0  God  of  vengeance ! — 
I  may  never  look  upon  her  face  again.  Eighteen  months 
of  torture  1  Eighteen  months  in  this  tomb  and  no  hope  of 
respite !' ' 

With  a  savage  gesture  he  rose  and  stood  upright ;  his 
head  almost  touched  the  dungeon  ceiling  and  he  stepped 
warily,  the  heavy  fetters  on  his  bare  legs  jangling  harshly  as 
he  moved.  Placing  one  foot  on  a  notch  in  the  wall  he  was 
able  to  bring  his  eyes  easily  on  a  level  with  the  narrow  aper- 
ture through  which  the  warm  fire-glow  of  the  sunset  fell,  but 
there  was  little  to  be  seen  from  such  a  point  of  observation. 
Only  a  square  strip  of  dry  uncultivated  land  belonging  to  the 
prison,  and  one  solitary  palm-tree  lifting  its  crown  of  feathery 
leaves  against  the  sky.  He  stared  out  for  a  moment,  fancy- 
ing he  could  discern  the  far-off  hazy  outline  of  the  hills  sur- 
rounding the  city, — then,  too  faint  with  long  fasting  to  retain 
his  footing,  he  slipped  back  and  returned  to  his  former  corner. 
There  he  sat,  glowering  darkly  at  the  rose-light  reflected  on 
the  floor.  It  partially  illumined  his  own  features,  bringing 
into  strong  prominence  his  scowling  brows  and  black  resent- 
ful eyes, — it  flashed  a  bright  life-hue  on  his  naked  chest  that 
heaved  with  the  irregular  and  difficult  breath  of  one  who 
fights  against  long  exhaustion  and  hunger-pain, — and  it  glit- 
tered with  a  sinister  coppery  tint  on  the  massive  iron  gyves 
that  bound  his  wrists  together.  He  looked  much  more  like  a 
caged  wild  beast  than  a  human  being,  with  his  matted  hair 
and  rough  beard, — he  was  barely  clothed,  his  only  garment 
being  a  piece  of  sackcloth  which  was  kept  about  his  loins  by 
means  of  a  coarse  black  rope,  twisted  twice  and  loosely  knot- 
ted. The  heat  in  the  cell  was  intense,  yet  he  shivered  now 
and  then  as  he  crouched  in  the  stifling  gloom,  his  knees 
drawn  nearly  up  to  his  chin,  and  his  shackled  hands  resting 
on  his  knees,  while  he  stared  with  an  owl-like  pertinacity  at 
the  crimson  sunbeam  which  with  every  second  grew  paler  and 
dimmer.  At  first  it  had  been  an  ardent  red,— as  red  as  the 
blood  of  a  slain  Pharisee,  thought  Barabbas  with  a  dark 
smile,— hut  now  it  had  waned  to  a  delicate  wavering  pink 
like  the  fleeting  blush  of  a  fair  woman, — and  a  great  shudder 
•cized  him  as  this  latter  fancy  crossed  his  sick  and  sulleD 


A  DREAM  OF  THE    WORLD'S  TRAGEDY  9 

mind.  With  a  smothered  cry  he  clenched  his  hands  hard  as 
though  assailed  by  some  unendurable  physical  pang. 

"Judith! — Judith!"  he  whispered,  and  yet  again — "Ju- 
dith!" 

And  trembling  violently,  he  turned  and  hid  his  face,  press- 
ing his  forehead  close  against  the  damp  and  slimy  wall.  Aud 
thus  he  remained,  motionless, — his  massive  figure  looking 
like  a  weird  Titanesque  shape  carved  in  stone. 

The  last  red  flicker  from  the  sunken  sun  soon  faded  and 
dense  darkness  fell.  Not  a  sound  or  movement  betrayed  the 
existence  of  any  human  creature  in  that  noxious  gloom. 
Now  and  again  the  pattering  feet  of  mice  scurrying  swiftly 
about  the  floor  made  a  feeble  yet  mysterious  clamour, — other- 
wise, all  was  intensely  still.  Outside,  the  heavens  were  put- 
ting on  all  their  majesty;  the  planets  swam  into  the  purple 
ether,  appearing  to  open  and  shine  like  water-lilies  on  a  lake, 
— in  the  east  a  bar  of  silvery  cloud  showed  where  the  moon 
would  shortly  rise,  and  through  the  window  slit  of  the  dun- 
geon one  small  star  could  be  just  discerned,  faintly  glittering. 
But  not  even  an  argent  ray  flung  slantwise  from  the  moon 
when  at  last  she  ascended  the  skies  could  illumine  the  dense 
thicket  of  shadows  that  gathered  in  that  dreary  cell,  or  touch 
with  a  compassionate  brightness  the  huddled  form  of  the 
wretched  captive  within.  Invisible  and  solitary,  he  wrestled 
with  his  own  physical  and  mental  misery,  unconscious  that 
the  wall  against  which  he  leaned  was  warm  and  wet  with 
tears, — the  painful  tears,  worse  than  the  shedding  of  blood, 
of  a  strong  man's  bitter  agony. 


CHAPTER  II. 

HOURS  passed, — and  presently  the  heavy  silence  was 
broken  by  a  distant  uproar, — a  hollow  sound  like  the  sudden 
inrush  of  a  sea,  which  began  afar  off,  and  gathered  strength 
as  it  came.  Rolling  onward  and  steadily  increasing  in  volume, 
it  appeared  to  split  itself  into  a  thousand  angry  echoes  close 
by  the  dungeon  walls,  and  a  confused  tumult  of  noisy  tongues 
arose,  mingling  with  the  hurried  and  disorderly  tramping  of 
many  feet  and  the  clash  of  weapons.  Voices  argued  hoarsely, 
— there  were  shrill  whistlings, — and  now  and  then  the  flare 


10  BARABBAS 

of  tossing  torches  cast  a  fitful  fire-gleam  into  the  den  where 
Barabbas  lay.  Once  a  loud  laugh  rang  out  above  the  more 
indistinct  hubbub  followed  by  a  shout — 

"  Prophesy  !     Prophesy  I     Who  is  he  that  smote  thee  ?" 

And  the  laughter  became  general,  merging  itself  swiftly 
into  a  frantic  chorus  of  yells  and  groans  and  hisses.  Then 
came  a  brief  pause,  in  which  some  of  the  wilder  noises 
ceased,  and  an  angry  disputation  seemed  to  be  going  on  be- 
tween two  or  three  individuals  in  authority,  till  presently  the 
ocean-like  roar  and  swell  of  sound  recommenced,  passed  slowly 
on,  and  began  to  die  away  like  gradually  diminishing  peals  of 
thunder.  But  while  it  remained  yet  within  distinct  hearing, 
there  was  a  slow  dragging  of  chains  inside  the  dungeon  and 
a  feeble  beating  of  manacled  hands  at  the  interior  grating, 
and  the  voice  that  had  called  before  now  called  again : 

"  Barabbas !" 

No  answer  was  returned. 

"  Barabbas !     Hearest  thou  the  passing  multitude?" 

Still  silence. 

"  Barabbas !  Dog  !  Assassin  1"  and  the  speaker  dealt  an 
angry  blow  with  his  two  fists  at  the  dividing  bars, — "  Art 
thou  deaf  to  good  news?  I  tell  thee  there  is  some  strife  in 
the  city, — some  new  sedition, — it  may  be  that  our  friends 
have  conquered  where  we  have  failed !  Down  with  the  law  I 
Down  with  the  tyrant  and  oppressor  1  Down  with  the  Phar- 
isees !  Down  with  everything !"  And  he  laughed,  his 
laughter  being  little  more  than  a  hoarse  whisper, — "  Barab- 
bas !  We  shall  be  free  !  Free  !— think  of  it,  thou  villain  1 
A  thousand  curses  on  thee !  Art  thou  dead  or  sleeping  that 
thou  wilt  not  answer  me  ?" 

But  he  exhausted  his  voice  in  vain,  and  vainly  beat  his  fists 
against  the  grating.  Barabbas  was  mute.  The  moonlight, 
grown  stronger,  pierced  the  gloom  of  his  cell  with  a  silvery 
radiance  which  blurred  objects  rather  than  illumined  them, 
so  that  the  outline  of  his  figure  could  scarcely  be  discerned 
by  his  fellow-captive  who  strove  to  see  him  through  the  bars 
of  the  lower  dungeon.  Meanwhile  the  noise  of  the  crowd  in 
the  streets  outside  had  retreated  into  the  distance,  and  only  a 
faint  murmur  arose  from  time  to  time  like  the  far-off  surge 
of  waves  on  a  rocky  shore. 

"  Barabbas  1  Barabbas  1"  and  the  vexed  weak  voice  grew 
suddenly  loud  with  an  access  of  spite  and  fury — "  An'  thou 
wilt  not  respond  to  good  tidings  thou  shalt  listen  to  evil  1 


A  DREAM  OF  THE   WORLD'S  TRAGEDY         U 

Hear  me ! — hear  thy  friend  Hanan,  who  knows  the  wicked 
ways  of  women  better  than  thou  !  Why  did'st  thou  kill  the 
Pharisee,  thou  fool  ?  'Twas  wasted  pains, — for  his  boast  was 
a  true  one,  and  thy  Judith  is  a" 

The  opprobrious  term  he  meant  to  use  was  never  uttered, 
for  with  a  sudden  spring,  fierce  and  swift  as  that  of  an  en- 
raged lion  leaping  from  its  lair,  the  hitherto  inert  Barabbas 
was  upon  him,  clutching  at  the  two  hands  he  had  thrust 
through  the  grating  to  support  himself,  and  squeezing  and 
bending  them  against  the  bars  with  a  terrific  ferocity  that 
threatened  to  snap  the  wrists  asunder. 

"  Accursed  Hanan  !  Dog  !  Breathe  but  her  name  again 
and  I  will  saw  thy  robber  hands  off  on  this  blunt  iron  and 
leave  thee  but  the  bleeding  stumps  wherewith  to  steal  1" 

Face  to  face  in  the  faintly  moonlit  gloom,  and  all  but  in- 
visible to  one  another,  they  writhed  and  wrestled  a  little  space 
with  strange  impotence  and  equally  strange  fury,  the  chains 
on  their  fettered  arms  clashing  against  the  bars  between,  till 
with  a  savage  scream  of  pain,  Hanan  tore  his  maimed  fingers 
and  lacerated  wrists  from  the  pitiless  grasp  that  crushed  them, 
and  fell  helplessly  downward  into  the  darkness  of  his  own 
den,  while  Barabbas  flung  himself  away  and  back  on  his  bed 
of  straw,  breathing  hard  and  heavily,  and  shuddering  through 
every  fibre  of  his  frame. 

"  If  it  were  true,"  he  whispered  between  his  set  teeth — 
"if  it  were  true, — if  she  were  false, — if  the  fair  flesh  and 
blood  were  but  a  mask  for  vileness, — God  ! — she  would  be 
worse  than  I, — a  greater  sinner  than  I  have  ever  been !" 

He  buried  his  head  in  the  hollow  of  his  arm  and  lay  quite 
still,  striving  to  think  out  the  problem  of  his  own  wild  nature, 
his  own  blind  and  unbridled  passions.  It  was  a  riddle  too 
dark  and  difficult  to  solve  easily,  and  gradually  his  mind 
wandered,  and  his  thoughts  began  to  lose  themselves  in  a 
dizzy  unconsciousness  that  was  almost  pleasure  after  so  much 
pain.  His  clenched  hands  relaxed,  his  breathing  became 
easier,  and  presently,  heaving  a  deep  sigh  of  exhaustion,  he 
stretched  himself  out  on  the  straw  like  a  tired  hound  and 
slept. 

The  night  marched  on  majestically.  The  moon  and  her 
sister  planets  paced  through  their  glorious  circles  of  harmo- 
nious light  and  law  ;  and  from  all  parts  of  the  earth,  prayers 
in  every  form  and  every  creed  went  up  to  heaven  for  pity, 
pardon,  and  blessing  on  sinful  humanity  that  had  neither 


12  BARABBAS 

pity,  pardon,  nor  blessing  for  itself, — till,  with  a  magic  sud- 
denness the  dense  purple  skies  changed  to  a  pearly  grey, — 
the  moon  sank  pallidly  out  of  sight, — the  stars  were  extin- 
guished one  by  one  like  lamps  when  a  feast  is  ended,  and 
morning  began  to  suggest  its  approach  in  the  freshening  air. 
But  Barabbas  still  slept.  In  his  sleep  he  had  unconsciously 
turned  his  face  upward  to  what  glimmering  light  there  was, 
and  a  placid  smile  smoothed  the  fierce  ruggedness  of  his 
features.  Slumbering  thus,  it  was  possible  to  imagine  what 
this  unkempt  and  savage-looking  creature  might  have  been 
in  boyhood ;  there  was  something  of  grace  in  his  attitude 
despite  his  fettered  limbs, — there  were  lines  of  tenderness 
about  his  mouth,  the  curve  of  which  could  be  just  seen  through 
his  rough  beard  ;  and  there  was  a  certain  grave  beauty  about 
the  broad  brow  and  closed  eyelids.  Awake,  he  fully  ap- 
peared to  be  what  he  was,  a  rebellious  and  impenitent  crimi- 
nal,— but  in  that  perfect  tranquillity  of  deep  repose  he  might 
have  passed  for  a  brave  man  wronged. 

With  the  first  faint  light  of  the  dawn,  a  sudden  unwonted 
stir  and  noise  began  in  the  outer  courts  of  the  prison.  Ba- 
rabbas, overpowered  by  slumber  as  he  was,  heard  it  in  a  semi- 
conscious way,  without  realising  what  it  might  mean.  But 
presently,  as  it  grew  louder,  he  opened  his  eyes  reluctantly, 
and  raising  himself  on  one  arm,  listened.  Soon  he  caught  in 
the  distance  the  sound  of  clashing  weapons  and  the  steady 
tramp  of  men,  and  while  he  yet  wondered,  vaguely  and 
sleepily,  at  the  unusual  commotion,  the  clashing  and  jangling 
and  marching  drew  nearer  and  nearer,  till  it  came  to  an 
abrupt  halt  outside  his  very  cell.  The  key  turned  in  the  lock, 
the  huge  bolts  were  thrust  back,  the  door  flew  open,  and 
such  a  blaze  of  light  flared  in  that  he  put  up  his  hands  to 
shield  his  eyes  as  if  from  a  blow.  Blinking  like  a  scared  owl, 
he  roused  himself  and  struggled  into  a  sitting  posture,  staring 
stupidly  at  what  he  saw, — a  group  of  glittering  soldiery 
headed  by  an  officer  who,  holding  a  smoking  torch  aloft, 
peered  into  the  drear  blackness  of  the  dungeon  with  a  search- 
ing  air  of  command. 

"  Come  forth,  Barabbas  !" 

Barabbas  gazed  and  gazed,  dreamily  and  without  apparent 
comprehension. 

Just  then  a  shrill  voice  yelled, — 

"  I,  also  !  I,  Hanan,  am  innocent!  Bring  me  also  before 
the  Tribunal  1  Give  me  justice !  Barabbas  slew  the  Phari- 


A  DREAM  OF  THE  WORLD'S   TRAGEDY         13 

Bee,  not  I !     The  mercy  of  the  Feast  for  Hanan  !     Surely  ye 
will  not  take  Barabbas  hence  and  leave  me  here?" 

No  heed  was  paid  to  these  clamourings,  and  the  officer 
merely  repeated  his  command. 

"  Come  forth,  Barabbas  !" 

Growing  more  broadly  awake,  Barabbas  stumbled  up  on  his 
feet  and  made  an  effort  to  obey,  but  his  heavy  chains  pre- 
vented his  advance.  Perceiving  this,  the  officer  gave  order 
to  his  men,  and  in  a  few  minutes  the  impeding  fetters  were 
struck  off,  and  the  prisoner  was  immediately  surrounded  by 
the  guard. 

"Barabbas!  Barabbas!"  shrieked  Hanan  within. 

Barabbas  paused,  looking  vaguely  at  the  soldiers  who 
pressed  him  in  their  midst.  Then  he  turned  his  eyes  upon 
their  commander. 

"  If  I  go  to  my  death,"  he  said  faintly,  "  I  pray  thee  give 
yonder  man  food.     He  hath  starved  and  thirsted  all  day  and 
night, — and  he  was  once  my  friend." 
,..   The  officer  surveyed  him  somewhat  curiously. 

"Is  that  thy  last  request,  Barabbas?"  he  inquired.  "It 
is  Passover,  and  we  will  grant  thee  anything  in  reason  1" 

He  laughed,  and  his  men  joined  in  the  laughter.  But 
Barabbas  only  stared  straight  ahead,  his  eyes  looking  like 
those  of  a  hunted  animal  brought  to  bay. 

"  Do  thus  much  for  charity,"  he  muttered  feebly ;  "  I  have 
also  starved  and  thirsted,  but  Hanan  is  weaker  than  I." 

Again  the  officer  glanced  at  him,  but  this  time  deigned  no 
answer.  Wheeling  abruptly  round  he  uttered  the  word  of 
command,  placed  himself  at  the  head  of  his  men,  and  the 
whole  troop,  with  Barabbas  in  their  centre  closely  guarded, 
strode  onward  and  upward  out  of  the  dark  dungeon  precincts 
to  the  higher  floors  of  the  building.  And  as  they  tramped 
through  the  stone  passages,  they  extinguished  the  torches 
they  carried,  for  the  night  was  past  and  the  morning  had 


14  BARABBAS 


CHAPTER  IIL 

MARCHING  into  the  courtyard  of  the  prison,  the  party 
halted  there,  while  the  heavy  gates  were  being  unfastened  to 
allow  an  exit.  Outside  was  the  street, — the  city, — freedom  ! 
— and  Barabbas,  still  staring  ahead,  uttered  a  hoarse  cry  and 
put  his  manacled  hands  to  his  throat  as  though  he  were 
choking. 

"What  ails  thee?"  demanded  one  of  the  men  nearest 
him,  giving  him  a  dig  in  the  ribs  with  the  hilt  of  his 
weapon, — "  Stand  up,  fool !  Never  tell  me  that  a  breath  of 
air  can  knock  thee  down  like  a  felled  bullock  !" 

For  Barabbas  reeled  and  would  have  fallen  prone  on  the 
ground  insensible,  had  not  the  soldiers  caught  at  his  swaying 
figure  and  dragged  him  up,  roughly  enough,  and  with  much 
coarse  swearing.  But  his  face  had  the  pallor  of  death,  and 
through  his  ragged  beard  his  lips  could  be  seen,  livid  and 
drawn  apart  over  his  clenched  teeth  like  the  lips  of  a  corpse, 
— his  breathing  was  scarcely  perceptible. 

The  commander  of  the  troop  advanced  and  examined  him. 

"  The  man  is  starved," — he  said  briefly,  "  Give  him  wine." 

This  order  was  promptly  obeyed,  and  wine  was  held  to  the 
mouth  of  the  swooning  captive,  but  his  teeth  were  fast  set 
and  he  remained  unconscious.  Drop  by  drop  however,  the 
liquid  was  ungently  forced  down  his  throat,  and  after  a  couple 
of  minutes,  his  chest  heaved  with  the  long  laboured  sighs  of 
returning  vitality,  and  his  eyes  flashed  widely  open. 

"  Air, — air!"  he  gasped,  "  The  free  air, — the  light" 

He  thrust  out  his  chained  hands  gropingly,  and  then,  with 
a  sudden  rush  of  strength  induced  by  the  warmth  of  the 
wine,  he  began  to  laugh  wildly. 

"  Freedom  1"  he  exclaimed,  "  Freedom  1  To  live  or  die, 
what  matter  !  Free !  Free  !" 

"  Hold  thy  peace,  thou  dog!"  said  the  commanding  officer 
sharply— "  Who  told  thee  thou  wert  free?  Look  at  thy 
fettered  wrists  and  be  wise  1  Watch  him  closely,  men  1 
March !" 

The  prison-gates  fell  back  on  their  groaning  hinges  and 
the  measured 'tramp,  tramp  of  the  little  troop  awakened 


A  DREAM  OF  THE    WORLD'S  TRAGEDY         15 

echoes  of  metallic  music  as  they  defiled  across  the  stony  street 
and  passed  down  a  steep  flight  of  steps  leading  to  a  subter- 
ranean passage  which  directly  communicated  with  the  tri- 
bunal of  justice  or  Hall  of  Judgment.  This  passage  was  a 
long  vaulted  way,  winding  in  and  out  through  devious  twists 
and  turnings,  and  was  faintly  lit  up  by  oil  lamps  placed  in 
sconces  at  regular  distances,  the  flickering  luminance  thus 
given  only  making  the  native  darkness  of  the  place  more  pal- 
pable. Gloom  and  imprisonment  were  as  strongly  suggested 
here  as  in  the  dungeons  left  behind, — and  Barabbas,  his 
heart  sickening  anew  with  vain  dread,  shrank  and  shivered, 
stumbling  giddily  once  or  twice  as  he  strove  to  keep  pace 
with  the  steady  march  of  his  escort.  Hope  died  within  him ; 
the  flashing  idea  of  liberty  that  had  stirred  him  to  such  a 
sudden  rapture  of  anticipation,  now  fled  like  a  dream.  He 
was  being  taken  to  his  death ;  of  that  he  felt  sure.  What 
mercy  could  he  expect  at  the  hands  of  the  judge  by  whom 
he  knew  he  must  be  tried  and  condemned  ?  For  was  not 
Pontius  Pilate  governor  of  Judaea  ?  and  had  not  he,  Barabbas, 
slain,  in  a  moment  of  unthinking  fury,  one  of  Pilate's  friends  ? 
That  accursed  Pharisee  !  His  sleek  manner, — his  self-right- 
eous smile, — his  white  hand  with  the  glittering  blazon  of  a 
priceless  jewel  on  the  forefinger,  and  all  the  trifling  details 
of  costume  and  deportment  that  went  to  make  up  the  inso- 
lent and  aggressive  personality  of  the  man, — these  things 
Barabbas  remembered  with  a  thrill  of  loathing.  He  could 
almost  see  him  as  he  saw  him  then,  before  with  one  fierce 
stab  he  had  struck  him  to  the  earth,  dead,  and  bleeding  hor- 
ribly in  the  brilliant  moonlight,  his  wide  open  eyes  glaring  to 
the  last  in  dumb  and  dreadful  hate  upon  his  murderer.  And 
a  life  must  always  be  given  for  a  life ;  Barabbas  admitted  the 
stern  justice  of  this  law.  It  was  only  what  he  knew  to  be 
the  ordained  manner  of  death  for  such  criminals  as  he,  that 
caused  his  nerves  to  wince  with  fear  and  agony.  If,  like  the 
Pharisee,  he  could  be  struck  out  of  existence  in  a  moment, 
why,  that  were  naught, — but  to  be  stretched  on  beams  of 
wood  there  to  blister  for  long  hours  in  the  pitiless  sun, — to 
feel  every  sinew  strained  to  cracking,  and  every  drop  of  blood 
turning  first  to  fire  and  then  to  ice, — this  was  enough  to 
make  the  strongest  man  shudder  ;  and  Barabbas,  weakened 
by  long  fasting  and  want  of  air,  trembled  so  violently  at 
times  that  he  could  scarcely  drag  his  limbs  along.  His  head 
swam  and  his  eyes  smarted ;  there  were  dull  noises  in  his  ears 


16  B  ARABS  AS 

caused  partly  by  the  surging  "blood  in  his  brain,  and  partly  by 
the  echo  of  a  sound  which  with  every  onward  step  grew 
more  distinct, — a  clamour  of  angry  voices  and  shouting  in 
the  midst  of  which  he  fancied  he  heard  his  own  name, 

"  Barabbas !     Barabbas  1" 

Startled,  he  looked  inquiringly  into  the  faces  of  the  soldiers 
that  surrounded  him,  but  their  impassive  bronze-like  features 
betrayed  no  intelligence.  Vainly  he  strove  to  listen  more  at- 
tentively,— the  clanking  weapons  of  his  guard  and  the  meas- 
ured thud  of  their  feet  on  the  stone  pavement  prevented  him 
from  catching  the  real  purport  of  those  distant  outcries.  Yet 
surely, — surely  there  was  another  shout — 

"  Barabbas !     Barabbas  !" 

A  sickening  horror  suddenly  seized  him, — a  swift  and 
awful  comprehension  of  his  true  position.  The  mob,  relent- 
less in  all  ages,  were  evidently  clamouring  for  his  death,  and 
were  even  now  preparing  to  make  sport  of  his  torments. 
Nothing  more  glorious  to  a  brutal  populace  than  the  physical 
agony  of  a  helpless  fellow-creature, — nothing  more  laughter- 
moving  than  to  watch  the  despair,  the  pain,  and  the  writhing 
last  struggle  of  a  miserable  human  wretch  condemned  to 
perish  by  a  needlessly  slow  and  barbarous  torture.  Thinking 
of  this,  great  drops  of  sweat  bathed  his  brow,  and  as  he 
staggered  feebly  on,  he  prayed  dumbly  for  some  sudden  end, 
— prayed  that  his  hot  and  throbbing  blood  might  rush  in 
merciful  full  force  to  a  vital  centre  of  his  brain  that  so  he 
might  fall  into  oblivion  swiftly  like  a  stone  falling  into  the 
sea.  Anything — anything,  rather  than  face  the  jeers  and 
the  mockery  of  a  pitiless  multitude  trooping  forth  as  to  a 
feast  to  see  him  die ! 

Closer  and  closer  came  the  hubbub  and  roar,  interspersed 
with  long  pauses  of  comparative  stillness,  and  it  was  during 
one  of  these  pauses  that  his  enforced  journey  came  to  an  end.j 
Turning  sharply  round  the  last  corner  of  the  underground, 
passage,  the  soldiers  tramped  out  into  the  daylight,  and  as- 
cended several  wide  marble  steps,  afterwards  crossing  an 
open  circular  court,  empty  and  cool  in  the  silver-grey  hues 
of  early  dawn.  Finally  passing  under  a  columnar  arch,  they 
entered  a  vast  Hall,  which  was  apparently  divided  into  two 
square  spaces, — one  almost  clear,  save  for  a  few  prominent 
figures  that  stood  forth  in  statuesque  outlines  against  a  back- 
ground of  dark  purple  hangings  fringed  with  gold, — the 
other  densely  crowded  with  people  who  were  only  kept  from 


A  DREAM  OF  THE    WORLD'S  TRAGEDY         17 

rushing   into   the  judicial   precincts   by  a  line   of  Roman 
soldiery  headed  by  their  centurion. 

On  the  appearance  of  Barabbas  with  his  armed  escort, 
heads  were  turned  round  and  hurried  whispers  were  ex- 
changed among  the  crowd,  but  not  one  look  of  actual  interest 
or  compassion  was  bestowed  upon  him.  The  people's  mind 
was  centred  on  a  far  weightier  matter.  Such  a  trial  was 
pending  as  had  never  yet  been  heard  within  the  walls  of  a 
human  tribunal,  and  such  a  captive  was  being  questioned  as 
never  before  gave  answer  to  mortal  man.  With  a  sudden 
sense  of  relief,  Barabbas,  stupefied  though  he  was,  began 
dimly  to  realise  that  perhaps  after  all  his  terrors  had  been 
groundless ;  there  was  no  sign  here,  at  least,  not  at  present, 
of  his  death  being  wanted  to  make  an  extra  holiday  for  the 
mob,  and,  infected  by  the  prevailing  spirit  of  intense  cusiosity 
and  attention,  he  craned  his  neck  forward  eagerly  in  order 
to  obtain  a  view  of  what  was  going  on.  As  he  did  so,  the 
people  directly  in  front  of  him  shrank  away  in  evident 
aversion,  but  he  paid  little  heed  to  this  mutely  expressed 
repugnance,  as  their  unanimous  recoil  made  a  convenient 
opening  through  which  he  could  plainly  see  the  judgment 
dais  and  all  its  imposing  surroundings.  There  were  seated 
several  members  of  the  Sanhedrim,  several  o/  whom  he 
knew  by  sight,  among  them  the  high-priest  Caiaphas,  and 
his  colleague  Annas, — a  few  scribes  occupied  lower  benches 
and  were  busily  engaged  in  writing, — and  among  these  digni- 
fied and  exalted  personages,  he  perceived,  to  his  astonishment, 
a  little  lean,  wrinkled,  crouching  money-changer,  a  man  well 
known  and  cursed  throughout  all  Jerusalem  for  his  high 
rates  of  usury  and  cruelty  to  the  poor.  How  came  so  mean 
a  villain  there  ?  thought  Barabbas  wonderingly ;  but  he  could 
not  stop  to  puzzle  out  the  problem,  for  the  chief  person  his 
eyes  involuntarily  sought  for  and  rested  upon  was  the  Roman 
judge, — that  very  judge  of  whose  stern  sad  face  he  had 
dreamed  in  the  darkness  of  his  dungeon, — Pilate  the  calm, 
severe,  yet  at  times  compassionate  arbiter  of  life  and  death 
according  to  the  codes  of  justice  administered  in  Judaea. 
Surely  to-day  he  suffered,  or  was  weary  ! — for  did  ever  legal 
"  tyrant"  before  look  so  sick  at  heart  ?  In  the  grey  morning 
light  his  features  seemed  to  have  an  almost  death-like  rigidity 
and  pallor — his  hand  played  absently  with  the  jewelled  signet 
depending  from  his  breast, — and  beneath  the  falling  folds  of 
his  robe  of  office,  one  sandalled  foot  beat  impatiently  upon 
6  2* 


18  BARABBAS 

the  floor.  Barabbas  stared  at  him  in  dull  fascination  and 
fear> — he  did  not  look  a  cruel  so  much  as  a  melancholy  man, 
— and  yet  there  was  something  in  his  classic  profile,  and  in 
the  firm  lines  of  his  thin  closely  compressed  lips  that  augured 
little  softness  of  character.  What  was  likely  to  be  his 
verdict  on  an  assassin  who  had  slain  one  of  his  friends? 
And  while  Barabbas  vaguely  pondered  this,  an  irrepressible 
cry  rose  up  all  at  once  frwm  the  multitude  around  him,  like 
the  noise  of  breaking  waters  roaring  in  thunderous  repeti- 
tions through  the  vaulted  Hall, — 

"  Crucify  him  !     Crucify  him  !" 

The  wild  shout  was  furious  and  startling,  and  with,  its 
thrilling  clamour,  the  lethargic  torpor  that  had  held  Barabbas 
more  or  less  spell-bound  was  suddenly  dispersed.  With  a 
swift  shock  he  came  to  himself  like  one  roughly  shaken  from 
sleep. 

"  Crucify  him !" 

Crucify — whom?  Whose  life  was  thus  passionately  de- 
manded ?  Not  his  ?  No,  not  his,  most  surely,  for  the  people 
scarcely  heeded  him.  Their  looks  were  all  turned  another 
way.  Then  if  he  were  not  the  offender,  who  was  ? 

Pushing  himself  yet  more  to  the  front,  he  followed  the 
angry  glances  of  the  mob  and  saw,  standing  patiently  below 
the  judgment-seat  one  Figure, — saw,  and  seeing,  held  his 
breath  for  very  wonderment.  For  that  Figure  seemed  to 
absorb  into  itself  all  the  stateliness,  all  the  whiteness,  all  the 
majesty  of  the  lofty  and  spacious  Tribunal,  together  with  all 
the  light  that  fell  glimmeringly  through  the  shining  windows, 
— light  that  now  began  to  form  itself  into  the  promise  rays 
of  the  rising  sun.  Such  radiance,  such  power,  such  glorious 
union  of  perfect  beauty  and  strength  in  one  human  form, 
Barabbas  had  never  seen  or  imagined  before,  and  he  gazed 
and  gazed  till  his  soul  almost  lost  itself  in  the  mere  sense  of 
sight.  Like  one  in  a  trance  he  heard  himself  whisper 

"Who  is  yonder  Man?" 

No  one  answered.  It  may  be  no  one  heard.  And  he  re- 
peated the  query  softly  over  and  over  again  in  his  own  mind, 
keeping  his  eyes  fixed  on  that  tall  and  god-like  Being  whose 
sublime  aspect  seemed  to  imply  an  absolute  mastery  over  men 
and  things,  but  who  nevertheless  waited  there  silently  in 
apparent  submission  to  the  law,  with  a  slight  dreamy  smile 
on  the  beautiful  curved  lips,  and  a  patient  expression  in  the 
down-dropt  eyelids,  as  of  one  who  mutely  expected  the  publio 


A  DREAM  OF  THE    WORLD'S   TRAGEDY         19 

declaration  of  what  he  had  himself  privately  decreed.  Still 
as  a  statue  of  sunlit  marble  He  stood,  erect  and  calm,  His 
white  garments  flowing  backward  from  His  shoulders  in  even 
picturesque  folds,  thus  displaying  His  bare  rounded  arms, 
crossed  now  on  His  breast  in  a  restful  attitude  of  resignation, 
yet  in  their  very  inertness  suggesting  such  mighty  muscular 
force  as  would  have  befitted  a  Hercules.  Power,  grandeur, 
authority,  and  invincible  supremacy  were  all  silently  expressed 
in  His  marvellous  and  incomparable  Presence, — and  while 
Barabbas  still  stared,  fascinated,  awed,  and  troubled  in  mind, 
though  he  knew  not  why,  the  shouts  of  the  populace  broke 
forth  again  with  hoarser  reiteration  and  more  impatient  fe- 
rocity,— 

"  Away  with  him  !  Away  with  him !  Let  him  be  cruci- 
fied !" 

And  far  back  from  the  edge  of  the  crowd,  a  woman's  voice, 
sweet  and  shrill  and  piercing,  soared  up  and  rang  out  with  a 
cruel  music  over  all  the  deeper  uproar, — 

"  Crucify  him  1     Crucify  him  !" 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE  clear  vibration  of  the  woman's  cry  acted  like  a  strange 
charm  to  stimulate  afresh  the  already  feverish  excitement  of 
the  people.  A  frenzied  hubbub  ensued, — shrieks,  yells, 
groans,  and  hisses  filled  the  air,  till  the  noise  became  abso- 
lutely deafening,  and  Pilate,  with  an  angry  and  imperious 
gesture  suddenly  rose  and  faced  the  mob.  Advancing  to  the 
front  of  the  dais,  he  lifted  up  his  hand  authoritatively  to 
command  silence.  Gradually  the  din  decreased,  dying  off  in 
little  growling  thuds  of  sound  down  to  a  few  inaudible  mut- 
terings,  though  before  actual  stillness  was  restored,  the  sweet 
soprano  voice  rang  forth  again  melodiously,  broken  by  a  bub- 
bling ripple  of  laughter, — 

"Crucify  him !" 

Barabbas  started.  That  silvery  laugh  struck  to  his  heart 
coldly  and  made  him  shiver, — surely  he  had  heard  an  echo  of 
such  scornful  mirth  before?  It  sounded  bitterly  familiar. 
Pilate's  keen  eyes  flashed  a  vain  search  for  the  unseen  speaker, 


20 


BARABBAS 


—then,  turning  towards  the  people  with  an  air  of  pacific 
dignity,  he  demanded, — 

"  Why,  what  evil  hath  he  done  ?" 

This  simple  question  was  evidently  ill-timed,  and  had  a 
disastrous  effect.  The  sole  answer  to  it  was  a  bellowing  roar 
of  derision, — a  thunderous  clamour  of  wild  rage  that  seemed 
to  shake  the  very  walls  of  the  Tribunal.  Men,  women,  and 
little  children  alike  joined  in  the  chorus  of  "  Crucify  him  ! 
Crucify  him  1"  and  the  savage  refrain  was  even  caught  up  by 
the  high-priests,  elders,  and  scribes,  who,  in  their  various  dis- 
tinctive costumes  and  with  their  several  attendants,  were 
grouped  behind  Pilate  on  the  judgment  dais.  Pilate  heard 
them,  and  turned  sharply  round,  a  dark  frown  knitting  his 
brows.  Caiaphas,  the  chief  priest,  met  his  eyes  with  a  bland 
smile,  and  repeated  under  his  breath  "Crucify  him!"  as 
though  it  were  a  pleasing  suggestion. 

"  Of  a  truth  it  were  well  he  should  die  the  death,"  mur- 
mured Annas,  his  portly  colleague,  casting  a  furtive  glance  at 
Pilate  from  under  his  pale  eyelashes ;  "  The  worthy  governor 
seemeth  to  hesitate,  yet  verily  this  traitor  is  no  friend  of 
Caesar's." 

Pilate  vouchsafed  no  answer  save  a  look  of  supreme  and 
utter  scorn.  Shrugging  his  shoulders,  he  re-seated  himself 
and  gazed  long  and  earnestly  at  the  Accused.  "  What  evil 
hath  he  done  ?"  It  might  have  been  more  justly  asked,  what 
evil  could  He  do  ?  Was  there  any  mark  of  vileness,  any  line 
of  treachery  on  the  open  beauty  of  that  fair  and  lustrous 
Countenance?  No.  Nobleness  and  truth  were  eloquently 
declared  in  every  feature ;  moreover  there  was  something  in 
the  silent  Presence  of  the  Prisoner  that  made  Pilate  tremble, 
— something  unspoken  yet  felt, — a  vast  and  vague  Mystery 
that  seemed  to  surround  and  invest  Him  with  a  power  all  the 
more  terrific  because  so  deeply  hidden.  And  while  the 
troubled  procurator  studied  His  calm  and  dignified  bearing, 
and  wondered  doubtfully  what  course  it  were  best  to  pursue, 
Barabbas  from  his  coign  of  vantage  stared  eagerly  in  the 
same  direction,  growing  more  and  more  conscious  of  an  un- 
usual and  altogether  wonderful  fascination  in  the  aspect  of 
this  Man  the  people  sought  to  slay.  And  presently  his  vivid 
curiosity  gave  him  courage  to  address  one  of  the  soldiers  near 
him. 

"Prithee  tell  me,"  said  he,  "what  captive  King  stands 
yonder?" 


A  DREAM  OF  THE    WORLD'S   TRAGEDY        21 

The  soldier  gave  a  short  contemptuous  laugh. 

"  King  !  Ay,  ay  !  He  calls  himself  King  of  the  Jews, 
— a  sorry  jest,  for  which  his  life  will  pay  forfeit.  He  is 
naught  but  a  carpenter's  son,  known  as  Jesus  of  Nazareth. 
He  hath  stirred  up  rebellion,  and  persuadeth  the  mob  to  dis- 
obey law.  Moreover  he  consorteth  with  the  lowest  rascals, 
— thieves  and  publicans  and  sinners.  He  hath  a  certain  skill 
in  conjuring;  the  people  say  he  can  disappear  suddenly  when 
most  sought  for.  But  he  made  no  attempt  to  disappear  last 
night,  for  we  trapped  him  easily,  close  by  Gethsemane.  One 
of  his  own  followers  betrayed  him.  Some  there  be  who  deem 
him  mad, — some  say  he  hath  a  devil.  Devil  or  no,  he  is 
caught  at  last  and  must  surely  die." 

Barabbas  heard  in  incredulous  amazement.  That  royal- 
looking  Personage  a  carpenter's  son? — a  common  working- 
man,  and  one  of  the  despised  Nazarenes?  No,  no! — it  was 
not  possible !  Then,  by  degrees  he  began  to  remember  that 
before  he,  Barabbas,  had  been  cast  into  prison  for  robbery 
and  murder,  there  had  been  strange  rumours  afloat  in  the 
country  of  Judaea,  concerning  one  Jesus,  a  miracle-worker, 
who  went  about  healing  the  sick  and  the  infirm,  giving  sight 
to  the  blind,  and  preaching  a  new  religion  to  the  poor.  It 
was  even  asserted  that  He  had  on  one  occasion  raised  a  man 
named  Lazarus  from  the  dead  after  three  days'  burial  in  the 
ground,  but  this  astounding  report  was  promptly  suppressed 
and  contradicted  by  certain  scribes  in  Jerusalem  who  made 
themselves  generally  responsible  for  the  current  news.  The 
country  people  were  known  to  be  ignorant  and  superstitious, 
and  any  one  possessing  what  was  called  "  the  gift  of  healing" 
in  provinces  where  all  manner  of  loathsome  physical  evils 
abounded,  could  obtain  undue  and  almost  supernatural  influ- 
ence over  the  miserable  and  down-trodden  inhabitants.  Yet 
surely  if  this  Man  were  He  of  whom  rumour  had  spoken, 
then  there  seemed  no  reason  to  doubt  the  truth  of  the  miracu- 
lous powers  attributed  to  Him.  He  was  Himself  an  em- 
bodied Miracle.  And  what  were  His  powers  actually  ?  Much 
had  been  said  concerning  the  same  Jesus  of  Nazareth  of 
which  Barabbas  had  no  distinct  recollection.  His  eighteen 
months  of  imprisonment  had  obliterated  many  things  from 
his  memory,  and  what  he  had  chiefly  brooded  upon  in  his 
dreary  dungeon  had  been  his  own  utter  misery,  and  the  tor- 
turing recollection  of  one  fair  woman's  face.  Now,  strange 
to  say,  he  could  find  no  room  for  any  thought  at  all,  save  the 


22  BARABBAS 

impending  fate  of  Him  on  whom  Ms  eyes  were  fixed.  And 
as  he  looked,  it  seemed  to  him  that  all  suddenly  the  judgment- 
hall  expanded  hugely  and  swam  round  in  a  circle  of  oright 
flame  through  which  he  saw  that  angelic  white  Figure  shine 
forth  with  a  thousand  radiations  of  lightning-like  glory  !  A 
faint  cry  of  terror  broke  from  his  lips, — 

"No,  no!"  he  stammered — "No,  I  tell  you!  You  can- 
not, you  dare  not  crucify  Him  !  Yonder  is  a  Spirit !  .  .  . 
no  man  ever  looked  so  ...  He  is  a  god  ! " 

As  he  uttered  the  word,  one  of  the  Roman  soldiers  hearing, 
turned  and  struck  him  fiercely  on  the  mouth  with  his  steel 
gauntlet. 

"  Fool,  be  silent !     Wilt  thou  too  be  one  of  his  disciples  ?" 

Wincing  with  pain,  Barabbas  strove  to  wipe  the  trickling 
blood  from  his  lips  with  his  fettered  hands,  and  as  he  did  so, 
caught  a  straight  full  look  from  the  so-called  Jesus  of  Naza- 
reth. The  pity  and  the  tenderness  of  that  look  pierced  him 
to  the  soul ;  no  living  being  had  ever  given  him  a  glance  so 
instantly  comprehensive  and  sympathetic.  With  a  quick 
reckless  movement,  he  thrust  himself  more  to  the  front  of 
the  crowd  to  gain  a  closer  view  of  One  who  could  so  gently 
regard  him.  A  passionate  impulse  of  gratitude  moved  him 
to  rush  across  the  whole  width  of  the  hall,  and  fling  himself 
in  all  his  rough  brute  strength  in  front  of  this  new-found 
Friend  to  serve  as  a  human  buckler  of  defence  in  case  of 
need.  But  bristling  weapons  guarded  him,  and  he  was  too 
closely  surrounded  for  escape.  Just  at  that  moment,  one  of 
the  scribes,  a  tall  lean  man  in  sober-coloured  raiment,  rose 
from  his  place  in  the  semi-circle  of  priests  and  elders  grouped 
on  the  judicial  platform,  and,  unfolding  a  parchment  scroll, 
began  to  read  in  a  monotonous  voice  the  various  heads  of  the 
indictment  against  the  Accused.  These  had  been  hastily 
summed  up  by  the  Sanhedrim,  during  the  brief  trial  which 
had  taken  place  in  the  house  of  Caiaphas  the  high-priest  on 
the  previous  evening.  A  great  stillness  now  reigned  in  lieu 
of  the  previous  uproar ;  a  deep  hush  of  suspense  and  atten- 
tion, in  which  the  assembled  mob  seemed  to  wait  and  pant 
with  expectation,  as  a  crouching  beast  waits  and  pants  for  its 
anticipated  prey.  Pilate  listened  frowningly,  one  hand  cover- 
ing his  eyes.  During  the  occasional  pauses  in  the  scribe's 
reading,  the  noise  of  traffic  in  the  outside  stony  streets  made 
itself  distinctly  audible,  and  once  the  sound  of  a  little  child's 
Voice  singing  came  floating  merrily  upward  like  the  echo  of 


A  DREAM  OF  THE   WORLD'S  TRAGEDY        23 

a  joy-bell.  The  skies  were  changing  rapidly  from  pearl-grey 
hues  to  rose  and  daffodil ;  the  sun  was  high  above  the  hori- 
zon, but  its  light  had  not  yet  found  a  way  through  the  lofty 
windows  of  the  judgment-hall.  It  beamed  on  the  crowd  be- 
yond the  barrier  with  iridescent  flashes  of  colour, — now  flash- 
ing on  a  red  erchief  tying  up  a  woman's  hair,  or  on  the 
glittering  steel  corslet  of  a  Roman  soldier,  while  the  Tribunal 
itself  was  left  in  cold  and  unillumined  whiteness,  relieved  only 
by  the  velvet  hangings  pertaining  to  it,  which  in  their  sombre 
purple  tint  suggested  the  falling  folds  of  a  funeral  pall. 

The  reading  of  the  indictment  finished,  Pilate  still  remained 
silent  for  some  minutes.  Then,  lifting  his  hand  from  his 
eyes,  he  surveyed,  somewhat  satirically,  his  companions  in 
authority. 

"  Ye  have  brought  me  this  man  as  one  that  perverteth  the 
people,"  he  said  slowly.  "  What  accusation  bring  ye  against 
him  ?" 

Caiaphas,  and  Annas,  who  was  then  vice-president  of  the 
Sanhedrim,  exchanged  wondering  and  half  indignant  glances. 
Finally  Caiaphas,  with  an  expression  of  offended  dignity, 
looked  around  appealingly  upon  his  compeers. 

"Surely  ye  have  all  heard  the  indictment,"  he  said,  "And 
the  worthy  governor's  question  seemeth  but  vain  in  this  mat- 
ter. What  need  we  of  further  witnesses  ?  If  yonder  man 
were  not  a  malefactor  would  we  have  brought  him  hither? 
He  hath  blasphemed ;  for  last  night  we  did  solemnly  adjure 
him  in  the  name  of  the  living  God,  to  declare  unto  us 
whether  he  were  the  Christ,  the  Son  of  the  Blessed,  and  he 
answered  boldly  and  said  '  /  am  I  And  hereafter  ye  shall  see 
the  Son  of  Man  sitting  on  the  right  hand  of  Power  and  coming 
in  the  clouds  of  heaven!'  What  think  ye?  Is  he  not 
worthy  of  death?" 

An  emphatic  murmur  of  assent  went  round  the  semi-circle 
of  the  priests  and  elders.  But  Pilate  gave  a  gesture  of  con- 
tempt and  flung  himself  restlessly  back  on  the  judgment-seat. 

"Ye  talk  in  parables,  and  do  perplex  the  ends  of  justice. 
If  he  himself  saith  he  is  the  Son  of  Man,  how  do  ye  make 
him  out  to  be  the  Son  of  God?" 

Caiaphas  flushed  an  angry  red,  and  was  about  to  make 
some  retort,  but  on  a  moment's  reflection,  suppressed  his  feel- 
ings and  proceeded,  smiling  cynically — 

"  Of  a  truth  thou  art  in  merciful  mood,  Pilate,  and  thine 
Emperor  will  not  blame  thee  for  too  much  severity  of  rule ! 


24  '    BARABBAS 

In  our  law,  the  sinner  that  blasphemeth  shall  surely  die. 
Yet  if  blasphemy  be  not  a  crime  in  thy  judgment,  what  of 
treason  ?  Witnesses  there  are  who  swear  that  this  man  hath 
said  it  is  not  lawful  to  give  tribute  unto  Caesar ;  moreover  he 
is  an  evil  boaster,  for  he  hath  arrogantly  declared  that  he  will 
destroy  the  Holy  Temple.  Yea  verily,  even  unto  the  Holy 
of  Holies  itself,  he  saith  he  will  destroy,  so  that  not  one  stone 
shall  remain  upon  another,  and  in  three  days,  without  the 
help  of  hands,  he  will  build  up  a  new  and  greater  tabernacle  ! 
Such  mad  ranting  doth  excite  the  minds  of  the  populace  to 
rebellion, — moreover  he  deceiveth  the  eyes  of  the  vulgar  and 
uninstracted  by  feigning  to  perform  great  miracles  when  all 
is  but  trickery  and  dissimulation.  Finally,  he  hath  entered 
Jerusalem  in  state  as  a  King ;" — here  he  turned  to  his  col- 
league in  office — "  Thou,  Annas,  can'  st  speak  of  this,  for  thou 
wert  present  when  the  multitude  passed  by." 

Annas,  thus  appealed  to,  moved  a  little  forward,  pressing 
his  hands  together,  and  casting  down  his  pale-coloured  treach- 
erous eyes  with  a  deferential  air  of  apologetic  honesty. 

"  Truly  it  would  seem  that  a  pestilence  in  this  man's  shape 
doth  walk  abroad  to  desolate  and  disaffect  the  province,"  said 
he, — "  For  I  myself  beheld  the  people,  when  this  traitor  en- 
tered the  city  by  the  road  of  Bethphage  and  Bethany,  rush 
forth  to  meet  him  with  acclamations,  strewing  palm-branches, 
olive-boughs,  and  even  their  very  garments  in  his  path,  as 
though  he  were  a  universal  conqueror  of  men.*  And  shouts 
of  triumph  rent  the  air,  for  the  multitude  received  him  both 
as  prophet  and  king,  crying  '  Hosanna  !  Blessed  is  he  that 
cometh  in  the  name  of  the  Lord!  Hosanna  in  the  highest? 
Whereat  I  marvelled  greatly,  and  being  troubled  in^  mind, 
returned  unto  Caiaphas  to  tell  him  straightway  those  things 
which  I  had  seen  and  heard  concerning  the  strange  frenzy  of 
the  mob  which  of  a  surety  is  dangerous  to  the  maintenance  of 
law  and  order.  'Tis  an  unseemly  passion  of  the  vulgar  to 
thus  salute  with  royal  honour  one  of  the  accursed  Nazarenes." 

"Is  he  in  truth  a  Nazarene?"  inquired  one  of  the  elders 
suddenly,  with  a  dubious  air, — "  I  have  heard  it  said  that 
he  was  born  in  Bethlehem  of  Judaea,  and  that  the  late  King 
Herod  was  told  of  certain  marvels  at  his  birth" 

"  An  idle  rumour,"  interrupted  Annas  hastily ;  "  We  took 
him  before  the  tetrarch  yesternight,  where,  had  he  chosen,  he 
could  have  made  his  own  defence.  For  Herod  asked  him 
many  questions  wlriih  he  could  not  or  would  not  answer,  till 


A   DREAM.   OF  THE    WORLD'S   TRAGEDY         25 

the  noble  tetrarch's  patience  failing,  he  sent  him  on  to  Pilate 
to  be  sentenced.  He  is  known  to  be  of  Nazareth,  for  his 
parents  have  their  home  and  calling  in  the  village  so  named." 

Pilate  listened,  but  said  nothing.  He  was  ill  at  ease.  The 
statements  of  Caiaphas  and  Annas  seemed  to  him  a  mere 
babble  of  words  without  meaning.  He  was  entirely  opposed 
to  the  members  of  the  Sanhedrim  ; — he  knew  they  were  men 
who  chiefly  sought  their  own  interest  and  advancement,  and 
he  also  knew  that  the  real  cause  of  their  having  denounced 
the  so-called  "  prophet  of  Nazareth,"  was  fear, — fear  of 
having  their  theories  shaken,  their  laws  questioned,  and  their 
authority  over  the  people  denied.  He  saw  in  the  dignified 
Prisoner  before  him,  one,  who,  whatever  He  was,  or  wherever 
He  came  from,  evidently  thought  for  Himself.  Nothing 
more  terrorising  to  sacerdotal  tyranny  than  liberty  of  thought ! 
— nothing  more  dangerous  than  freedom  of  conscience  and 
indifference  to  opinion  !  Pilate  himself  was  afraid,  but  not 
with  the  same  dread  as  that  which  affected  the  Jewish  priests, 
— his  misgivings  were  vague  and  undefined,  and  all  the  more 
difficult  to  overcome.  He  was  strangely  reluctant  to  even 
look  at  the  "  Nazarene,"  whose  tall  and  radiant  form  appeared 
to  shine  with  an  inward  and  supernatural  light  amid  the  cold 
austerity  of  the  judicial  surroundings,  and  he  kept  his  eyes 
down,  fixed  on  the  floor,  the  while  he  hesitatingly  pondered 
his  position.  But  time  pressed, — the  Sanhedrim  council  were 
becoming  impatient, — he  was  at  last  compelled  to  act  and  to 
speak, — and  slowly  turning  round  in  his  chair  he  fully  con- 
fronted the  Accused,  who  at  the  same  instant  lifted  His  noble 
head  and  met  the  anxious,  scrutinising  regard  of  His  judge 
with  an  open  look  of  fearless  patience  and  infinite  tenderness. 
Meeting  that  look,  Pilate  trembled, — but  anon,  forcing  him- 
self to  assume  an  air  of  frigid  composure,  he  spoke  aloud  in 
grave  authoritative  accents : 

" Answerest  thon  nothing?  Hearest  thou  not  how  many 
things  are  witnessed  against  thee  ? ' 

Then  and  only  then,  the  hitherto  immovable  white-robed 
Figure  stirred,  —  and  advancing  with  slow  and  regal  grace, 
approached  Pilate  more  nearly,  still  looking  at  him.  One 
bright  ray  of  the  risen  sun  fell  slantingly  through  a  side- 
window  and  glistened  star-like  on  the  bronze-gold  of  the  rich 
hair  that  clustered  in  thick  waves  upon  His  brow,  and  as  He 
kept  His  shining  eyes  upon  His  judge,  He  smiled  serenely 
even  as  one  who  pardons  a  sin  before  hearing  its  confession. 


26  BARABBAS 

But  no  word  passed  His  lips.  Pilate  recoiled, — an  icy  cold 
chilled  the  blood  in  his  veins, — involuntarily  he  rose,  and  fell 
back  step  by  step,  grasping  at  the  carved  gold  projections  of 
his  judicial  throne  to  steady  his  faltering  limbs,  for  there  was 
something  in  the  quiet  onward  gliding  of  that  snowy-gar- 
mented Shape  that  filled  his  soul  with  dread,  and  suggested 
to  his  mind  old  myths  and  legends  of  the  past,  when  Deity 
appearing  suddenly  to  men,  had  consumed  them  in  a  breath 
with  the  lightning  of  great  glory.  And  that  one  terrific 
moment  while  he  stood  thus  face  to  face  with  the  Divine  Ac- 
cused seemed  to  him  an  eternity.  It  was  a  never-to-be-for- 
gotten space  of  time  in  which  all  his  life,  past  and  present, 
appeared  reflected  as  a  landscape  is  reflected  in  a  drop  of  dew, 
— moreover,  the  premonition  of  a  future,  dark  and  desolate, 
loomed  indistinctly  upon  his  mind,  like  a  shadow  on  the  hori- 
zon. All  unconsciously  to  himself  his  countenance  paled  to 
a  ghastly  haggardness,  and  scarcely  knowing  what  he  did,  he 
raised  his  hands  appealingly  as  though  to  avert  some  great 
and  crushing  blow.  The  learned  Jews  who  were  grouped 
around  him  stared  at  his  terror-stricken  attitude  in  wonder- 
ment, and  exchanged  glances  of  vexation  and  dismay,  while 
one  of  the  elders,  a  dark- eyed  crafty- visaged  man,  leaned  for- 
ward hastily  and  touched  him  on  the  shoulder,  saying  in  a 
low  tone — 

"What  ails  thee,  Pilate?  Surely  thou  art  smitten  with 
palsy,  or  some  delusion  numbs  thy  senses  !  Hasten,  we  be- 
seech thee,  to  pronounce  sentence,  for  the  hours  wear  on 
apace, — and  at  this  season  of  the  Passover,  'twere  well  and 
seemly  that  thou  should'st  give  the  multitude  their  will. 
What  is  this  malefactor  unto  thee  ?  Let  him  be  crucified, 
for  he  is  guilty  of  treason,  since  he  calls  himself  a  King. 
Full  well  thou  knowest  we  have  no  King  but  Caesar,  yet 
yonder  fellow  boldly  saith  he  is  King  of  the  Jews.  Ques- 
tion him,  whether  or  no  he  hath  not  thus  boasted  falsely  of 
power !" 

Pilate  gazed  round  at  his  adviser  bewilderedly, — he  felt  as 
though  he  were  entangled  in  the  mazes  of  an  evil  dream 
where  demons  whispered  dark  hints  of  unworded  crimes. 
Sick  and  cold  to  the  very  heart,  he. yet  realised  that  he  must 
make  an  effort  to  interrogate  the  Prisoner  as  he  was  bidden, 
and,  moistening  his  parched  lips,  he  at  last  succeeded  in 
enunciating  the  necessary  query,  albeit  his  accents  were  so 
faint  and  husky  as  to  be  scarcely  audible. 


A   DREAM  OF  THE    WORLD'S  TRAGEDY        27 

"Art  thou  the  King  of  the  Jews  .*" 

An  intense  silence  followed.  Then  a  full,  penetrating 
Voice,  sweeter  than  sweetest  music,  stirred  the  air. 

"  Sayest  thou  this  thing  of  thyself,  or  did  others  tell  it  thee 
of  me?" 

Pilate's  face  flushed,  and  his  hand  grasped  the  back  of  his 
chair  convulsively.  He  gave  a  gesture  of  impatience,  and 
answered  abruptly,  yet  tremulously, — 

"  Am  I  a  Jew  f  TJiine  own  nation  and  the  chief  priests 
have  delivered  thee  unto  me  ;  what  hast  thou  done  ?  ' ' 

A  light  as  of  some  inward  fire  irradiated  the  deep  lustrous 
eyes  of  the  "  Nazarene ;"  a  dreamy,  meditative  smile  parted 
His  lips.  Looking  so,  and  smiling  thus,  His  glorious  aspect 
made  the  silence  eloquent,  and  Pilate's  authoritative  demand 
"  What  hast  thou  done  ?"  seemed  answered  without  speech. 
And  the  voiceless  response  might  have  been  rendered  into 
words  like  these, — 

"  What  have  I  done  ?  I  have  made  Life  sweet,  and  robbed 
Death  of  bitterness ;  there  is  honour  for  men  and  tenderness 
for  women ;  there  is  hope  for  all,  Heaven  for  all,  God  for 
all ! — and  the  lesson  of  Love, — Love  divine  and  human  as 
personified  in  Me,  sanctifies  the  Earth  for  ever  through  My 
Name!" 

But  these  great  facts  remained  unuttered,  for,  as  yet  they 
were  beyond  dull  mortal  comprehension,  and,  with  the  faint 
dreamy  smile  still  giving  a  poetic  languor  of  deep  thought  to 
every  line  of  His  countenance,  the  Accused  answered  slowly, 
every  word  He  spoke  vibrating  melodiously  through  the  still- 


"  My  kingdom  is  not  of  this  world.  If  my  kingdom  were 
of  this  world  then  would  my  servants  fight  that  I  should  not 
be  delivered  to  the  Jews.  But — now  is  my  kingdom  not  from 
hence  !  "  < 

And,  drawing  His  majestic  figure  up  to  its  full  height, 
He  raised  His  head  and  looked  up  towards  the  loftiest  window 
of  the  Hall,  now  glittering  diamond-like  in  the  saffron-tinted 
rays  of  the  swiftly  ascending  sun.  His  attitude  was  so  un- 
speakably grand  and  suggestive  of  power,  that  Pilate  again 
recoiled,  with  that  sickening  sense  of  helpless  terror  clutch- 
ing at  his  heart  anew.  He  stole  a  furtive  and  anxious  glance 
at  the  chief  priests  and  elders,  who  were  leaning  forward  on 
their  benches  listening  attentively, — they  all  appeared  un- 
moved and  coldly  indifferent.  Caiaphas  smiled  satirically 


28  HARABBAS 

and  exchanged  a  side-whisper  with  Annas,  but  otherwise  no 
one  volunteered  to  speak.  Sorely  against  his  will,  Pilate 
continued  his  examination.  Feigning  an  unconcern  he  was 
far  from  feeling,  he  asked  his  next  question  half  carelessly, 
half  kindly,— 

"  Art  thou  a  King,  then?" 

With  a  sublime  gesture,  the  Accused  flashed  one  burning 
glance  upon  all  who  waited  breathlessly  for  His  reply, — then 
looked  straightly  and  steadily,  full  into  Pilate's  eyes. 

"  Thou  sayest!" 

And,  as  he  uttered  the  words,  the  sun,  climbing  to  the 
topmost  arch  of  the  opposite  window,  beamed  through  it  in 
a  round  blaze  of  glory,  and  flooded  the  judgment-hall  with 
ripples  of  gold  and  crimson,  circling  the  Divine  brows  with  a 
glittering  rainbow  radiance  as  though  the  very  heavens  had 
set  their  crown  and  signet  upon  the  splendour  of  a  Truth 
revealed  I 


CHAPTER  V. 

THERE  was  a  moment's  pause. 

Pilate  sat  dumb  and  irresolute, — but  among  the  assembled 
members  of  the  Sanhedrim  there  ran  various  broken  mur- 
murs of  indignation  and  impatience.  "  What  need  we  of  fur- 
ther vritness  ?"  "  He  is  convicted  out  of  his  own  mouth  !" 
"He  hath  spoken  treason!"  "  Let  him  die  the  death!" 
The  sunlight,  showering  its  prolific  gold  on  the  white  gar- 
ments of  the  Prisoner,  flashed  into  prismatic  glimmerings  now 
and  again  as  though  it  had  encountered  some  other  light 
with  which  it  joyously  played  and  harmonised.  And  Pilate's 
sight  grew  misty  and  strained, — his  temples  throbbed  and 
ached.  He  was  tired,  confused,  pained,  and  perplexed ;  the 
extraordinary  beauty  of  the  Figure  confronting  him  was  too 
singularly  unique  to  be  otherwise  than  powerfully  impressive, 
and  he  knew  as  thoroughly  as  ever  mortal  judge  knew  any- 
thing, that  to  condemn  this  Man  to  a  hideous  and  unmerited 
death  would  be  to  commit  a  crime  the  consequences  of  which 
he  could  not  quite  foresee,  but  which  he  instinctively  dreaded. 
He  was  perfectly  aware  of  the  active  part  the  high-priests 
Caiaphas  and  Annas  had  played  in  the  work  of  hunting  down 
the  "  Nazarene"  and  bringing  Him  before  the  Tribunal,  and 


A  DREAM  OF  THE   WORLD'S  TRAGEDY         29 

he  also  realised  the  manner  in  which  they  had  laid  their 
plans.  A  certain  wild  and  lawless  young  man  named  Is- 
cariot,  the  only  son  of  his  father,  had  banded  himself  with 
the  disciples  of  this  Jesus  of  Nazareth,  and  the  elder  Is- 
cariot,  a  wealthy  usurer,  was  a  close  friend  and  confidant  of 
Caiaphas.  It  was  therefore  not  difficult  to  perceive  how  the 
father,  prompted  by  the  high-priest,  and  himself  displeased  at 
his  son's  sudden  fanaticism  for  a  stranger,  had  brought  all 
the  weight  of  religious  and  parental  authority  to  bear  in  per- 
suading the  young  man  to  give  up  his  so-called  "  Master"  to 
justice.  There  were  other  far  more  deeply  hidden  motives 
than  these  of  which  Pilate  was  ignorant,  but  what  little  he 
knew,  or  thought  he  knew,  was  sufficient  to  make  him  dis- 
trust the  unsupported  witness  of  the  priests  and  elders  alone. 
Pondering  the  matter  within  himself  a  while,  he  presently 
turned  to  the  council  and  demanded, 

"  Where  is  Iscariot?" 

Anxious  looks  were  exchanged,  but  no  reply  was  offered. 

"  Ye  tell  me  it  was  he  who  brought  the  guard  to  where 
this  Nazarene  lay  hidden,"  proceeded  Pilate  slowly — "An' 
he  hath  taken  so  chief  a  part  in  the  capture,  he  should  be 
here.  I  would  fain  know  what  he  hath  to  say  concerning  the 
doings  of  the  man  whom  first  he  chose  to  follow  and  then 
forsake.  Let  him  be  brought  before  me." 

Annas  leaned  forward  with  an  air  of  apologetic  servility. 

"  The  young  man  hath  fled  from  the  city  out  of  fear,"  said 
he ;  "  he  hath  been  seized  with  some  fool's  panic,  for  lo,  he 
came  to  us  at  late  midnight,  madly  bemoaning  his  sins  and 
bringing  back  the  silver  which  we  had  given  him  as  guerdon 
for  his  service  and  obedience  to  the  law.  Some  evil  fever 
surely  worked  within  his  blood,  for  while  we  yet  gently  rea- 
soned with  him  in  hope  to  calm  his  frenzy,  all  suddenly  he 
dashed  the  money  down  before  us  in  the  Temple  and  departed 
in  haste,  we  know  not  whither." 

"  Strange  !"  muttered  Pilate  abstractedly.  The  absence  of 
Iscariot  from  the  present  scene  of  trial  vexed  him  sorely. 
He  had  a  strong  desire  to  ask  the  man  who  had  betrayed  his 
Master  the  cause  of  his  sudden  disaffection,  and  now  that  this 
was  impossible,  he  felt  more  jaded  and  worn-out  than  before. 
His  head  swam, — and  in  the  confused  trouble  of  his  mind,  a 
great  darkness  seemed  to  grow  up  out  of  the  air  and  envelop 
him  swiftly  and  resistlessly.  And  in  that  darkness  he  fancied 
he  saw  a  ring  of  fire  which  swung  round  and  round  like  a 
3* 


30  BARABBAS 

rolling  wheel,  becoming  narrower  with  every  rotation  and 
binding  him  in  closely  as  with  a  burning  zone.  The  horrible 
sensation  increased,  stifling  his  breath  and  blinding  his  eyes 
till  he  felt  he  must  leap  from  his  chair  and  cry  aloud  in  order 
to  save  himself  from  suffocation, — when, — all  at  once,  his 
nameless  inward  suffering  ceased, — a  cool  breath  seemed  to 
be  wafted  across  his  brow,  and  looking  up,  he  saw  that  the 
deep  and  loving  gaze  of  the  Accused  was  fastened  upon  him 
with  an  infinity  of  tenderness  and  pity  that  opened  to  him,  as 
it  were,  a  new  and  exquisite  and  wondrous  sense  of  life  and 
limitless  desire.  For  that  one  moment  all  his  perplexities 
were  swept  away,  and  his  course  seemed  clear.  Turning 
to  the  chief  priests  and  elders  he  said  in  firm  emphatic 
tones, — 

"I find  no  fault  in  this  man  !  " 

His  words  were  received  with  a  general  movement  of  in- 
dignation, and  Caiaphas  losing  all  his  wonted  dignity,  rose  up 
in  wrath  exclaiming  loudly, 

"  No  fault !  No  fault  ?  Art  thou  mad,  Pilate  ?  He  stir- 
reth  up  the  people,  teaching  throughout  all  Jewry ,  beginning 
from  Galilee  to  this  place" 

"And  look  you,"  interposed  Annas,  craning  his  thin  neck 
and  ill-favoured  visage  forward, — "  He  consorteth  with  none 
but  outcasts,  publicans  and  sinners,  and  against  all  the  virtu- 
ous he  pronounceth  openly  the  damnation  of  hell.  Here  sit- 
teth  the  Rabbi  Micha  who  hath  heard  him  make  outcry  in 
the  public  streets,  and  hath  taken  note  of  certain  sayings 
wherewith  he  seeketh  to  mislead  the  people.  For  he  is  one 
that  perverteth  truth  while  feigning  most  boldly  to  proclaim 
it.  Speak,  Micha, — for  it  seemeth  that  the  worthy  governor 
needeth  more  witness  than  ours  against  this  rogue  and  blas- 
phemer." 

Micha,  an  elderly  Jew,  with  a  keen,  dark,  withered  face 
and  hard  cold  eyes,  rose  at  once  and  drew  a  set  of  tablets  from 
his  breast. 

"  These  words,"  said  he  in  a  dry  even  tone,  "  are  veritably 
set  down  here  as  I  received  them  with  mine  own  ears  while 
standing  in  the  Temple  itself.  For  this  misguided  and  fanat- 
ical young  man  hesitated  not  to  preach  his  unscrupulous 
theories  in  the  established  place  of  holy  doctrine.  Judge  ye 
for  yourselves  whether  such  language  be  not  violent," — and 
bringing  his  memoranda  close  to  his  eyes,  he  read  slowly 

"Woe  unto  you,  scribes  and  Pharisees,  hypocrites!  for  ye 


A   DREAM  OF  THE    WORLD'S  TRAGEDY         31 

shut  up  the  kingdom  of  heaven  against  men,  and  ye  neither 
go  in  yourselves,  nor  suffer  them  that  are  entering  to  go  in. 

li  Woe  unto  you,  scribes  and  Pharisees,  hypocrites  I  for  ye 
devour  widows'  houses,  for  pretence  making  long  prayer, 
therefore  ye  shall  receive  the  greater  damnation. 

"  Woe  unto  you,  scribes  and  Pharisees,  hypocrites  !  for  ye 
compass  sea  and  land  to  make  one  proselyte,  and  when  he  is 
made,  ye  make  him  twofold  more  the  child  of  hell  than  your- 
selves ! 

"  Woe  unto  you,  scribes  and  Pharisees  !  hypocrites  !  for  ye 
are  lilce  unto  whited  sepulchres,  which  indeed  appear  beau- 
tiful outward,  but  are  within  full  of  dead  mens  bones  and 
all  uncleanness. 

"  Ye  serpents,  ye  generation  of  vipers,  how  can  ye  escape 
the  damnation  of  hell!" 

Here  pausing,  Micha  looked  up. 

"  Of  a  truth,"  he  remarked  in  the  same  monotone, — "for 
one  whom  the  country  folk  strive  to  screen  by  the  spreading 
of  false  rumours  concerning  his  gentle  and  harmless  charac- 
ter, such  words  as  these  are  mere  raving  devilry,  and  full  of 
bitterness,  spite,  and  malice  prepense,  set  forth  as  wilful  on- 
slaughts upon  those  who  do  maintain  virtue,  law,  and  order. 
Little  gentleness  will  ye  find  in  them,  but  much  misguided 
vanity  and  spleen." 

A  slight  dawning  smile  lifted  the  rigid  corners  of  Pilate's 
stern  mouth.  In  his  heart  he  secretly  admired  the  magnifi- 
cent physical  aud  moral  courage  of  a  man  who  could  boldly 
enter  the  Temple  itself  and  thus  plainly  and  publicly  denounce 
hypocrisy  in  the  very  place  where  it  was  most  practised. 

"  I  tell  thee,  good  Micha.  and  thou,  Caiaphas,  and  Annas 
also,"  he  said  decisively,  "  I  find  no  fault  in  him  at  all,  touch- 
ing those  things  whereof  ye  accuse  him.  No,  nor  yet  Herod, 
— for  ye  went  to  him  last  night,  and  lo,  nothing  worthy  of 
death  is  found  in  him" 

"  Stay,  noble  Pilate  ! — listen  to  me  /"  interrupted  a  queru- 
lous, cracked  voice,  and  the  little  ape-like  figure  of  the  old 
usurer  whom  Barabbas  had,  to  his  surprise,  perceived  occu- 
pying a  prominent  place  on  one  of  the  judgment-benches, 
rose  up  in  tremulous  excitement — "  Listen  I  pray  thee  ! — for 
art  not  thou  set  here  to  administer  justice  to  the  wronged  and 
oppressed  in  Judaea?  Look  you,  most  excellent  sir!  this 
malefactor,  this  accursed  devil,  this  vile  traitor  and  deceiver" 
— here  the  wrinkled  old  wretch  gasped  and  sputtered  for 


32  BARABBAS 

breath  in  the  sheer  extremity  of  rage, — "  this  pretended 
prophet  came  insolently  into  the  Temple  two  days  agone  and 
saw  me  there  at  my  accustomed  place, — thou  knowest,  noble 
Pilate,  I  am  an  honest  poor  man  ! — and  lo,  like  a  furious 
madman  he  seized  me, — ay,  and  he  hath  a  clutch  like  iron  ! — 
and  taking  up  a  whip  of  knotted  cords  scourged  me,  great 
Pilate  ! — scourged  me,  me!"  and  his  voice  rose  to  a  shrill  yell 
of  fury — "  out  of  the  holy  place  !  And  his  mouth  was  full 
of  blasphemy  and  cursing,  for  be  said,  '  My  house  is  called 
the  house  of  prayer,  but  ye  have  made  it  a  den  of  thieves  /' 
Mark  that,  worthy  Pilate !  he  did  claim  the  very  Temple  as 
his  own,  even  as  he  hath  claimed  to  be  King  of  the  Jews,  and 
hath  sought  to  reign  over  all  Judaea.  Crucify  him,  noble 
governor ! — crucify  him  in  the  name  of  God !  And  scourge 
him ! — scourge  him  till  the  proud  and  sinful  blood  flows  in 
torrents  from  his  veins ! — scourge  him,  for  he  hath  scourged 
one  of  the  children  of  Levi, — yea,  he  hath  scourged  me,  even 
me!1'  Here  he  stopped,  half  choked  with  malice  and  fury, 
while  Pilate  regarded  him,  coldly  smiling. 

"  Verily,  Zacharias,  thou  tellest  me  of  one  good  service 
this  man  hath  rendered  the  state,"  he  said,  deliberately — 
"Long  hast  thou  merited  a  whipping,  and  that  thou  hast  at 
last  received  it  will  help  to  satisfy  some  few  of  thy  money 
clients  in  Jerusalem  !"  An  involuntary  murmur  of  approving 
laughter  broke  from  some  of  the  members  of  the  council,  but 
was  quickly  suppressed  as  the  high-priest  frowned  darkly  upon 
the  offenders.  Zacharias  shrank  back,  scowling  and  mutter- 
ing, while  Pilate  calmly  continued — "  More  than  ever  am  I 
persuaded  that  there  is  no  evil  in  this  youthful  preacher  to 
the  poor,  and  no  fault  at  all  worthy  of  death,  wherefore  as  ye 
have  a  custom  at  this  Feast  requiring  the  liberation  of  a 
prisoner,  I  will  release  him  unto  you  and  let  him  go." 

"The  multitude  will  rend  thee,  Pilate,  for  an  act  so  im- 
politic !"  exclaimed  Caiaphas  hotly — "  What ! — shall  an  inno- 
cent man  like  this  aged  Zacharias,  who  hath  no  fault  save  the 
common  fault  of  his  trade,  be  publicly  scourged,  and  thou 
the  governor  of  Judaea  find  no  remedy  ?  Thou  art  no  friend 
to  Caesar  if  thou  let  this  man  go.  Moreover  they  demand 
the  release  of  Barabbas,  who  hath  been  imprisoned  for  more 
than  a  year,  and  whose  sin  of  rebellion  was  one  of  impulse, 
not  of  malignant  intention.  He  hath  been  brought  hither  by 
my  order,  and  waits  below  the  barrier,  guarded,  but  prepared 
for  freedom." 


A  DREAM  OF  THE   WORLD'S  TRAGEDY        33 

"  Then  he  is  ill  prepared  !"  declared  Pilate  sharply — "  For 
by  all  the  gods  of  Rome  he  shall  be  crucified  1  Freedom  for 
Barabbas  ?  Have  ye  no  memory  ?  Did  he  not  raise  an  in- 
surrection against  Roman  law,  and  harangue  the  people  in  the 
open  streets  far  more  wildly  and  arrogantly  than  this  harm- 
less Nazarene  hath  done?  And  did  he  not  slay  all  unpro- 
vokedly  one  of  your  own  tribe,  Gabrias  the  Pharisee,  a  man 
of  excellent  learning  and  renown  ?  Go  to !  Envy  doth 
prompt  ye  to  demand  the  nobler  life  and  give  liberty  to  the 
vile, — and  ye  have  sorely  misguided  the  mob  in  this  matter. 
But  now  will  I  myself  address  them,  and  release  unto  them 
him  whom  they  call  King  of  the  Jews." 

And,  rising  from  his  chair  he  prepared  to  descend  from  the 
Tribunal.  Caiaphas  made  a  hasty  step  forward  as  though  to 
prevent  his  movements,  but  Pilate  waved  him  aside  disdain- 
fully, and  he  stood  rooted  to  the  spot,  the  picture  of  baffled 
rage  and  dismay,  his  thin  white  hands  nervously  clenched, 
and  the  great  jewel  on  his  breast  heaving  up  and  down  with 
the  passionate  quickness  of  his  breathing.  Annas  sat  still 
in  his  place,  utterly  taken  aback  by  the  governor's  decision, 
and  stared  fixedly  in  front  of  him  as  though  he  found  it  diffi- 
cult to  believe  the  evidence  of  his  senses.  Zacharias  the 
money-lender  alone  pave  violent  vent  to  his  feelings  by  throw- 
ing up  his  hands  wildly  in  the  air  and  anon  beating  his  breast, 
the  while  he  loudly  bewailed  himself — 

"  Ai !  ai !  There  is  no  justice  left  in  Jerusalem  !  Woe, 
woe  unto  the  children  of  Abraham  who  are  ground  down  be- 
neath the  iron  heel  of  Rome !  Woe  unto  us  who  are  made 
the  spoil  of  the  heathen  tyrant  and  oppressor!" 

And  as  he  thus  raved  and  rocked  his  lean  body  to  and  fro, 
the  Divine  Prisoner  suddenly  turned  and  regarded  him  steadily. 
A  rapid  change  came  over  his  wicked  features, — he  ceased 
yelling, — and  drawing  himself  together  in  a  wrinkled  heap 
till  he  looked  like  some  distorted  demon,  he  began  to  mutter 
curses  in  a  thick  whisper  that  was  more  awful  than  any  au- 
dible speech.  The  "Nazarene"  watched  him  for  a  moment, 
a  noble  wrath  clouding  the  fairness  of  His  brows,— but  the 
shadow  of  righteous  indignation  passed  even  more  swiftly 
than  it  had  come,  leaving  His  face  serene  and  smiling  and 
patient  as  before.  Only  the  bright  pure  Eyes  were  more 
steadily  uplifted  to  the  sunlight,  as  though  they  sought  to 
drink  in  glory  for  sustenance.  Meanwhile,  an  old,  white- 
bearded  man,  a  prominent  and  much-respected  member  of  the 


34  SARABBAS 

Sanhedrim,  interposed,  and  pulling  the  mouthing  Zacharias 
back  to  his  place  with  a  stern  injunction  to  be  silent,  he  him- 
self ventured  to  address  Pilate  in  calm  conciliatory  accents.) 

"  Believe  me,  worthy  Pilate,  thou  art  not  altogether  wise 
in  this  matter.  Why,  for  the  sake  of  one  man  wilt  thou  give 
cause  of  offence  to  both  the  priests  and  people  ?  A  rebellious 
rogue  and  murderer  such  as  Barabbas  hath  proved  himself  to 
be,  is  far  less  dangerous  to  the  community  than  yonder  young 
Teacher  of  new  doctrines,  who  out  of  very  arrogance,  arising 
perchance  from  the  consciousness  of  a  certain  superior  physi- 
cal force  and  outward  beauty,  doth  maintain  himself  thus 
boldly,  striving  to  terrorise  thee  and  avert  true  justice.  Lo, 
there  are  many  such  as  he  among  the  wandering  Egyptian 
aliens,  who,  by  reason  of  an  imposing  presence,  and  a  certain 
vague  sublimity  of  speech,  do  persuade  the  less  crafty  to  be- 
lieve in  their  supernatural  powers.  Look  you,  even  Barabbas 
himself  hath  assumed  this  same  imperial  attitude  when  ha- 
ranguing the  mob  and  inciting  the  idle  and  disaffected  to  riot- 
ing and  disorder,  for  he  hath  been  a  student  of  many  books 
and  speaketh  with  the  tongue  of  eloquence.  Nevertheless 
none  of  the  rebellious  have  presumed  so  far  as  this  misguided 
Nazarene,  who,  forsaking  his  trade,  and  collecting  about  him 
the  veritable  scum  of  Judaea  (witli  the  exception  of  Iscariot 
who  is  well  connected,  and  whose  fanaticism  for  this  man 
hath  sorely  grieved  his  father)  doth  pretend  to  open  Heaven 
only  to  the  poor  and  vile.  He  hath  declared  it  easier  for  a 
oamel  to  pass  through  the  eye  of  a  needle  than  for  a  rich  man 
to  enter  the  Kingdom  of  God !  Wherefore,  by  such  exag- 
gerated parable  he  doth  imply  that  even  imperial  Caesar  shall 
not  escape  damnation.  Should  such  teachings  prevail  there 
will  be  an  end  of  all  restraint  in  Judaea,  and  thine  Emperor 
will  most  surely  blame  thee  for  thy  lack  of  discipline.  Take 
heed,  good  Pilate !— mercy  is  nobly  becoming  in  thee,  but 
with  mercy,  forget  not  judgment!" 

Pilate  listened  to  this  little  homily  with  manifest  reluc- 
tance and  impatience,  and  his  level  brows  drew  together  in  a 
worried  frown.  After  a  pause  ho  said  irritably, 

"  Take  ye  him  then  and  judge  him  according  to  your  law  !  " 

Caiaphas  turned  upon  him  indignantly. 

"  It  is  not  lawful  for  us  to  put  any  man  to  death,'1  he 
answered  haughtily — "Thou  are  the  governor,  and  to  thee 
we  are  compelled  to  look  for  justice." 

At  that  moment  there  was  a  slight  stir  and  movement  in 


A  DREAM  OF  THE    WORLD'S  TRAGEDY        35 

the  waiting  crowd  beyond  the  barrier,  and  people  were  seen 
to  be  making  way  for  the  entrance  of  a  new-comer.  Thi^ 
was  a  slim,  dark-eyed  youth  of  a  graceful  form  and  delicate 
beauty, — he  was  gorgeously  attired  in  a  silken  garment  of 
pale  blue,  bound  about  him  with  a  scarlet  girdle  and  richly 
embroidered  in  gold  and  silver.  He  advanced  in  haste,  ye\, 
timidly,  and  as  he  crossed  the  judgment-hall,  cast  an  anxious 
and  awe-stricken  look  at  the  stately  figure  of  the  "  Nazarene." 
Pilate  watched  his  approach  with  a  good  deal  of  surprise  and 
impatience, — he  recognised  his  wife's  favourite  page,  and  won- 
dered what  had  brought  him  thither  at  such  a  time  and  in  so 
unaccustomed  a  place.  Arriving  at  the  judgment  dais  the 
youth  dropped  on  one  knee  and  proffered  a  folded  scroll. 
Snatching  it  in  haste,  Pilate  opened  it  and  uttered  a  smoth- 
ered exclamation.  It  was  from  his  wife,  one  of  the  most 
beautiful  of  Roman  women,  known  in  the  city  for  her  haughty 
and  fearless  disposition,  and  for  her  openly  pronounced  con- 
tempt for  the  manners  and  customs  of  the  Jews.  And  what 
she  had  written  now  ran  simply  thus, — 

"  Have  thou  nothing  to  do  with  that  just  man,  for  I  have 
suffered  many  things  this  day  in  a  dream  because  of  him." 

With  an  abrupt  sign  of  dismissal  to  the  page,  who  at  once 
retired  by  the  way  he  had  come,  Pilate  crushed  the  missive 
in  his  hand  and  sat  lost  in  thought.  Hound  the  Tribunal, 
the  sunshine  spread  in  a  sea  of  gold, — a  bell  striking  the  hour, 
slowly  chimed  on  the  deep  stillness, — the  white-robed  figure 
of  the  Accused  stood  waiting  as  immovably  as  a  sculptured 
god  in  the  midst  of  the  dazzling  beams  of  the  morning, — • 
and  through  Pilate's  brain  the  warning  words  of  the  woman 
he  loved  more  than  all  the  world  sent  jarring  hammer-strokes 
of  repetition — 

"Have  thou  nothing  to  do  with  that  just  man!" 


CHAPTER  VI. 

IP  he  could  have  prolonged  his  deliberations  thus  for  ever 
it  would  have  seemed  to  him  well.  He  was  not  actually  con- 
scious of  time.  Something  vast,  indefinite,  and  eternal  ap- 
peared to  surround  and  make  of  him  but  a  poor,  helpless, 
stupid  block  of  perishable  humanity,  unfit  to  judge,  unfit  to 


36  BARABBAS 

rule.  He  felt  as  though  he  had  aged  suddenly, — as  though 
a  score  of  years  had  passed  in  withering  haste  over  his  head 
since  the  "  Nazarene"  had  confronted  him  as  a  prisoner  wait- 
ing to  be  condemmed.  And  with  this  mysterious  sense  of 
inward  age  and  incapacity  freezing  his  very  blood,  he  had 
the  goading  consciousness  that  all  the  members  of  the  Sanhe- 
drim council  were  watching  him,  wondering  at  his  indecision 
and  impatiently  expecting  judgment  on  what  to  them  was  a 
matter  of  perfectly  plain  common-sense  and  social  justice, 
but  which  to  him  had  assumed  almost  gigantic  proportions  of 
complexity  and  trouble.  At  last,  with  an  effort,  he  arose, 
and  gathering  his  robes  about  him,  again  prepared  to  descend 
from  the  Tribunal.  With  a  half-appealing,  half  authoritative 
gesture  he  beckoned  the  Accused  to  follow  him.  He  was 
instantly  obeyed,  and  the  Man  of  Nazareth  walked  patiently 
yet  proudly  after  His  judge  whose  trailing  garment  served  to 
sweep  the  ground  for  the  passing  of  His  footsteps.  In  the 
rear  of  the  twain  came  all  the  priests  and  elders,  whispering 
together  and  shaking  their  heads  over  the  Roman  governor's 
incomprehensible  conduct,  and  after  them  in  turn  the  crooked- 
limbed  and  evil-visaged  usurer,  Zacharias,  shuffled  along,  sup- 
porting himself  on  a  stick  of  which  the  knob  was  heavily 
encrusted  with  gold  and  jewels,  this  one  piece  of  gorgeous- 
ness  being  in  curious  contrast  to  the  rest  of  his  otherwise 
beggarly  attire.  And  as  the  whole  vari-coloured  group 
moved  forward,  a  murmur  of  satisfaction  and  interest  hummed 
through  the  expectant  multitude, — at  last  the  long-deferred 
sentence  was  to  be  finally  pronounced. 

Arrived  within  a  few  feet  of  the  barrier  which  divided  the 
judicial  precincts  from  the  common  hall,  Pilate  paused. 
Lifting  up  his  voice  so  that  it  might  be  heard  on  the  very 
outskirts  of  the  throng,  he  addressed  himself  to  the  people, 
at  the  same  time  pointing  to  the  regal  Figure  standing  a  little 
way  behind  him. 

"  Behold  your  King  /" 

Yells  of  derisive  laughter  answered  him,  intermingled 
with  hooting  and  hisses.  Caiaphas  smiled  disdainfully,  and 
Annas  appeared  to  be  convulsed  with  a  paroxysm  of  silent 
mirth.  Pilate's  glance  swept  over  them  both  with  a  supreme 
and  measureless  scorn.  He  loathed  the  Jewish  priests,  their 
ritual  and  their  doctrine,  and  made  no  secret  of  his  ab- 
horrence. Holding  up  one  hand  to  enjoin  silence  he  again 
appealed  to  the  irritated  and  impatient  mob. 


A  DREAM  OF  THE    WORLD'S  TRAGEDY        37 

"  /  have  examined  this  man  before  you"  he  said,  in  de- 
liberate far-reaching  accents,  "  and  I  find  in  Mm  no  fault 
worthy  of  death." 

Here  he  paused,  and  a  sudden  hush  of  stupefaction  and 
surprise  fell  on  the  listening  crowd.  The  governor  resumed, — 

"  But  ye  have  a  custom  that  I  should  release  unto  you  one 
at  the  Passover  ;  will  ye  therefore  that  I  release  unto  you  the 
4  King  of  the  Jews  ?  " 

A  roar  of  furious  denial  interrupted  and  drowned  his  voice. 

"  Not  this  man  .'" 

"  Not  this  man,  but  Barabbas  /" 

"Barabbas!"     "Barabbas!" 

The  name  was  caught  and  taken  up  by  the  people  as 
though  it  were  a  shout  of  triumph,  and  echoed  from  mouth 
to  mouth  till  it  died  away  of  itself  in  the  outer  air.  Pilate 
stepped  back,  disappointed  and  irate, — he  realised  the  position. 
The  populace  had  evidently  been  intimidated  by  the  priests, 
and  had  come  prepared  to  stand  by  their  monstrous  demand, 
— the  life  of  a  notorious  criminal  in  place  of  that  of  an 
innocent  man.  And  they  had  a  certain  right  to  enforce  their 
wishes  at  the  season  of  Passover.  With  a  short  vexed  sigh, 
Pilate  flashed  a  searching  glance  over  the  now  closely  serried 
ranks  of  the  people. 

"  Where  is  Barabbas  ?"  he  demanded  impatiently — "  Bring 
him  forth  1" 

There  was  a  moment's  delay,  and  then  Barabbas,  wild- 
eyed,  uncouth,  half  starved  and  almost  naked,  yet  not  with- 
out a  certain  defiant  beauty  in  his  fierce  aspect,  was  thrust 
to  the  front  between  two  armed  soldiers  of  the  Roman  guard. 
Pilate  eyed  him  with  strong  disfavour, — Barabbas  returned 
him  scornful  glance  for  glance.  Conscious  that  the  attention 
of  the  mob  was  now  centred  upon  him,  the  whole  soul  of  the 
long-imprisoned  and  suffering  man  rose  up  in  revolt  against 
the  "  Roman  tyrant,"  as  Pilate  was  not  unfrequently  called 
by  the  disaffected  Jews,  and  the  old  pride,  rebellion,  and 
lawlessness  of  his  disposition  began  to  make  new  riot  in  his 
blood.  If  it  had  not  been  for  the  wondrous,  almost  luminous 
Figure  that  maintained  such  an  attitude  of  regal  calm  close 
at  hand,  Barabbas  felt  that  he  would  have  willingly  struck 
his  judge  on  the  mouth  with  the  very  gyves  that  bound  his 
wrists  together.  As  it  was,  he  remained  motionless,  his 
eyes  blazing  forth  anger, — his  bare  brown  chest  heaving 
quickly  with  the  irregular  fluctuations  of  his  passionate 
4 


38  B  ARABS  AS 

breath, — and  in  that  attitude  he  might  have  stood  as  a  repre- 
sentative type  of  strong,  barbaric,  untaught,  untamed  Hu- 
manity. Facing  him  was  the  sublime  contrast,  Divinity, 
— the  grand  Ideal, — the  living  symbol  of  perfect  and  spirit- 
ualised Manhood,  whose  nature  was  the  nearest  akin  to  God, 
and  who  for  this  very  God-likeness  was  deemed  only  worthy 
of  a  criminal's  death.  Some  glimmering  idea  of  the  mon- 
strous incongruity  between  himself  and  the  silent  Accused, 
struck  Barabbas  forcibly  even  while  he  confronted  Pilate 
with  all  that  strange  effrontery  which  is  sometimes  born  of 
conscious  guilt ;  and  the  thought  crossed  his  brain  that,  if  in 
agreement  to  the  public  voice  he  were  indeed  released,  the 
first  use  he  would  make  of  his  liberty  would  be  to  persuade 
the  people  to  mercy  on  behalf  of  this  kingly-looking  Man, 
whose  noble  aspect  exerted  on  his  dark  and  tortured  soul 
a  secret,  yet  potent  spell.  And  while  this  idea  was  in  his 
mind,  Pilate,  steadily  regarding  him,  spoke  out  with  harsh 
brevity — 

"  So  !     Thou  did'st  slay  Gabrias  the  Pharisee  ?" 

Barabbas  smiled  disdainfully. 

"  Yea !  And  so  would  I  slay  another  such  an  one,  could 
there  be  found  in  all  the  city  so  great  a  liar !" 

Pilate  turned  to  the  high-priests  and  elders. 

"  Hear  ye  him  ?  Yet"  this  is  the  man  ye  would  set  at 
liberty?  Impenitent  and  obstinate,  he  hath  no  sense  of 
sorrow  for  his  crime, — how  then  doth  he  merit  pardon  ?" 

Caiaphas,  vaguely  embarrassed  by  the  question,  lowered 
his  eyes  for  a  second,  then  raised  them,  conveying  into  his 
long  thin  face  an  admirably  affected  expression  of  serious 
pity  and  forbearance. 

"  Good  Pilate,"  he  replied  blandly  and  in  a  low  tone, 
"  Thou  knowest  not  the  whole  truth  of  this  affair.  Barabbas 
hath  indeed  been  guilty  of  much  sin,  but  look  you,  his  evil 
passions  were  not  roused  without  a  cause.  We,  of  the  Holy 
Temple,  are  prepared  to  instruct  him  how  best  his  crime  may 
be  expiated  in  the  sight  of  the  Most  High  Jehovah,  and  his 
offering  shall  not  be  rejected  but  received  at  the  altar.  For 
the  ill-fated  Gabrias,  though  eminent  in  learning  and  of  good 
renown,  had  a  hasty  and  false  tongue,  and  it  is  commonly 
reported  that  he  did  most  vilely  slander  a  virtuous  maiden  of 
this  city  whom  Barabbas  loved." 

Pilate  lifted  his  eyebrows  superciliously. 

"  These  are  but  base  pandering  matters,"  he  said,  "  where- 


A  DREAM  OF  THE    WORLDS   TRAGEDY         39 

with  thou,  Caiaphas,  should' st  have  nought  to  do.  And 
Gabrias  surely  was  not  the  only  possessor  of  a  false  tongue ! 
Thy  words  savour  of  a  woman's  tale-bearing  and  are  of  idle 
purport.  Murder  is  murder, — theft  is  theft, — excuses  cannot 
alter  crimes.  And  this  Barabbas  is  likewise  a  robber." 

And  again  confronting  the  multitude,  he  reiterated  his 
previous  demand  in  a  more  directly  concise  form. 

"  Which  will  ye  that  I  release  unto  you  ?  Barablas  or 
Jesus  which  is  called  Christ  ?  " 

With  one  accord  the  populace  responded  tumultuously, 

"Barabbas!"     "  Barabbas !" 

Pilate  gave  a  gesture  which  might  have  meant  despair  or 
indignation  or  both,  and  turned  a  wistful  look  over  his 
shoulder  at  the  "  Nazarene,"  who  at  the  moment  seemed 
absorbed  in  grave  and  tranquil  meditation,  of  which  the 
tenor  must  have  been  pleasing,  for  He  smiled. 

Once  more  Pilate  addressed  the  crowd. 

"  What  will  ye  tlien  that  I  do  unto  Him  whom  ye  call  the 
King  of  the  Jews  ?" 

"  Crucify  him  /"      "  Crucify  him  /" 

The  answer  came  in  yells  and  shrieks  of  rage,  but  above  all 
the  frantic  din,  there  rose  that  one  silver  flute-like  woman's 
voice  that  had  been  heard  before — 

"Crucify  Jam!" 

Barabbas  started  at  the  sound  as  a  race-horse  starts  at 
the  prick  of  a  spur.  Wildly  he  looked  about  him, — with  an 
almost  ravenous  glitter  in  his  eyes  he  scanned  the  shouting 
throng,  but  could  discover  no  glimpse  of  the  face  he  longed 
yet  feared  to  see.  And,  yielding  to  a  nameless  attraction,  he 
brought  his  wandering  glances  back, — back  to  the  spot  where 
the  sunlight  seemed  to  gather  in  a  fiery  halo  round  the  form 
of  Him  who  as  Pilate  had  said  was  "called  Christ."  What 
was  the  meaning  of  the  yearning  love  and  vast  pity  that  was 
suddenly  reflected  in  that  fair  Countenance  ?  What  delicate 
unspoken  word  hovered  on  the  sensitive  lips,  arched  like  a 
bow  and  tremulous  with  feeling?  Barabbas  knew  not, — but 
it  suddenly  seemed  to  him  that  his  whole  life  with  all  its 
secrets  good  and  evil,  lay  bare  to  the  gaze  of  those  soft  yet 
penetrating  eyes  that  met  his  own  with  such  solemn  warning 
and  tender  pathos. 

"No,  no!"  he  cried  loudly  on  a  swift  inexplicable  impulse 
— "  She  did  not  speak  !  She  could  not  thus  have  spoken  ! 
Women  are  pitiful,  not  cruel, — she  seeks  no  man's  torture ! 


40  BARABBAS 

0  people  of  Jerusalem  !"  he  continued,  his  deep  voice  gath- 
ering a  certain  sonorous  music  of  its  own,  as,  turning  him- 
self about  he  faced  the  crowd — "  Why  do  ye  clamour  for 
this  prophet's  death  ?  Surely  he  hath  not  slain  a  man  among 
ye, — neither  hath  he  stolen  your  goods  nor  broken  into  your 
dwellings.  Rumour  saith  he  hath  healed  ye  in  your  sick- 
ness, comforted  ye  in  your  sorrows,  and  performed  among  ye 
many  wondrous  miracles,  so  ye  yourselves  report, — wherefore 
then  for  these  things  should  he  die?  Are  ye  not  just? — 
have  ye  not  the  gift  of  reason  ?  Lo,  it  is  I  who  merit  pun- 
ishment !  I,  who  slew  Gabrias  and  rejoice  in  mine  iniquity  ! 
— and  look  you,  I,  blood-stained,  guilty,  and  impenitent,  de- 
serve my  death,  whereas  this  man  is  innocent  1" 

Shouts  of  derisive  laughter  and  applause  and  renewed 
cries  of  "  Barabbas  I  Barabbas  !  Release  unto  us  Barabbas  !" 
were  the  only  result  of  his  rough  eloquence. 

"  Stop  his  mouth  !"  exclaimed  Annas  angrily — "  He  must 
be  mad  to  prate  thus !' ' 

"  Mad  or  no,  ye  have  yourselves  elected  him  for  freedom" 
— observed  Pilate  composedly — "  Mayhap  ye  will  now  re- 
tract, seeing  he  hath  shown  a  certain  generosity  towards  yon 
defenceless  Nazareue  1" 

While  he  spoke,  there  was  a  threatening  movement  of  the 
mob  towards  the  bairier, — the  line  of  Roman  soldiery  swayed 
as  though  it  were  likely  to  be  broken  through  by  superior 
force, — and  a  multitude  of  hands  were  tossed  aloft  in  air  and 
pointed  at  the  unmoved  patient  figure  of  the  Christ. 

' '  Crucify  him  !      Crucify  him  !' ' 

Pilate  advanced  swiftly,  close  to  the  ranks  of  the  turbulent 
populace,  and  demanded  sternly, 

"Shall  I  crucify  your  King  ?" 

Amid  a  chorus  of  groans  and  hisses,  more  than  a  hundred 
voices  gave  reply, — 

"  We  have  no  king  but  Caesar  !" 

_  "  Verily,  by  thy  hesitancy,  Pilate,  thou  wilt  have  the  whole 
city  in  tumult !"  said  Caiaphas  reproachfully.  "  Seest  thou 
not  the  mob  are  losing  patience?" 

At  that  moment  a  tall  man  whose  grizzled  head  was 
adorned  with  a  showy  scarlet  turban,  detached  himself  from 
the  rest  of  the  throng  and  stood  boldly  forward,  exclaiming 
in  loud  excited  tones — 

"  We  have  a  law,  and  by  that  law  he  ought  to  die,  because 
me  made  himself  the  Son  of  God!" 


A  DREAM  OF  THE    WORLD'S   TRAGEDY        41 

As  he  heard  these  words,  Pilate  retreated  some  few  steps 
away  from  the  barrier,  with  the  strange  stunned  sense  of 
having  been  struck  a  sharp  blow  from  an  invisible  hand ! 
The  Son  of  God !  Such  an  assertion  was  assuredly  blasphe- 
mous, if  indeed  the  Accused  had  asserted  it.  But  this  was 
just  what  Pilate  doubted.  When  Caiaphas  had  previously 
spoken  of  it,  he  had  received  the  report  with  contempt,  be- 
cause he  knew  the  high-priest  would  stop  at  no  falsehood, 
provided  his  own  immediate  ends  were  thereby  attained.  But 
now  that  one  of  the  populace  had  come  forward  with  the  same 
accusation,  Pilate  was  forced  to  look  at  it  in  a  different  light. 
After  all,  he  was  set  in  his  place  to  administer  justice  to  the 
Jews,  and  in  the  Jewish  law  blasphemy  was  regarded  as  a 
crime  almost  worse  than  murder.  He,  Pilate  himself,  as  a 
citizen  of  Rome,  took  a  different  and  much  lighter  view  of 
the  offence.  For  the  Roman  deities  were  all  so  mixed,  and 
so  much  worse  than  human  in  their  vengeances  and  illicit 
loves,  that  it  was  not  always  easy  to  perceive  anything  more 
lofty  in  the  character  of  a  god  than  in  that  of  a  man.  Any 
warrior  who  had  won  renown  for  fierce  brute  courage  and 
muscular  prowess,  might  report  himself  in  Rome  as  the  son 
of  a  god  without  affronting  popular  feeling,  and  in  time, 
many-mouthed  Tradition  would  turn  his  lie  into  a  seeming 
truth.  And  in  that  mysterious  land  through  which  the  Nile 
made  its  languid  way,  did  not  travellers  speak  with  awe  and 
wonderment  of  the  worship  of  Osiris,  the  incarnate  god  in 
human  semblance  ?  The  idea  was  a  popular  one, — it  arose 
from  an  instinctive  desire  to  symbolise  the  divine  in  humanity, 
and  was  a  fable  common  to  all  religions,  wherefore  there 
seemed  to  be  little  actual  harm  in  the  fact  of  this  dreamy- 
looking  poetic  young  philosopher  of  Nazareth  seeking  to  as- 
sociate himself  with  the  favourite  myths  of  the  people,  if 
indeed,  he  did  so  associate  himself.  And  Pilate,  his  thoughts 
still  busy  with  the  romances  told  of  the  gods  in  Egypt,  beck- 
oned the  Accused  towards  him.  His  signal  was  complied 
with,  and  the  "  Nazarene"  moved  quietly  up  to  within  reach 
of  His  judge's  hand.  Pilate  surveyed  Him  with  renewed 
interest  and  curiosity,  then  in  a  low  tone  of  friendly  and 
earnest  appeal,  asked, 

"From  whence  art  thou  ?" 

No  verbal  answer  was  vouchsafed  to  him, — only  a  look; 
and  in  the  invincible  authority  and  grandeur  of  that  look 
there  was  something  of  darkness  and  light  intermingled,— 
4* 


42  BARABBAS 

something  of  the  drear  solemnity  of  the  thunder-cloud  before 
the  lightning  leaps  forth,  sword-like,  to  destroy.  A  great 
anguish  and  foreboding  seized  Pilate's  soul,— with  all  the 
force  of  his  being  he  longed  to  cry  out, — to  give  voice  to  his 
secret  trouble,  and  to  openly  express  before  priests  and  people 
his  abhorrence  and  rejection  of  the  judicial  task  he  was  set 
to  do.  But  all  words  seemed  strangled  in  his  throat, — and  a 
desperate  sense  of  hopelessness  and  helplessness  paralysed  his 
will. 

"Speakest  thou  not  unto  me?"  he  continued,  in  accents 
that  were  hoarse  and  tremulous  with  excess  of  feeling ; 
"Knowest  thou  not  that  I  have  power  to  crucify  thee,  and 
power  to  release  thee  T ' 

Still  steadily  the  large  lustrous  eyes  regarded  him,  with 
something  of  compassion  now  in  their  glance, — and  after  a 
moment's  pause,  the  rich  full  voice  once  more  cast  music  on 
the  air. 

"  Thou  couldest  have  no  power  at  all  against  me  except  it 
were  given  thee  from  above  /"  Then,  with  a  slight  sigh  of 
pity  and  pardon:  "Therefore,  he  that  delivered  me  unto  thee 
hath  the  greater  sin." 

And  the  penetrating  look  flashed  upward  from  Pilate  to 
the  tall  rigid  form  of  Caiaphas,  who  shrank  from  it  as  though 
suddenly  scorched  by  a  flying  flame.  Pilate,  more  than  ever 
impressed  by  the  air  of  command,  power,  and  entire  fearless- 
ness expressed  in  the  whole  demeanour  of  the  Prisoner,  once 
again  began  to  puzzle  his  brain  with  the  recollection  of  the 
various  stories  that  were  current  concerning  Egypt, — stories 
of  exiled  monarchs,  who,  banished  from  their  realms  by  an 
untoward  series  of  events  or  for  some  self-imposed  religious 
intention,  went  wandering  about  in  all  the  countries  of  the 
world,  teaching  the  mystic  wisdom  of  the  East,  and  perform- 
ing miracles  of  healing.  Was  it  not  probable  that  this  young 
Preacher,  so  unlike  the  Jewish  race  in  the  fair  openness  and 
dignity  of  His  countenance,  the  clear  yet  deep  dark  blue  of 
His  eyes,  and  the  wonderfully  majestic  yet  aerial  poise  of  His 
figure,  might,  notwithstanding  the  popular  report  of  His  ple- 
beian origin,  after  all  be  one  of  these  discrowned  nomads  ? 
This  idea  gained  on  Pilate's  fancy,  and  impelled  by  its  influ- 
ence he  asked  for  the  second  time, — 

"Art  thou  a  King?" 

And  by  marked  accentuation  of  the  question  he  sought  to 
imply  that  if  such  were  the  original  distinction  of  the  Cap- 


A  DREAM  OF  THE    WORLD'S  TRAGEDY        43 

tive,  release  might  yet  be  obtained.  But  the  "  Nazarene" 
only  gave  a  slight  sigh  of  somewhat  wearied  patience  as  He 
replied, — 

"  THOU  sayest  that  I  am  a  King  /"  Then,  apparently  moved 
by  commiseration  for  the  vacillating  perplexity  of  His  judge, 
He  continued  gently, — "  To  this  end  was  I  born  and  for  this 
end  came  I  into  the  world, —  That  I  should  bear  witness  unto 
the  Truth!  Every  one  that  is  of  the  Truth  knoweth  my 
voice." 

While  He  thus  spoke,  Pilate  gazed  upon  Him  in  solemn 
astonishment.  Here  was  no  traitor  or  criminal,  but  simply 
one  of  the  world's  noblest  madmen  !  More  convincing  than 
all  the  other  accusations  brought  against  Him  by  priests  and 
people  was  His  own  unqualified  admission  of  folly.  For 
whosoever  sought  to  "  bear  witness  unto  the  Truth"  in  a 
world  kept  up  by  lies  could  not  be  otherwise  than  mad  !  Had 
it  not  always  been  thus?  And  would  it  not  always  be  thus? 
Had  not  the  Athenian  Socrates  met  his  death  nearly  five 
hundred  years  agone  for  merely  uttering  the  Truth  ?  Pilate, 
more  instructed  than  the  majority  in  Greek  and  Roman  phi- 
losophy, knew  that  no  fault  was  so  reprehensible  in  all  classes 
of  society  as  simple  plain-speaking ;  it  was  almost  safer  to 
murder  a  man  than  tell  the  truth  of  him  !  Thus  thinking 
he  gave  a  hopeless  gesture  of  final  abandonment  to  destiny ; 
and  with  an  ironical  bitterness  he  was  scarcely  conscious 
of,  uttered  the  never  to-be-forgotten,  never-to-be-answered 
query — 

"  What  is  Truth?" 

Then,  glancing  from  the  Accused  to  the  accusers,  from  the 
priests  to  the  people,  from  the  people  in  turn  to  Barabbas, 
who  waited  before  him  sullenly  expectant,  he  sighed  impa- 
tiently, and  with  the  desperately  resolved  air  of  one  compelled 
to  perform  the  very  act  his  soul  most  abhorred,  he  beckoned 
to  a  clerk  in  attendance  and  gave  him  a  whispered  order. 
The  man  retired,  but  returned  almost  immediately  bearing  a 
large  silver  bowl  filled  with  pure  water.  Flinging  back  his 
rich  robe  of  office  and  allowing  it  to  trail  in  voluminous  folds 
behind  him,  Pilate,  closely  followed  by  the  attendant  carrying 
the  silver  vessel,  stepped  forward  again  to  confront  the  populace 
who  were  becoming  more  contentious  aud  noisy  with  every 
moment's  delay.  On  perceiving  the  governor's  advance,  how- 
ever, they  ceased  their  turbulent  murmurings  and  angry  dis- 
putations, and  concentrated  all  their  attention  upon  him,  the 


44  BARABBAS 

more  particularly  as  his  movements  were  somewhat  strange 
and  unexpected.  Rolling  up  his  gold-embroidered  sleeves 
well  above  his  wrists,  he  raised  his  bare  hands  aloft  and 
showed  them,  palms  outward,  to  the  multitude,  the  great 
jewels  on  his  fingers  flashing  like  stars  in  the  morning  sun. 
He  held  them  so  uplifted  for  a  minute's  space,  while  the 
people,  wondering,  looked  on  in  silence, — then,  slowly  lower- 
ing them,  he  dipped  them  deep  in  the  shining  bowl,  rinsing 
them  over  and  over  again  in  the  clear  cold  element  which 
sparkled  in  its  polished  receptacle  like  an  opal  against  fire. 
And  as  he  shook  the  bright  drops  away  from  him,  he  cried  in 
a  loud  penetrating  voice — 

"  lam  innocent  of  the  blood  of  this  Just  person  !  See  ye  to 
it!" 

The  multitude  shouted  and  yelled.  They  understood  and 
accepted  the  position.  Their  Roman  judge  publicly  declined 
all  responsibility  in  the  matter, — even  so  let  it  be  ! — but  they, 
they  the  elect  of  God,  the  children  of  Judaea,  eagerly  em- 
braced, and  not  for  the  first  time  in  their  annals,  the  right- 
eous opportunity  of  slaying  the  innocent.  And  with  one 
mighty  roar  they  responded,  men  and  women  alike, 

"  His  blood  be  upon  us  and  on  our  children  /" 

The  hideous,  withering,  irrevocable  Curse  rose  shudder- 
ingly  up  to  Heaven, — there  to  be  inscribed  by  the  Recording 
Angel  in  letters  of  flame  as  the  self-invoked  Doom  of  a 
people. 


CHAPTER    VII. 

AFTER  this  nothing  more  could  be  said.  An  ignorant  and 
callous  mob  has  neither  justice,  reason,  nor  pity,  yet  the  pop- 
ular verdict  had  to  be  accepted  as  final.  No  appeal  could  b& 
made  against  such  a  grimly  resolved  and  unanimous  decision. 
Pilate  saw  that  had  he  still  ventured  to  plead  the  cause  of 
the  Divine  Accused,  the  impatience  of  the  crowd,  strained  to 
its  last  limit,  would  probably  break  out  in  riot  and  bloodshed. 
He  therefore,  like  a  man  driven  along  by  a  resistless  whirl- 
wind, sacrificed  his  own  will  to  the  desire  of  the  people,  and 
Caiaphas,  seeing  that  he  had  at  last  yielded  to  the  force  of 
necessity,  heaved  a  sigh  of  relief.  Hesitation  was  at  an  end, 
Man  of  Naiareth  was  to  die  the  death.  And  the  great 


A  DREAM  OF  THE    WORLD'S  TRAGEDY         45 

high-priest  murmured  his  satisfaction  in  the  ear  of  his  friend 
Annas,  who  listened  servilely,  rubbing  his  fat  hands  together 
and  every  now  and  then  rolling  up  his  small  treacherous  eyes 
in  pious  thanksgiving, — thanksgiving  that  the  Holy  City  of 
Jerusalem  was  to  be  finally  freed  from  the  troublous  and 
alarming  presence  of  the  "  Nazarene." 

"  Once  dead,"  whispered  Caiaphas,  with  a  contemptuous 
side-glance  at  the  fair-faced  enemy  of  his  craft,  the  silent 
"  Witness  unto  the  Truth" — "  and,  moreover,  slain  with  dis- 
honour in  the  public  sight,  he  will  soon  sink  out  of  remem- 
brance. His  few  disciples  will  be  despised, — his  fanatical 
foolish  doctrine  will  be  sneered  down,  and  we, — we  will  take 
heed  that  no  chronicle  of  his  birth  or  death  or  teaching  re- 
mains to  be  included  in  our  annals.  A  stray  street  preacher 
to  the  common  folk  ! — how  should  his  name  endure  ?" 

"  Nay,  it  shall  not  endure,"  returned  Annas  with  an  unctu- 
ous air  of  perfect  assurance — "  Thou,  most  holy  and  exalted 
Caiaphas,  hast  ever  dwelt  too  ardently  upon  this  fellow's 
boasting.  Many  there  are,  such  as  he,  who  thus  idly  vaunt 
themselves,  and  swear  that  though  unknown  and  all  un- 
honoured  by  their  own  generation,  they  shall  be  acclaimed 
great  and  wonderful  hereafter.  Arrogant  philosophers  prate 
thus, — mad  poets  who  string  rhymes  as  children  string  beads, 
and  call  such  fool's  work  valuable, — heretical  thinkers  too  of 
all  degrees, — yet  lo,  their  vaunting  comes  to  naught !  Verily, 
if  History  make  no  mention  of  this  man,  who  will  believe 
he  ever  lived !" 

Caiaphas  smiled  coldly. 

"Little  word  will  there  be  of  him  in  History,"  said  he. 
"  For  his  crazed  followers  are  ignorant  of  letters,  and  our 
scribes  must  write  only  what  we  shall  bid  them !" 

Part  of  this  low-toned  conversation  was  overheard  by 
Zacharias,  the  old  usurer,  and  he  nodded  emphatic  approval, 
laughing  silently  the  while.  The  condemnatory  sentence 
passed  on  the  immortal  Captive  by  the  Jewish  populace  was 
balm  to  his  mean  and  miserable  soul, — he  rejoiced  in  it  as  in 
some  excellent  and  satisfying  jest,  and  he  struck  his  jewelled 
stick  now  and  then  on  the  pavement,  with  an  ecstatic  thump, 
by  way  of  giving  outward  expression  to  his  inwardly  gratified 
feeling.  Pilate,  meantime,  having,  by  the  washing  of  his 
hands  before  the  people,  openly  signified  his  repugnance  and 
refusal  to  personally  participate  in  the  crime  (for  so  he  truly 
considered  it)  about  to  be  committed,  proceeded  with  the  rest 


46  BARABBAS 

of  his  enforced  duty  in  feverish  haste  and  something  of  horror. 
Nothing  could  now  be  done  quickly  enough  to  please  him, — 
he  grew  nervous  and  excited, — a  shamed  flush  at  times  burned 
in  his  cheeks,  and  anon  he  grew  ghastly  pale  again,  every 
line  of  his  features  becoming  drawn  and  livid  as  the  features 
of  the  dead, — and  in  all  his  hurried  movements  he  carefully 
avoided  turning  his  eyes  towards  the  Man  Condemned.  At 
his  abrupt  signal  some  twenty  soldiers  with  drawn  weapons 
surrounded  the  grand  white  Figure  that  stood,  divinely  silent, 
in  the  glory  of  the  morning  sun, — coarse-visaged,  squat-bodied 
men  who  laughed  and  swore  among  themselves  as  they  eyed 
their  Prisoner  up  and  down  and  made  mocking  comments  on 
His  stately  and  unmoved  bearing.  He — Himself — appeared 
to  be  almost  unconscious  of  their  proximity, — some  happy 
fancy  seemed  to  hover,  spirit-like,  across  His  mind,  for  judging 
by  His  radiant  aspect,  He  might  have  been  a  crowned  Apollo 
dreaming  of  realms  wherein  His  smile  alone  created  light  and 
sound  and  life.  And  in  the  same  moment  that  the  military 
cohort  thus  fenced  Him  in  with  their  bristling  spears,  the  two 
soldiers  who  had  guarded  Barabbas  until  now  retired  to  the 
rear,  leaving  their  man  to  receive  his  formal  release  at  the 
hands  of  the  governor.  Alone, — facing  Pilate, — Barabbas 
waited, — the  iron  manacles  still  weightily  dragging  down  his 
arms  and  showing  where  their  long  and  corroding  pressure 
had  bruised  and  cut  the  flesh  beneath.  He  was  giddy  with 
fatigue  and  excitement,  but  his  black  eyes  were  brilliant,  and 
every  nerve  and  muscle  in  his  body  thrilled  to  the  rapturous 
thought  of  liberty.  His  suspense  did  not  last  long,  for  Pilate 
was  now  in  no  humour  for  delays.  Snatching  from  an  attend- 
ant officer  the  implement  used  for  such  purposes,  he  struck  at 
the  heavy  links  of  the  rescued  criminal's  chains  with  such 
irate  violence  that  they  were  soon  parted  asunder  and  fell, 
clanging  harshly  on  the  marble  pavement.  The  noise  made 
by  their  fall  was  sufficient  to  excite  the  populace  to  a  burst 
of  triumphant  shouting. 

"Barabbas!" 

"  Freedom  for  Barabbas !" 

"  Hail  Barabbas !" 

Barabbas  meanwhile  stared  at  the  cast-off  fetters  with  a 
stupefied  air  as  though  they  had  all  at  once  become  curious 
and  unfamiliar  objects.  He  had  worn  them  day  and  night  for 
eighteen  months  yet  now  it  seemed  he  knew  them  not.  He 
lifted  his  arms  and  swung  them  to  and  fro  with  a  sense  of 


A  DREAM  OF  THE    WORLD'S   TRAGEDY        47 

bodily  ease  and  lightness, — but  where  was  the  buoyancy  of 
spirit  that  had  but  a  moment  before  elated  him  ?  It  was 
gone,  and  gone  quite  suddenly,  he  knew  not  how.  He  had 
hoped  and  longed  and  prayed  for  freedom, — his  hope  was  ful- 
filled,— and  now,  with  fulfilment,  hope  was  dead.  A  heavy 
despondency  overcame  him,  and  he  stood  dully  inert,  while 
he  heard  Caiaphas  say, 

"  Wilt  thou  not  fasten  yon  bracelets  upon  the  Nazarene, 
good  Pilate  ?  Who  knoweth  but  that  in  going  to  his  death 
he  may  not  prove  rebellious?" 

Pilate  frowned. 

"  What  now  !  Hath  he  fought  with  the  guard  ?  Hath  he 
moved?  Hath  he  murmured?  Hath  he  spoken  aught  of 
violence  ?  He  disputeth  not  judgment, — he  doth  most  mutely 
accept  the  fate  ye  give  him.  Therefore  why  bind  that  which 
maketh  no  resistance  ?  Let  Jews  be  what  they  will,  ye  shall 
not  make  a  coward  of  a  Roman!" 

And  with  this  he  turned  abruptly  to  Barabbas. 

"Why  dost  thou  wait  there,  fellow?  Get  thee  hence!" 
and  the  suppressed  irritation  he  felt  quivered  in  his  usually 
calm  voice — "  Impenitent  murderer  and  thief  as  thou  art,  the 
laws  of  thy  nation  set  thee  free  to  slay  and  steal  again  at  thy 
pleasure !" 

Barabbas  winced,  and  his  dark  face  flushed.  The  scathing 
words  cut  him  deeply,  but  he  found  nothing  to  say  in  reply. 
His  head  drooped  somewhat  wearily  on  his  chest, — he  fully 
understood  he  was  at  liberty, — yet  liberty  did  not  now  bring 
with  it  the  complete  sense  of  joy  he  had  thought  to  find  in 
its  possession.  Beyond  the  barrier  the  people  outside  waited 
to  receive  him  with  triumphant  acclamations, — but  his  limbs 
seemed  to  be  fastened  to  the  spot  where  he  stood,  and  for  the 
life  of  him  he  could  not  help  gazing  wistfully  and  remorse- 
fully at  the  One  condemned  in  his  stead. 

"  It  would  have  been  better,"  he  said  within  himself,  "  to 
have  died  for  yonder  Man,  than  live  on,  free." 

As  this  thought  crossed  his  mind,  it  seemed  to  him  that  a 
sudden  soft  light  shone  round  the  uplifted  head  of  the  "  Naza- 
rene,"— a  ring  of  pale  and  misty  radiance  that  gradually 
deepened  into  a  warm  glow  of  golden  flame.  He  gazed  at 
this  phenomenon  affrighted, — surely  others  saw  the  glory  as 
well  as  himself?  Judge,  priests,  soldiers  and  people,  could  it 
be  possible  they  were  blind  to  what  was  so  distinctly  visible  ? 
He  tried  to  speak  and  tell  them, — but  his  tongue  clove  to  th« 


48  BAR ABB AS 

roof  of  his  mouth,  and  he  could  only  stare  like  one  distraught, 
striving  to  utter  words  that  refused  to  become  audible.  Caia- 
phas,  impatient  at  his  apparent  stupidity  and  unwillingness  to 
move,  stepped  up  to  him. 

"  Did'st  thou  not  hear  the  governor's  command,  thou  fool  ? 
Get  thee  hence  quickly !  Take  heed  to  thy  ways,  and  see 
thou  venture  not  near  the  house  of  Iscariot  I" 

This  injunction  pronounced  in  an  angry  whisper,  roused 
Barabbas  from  his  amazed  contemplation  of  the  Christ  to  a 
sudden  silent  access  of  personal  fury.  The  glory-light  van- 
ished from  the  brows  of  the  prophet  of  Nazareth, — there 
was  no  more  wonder,  no  more  mystic  terror ; — material  life 
and  its  demands  rose  paramount  in  his  mind.  With  a  look 
of  indignant  scorn  and  rebellion  flashed  full  in  the  face  of 
the  great  high-priest,  he  straightened  himself  proudly  to 
his  full  height,  and  turning  his  back  on  the  Hall  of 
Judgment  strode  swiftly  towards  the  barrier  dividing  him 
from  the  populace,  the  Roman  soldiers  making  way  for  him 
to  pass.  A  moment  more,  and  he  had  sprung  into  the  midst 
of  the  crowd  where  he  was  received  with  frenzied  yells  of 
delight  and  prolonged  cheering.  An  exultant  mob  gathered 
round  him,  shouting  his  name, — men  embraced  him, — women 
caught  his  grimy  hands  and  kissed  them, — little  children 
danced  about  him  whooping  and  shrieking  with  joy,  not 
knowing  why  they  did  so,  but  simply  infected  by  the  excite- 
ment of  their  elders, — one  man  in  the  height  of  enthusiasm 
tore  off  a  rich  upper  mantle  from  his  own  shoulders  and 
flung  it  around  the  half-naked,  half-starved  form  of  the 
newly-released  criminal,  shedding  tears  of  emotion  the  while. 
Not  a  trace  was  left  of  the  previous  aversion  shown  towards 
him  when  first  he  had  been  marched  into  the  Tribunal,  a 
prisoner  under  armed  escort, — the  public,  more  fickle  than 
the  wind,  were  full  of  rejoicing  over  the  fact  that  their  word 
and  their  will  had  obtained  his  release, — and,  to  judge  by 
their  jubilant  cries,  the  once  notorious  murderer  might  have 
been  a  king  returning  to  throne  and  country  after  long  exile. 
A  large  section  of  the  crowd  forgot  for  the  moment  that 
Other,  who  was  left  to  His  fate  and  condemned  to  die,— they 
were  content  to  press  round  their  own  rescued  man  with 
joyous  greeting  and  laughter,  praying  him  to  partake  of  food 
and  wine  with  them  at  the  nearest  inn,  or  urging  him  to 
accompany  them  in  turn  to  their  several  homes.  Breathless 
and  bewildered,  and  incongruously  clad  in  the  silk  and  gold- 


A   DREAM  OF  THE    WORLD'S  TRAGEDY         49 

threaded  garment  his  philanthropic  admirer  had  wound  about 
him,  Barabbas  looked  from  right  to  left,  wondering  how  best 
he  might  elude  the  enthusiastic  attentions  which  threatened 
to  overwhelm  his  small  stock  of  patience.  For  he  himself 
was  not  elated  with  his  triumph ;  he  knew,  better  than  most 
men,  the  true  value  of  "  friends"  as  this  world  goes ;  and  he 
felt  more  weariness  and  impatience  than  anything  else  as  his 
eyes  roved  anxiously  over  the  surging  sea  of  heads  in  search 
of  one  face  that  he  fancied  was  sure  to  be  there, — a  face  that 
for  him  was  all  he  realised  of  heaven.  But  he  failed  to  dis- 
cover what  he  sought,  and,  chilled  by  his  disappointment,  he 
scarcely  heard  the  various  items  of  news  and  gossip  some  of 
his  former  acquaintances  were  pouring  into  his  ears.  All  at 
once  a  murmur  ran  from  lip  to  lip, — 

"  Look  you,  they  scourge  him  !" 

Like  an  ocean  wave  rolling  inshore,  the  crowd,  moved  by 
one  instinct,  turned,  swaying  impetuously  back  towards  the 
Hall  of  Judgment.  Standing  on  tip-toe  they  craned  their 
necks  over  each  other's  shoulders  to  see  what  was  going  on, 
— men  lifted  tiny  children  in  their  arms, — some  few,  princi- 
pally women,  uttered  smothered  exclamations  of  pity, — but 
on  the  whole  a  mercilessly  pleased  air  of  expectation  pervaded 
the  throng.  Barabbas,  carried  along  by  the  force  of  the 
mob,  found  himself  facing  the  Tribunal  once  more,  and  being 
a  tall  man  he  was  able  to  command  a  better  view  than  most 
of  those  immediately  around  him. 

"Brutes!"  he  muttered  as  he  saw — " Dogs !  Devils!  To 
strike  a  man  defenceless  !  0  coward  bravery  !" 

And  with  strained  eyes  and  heavily  beating  heart  he 
watched  the  scene.  The  Tribunal  seemed  now  to  be  well- 
nigh  possessed  by  the  Roman  guards,  for  several  extra 
soldiers  had  been  summoned  to  aid  in  the  pitiless  deed  about 
to  be  done.  In  the  centre  of  a  ring  of  bristling  spears  and 
drawn  battle-axes  stood  the  "  Nazarene,"  offering  no  resist- 
ance to  the  rude  buffetings  of  the  men  who  violently  stripped 
Him  of  His  upper  garments,  leaving  His  bare  shoulders  and 
breast  exposed  to  view.  An  officer  meantime  handed  the 
scourge  to  Pilate, — a  deadly-looking  instrument  made  of  sev- 
eral lengths  of  knotted  whip-cord,  fringed  with  small  nail- 
like  points  of  sharpened  iron.  It  was  part  of  the  procurator's 
formal  duty  to  personally  chastise  a  condemned  criminal, — 
but  the  unhappy  man  upon  whom  in  this  dreadful  instance 
the  allotted  task  now  fell,  shuddered  in  every  limb,  and, 
c  d  6 


50 


BARABBAS 


pushing  away  the  barbarous  thong,  made  a  faint  mute  ges- 
ture  of  denial.  The  officer  waited,  his  dull  heavy  face  ex- 
hibiting as  much  surprise  as  discipline  would  allow.  The 
soldiers  waited,  staring  inquisitively.  And  in  equable  sweet 
ness  and  silence  the  Man  of  Nazareth  also  waited,  the  sun- 
light giving  a  polished  luminance  to  His  bared  shoulders  and 
arms,  dazzling  in  their  whiteness,  statuesque  in  their  symme- 
try,— the  while  He  lifted  His  deep  pensive  eyes,  and  regarded 
His  miserable  judge  with  a  profound  and  most  tender  pity. 
Caiaphas  and  his  father-in-law  exchanged  vexed  glances. 

"Dost  thou  yet  delay  justice,  Pilate?"  questioned  the 
high-priest  haughtily — "  Time  presses.  Do  what  thy  duty 
bids  thee, — strike !" 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

BUT  Pilate  still  hesitated,  gazing  blankly  out  into  nothing- 
ness. His  face  was  pallid, — his  lips  were  set  hard, — his  erect 
figUre,  clothed  in  rich  attire,  looked  curiously  stiff  and  lifeless 
like  that  of  a  frozen  man.  Would  that  the  sick  qualm  at 
his  heart  might  overcome  him  altogether,  he  thought,  so  that, 
falling  in  a  senseless  swoon,  he  might  escape  the  shame  and 
horror  of  striking  that  kingly  Gentleness,  that  embodied  Pa- 
tience !  But  life  and  consciousness  throbbed  through  him, 
albeit  painfully  and  confusedly  ;  the  people  whom  he  was  set 
to  govern,  demanded  of  him  the  full  performance  of  his  work. 
Mechanically  he  at  last  stretched  forth  his  hand  and  grasped 
the  scourge, — then,  with  a  faltering  step  and  downcast  eyes 
approached  the  Condemned.  The  soldiers,  anticipating  the 
scourging,  had  notwithstanding  Pilate's  objection  to  bind 
"that  which  maketh  no  resistance"  tied  their  passive  Cap- 
tive's hands  with  rope,  lest  He  should  attempt  to  defend 
Himself  from  the  falling  blows.  On  these  needless  and  un- 
merited bonds,  Pilate  first  of  all  fixed  his  glance,  a  great 
wrath  and  sorrow  contending  within  him.  But  he  was  pow- 
erless to  alter  or  soften  the  conditions  of  the  law, — he  was 
the  wretched  tool  of  destiny, — and  with  a  bitter  loathing  of 
himself  and  the  shameful  thing  he  was  compelled  to  do,  he 
turned  away  his  eyes  and,  .  .  .  lifted  the  lash.  It  dropped 
heavily  with  a  stinging  hiss  on  the  tender  flesh, — again  and 


A  DREAM  OF  THE   WORLD'S  TRAGEDY         51 

again  it  rose,  .  .  .  again  and  again  it  fell,  .  .  .  till  the  bright 
blood  sprang  from  beneath  its  iron  points  and  splashed  in  red 
drops  on  the  marble  pavement.  .  .  .  But  no  sound  passed 
the  lips  of  the  Divine  Sufferer, — not  so  much  as  a  sigh  of 
pain, — and  no  prophetic  voice  uplifted  itself  to  proclaim  the 
truth, — "  He  was  wounded  for  our  transgressions,  and  by  His 
stripes  are  we  healed  !" 

Meanwhile,  a  strange  and  unaccountable  silence  possessed 
the  people  watching  outside, — pressing  close  against  one 
another,  they  peered  with  eager  curious  eyes  at  the  progress 
of  the  punishment, — till  at  last,  when  the  scourge  caught  in 
its  cruel  prongs  a  strand  of  the  Captive's  gold-glistening  hair, 
and,  tearing  it  out,  cast  it,  wet  with  blood,  on  the  ground,  a 
girl  in  the  crowd  broke  out  into  hysterical  sobbing.  The 
sound  of  woman's  weeping  scared  Pilate  in  his  dreadful 
task, — he  looked  up,  flushed  and  fevered,  with  wild  eyes  and 
a  wilder  smile  and  paused.  Zacharias,  the  usurer,  hobbled 
forward  excitedly  waving  his  jewelled  staff  in  the  air. 

"  To  it  again,  and  harder,  most  noble  governor !"  he  yelled 
in  his  cracked  and  tremulous  voice,  "  To  it  again,  with  better 
will !  Such  blows  as  thine  would  scarcely  hurt  a  child  !  He 
scourged  others, — let  him  taste  of  the  thong  himself!  Ldok 
you,  he  hath  not  winced  nor  cried  out, — he  hath  not  yet  felt 
the  lash.  To  it  again  in  justice,  excellent  Pilate!  in  simple 
justice!  He  hath  scourged  me,  an  aged  man  and  honest, — 
verily  it  is  right  and  fitting  he  should  receive  the  sting  in 
his  own  flesh,  else  shall  he  die  impenitent.  Again,  and  yet 
again,  most  worthy  governor, — but  let  the  stripes  be  heavier !" 

As  he  spoke,  gesticulating  violently,  his  stick  suddenly 
slipped  from  his  shaking  hand  and  dropped  on  the  marble 
floor,  and  a  great  pearl,  loosened  from  its  setting  in  the  jew- 
elled handle,  flew  out,  rolled  away  like  a  bead  and  disap- 
peared. With  a  shriek  of  anguish,  the  miserable  man  fell 
on  his  knees  and  began  to  grope  along  the  pavement  with  his 
yellow  claw-like  fingers,  shedding  maudlin  tears,  while  he  en- 
treated  the  impassive  soldiers  standing  by  to  aid  him  in  look- 
ing for  the  precious  lost  gem.  A  grim  smile  went  the  round 
of  the  band,  but  not  a  man  moved.  Moaning  and  whimper- 
ing, the  wretched  usurer  crept  slowly  on  all-fours  over  the 
floor  of  the  Tribunal,  keeping  his  eyes  close  to  the  ground, 
and  presenting  the  appearance  of  some  loathly  animal  rather 
than  a  man,  the  while  he  every  now  and  again  paused  and 
prodded  with  his  filthy  hands  into  every  nook  and  corner  in 


52  BARABBAS 

hope  to  find  the  missing  jewel.  The  loss  was  to  him  irrep- 
urable,  and  in  his  grief  and  rage  he  had  even  forgotten  his 
desire  of  vengeance  on  the  "Nazarene."  Pilate,  watching 
him  as  he  crawled  about  weeping  childishly,  was  moved  by 
such  a  sense  of  pleasure  at  his  discomfiture  as  to  feel  almost 
light-hearted  for  the  moment, — and,  breaking  into  a  loud  laugh 
of  unnatural  hilarity,  he  flung  away  the  blood-stained  scourge 
with  the  relieved  air  of  one  whose  disagreeable  task  was  now 
finished.  But  Caiaphas  was  by  no  means  satisfied. 

"  Thou  hast  given  yon  condemned  malefactor  but  the 
mildest  scourging,  Pilate,"  he  said — "  Why  hast  thou  cast 
aside  the  lash  so  soon?" 

Pilate's  eyes  flashed  fire. 

"  Press  not  my  humour  too  far,  thou  vengeful  priest !"  he 
muttered  breathlessly—"!  have  done  my  accursed  work. 
See  ye  to  the  rest!" 

Caiaphas  retreated  a  step  or  two,  somewhat  startled.  There 
was  something  in  the  expression  of  Pilate's  face  that  was 
truly  terrifying, — a  dark  and  ghastly  anguish  that  for  the 
moment  disturbed  even  the  high-priest's  cold  and  self-satisfied 
dignity.  After  a  brief  pause,  however,  he  recovered  his 
wonted  composure,  and  by  a  sign  to  the  centurion  in  com- 
mand, intimated  that  the  scourging  was  over  and  that  the 
Prisoner  was  now  abandoned  to  His  fate.  And,  this  culmi- 
nating point  having  been  reached,  all  the  members  of  the 
Sanhedrim,  together  with  the  scribes  and  elders  present, 
saluted  the  governor  ceremoniously  and  left  the  Tribunal, 
walking  slowly  down  two  by  two  into  the  lower  hall  called 
"  Prsetorium."  Thither  too,  the  soldiers  were  preparing  to 
lead  or  drag  the  doomed  Nazarene.  Filing  away  in  solemn 
and  dignified  order,  the  sacerdotal  procession  gradually  disap- 
peared, and  only  Pilate  lingered,  chained  to  the  spot  by  a  sort 
of  horrible  fascination.  Sheltering  himself  from  the  public 
view  behind  a  massive  marble  column,  he  leaned  against  that 
cold  support  in  utter  weariness,  broken  in  body  and  mind  by 
the  fatigue  and,  to  him,  inexplicable  anguish  of  the  morn- 
ing's trial.  In  his  dazed  brain  he  strove  hard  to  realise 
what  it  was,  what  it  could  be,  that  made  him  feel  as  if  the 
most  unutterable  crime  ever  committed  on  earth  was  about  to 
be  perpetrated  this  very  day  in  this  very  city  of  Jerusalem. 
He  had  become  a  torturing  problem  to  himself, — he  could 
not  understand  his  own  overwhelming  emotion.  His  wife's 
message  had  greatly  disturbed  him  ;  he  had  thrust  the  scroll 


A   DREAM  OF  THE    WORLD'S   TRAGEDY         53 

hurriedly  in  his  breast,  but  now  he  drew  it  out  and  once  more 
re-read  the  strange  injunction, — 

"Have  thou  nothing  to  do  with  that  just  man,  for  I  have 
suffered  this  day  many  things  in  a  dream  because  of  him" 

Mysterious  words  ! — what  could  they  mean  ?  What  could 
she,  Justitia,  the  proud,  fearless  and  beautiful  woman  of 
Rome  have  "  suffered"  ?  In  a  dream,  too, — she  who  scarcely 
ever  dreamed, — who  laughed  at  auguries  and  omens,  and 
had  even  been  known  to  say  satirical  things  against  the 
gods  themselves  !  She  was  totally  unimaginative ;  and  to  a 
certain  extent  her  nature  was  hard  and  pitiless,  or  what  her 
own  people  would  have  termed  "  heroic."  She  would  look 
on,  pleased  and  placid,  at  the  most  hideous  gladiatorial  con- 
tests and  other  barbarous  spectacles  then  in  vogue  in  her 
native  city, — when  she  was  but  twelve  years  of  age  she  had 
watched  unmoved  the  slow  torturing  of  a  slave  condemned  to 
be  flayed  alive  for  theft  and  perjury.  Hence,  this  action  of 
hers  in  protesting  against  the  condemnation  of  any  particular 
criminal,  was  sufficiently  unusual  and  unlike  her  to  be  re- 
markable. "Have  thou  nothing  to  do  with  that  just  man!" 
What  would  she  say  if  she  could  see  that  same  ''just  man" 
now  !  Pilate,  looking  fearfully  round  from  his  retired  coign 
of  vantage,  turned  sick  and  cold  at  the  horror  of  the  scene 
that  was  being  enacted, — but  though  he  would  have  given 
his  life  to  interfere  he  knew  that  he  dared  not.  The  people 
had  declared  their  will, — and  that  will  must  needs  be  done. 
There  was  no  help  and  no  hope  for  a  Truth  unanimously  con- 
demned by  this  world's  liars.  There  never  has  been,  and 
there  never  shall  be  ! 

The  previous  intense  silence  of  the  multitude  had  given 
way  to  fierce  clamour  ;  the  air  resounded  with  discordant  bel- 
lowings  as  though  a  herd  of  wild  beasts  had  broken  loose  to 
ravage  the  earth.  The  soldiery,  no  longer  restrained  by  the 
presence  of  sacerdotal  authority,  and  moreover  incited  to  out- 
rage by  the  yells  of  the  mob,  were  violently  pushing  their 
Prisoner  along  with  the  but-ends  of  their  weapons  in  a  brutal 
endeavour  to  make  Him  lose  His  footing  and  fall  headlong 
down  the  steps  that  led  into  the  Praetorium.  Their  savage 
buffetings  were  unprovoked  assaults,  dealt  out  of  a  merely 
gratuitous  desire  to  insult  the  sublime  Sufferer, — for  He  Him- 
self gave  them  no  cause  of  affront,  but  went  with  them 
peaceably.  His  shoulders  still  bare,  were  bleeding  from  the 
scourge, — His  hands  and  arms  were  still  tightly  bound, — yet 
6* 


94  BARABBAS 

neither  pain  nor  humiliation  had  lessened  the  erect  majesty 
of  His  bearing  or  the  aerial  pride  of  his  step, — and  His  beau- 
tiful eyes  kept  the  lustrous,  dreamy  splendour  of  a  thought 
and  a  knowledge  beyond  all  human  ken.  Pressing  close  about 
Him  His  ruffianly  guards  derided  Him  with  mocking  ges- 
tures and  laughter,  shouting  obscenities  in  His  ears  and  sing- 
ing scraps  of  ribald  songs.  A  scarlet  mantle  had  been  left 
by  chance  on  one  of  the  benches  in  the  hall,  and  this  was 
spied  out  by  one  of  the  men  who  snatched  it  up  in  haste  and 
flung  it  across  the  Captive's  wounded  shoulders.  It  trailed 
behind  Him  in  regal  flowing  folds ;  and  the  fellow  who  had 
thrown  it  thus  in  position,  gave  a  wild  shout,  am1  pointing 
with  his  pike  exclaimed  derisively, 

"  Hail,  King  of  the  Jews  /" 

Shrieks  of  applause  and  bursts  of  laughter  answered  this 
ebullition  of  wit,  and  Barabbas  alone,  out  of  all  the  callous 
crowd  made  protest. 

"  Shame !"  he  cried, — "  Shame  on  you,  Romans  !  Shame 
on  you,  people  of  Jerusalem  1  Why  mock  that  which  is  con- 
demned ?" 

But  his  voice  was  lost  in  the  uproar  around  him,  or  if  not 
utterly  lost,  it  fell  unheeded  on  the  ears  of  those  who  did  not 
choose  to  hear.  And  anon,  a  fresh  burst  of  taunting  merri- 
ment split  the  air  into  harsh  echoings, — a  new  phase  of  bitter 
jesting  moved  the  crowd, — the  "  King"  was  being  crowned  ! 
A  spearman  acting  on  the  initiative  given  by  his  fellow,  had 
leaped  into  the  outer  garden-court,  and  had  there  torn  from 
the  wall  three  long  branches  of  a  climbing  rose,  thick  with 
thorns.  Pulling  off  all  the  delicate  buds,  blossoms  and  leaves, 
he  twisted  the  prickly  stems  into  a  coronal  and  with  this  ap- 
proached the  silent  Christ,  his  companions  greeting  him  with 
hoarse  yells  of  approving  laughter. 

"  Hail,  King  of  the  Jews  /"  he  cried,  as  he  placed  it  on  the 
Divine  brows,  pressing  the  spiky  circlet  fiercely  down  into  the 
tender  flesh  till  the  pained  blood  sprang  beneath  its  pressure 
—"Hail,  all  hail!" 

And  he  struck  the  fair  and  tranquil  face  with  his  steel 
gauntlet 

"  A  sceptre  I  A  sceptre  for  the  King !"  shouted  a  little 
lad,  running  out  from  the  crowd  excitedly,  and  waving  a  light 
reed  aloft  as  he  came.  The  soldiers  laughed  again,  and 
snatching  the  reed,  set  it  upright  between  the  bound  wrists 
of  their  blameless  Captive.  Then  with  devilish  howlings 


A   DREAM  OF  THE    WORLD'S   TRAGEDY         55 

and  wild  gestures  a  group  of  disorderly  ruffians  rushed  for- 
ward pell-mell  and  dropped  on  their  knees,  turning  up  their 
grirny  grinning  faces  in  pretended  worship  and  mocking  ser- 
vility the  while  they  yelled  in  frantic  chorus, 

"  Hail !  Nail,  King  of  the.  Jews  !" 

They  might  as  well  have  stormed  the  Sun,  or  flung  insults 
at  a  Star.  Mystically  removed  above  and  beyond  them  all 
was  the  Man  of  Sorrows, — His  lips,  close  set  in  that  won- 
drous curve  of  beauty  such  as  sculptors  give  to  the  marble 
god  of  song,  opened  not  for  any  utterance  of  word  or  cry ; 
— scarcely  indeed  did  He  appear  to  breathe,  so  solemn  and 
majestic  a  stillness  encompassed  Him.  That  tranquil  silence 
irritated  the  mob, — it  implied  perfect  courage,  indifference 
to  fate,  heroic  fortitude,  and  sublime  endurance, — and  thus 
seemed  to  be  a  dignified,  dumbly  declared  scorn  of  the  foolish 
fury  of  the  people. 

"  A  curse  on  him  !"  cried  a  man  in  the  crowd — "  Hath  he 
no  tongue  ?  Hath  he  no  more  doctrines  to  teach  before  he 
dies  ?  Make  him  speak  !" 

"  Speak,  fellow  !"  roared  a  soldier,  striking  him  heavily  on 
the  shoulder  with  the  handle  of  his  spear, — "  Thou  hast  bab- 
bled oft  of  both  sin  and  righteousness, — how  darest  thou 
now  hold  thy  peace  ?" 

But  neither  taunt  nor  blow  could  force  an  answer  from  the 
immortal  "  King."  His  noble  features  were  composed  and 
calm, — His  luminous  eyes  looked  straight  ahead  as  though 
beholding  some  glory  afar  off  in  shining  distance, — and  only 
the  slow  drops  of  blood  starting  from  under  the  sharp  points 
of  His  thorny  crown,  and  staining  the  bright  hair  that  clus- 
tered on  His  temples,  gave  any  material  evidence  of  life  or 
feeling. 

"He  hath  a  devil!"  shouted  another  man — "He  is  hard- 
ened in  impenitence  and  feels  nothing.  Away  with  him! 
Let  him  be  crucified!1' 

While  this  incessant  clamour  was  going  on,  Pilate  had 
stood  apart,  watching  the  scene  with  the  doubtful  and  con- 
fused sensations  of  a  man  in  delirium.  As  in  some  horrid 
vision,  he  beheld  the  stately  Figure,  draped  in  the  scarlet 
robe  and  crowned  with  thorns,  being  hustled  along  the  Prae- 
torium  towards  the  open  court  outside  which  had  to  be 
reached  by  yet  another  descending  flight  of  steps, — and, 
yielding  to  a  sudden  impulse  he  moved  quickly  forward,  so 
that  he  came  in  the  way  of  the  advancing  guard.  Seeing 


56  BARABBAS 

him  appear  thus  unexpectedly,  the  centurion  in  command 
paused.  The  soldiers  too,  somewhat  taken  aback  at  being 
caught  in  their  brutal  horse-play  by  no  less  a  personage  than 
the  governor  himself,  ceased  their  noisy  shouts  abruptly  and 
rested  on  their  weapons,  sullenly  silent.  Once  more,  and  for 
the  last  time  on  earth,  Pilate  ventured  to  look  straight  at  the 
Condemned.  Bruised,  bound  and  bleeding,  the  twisted  rose- 
thorns  setting  their  reluctant  prongs  ever  more  deeply  into 
his  brows,  the  "Nazarene"  met  that  questioning,  appealing, 
anguished  human  gaze  with  a  proud  yet  sweet  serenity ;  while 
Pilate,  staring  wildly  in  terror  and  wonderment,  saw  that 
above  the  crown  of  thorns  there  glittered  a  crown  of  light, — 
light  woven  in  three  intertwisted  rays  of  dazzling  gold  and 
azure,  which  cast  prismatic  reflections  upward,  like  meteor- 
flames  flashing  between  earth  and  heaven.  A  Crown  of  Light ! 
...  a  mystic  Circle,  widening,  ever  widening  into  burning 
rings  that  seemed  endless,  .  .  .  how  came  such  glory  there  ? 
What  could  it  mean  ?  .  .  .  Like  a  drowning  man  desperately 
clutching  at  a  floating  spar  while  sinking  in  the  depths  of 
the  sea,  Pilate  clutched  vaguely  and  half  blindly  at  the  flow- 
ing scarlet  mantle  which,  as  a  symbol  of  the  world's  mockery 
robed  the  regal  form  of  the  world's  Redeemer,  and  dragged 
at  it  as  though  he  sought  to  pull  its  wearer  forward.  The 
clamorous  touch  was  obeyed ;  the  Man  of  Nazareth  sufiered 
Himself  to  be  led  by  His  judge  to  the  summit  of  the  last 
flight  of  steps  leading  downwards  and  outwards  from  the 
Praetorium.  There,  He  fully  faced  the  assembled  multitude 
in  all  His  sorrowful  sublimity  and  tragic  splendour,  and  for  a 
moment  deep  silence  ruled  the  throng.  Then,  suddenly  heart- 
stricken  and  overwhelmed  at  the  sight  of  such  pure  and  pite- 
ous majesty,  Pilate  dropped  the  edge  of  the  scarlet  robe  as 
though  it  had  scorched  his  flesh. 

"  ECCE  HOMO  !"  he  exclaimed,  tossing  up  his  arms  as  he 
shrieked  the  words  out  in  his  native  tongue,  careless  as  to 
whether  they  were  understood  or  not  by  the  startled  Jewish 
crowd—"  ECCE  HOMO  !" 

And  breaking  into  a  wild  fit  of  delirious  laughter  and 
weeping,  he  flung  his  mantle  desperately  across  his  mouth  to 
stifle  the  agonized  convulsion,  and  swerving  aside  giddily,  fell, 
face  forward  on  the  ground,  insensible. 


A  DREAM.   OF  THE    WORLDS   TRAGEDY 


CHAPTER  IX. 

A  LOUD  cry  went  up  from  the  multitude,  and  in  the  con- 
sternation and  confusion  which  ensued,  the  crowd  swiftly 
divided  itself  into  various  sections.  Some  rushed  to  proffer 
assistance  in  lifting  the  unconscious  governor  and  carrying  him 
to  his  palace ;  others  gathered  once  more  around  the  released 
Barabbas  with  fresh  adulation  and  words  of  welcome, — but 
by  far  the  larger  half  of  the  mob  prepared  to  follow  the 
Divine  Condemned  and  see  Him  die.  Fearful  and  unnatural 
as  it  seems,  it  is  nevertheless  true  that  in  all  ages  the  living 
have  found  a  peculiar  and  awful  satisfaction  in  watching  the 
agonies  of  the  dying.  To  be  alive  and  to  look  on  while  a 
fellow-creature  gasps  out  in  torture  the  last  reluctant  breath, 
is  a  position  that  has  always  given  a  mysteriously  horrible 
pleasure  to  the  majority.  And  on  this  particular  day  more 
than  the  customary  morbid  diversion  was  expected,  for  a 
rumour  had  gone  the  round  of  the  populace  that  two  notori- 
ous thieves  were  to  be  executed  at  the  same  time  as  the 
young  "  prophet' '  out  of  Galilee.  Such  a  spectacle  was  as- 
suredly worth  waiting  for ! — and  accordingly  they  waited,  a 
motley-garbed,  restless,  expectant  mass  of  men  and  women, 
the  perpetual  hum  of  their  voices  sounding  like  the  noise 
made  by  thousands  of  swarming  bees,  the  while  they  occa- 
sionally varied  the  monotony  of  speech  by  singing,  stamping 
and  whistling.  The  Roman  soldiers,  greatly  disconcerted  by 
Pilate's  sudden  and  inexplicable  illness,  and  in  their  own  mind 
superstitiously  connecting  it  with  some  spell  they  imagined 
to  have  been  secretly  wrought  by  the  "  Nazarene,"  were  now 
in  no  mood  for  trifling.  Dragging  off  the  scarlet  robe  from 
their  Prisoner,  they  hastily  flung  His  own  raiment  upon  Him, 
and  with  many  dark  and  threatening  looks,  led  him  forth, 
closely  guarded. 

The  morning  was  intensely  hot  and  bright, — in  the  outer 
court  a  fountain  was  in  full  play,  casting  up  a  silvery  column 
of  foam-dust  to  the  burning  blue  of  the  sky.  The  whole 
band  of  soldiers  halted  while  their  centurion  conferred  apart 
with  the  criminal  executioner,  whose  duty  it  was  to  provide 
crosses  suitable  for  the  legal  mode  of  punishment  then  in 


58  BARABBAS 

vogue,  and  who  also  was  bound  to  assist  in  nailing  those 
condemned  in  the  barbarous  position  needful  to  ensure  a 
lingering  and  horrible  death.  Three  crosses  were  required 
that  day,  he  said, — and  he  was  in  doubt  as  to  whether  any 
that  he  had  were  sufficiently  strong  enough  to  sustain  the 
powerful  and  splendid  figure  of  the  Captive  now  pointed  out 
to  him. 

"  I'  faith  I  am  sorry  he  is  condemned,"  he  muttered  with  a 
touch  of  commiseration  in  his  rough  accents — "  He  hath  a 
noble  presence,  and  of  a  surety  to  slay  him  thus  shamefully 
is  an  error,  Petronius.  Believe  me,  so  thou  wilt  find  it ! 
llememberest  thou  not  how  one  of  thine  own  calling,  dwell- 
ing in  Capernaum,  had  his  servant  sick  of  a  palsy,  and  yonder 
man  did  heal  him  without  so  much  as  visiting  the  house 
where  he  lay  ?  I  tell  thee,  mischief  will  come  of  his  death. 
And  now  I  look  at  thee,  thou  hast  a  sober  air, — thou  art  not 
in  tune  with  this  deed,  methinks?" 

Petronius  lowered  his  eyes,  and  meditatively  traced  out  the 
pattern  of  the  pavement  with  the  point  of  his  drawn  weapon. 

"  Our  governor  hath  not  condemned  him" — he  said  in  a 
low  tone — "  And  therefore  Rome  is  not  responsible.  Pilate 
would  have  saved  him. — but  the  Jews  have  willed  otherwise." 

"  Ay,  ay  !"  grumbled  the  executioner,  himself  a  native  of 
Apulia, — "  The  Jews,  the  Jews  !  Dark  and  bloody  are  their 
annals, — Jove  knoweth  ! — and  they  have  been  known  to  murder 
their  own  children  to  please  the  savage  deity  they  worship. 
Look  you,  the  fat  priests  devour  the  firstlings  of  a  flock  in 
their  own  houses,  pretending  'tis  their  God  who  hath  such 
greedy  appetite, — and  those  among  them  who  accumulate 
more  gold  than  is  lawful  will  swear  that  even  high  rates  of 
usury  are  the  divine  blessing  on  the  righteous !  Hypocrites 
all,  Petronius  ! — but  yonder  Prisoner  is  not  a  Jew  ?" 

The  centurion  looked  wistfully  at  the  Condemned,  now  re- 
clothed  in  His  own  white  garments,  but  still  wearing  the 
crown  of  thorns.  A  smile  irradiated  His  fair  face, — His  soft 
eyes  were  watching  with  tenderness  the  dainty  caperings  of  a 
butterfly  that  fluttered  for  mere  joyous  caprice  just  near  enough 
to  the  fountain  to  catch  a  drop  or  two  on  its  azure  wings,  and 
then  danced  off  again  high  up  into  the  sunshine.  Eiren  so 
absorbed  and  gentle  might  have  been  His  aspect  when  He 
said,  "  Behold  the  lilies  of  the  field!  They  toil  not,  neither 
do  they  spin, — and  yet  I  say  unto  you,  that  Solomon  in  all 
his  glory  was  not  arrayed  like  one  of  these  /" 


A  DREAM  OF  THE    WORLD'S  TRAGEDY        59 

"He  is  not, — he  cannot  be  a  Jew?"  repeated  the  execu- 
tioner questioningly. 

"  Yea  verily  he  is  a  Jew,"  replied  Petronius  at  last  with  a 
slight  sigh — "  Or  so  it  is  reported.  He  is  of  that  vile  Naza- 
reth ;  the  son  of  Joseph  the  carpenter  there, — and  Mary  hia 
mother  is,  or  was,  here,  a  while  ago  with  the  women." 

The  executioner  shook  his  head  obstinately. 

"  Thou  wilt  never  make  me  believe  it !"  he  said — "  He 
hath  the  air  of  an  alien  to  this  land.  Look  you,  there  is  no 
face  like  his  in  the  crowd, — he  is  neither  Greek  nor  Roman 
nor  Egyptian, — but  though  I  cannot  fix  his  race  I  would 
swear  his  father  was  never  a  Jew !  And  as  for  the  cross,  ye 
will  all  have  to  wait  while  I  go  and  test  which  is  the  strongest 
and  least  worn,  for,  on  my  life,  it  must  lift  up  a  Hercules  1 
Seest  thou  not  what  height  and  muscle  ? — what  plenitude  of 
vigour  ? — By  Jupiter !  an'  I  were  he  I  would  make  short  work 
of  the  guard !" 

Chuckling  hoarsely  at  what  he  considered  an  excellent  jest, 
he  disappeared  on  his  gruesome  errand,  taking  three  or  four 
of  the  soldiers  with  him.  The  rest  of  the  troop  remained 
surrounding  the  "  Nazarene,"  while  the  crowd  of  spectators 
increased  every  moment,  extending  itself  far  into  the  street 
beyond.  All  the  people  were  growing  more  and  more  excited 
and  impatient, — some  of  them  were  conscious  of  a  certain 
vague  disappointment  and  irritation.  There  was  no  amuse- 
ment in  seeing  a  Man  condemned  to  death  if  He  refused  to  be 
interested  in  His  own  fate,  and  stood  waiting  as  resignedly  and 
patiently  as  this  "  prophet  of  Nazareth"  who  looked  more 
happy  than  pained.  Several  minutes  elapsed,  and  the  cross 
had  not  yet  been  brought.  The  enforced  delay  seemed  likely 
to  be  prolonged,  and  several  thirsty  souls  edged  themselves  out 
of  the  crush  to  get  refreshment  while  they  had  time  and 
opportunity.  Among  these  was  Barabbas.  Some  former  old 
acquaintances  of  his  had  taken  possession  of  him,  and  now 
insisted  upon  his  accompanying  them,  somewhat  against  his 
will,  into  an  inn  close  by,  where  they  drank  his  health  with 
boisterous  acclamations.  Barabbas  ate  and  drank  with  them, 
— and  the  natural  avidity  of  an  almost  starving  man  enabled 
him  to  assume  the  air  of  a  boon  companionship  he  was  far 
from  feeling,  but  when  his  appetite  was  moderately  appeased, 
he  pushed  away  the  remaining  morsels  and  sat  silent  and  ab- 
stracted in  the  midst  of  the  loud  laughter  and  jesting  around 
him. 


60  B  ARABS  AS 

4 ' What  ails  thee,  man?"  cried  one  of  his  entertainers 
presently — u  Thou  art  duller  than  a  dying  dog !  Where  is 
thy  once  reckless  merriment  ?" 

"  Gone  !"  answered  Barabbas  harshly,  his  black  eyes  grow- 
ing more  sombre  and  serious  as  he  spoke, — "  In  the  old  days  I 
was  merry,  and  I  knew  not  why, — now  I  am  sad,  and  know 
not  the  cause  of  my  sadness.  I  have  suffered  long, — I  am 
weary ! — and,  .  .  .  and,  .  .  .  methinks  it  is  a  crime  to  slay 
yon  Nazarene  1" 

His  words  were  met  with  laughter. 

"  By  my  soul,  Barabbas,"  exclaimed  one  man,  clanking  his 
pewter  goblet  on  the  table  as  a  sign  that  he  desired  it  refilled. 

"  Thou  hast  come  out  of  prison  with  the  sentiments  of  a 
woman  !  Thou,  the  wolf,  hast  crawled  forth  a  lamb  !  Ha  ha 
ha  ha !  Who  would  have  thought  it  ?  Thou  that  didst  so 
neatly  slip  thy  knife  into  the  mealy  maw  of  Gabrias,  thou,  of 
all  men  whimperest  for  another  death  which  concerns  thee  not, 
and  is,  by  all  the  laws,  deserved." 

"'Tis  not  deserved!"  muttered  Barabbas — "The  Man  is 
innocent !" 

He  paused,  and  rose  from  his  seat  involuntarily.  His  com- 
panions stopped  drinking  and  stared  at  him. 

"I  tell  ye  all,"  he  continued  firmly — "  there  is  no  sin  in 
that  young  Prophet.  He  hath  done  many  good  things  by 
your  own  report, — and, — looking  at  him  a  while  since  I 
saw" 

He  broke  off, — there  was  a  strange  terror  in  his  eyes  and 
he  shuddered. 

"  What?"  cried  his  friends  in  chorus — "  Surely  thou  hast  a 
devil,  thou  also !  What  sawest  thou  ?" 

"  Nothing !"  and  Barabbas  turned  upon  them  with  a  chill 
smile — "  Nothing  that  ye  would  have  seen  or  cared  to  see  !" 

They  all  regarded  him  in  open-eyed  wonderment.  Was  this 
indeed  Barabbas  ? — this  meditative,  wistful,  thinking  man  ? 
Was  this  the  lawless,  wild  associate  of  the  roystering  band  of 
rebels  who,  with  a  little  surface  knowledge  and  bombastic 
prating  in  the  open  streets  had  actually  succeeded,  not  so  very 
long  ago,  in  disturbing  the  peace  of  the  city  of  Jerusalem? 
And  while  they  remained  silent,  dumbfoundered  and  perplexed, 
a  calm  voice,  melodious  yet  ironical,  suddenly  addressed  them — 

"  Pardon  me,  excellent  sirs,  for  breaking  in  upon  cheerful 
converse, — but  I  seek  to  pay  homage  where  homage  is  due, 
and  I  would  fain  give  humble  greeting,  I  also,  to  him  who  is 


A   DREAM  OF  THE    WORLD'S  TRAGEDY         61 

elected  of  the  people.  Great  are  the  children  of  Israel,  be- 
loved in  all  ages  of  the  one  true  God  who  naturally  hath  no 
sort  of  interest  in  the  fates  of  other  nations ! — great  is  their 
verdict  on  every  question ,  and  for  ever  unerring  their  decision  I 
Great  must  he  be  who  fortunately  wins  their  favour, — there- 
fore, great  is  Barabbas,  and  to  him  I  proffer  salutation  !" 

No  language  could  adequately  describe  the  various  inflections 
of  tone  in  which  this  little  speech  was  given.  Every  note  in 
the  gamut  of  delicate  satire  seemed  sounded, — and  instinctively 
all  present  turned  to  look  at  the  speaker.  And  as  they  looked, 
many  shrank  back  in  evident  apprehension, — Barabbas  how- 
ever, being  unacquainted  with  the  new-comer,  regarded  him 
indifferently  as  he  would  any  other  stranger,  though  not  with- 
out a  certain  touch  of  curiosity.  He  saw  before  him  an  olive- 
complexioned  man  of  rather  small  stature,  slight  in  build,  yet 
apparently  wiry  and  vigorous,  with  a  somewhat  long  oval  face, 
straight  black  brows,  and  eyes  so  glittering  and  strangely- 
coloured  that  they  might  have  been  iridescent  jewels  set  in 
his  head  rather  than  organs  of  vision.  They  were  dark  eyes 
apparently,  but  there  was  a  curious  dull  gold  tint  in  the  iris 
like  clouded  amber,  that  made  them  look  almost  light  at  times 
and  gave  them  a  singularly  unearthly  lustre  and  expression. 
Their  owner  was  clad  in  a  foreign  garb  of  soft,  yellowish 
material  girded  about  him  with  a  broad  band  of  flexible  gold, 
— the  upper  part  of  his  loose  mantle  formed  a  kind  of  hood 
or  cowl  which  was  partially  pulled  over  his  thick  black  hair, 
and  fastened  at  his  throat  with  a  clasp  of  opals.  He  seemed 
discreetly  amused  at  the  disquieting  effect  his  appearance  had 
on  most  of  the  men  assembled  at  the  inn,  but  he  advanced 
nevertheless  and  bowed  profoundly  to  Barabbas,  who  gave  him 
no  other  response  than  a  stare. 

"  Excellent  Barabbas  !"  he  continued  in  the  same  curiously 
cold  yet  perfectly  sweet  accents, — "  Deny  me  not  I  pray  thee, 
the  satisfaction  of  thy  friendship !  I  am  but  a  wanderer  and 
an  alien  in  these  provinces  of  Judaea  so  specially  favoured  by 
a  discriminating  Jehovah, — a  veritable  barbarian  in  my  ways, 
knowing  little,  though  studying  much, — but  in  matters  pertain- 
ing to  thy  welfare,  thou  shalt  perchance  find  me  useful,  whether 
thy  quest  be  of  war  or — love !" 

Barabbas  started, — one  of  his  friends  pulled  him  aside,  whis- 
pering,— 

"  'Tis  Melchior.  Best  humour  him !  He  hath  an  evil  nama 
and  holdeth  sovereignty  over  devils  !" 


62  BARABBAS 

"  I  know  him  not" — said  Barabbas  aloud,  disdaining  the 
warniug  nods  and  winks  of  the  various  members  of  the  com- 
pany present, — "And  therefore  his  greeting  profiteth  me 
nothing." 

The  stranger  smiled. 

"  I  love  honesty !"  he  said  suavely, — "  And  thou,  Barabbas, 
art  honest!"  A  rough  ripple  of  subdued  mirth  went  the 
round  of  the  men,  and  Barabbas  winced  as  though  the  point 
of  a  lash  had  stung  his  flesh.  "  True  it  is  that  thou  knowest 
me  not ;  equally  true  it  is  that  thou  shall  know  me.  Melchior 
is  my  name  as  thy  ear-whisperer  hath  stated,  but  of  sovereignty 
over  devils  I  am  innocent,  inasmuch  as  I  rule  no  men !"  His 
eyes  lightened  and  flashed  a  topaz  brilliancy  under  the  heavy 
blackness  of  his  brows  as  he  continued — "  What  motley  garb 
is  this?"  and  he  felt  between  finger  and  thumb  the  texture  of 
the  embroidered  mantle  which  had  been  flung  round  Barabbas 
on  his  release  from  prison — "  Thou  art  all  but  naked  beneath 
this  glistering  show, — a  noble  emblem  of  humanity  in  very 
truth  1  Even  thus  did  I  expect  to  find  thee, — robed  as  a  king 
without,  but  within,  the  merest  squalid  nudity !  Follow  me 
and  be  cleansed  of  thy  prison  foulness, — I  have  my  dwelling 
for  the  present  here  in  this  hostelry, — and  in  mine  upper  cham- 
ber thou  can'st  prank  thyself  out  in  fitting  attire  to  meet  the 
eyes  of  thy  beloved,  for  as  thou  art,  most  surely  she  will  laugh 
at  thee !  Hath  she  not  laughed  at  thee  before  ?  Come  and  be 
garmented  for  festival !" 

But  Barabbas  held  his  ground,  though  his  dark  cheek  flushed 
at  the  stranger's  familiar  allusions  to  his  "  beloved."  Drawing 
the  rich  robe  he  wore  more  closely  about  him,  he  gave  a  ges- 
ture of  haughty  refusal. 

"  I  obey  no  man's  bidding,"  he  said, — "  I  have  not  been  so 
lately  set  at  liberty  that  I  should  now  become  a  slave.  Think 
me  not  churlish  that  I  refuse  thy  proffered  service, — time  passes 
swiftly  and  behold,  in  the  space  of  .moments  I  go  hence  with 
the  multitude, — I  fain  would  see  the  death  of  the  condemned 
Nazarene." 

Melchior's  face  changed.  A  dark  shadow  swept  across  his 
features, — an  expression  of  mingled  sorrow  and  solemnity. 

"  Thou  shalt  most  assuredly  behold  that  death  !"  he  said, — 
"  For  will  not  all  the  world  be  there?  'Tis  Humanity's  great 
Feast  of  Slaughter  1 — the  apotheosis  of  the  Jews !  A  true 
gala ! — a  thing  to  remember ! — mark  me,  a  thing  to  remember 
I  tell  thee  1  For  in  ages  to  come  perchance,  the  story  of  how 


A  DREAM  OF  THE   WORLD'S  TRAGEDY        63 

this  Man  of  Nazareth  was  slain  to  satisfy  the  blood-thirstiness 
of  the  God-elected  children  of  Israel,  may  serve  as  a  wonder 
and  terror  of  time !"  He  paused, — his  countenance  cleared, 
and  he  resumed  his  former  ironical  tone, — "  Yea,  thou  shalt 
see  the  prophet  die, — but  believe  me  when  I  tell  thee  that  she 
whom  thou  lovest  will  also  be  there,  and  hast  thou  the  look  of 
a  lover  ? — clad  thus  foolishly,  and  uncouth  as  an  escaped  bear  ?" 
He  laughed  lightly.  "  Yet  nevertheless  I  will  not  ask  thee  to 
do  my  bidding,  most  self-reliant  and  excellent  Barabbas  1  I  do 
but  tell  thee  that  in  my  upper  chamber  here  thou  can'st  be 
decently  garbed  if  so  thou  wiliest.  And  maybe  thou  shalt  hear 
private  news  of  import.  Please  thy  humour !  Follow,  not 
me,  but  thine  own  inclination  1" 

He  nodded  carelessly  to  the  staring  company,  and  passing 
through  the  room  with  a  soft  almost  cat-like  tread,  he  began 
to  ascend  a  dark  and  narrow  flight  of  stone  stairs  leading  to 
the  second  floor  of  the  inn.  Startled  and  bewildered  by  his 
mysterious  words  and  manner,  Barabbas  watched  the  yellow 
glimmer  of  his  garments  vanishing  upward  by  degrees  till  he 
had  quite  disappeared, — then,  like  a  man  driven  by  some  irre- 
sistible necessity,  he  muttered  an  incoherent  excuse  to  his 
amazed  companions,  and  in  a  blind,  unreasoning,  unconquerable 
impulse,  rushed  after  him. 


CHAPTER  X. 

"  HE  is  mad !" 

"  Melchior,  or  Barabbas, — which  ?" 

"  Both !" 

These  and  other  similar  exclamations  broke  from  most  of 
the  men  assembled  in  the  common  room  of  the  inn.  Melchior's 
sudden  entrance,  his  conversation  with  the  newly-liberated 
criminal,  and  finally,  his  departure  followed  by  the  headlong 
exit  of  Barabbas  himself  had  all  taken  place  within  a  few 
minutes,  and  the  incident  had  left  an  impression  of  stupefied 
wonderment  on  those  who  had  witnessed  it. 

"  Who  is  this  Melchior  ? — what  is  his  calling  ?"  demanded 
one  man  suspiciously — "  What  country  is  he  of? — how  cometh 
he  here  in  Jerusalem  ?" 

There  was  a  silence.     No  one  seemed  ready  with  a  reply. 


64  BARABBAS 

The  keeper  of  the  inn,  a  middle-aged  Jew  01  servile  and  pro 
pitiatory  manners,  edged  himself  gradually  within  the  circle  of 
his  customers,  and  coughing  softly  to  attract  attention,  said — 

"  Methinks,  good  sirs,  ye  mistake  him  greatly  in  giving  him 
an  evil  repute  merely  for  the  unexplained  frequency  of  his 
visits  to  the  city.  He  is  assuredly  a  man  of  wealth  and  wis- 
dom,— though  as  to  what  land  he  journeyed  from,  none  can 
say  truly,  though  of  my  own  poor  opinion,  I  would  deem  his 
birthplace  in  Egypt.  Concerning  his  business  here  he  hath 
none  save  the  following  of  his  own  pleasure, — he  comes  and 
goes,— and  hath  ever  left  some  poor  man  the  richer  for  his 
sojourn." 

"  Like  enough  thou  speakest  well  of  him,  Ben  Ezra !" — 
laughed  one  of  his  auditors — "  Thou  knowest  the  trick  of 
lining  thy  pouch  with  gold  !  'Twould  be  but  a  fool's  error  to 
wag  thy  tongue  against  this  alien  whom  thou  shelterest  while 
thou  dost  charge  him  double  fees  for  food  and  lodgement ! 
Go  to!  Thou  can'st  not  judge  of  him  fairly,— good  ready 
money  doth  quickly  purchase  good  opinion  !" 

Ben  Ezra  smiled  amicably  and  began  to  clear  away  some  of 
the  emptied  pewter  flagons. 

"  Doubtless  ye  are  all  well-skilled  in  such  matters" — he  re- 
plied indifferently — "  No  host  maligns  a  paying  customer. 
Nevertheless,  the  worthy  Melchior  comporteth  himself  with 
such  excellent  good  discretion  that  I  see  no  cause  wherein  ye 
should  take  fear  of  him, — he  hath  done  no  man  harm." 

"  Not  that  thou  knowest  of,  belike" — said  a  surly  fellow, 
rising  from  his  seat,  and  preparing  to  depart — "  But  they  that 
are  reported  harmless,  often  by  spells  and  incantations,  inflict 
most  deadly  injuries.  Witness  yon  crazed  and  sinful  Prophet 
of  Nazareth ! — hath  he  not  the  face  of  an  angel  ? — and  yet  he 
hath  cursed  the  Holy  Temple,  and  sworn  that  not  one  stone 
shall  remain  upon  another  to  show  what  it  hath  been  1  Lo, 
for  such  evil  boasting  his  death  shall  scarce  atone  !  And  did 
not  his  mere  glance  this  morning  send  Pilate  almost  mad,  and 
plunge  him  in  a  deadly  swoon  ?" 

"  Ay,  ay  !     Thou  sayest  truly !" 

And,  reminded  of  the  impending  triple  execution  about  to 
take  place,  the  whole  company  rose  up  to  leave  the  inn,  and 
began  to  pay  their  various  reckonings  with  the  landlord. 
While  they  were  thus  engaged,  a  great  roar  went  up  from  the 
waiting  multitude  outside, — a  hoarse  discordant  sound  of  sav- 
agery and  menace.  Glancing  comprehensively  at  one  another 


A  DREAM  OF  THE   WORLD'S  TRAGEDY        65 

the  party  of  wine-drinkers  hastily  settled  their  accounts  and 
made  a  general  rush  from  the  inn,  out  into  the  street,  where, 
though  they  knew  it  not,  the  most  strangely  imposing  and 
wondrous  spectacle  that  was  ever  seen  or  would  ever  be  seen 
in  the  world  awaited  them, — the  spectacle  of  a  God  led  forth 
to  die ! 

The  crowd  had  increased  so  enormously  that  the  road  was 
completely  blocked.  Tradesmen  with  hand- carts  and  pedlars 
leading  pack-mules  could  not  pass,  and  had  to  turn  back  and 
find  their  way  through  the  dark  and  tortuous  by-streets  of  the 
city  to  their  various  destinations.  Children  lost  themselves  in 
the  crush,  and  went  about  crying,  in  search  of  their  parents, 
— a  party  of  travellers  newly  arrived  from  Damascus  by  the 
caravan  route,  got  wedged  with  their  worn-out  horses  and 
mules  in  the  thick  of  the  mob  and  could  not  move  an  inch. 
As  far  as  the  eye  could  see,  the  vari-coloured  throng  heaved 
restlessly  to  and  fro  under  the  blaze  of  the  brilliant  sun,  and 
moving  slowly  and  majestically  in  the  midst  of  all,  came  the 
thorn-crowned  "  Nazarene."  His  hands  and  arms  had  been 
newly  and  more  strongly  bound,  and  were  now  tied  behind 
Him  so  that  He  could  not  touch  anything,  or  attempt  by  so 
much  as  a  gesture  to  awaken  the  sympathies  of  the  people. 
Soldiers  encircled  Him  with  a  ring  of  glittering  spears, — and 
following  Him  closely  came  four  men,  of  whom  one  was  the 
executioner,  labouring  under  the  cumbrous  weight  of  a  huge 
Cross  some  ten  feet  in  height,  the  lower  end  of  which  scraped 
gratingly  along  in  the  dust,  the  thick  beam  being  too  heavy  to 
lift  up  completely.  As  they  caught  sight  of  the  cruel  instru- 
ment of  death,  the  populace  set  up  an  ecstatic  yell  of  ferocious 
applause  and  satisfaction,  and  turned  their  faces  all  with  one 
accord  towards  the  place  of  execution,  which  they  understood 
to  be  a  small  hill  outside  the  town,  sometimes  called  Golgotha, 
and  sometimes  Calvary.  At  the  moment  when  the  huge 
human  mass  thus  began  to  move  in  one  pre-determined  direc- 
tion, two  additional  spectators  joined  the  swarming  rabble, — 
they  were  Barabbas  and  Melchior.  Barabbas,  clad  in  tunic, 
vest  and  mantle  of  a  dense  blackish  purple,  bordered  with 
gold,  his  rough  beard  combed  and  trimmed,  and  a  loose  hood 
of  white  linen  pulled  over  the  thick  mass  of  his  wild  black  hair, 
looked  a  very  different  personage  to  the  half-naked,  reckless 
ruffian  who  had  been  set  free  of  the  criminal  dungeons  that 
very  morning.  He  kept  close  beside  his  mysterious  new  ac- 
quaintance, watching  him  anxiously  from  time  to  time  a* 
«  6* 


66  BARABBAS 

though  afraid  to  lose  sight  of  him.  His  countenance  was 
grave  and  composed  and  not  without  a  certain  harsh  beauty  of 
expression, — and  he  walked  with  an  informal  grace  and  ease 
that  was  almost  dignity.  Now  and  then  his  eyes  wandered  over 
the  crowd  in  front  of  him  to  the  white  figure  of  the  condemned 
"King  of  the  Jews,"  whose  shining  head,  circled  with  the 
prickly  coronal,  rose  visibly  like  a  featured  Star  above  all  the 
rest  of  the  surging  thousands. 

"  'Tis  a  crime  to  slay  the  innocent," — he  muttered.  "  Con- 
done it  as  they  will,  it  is  a  crime." 

Melchior  gave  him  a  keen  critical  glance. 

"  Nothing  is  a  crime  if  the  people  swear  by  it" — he  said — 
"  And  to  slay  the  innocent  hath  ever  been  man's  delight. 
Doth  he  not  trap  the  singing-birds  and  draw  his  knife  across 
the  throat  of  the  fawn  ?  Doth  he  not  tear  up  the  life  of  a 
blameless  tree  and  choke  the  breath  of  flowers  in  the  grasp  of 
his  hand?  What  would'st  thou,  thou  meditative  black-browed 
son  of  Judaea  ?  Physically  or  morally,  the  innocent  are  always 
slain  in  this  world.  No  one  believes  in  a  pure  body — still  less 
do  they  believe  in  a  pure  soul.  Pure  soul  and  pure  body  are 
there  in  yonder  thorn- crowned  Monarch  of  many  lands, — and 
lo  you  how  we  all  troop  forth  to  see  him  die !" 

Barabbas  was  silent,  troublously  revolving  in  his  own  mind 
the  phrase  "  Monarch  of  many  lands." 

"  What  is  death  ?"  pursued  Melchior, — "  Why  doth  it  seem 
so  hard  a  matter?  "Tis  the  end  of  all  men.  Yet  whosoever 
slays  the  guilty  shall  be  punished, — witness  thyself,  Barabbas, 
who  did'st  rid  the  world  of  a  lying  knave.  Clad  in  the  skin 
of  hypocrisy  was  the  eminent  Gabrias,  and  thou  did'st  send  him 
into  outer  darkness  with  one  thrust  of  thy  blade !  That  was 
not  wisely  done,  thou  fierce-blooded  rascal !  for  he  was  an  evil 
man,  protected  by  the  law,  whereas  a  good  and  just  Man  walk- 
eth  yonder  to  His  death,  condemned  by  the  Jews,  and  the 
Jews  are  not  punished — yet !" 

As  he  finished  speaking  there  was  a  loud  crashing  noise  and 
a  shout,  and  the  march  of  the  multitude  suddenly  stopped. 
The  great  Cross  had  slipped  from  the  grasp  of  the  men  sup- 
porting it,  and  its  huge  weight  falling  heavily  sideways  had 
well-nigh  crushed  one  of  the  crowd  who  had  ventured  too  near 
it.  It  was  a  matter  of  some  difficulty  to  get  it  up  from  the 
ground  again,  and  when  the  bearers  had  at  last  succeeded  in 
partially  raising  it,  they  paused  to  take  breath,  and  looked 
about  them  for  assistance.  At  that  moment  a  huge,  broad- 


A  DREAM  OF  THE    WORLD'S  TRAGEDY         67 

shouldered,  black -haired,  tawny-skinned  fellow  was  seen  to  be 
elbowing  his  way  along  in  a  contrary  direction  to  that  in  which 
the  mob  were  pressing,  and  as  he  came,  many  of  the  people 
shouted  noisy  and  derisive  greetings.  His  great  height  made 
him  conspicuous,  for  he  towered  above  all  the  heads  of  the 
throng  except  that  of  the  "  Nazarene" — and  the  long  almond 
shape  of  his  eyes,  his  dark  skin,  and  manner  of  dress  bespoke 
him  of  a  very  different  race  to  the  elect  of  Judaea.  As  he 
pushed  through  the  press  like  a  giant  thrusting  aside  pig- 
mies, some  of  the  soldiers  recognised  him,  and  shouted  his 
name. 

"  Simon !" 

"  Come  hither,  Simon  !  Lend  thine  aid !  Hast  thou  Rufus 
and  Alexander  with  thee?" 

"  What  news  from  Cyrene  ?" 

"  Thou  art  here  in  good  time,  Simon  !  For  once  we  shall 
find  use  for  thee  !" 

Hearing  these  and  sundry  other  vociferations,  the  black- 
browed  Cyrenian  paused  and  looked  scornfully  about  him. 

"What  is  this  fool's  feast  of  howling?"  he  demanded  in 
an  angry  tone — "  Are  you  emptying  Jerusalem  of  her  thieves 
and  rascals  ?  Then  shall  the  city  be  left  desolate !  Whither 
go  ye  ?"  Then,  as  his  fiery  eyes  roved  over  the  throng  and 
he  caught  sight  of  the  fair  face  of  the  doomed  Captive — 
"  What  enslaved  Prince  have  ye  there  ?" 

Wild  yells  and  execrations  drowned  his  voice,  and  a  con- 
siderable portion  of  the  mob  closed  in  and  began  to  hustle 
him  roughly. 

"  Art  thou  drunken  with  new  wine  that  thou  dost  see  a 
prince  in  a  malefactor  ?  Thieves  and  rascals  dost  thou  call 
us,  thou  dog !" 

"  Let  him  bear  the  Cross  of  the  Nazarene  !"  shouted  one 
of  the  roughs, — "  He  hath  often  boasted  he  hath  the  strength 
of  four  men  !" 

"  Ay,  ay  !  Let  him  carry  the  Cross  !  'Tis  fitting  toil  for 
a  Cyrenian  jack-ass  such  as  he !" 

And  they  continued  to  press  round  him  with  much  hooting 
and  swearing.  The  huge  Simon  was  about  to  strike  out  with 
his  fists  and  fight  his  way  free  of  them  all,  when  suddenly, — 
right  across  the  heads  of  the  multitude, — he  met  the  straight, 
luminous,  penetrating  look  of  the  Christ.  Something  shot 
through  his  veins  like  fire, — his  strong  limbs  trembled, — a 
strange  surprise  and  fear  benumbed  his  mental  faculties, — 


68  BARABBAS 

and  he  mechanically  allowed  himself  to  be  pushed  along  to 
the  spot  where  the  bearers  of  the  Cross  still  rested,  taking 
breath,  and  wiping  the  sweat  from  their  brows." 

"  Welcome,  Simon  !"  said  one  of  them  with  a  grin — "  Thy 
broad  back  shall  for  once  do  us  good  service !  Where  are  thy 
sons?" 

"  What  need  ye  of  them  ?"  growled  Simon  roughly, — 
"  Surely  they  have  been  in  Jerusalem  these  many  days." 

"  Rufus  hath  been  wine-bibbing,"  piped  a  lad  standing 
by, — "  And  Alexander  hath  been  seen  oft  at  the  money- 
changers' !" 

"  And  thou  art  a  prating  infant,"  retorted  Simon — "  Who 
gave  thee  leave  to  note  the  actions  of  grown  men?  In 
Gyrene  thou  would'st  be  whipped  for  opening  thy  mouth 
before  thy  betters." 

"  Callest  thou  thyself  my  betters !"  said  the  boy  derisively, 
— "  Thou  mud-skinned  rascal !  Take  up  the  Cross  and  see 
thou  stumble  not !" 

For  one  second  Simon  looked  as  though  he  were  about  to 
strike  the  lad  to  the  earth, — but  he  was  surrounded  by  the 
Jewish  mob  and  the  Roman  soldiers,  and  there  was  the  mag- 
netic impression  upon  him  of  two  splendid  sorrowful  Eyes 
that  had,  in  one  lightning  glance,  expressed  a  silent  wish, — a 
dumb  yet  irresistible  command  ; — and  therefore  he  stood  mute, 
displaying  no  resentment.  Nor  did  he  make  the  least  attempt 
to  resist  when,  with  jeers  and  laughter,  the  soldiers  lifted  the 
great  Cross  and  laid  its  entire,  unsupported  weight  upon  his 
shoulders. 

"  How  likest  thou  that,  thou  giant  of  the  mountain  and 
the  sea!"  screamed  an  excitable  old  woman  in  the  crowd, 
shaking  her  wrinkled  fist  at  him, — "  Wilt  vaunt  again  of  thy 
city  set  on  a  hill,  and  the  vigour  thou  inhalest  from  thy  tufts 
of  pine?  Shall  we  not  hear  thy  sinews  crack,  thou  ruffian 
of  Gyrene,  who  doth  dare  to  mock  the  children  of  Israel  1" 

But  Simon  replied  not.  He  had  settled  the  Cross  steadily 
in  position,  and  now,  clasping  its  lower  beam  with  both  mus- 
cular arms,  appeared  to  carry  its  massive  weight  with  extraor- 
dinary and  even  pleasurable  ease.  The  soldiers  gathered 
round  him  in  amaze, — such  herculean  vigour  was  something 
of  a  miracle, — and  awakened  their  reluctant  admiration.  Pe- 
tronius,  the  centurion,  approached  him. 

"  Can'st  thou  in  very  truth  bear  the  Cross?"  he  asked, — he 
was  a  mercifully-minded  man,  and  of  himself  would  neither 


A    DREAM  OF  THE    WORLD'S   TRAGEDY         &9 

have  incited  a  mob  to  cruelty  nor  soldiers  to  outrage — "  'Tis 
some  distance  yet  to  Calvary, — wilt  venture  thus  far?" 

Simon  lifted  his  black  leonine  head, — his  eyes  had  grown 
soft  and  humid,  and  a  faint  smile  trembled  on  his  bearded  lips. 

"  I  will  venture  with  this  burden  to  the  end  of  the  world !" 
he  answered,  and  there  was  a  deep  thrill  of  tenderness  in  his 
voice  that  made  its  roughness  musical ;  "  'To  me  'tis  light  as  a 
reed  newly  plucked  by  the  river !  Waste  no  words  concerning 
my  strength  or  my  body's  ableness, — lead  on  with  yonder 
crowned  Man — I  follow  1" 

Petronius  stared  at  him  in  undisguised  wonderment,  but  said 
no  more.  And  once  again  the  multitude  began  to  move,  crush- 
ing onward  like  the  troublous  waves  of  a  dark  sea,  all  flowing 
in  one  direction,  and  illumined  only  by  the  golden  beacon 
splendour  of  that  Divine  Glory  in  their  midst,  the  god-like 
visage,  the  stedfast  eyes  and  radiant  head  of  the  "  King  of  the 
Jews."  And  the  tramping  feet  of  the  hurrying  thousands 
awakened  from  the  stones  of  the  road  a  sullen  continuous  echo 
of  thunder,  as  with  shouts  and  shrieks  and  oaths  and  laughter 
they  pressed  forward,  athirst  for  blood, — forward,  and  on  to 
Calvary ! 


CHAPTER  XL 

THE  sun  now  rode  high  in  the  heavens,  and  the  scorching 
heat  became  almost  unendurable.  The  morning's  trial  had 
begun  earlier  and  lasted  longer  than  in  ordinary  cases,  owing  to 
Pilate's  indecision,  and  after  the  final  pronouncement  of  the 
people's  verdict,  there  had  still  been  delays,  so  that  time  had 
worn  on  imperceptibly  till  it  was  past  mid-day.  The  perfect 
blue  of  the  sky  was  of  such  a  deep  and  polished  luminance 
that  it  suggested  a  dome  of  bright  burning  metal  rather  than 
air,  from  which  the  vertical  light-rays  darted,  sharp  as  needles, 
plunging  their  hot  points  smartingly  into  the  flesh.  Jerusalem 
lay  staring  up  at  the  brilliant  glare,  its  low  white  houses  look- 
ing almost  brittle  in  the  blistering  flames  of  noon, — here  and 
there  tall  palms  shot  up  their  slender  brown  stems  and  tufts  of 
dusty  green  against  the  glassy  dazzle  of  the  clear  ether, — and, 
hanging  over  the  roofs  of  some  of  the  best-built  dwellings,  the 
large  loose  leaves  of  the  fig-trees  lolled  lazily,  spreading  wide 
and  displaying  on  their  branches  ripe  fruit  ready  to  break  into 


fO  BARABBAS 

crimson  pulp  at  a  touch.  Full  in  the  hlaze  of  the  sunshine  the 
splendid  Temple  of  Solomon  on  Mount  Moriah  glistened  like 
a  huge  jewel,  its  columns  and  porticoes  defined  with  micro- 
scopical distinctness  and  clearly  visible  from  every  quarter  of 
the  city, — while  at  certain  glimmering  points  of  distance  the 
monotonous  outlines  of  buildings  and  street  corners  were  re- 
lieved by  the  pink  flush  of  cactus-flowers  and  the  grey-green 
of  olive-boughs.  Over  all  the  scene  there  brooded  a  threaten- 
ing stillness  as  of  pent-up  thunder, — and  this  heavy  calm  of 
the  upper  air  presented  itself  in  singular  opposition  to  the 
tumultuous  roaring  of  the  crowd  below,  whose  savage  irrita- 
bility and  impatience  were  sensibly  increased  by  the  parching 
dry  ness  of  the  atmosphere.  Pouring  through  the  streets  in  a 
lever  of  excitement  that  rose  higher  with  every  onward  step, 
the  heat  and  fatigue  of  their  march  seemed  to  swell  their  fury 
rather  than  diminish  it,  and  they  bellowed  like  wild  beasts  as 
they  scrambled,  pushed  and  tore  along,  each  man  ravenously 
eager  to  be  among  the  first  to  arrive  at  the  place  of  execution. 
And  by  and  by,  when  the  soldiers  began  to  halt  at  various 
wine-shops  on  their  way  to  quench  the  devouring  thirst  induced 
by  the  choking  dust  and  the  stifling  weather,  the  multitude 
were  not  slow  in  following  their  example.  Drink  was  pur- 
chased and  passed  about  freely  in  cups  and  flagons,  and  its 
effect  was  soon  seen.  Disorderly  groups  of  men  and  women 
began  to  dance  and  sing, — some  pretended  to  preach, — others 
to  prophesy, — one  of  the  roughs  offered  a  goblet  of  wine  to 
Simon  of  Gyrene,  and  because  he  steadily  refused  it,  dashed  it 
violently  on  the  Cross  he  carried.  The  red  liquid  trickled  off 
the  wood  like  blood,  and  the  fellow  who  had  cast  it  there  gave 
a  tipsy  yell  of  laughter. 

"  Lo  'tis  baptized  !"  he  cried  to  the  applauding  mob, — "  With 
a  better  baptism  than  that  of  headless  John  !" 

His  dissolute  companions  roared  their  appreciation  of  the 
jest,  and  the  discordant  hubbub  grew  more  and  more  deafen- 
ing. With  that  curious  fickleness  common  to  crowds,  every 
one  seemed  to  have  forgotten  Barabbas,  for  whose  release  they 
had  so  recently  and  eagerly  clamoured.  They  were  evidently 
not  aware  of  his  presence  among  them, — probably  they  did  not 
recognise  him,  clad  as  he  was  in  sober  and  well-ordered  apparel. 
He  was  in  the  thick  of  the  press  however,  and  watched  the 
coarse  half-drunken  antics  of  those  around  him  with  a  pained 
and  meditative  gravity.  Occasionally  his  eyes  grew  restless 
and  wandered  over  the  heaving  mass  of  people  in  troubled 


A   DREAM  OF  THE    WORLD'S  TRAGEDY         71 

search,  as  though  looking  for  something  lost  and  incalculably 
precious.  Melchior,  always  beside  him,  observed  this  and 
smiled  somewhat  satirically. 

"  She  is  not  there," — he  said — "  Thinkest  thou  she  would 
mingle  with  this  vulgar  swarm  ?  Nay,  nay  !  She  will  come, 
even  as  the  high- priests  will  come,  by  private  by-ways, — per- 
chance the  excellent  Caiaphas  himself  will  bring  her." 

"  Caiaphas  !"  echoed  Barabbas  doubtfully—"  What  knoweth 
she  of  Caiaphas  ?" 

"  Much  !"  replied  Melchior.  "  His  wife  is  one  of  her  friends 
elect.  Have  I  not  told  thee,  thou  siraple-souled  barbarian,  to 
remember  that  thou  hast  been  lost  to  the  world  for  eighteen 
months?  To  a  woman  'tis  an  ample  leisure  wherein  to  work 
mischief !  Nay,  be  not  wrathful ! — 'tis  my  alien  way  of  speech, 
and  I  am  willing  to  believe  thy  maiden  a  paragon  of  all  the 
virtues  till" 

"  Till  what?"  demanded  Barabbas  suspiciously. 

"  Till  it  is  proved  otherwise  !"  said  Melchior.  "  And  that 
she  is  beauteous  is  beyond  all  question, — and  beauty  is  all  that 
the  soul  of  a  man  desireth.  Nevertheless,  as  I  told  thee  awhile 
agone,  'twas  her  brother  that  betrayed  the  '  Nazarene.'  " 

"  I  marvel  at  it !"  murmured  Barabbas — "  Judas  was  ever 
of  an  open  candid  nature." 

"  Thou  did'st  know  him  well  ?"  questioned  Melchior  with 
one  of  his  keen  looks. 

"  Not  well,  but  sufficiently" — and  Barabbas  flushed  a  shamed 
red  as  he  spoke — "  He  was  one  of  my  fellow- workers  in  the 
house  of  Shadeen, — the  merchant  I  told  thee  of" 

"  The  Persian  dealer  in  pearls  and  gold  ? — Ah  !"  and  Mel- 
chior smiled  again, — "  And,  all  to  please  the  sister  of  this  so 
candid  Judas,  thou  did'st  steal  jewels  and  wert  caught  in  thy 
theft !  Worthy  Barabbas  !  Methinks  that  for  this  Judith  of 
thine,  thou  did'st  commit  all  thy  sins!" 

Barabbas  lowered  his  eyes. 

"  She  craved  for  gems," — he  said,  in  the  tone  of  one  prof- 
fering suitable  excuse, — "  And  I  took  a  necklet  of  pure  pearls. 
They  were  suited  to  her  maidenhood,  and  seemed  to  me  better 
placed  round  her  soft  dove's  throat  than  in  the  musty  coffer  of 
Shadeen." 

"  Truly  a  notable  reason  for  robbing  thy  employer  !  And 
thy  plea  for  the  right  to  commit  murder  was  equally  simple, — 
Gabrias  the  Pharisee  slandered  the  fair  one,  and  thou  with  a 
knife-thrust  did'st  silence  his  evil  tongue !  So !  to  speak  hon- 


72  BARABBAS 

estly  'tis  this  Judith  Iscariot  is  the  cause  of  all  thy  sufferings 
and  thy  imprisonment  and  yet — thou  lovest  her  !" 

"  If  thou  hast  seen  her" — murmured  Barabbas  with  a  sigh. 

"  I  have  !"  returned  Melchior  tranquilly — "  She  is  willing  to 
be  seen  !  Is  she  not  the  unrivalled  beauty  of  the  city,  and 
wherefore  should  she  be  chary  of  her  charms  ?  They  will  not 
last  for  ever ;  best  flourish  them  abroad  while  yet  they  are  fresh 
and  fair.  Nevertheless  they  have  made  of  thee  both  thief  and 
murderer." 

Barabbas  did  not  attempt  to  contradict  the  truth  of  this  piti- 
less statement. 

"  And  if  all  were  known" — pursued  Melchior, — "  the  sedition 
in  which  thou  wert  concerned  perchance  arose  from  her  per- 
suasion ?" 

"  No,  no  !"  averred  Barabbas  quickly — "  There  were  many 
reasons.  We  are  under  tyranny  ;  not  so  much  from  Home  as 
from  our  own  people,  who  assist  to  make  the  laws.  The  priests 
and  the  Pharisees  rule  us,  and  many  are  the  abuses  of  au- 
thority. The  poor  are  oppressed, — the  wronged  are  never 
righted.  Now  I  have  read  many  a  Greek  and  Roman  scroll, — 
and  have  even  striven  to  study  somewhat  of  the  wisdom  of  the 
Egyptians,  and  I  have  the  gifts  of  memory  and  ready  speech, 
so  that  I  can,  if  needful,  address  a  multitude.  I  fell  in  with 
some  of  the  disaffected,  and  gave  them  my  service  in  their 
cause, — I  know  not  how  it  chanced, — but  surely  there  is  a 
craving  for  freedom  in  the  breast  of  every  man  ? — and  we, — 
we  are  not  free." 

"  Patience  !  ye  shall  have  wondrous  liberty  ere  long  !"  said 
Melchior,  a  dark  look  flashing  from  his  eyes — "  For  the  time  is 
coming  when  the  children  of  Israel  shall  rule  the  land  with 
rods  of  iron !  The  chink  of  coin  shall  be  the  voice  of  their 
authority,  and  yonder  thorn-crowned  Spirit  will  have  lived  on 
earth  in  vain  for  those  who  love  gold  more  than  life.  The 
triumph  of  the  Jews  is  yet  to  be !  Long  have  they  been  the 
captive  and  the  conquered, — but  they  shall  make  captives  in 
their  turn,  and  conquer  the  mightiest  kings.  By  fraud,  by 
falsehood,  by  cunning,  by  worldly-wisdom,  by  usury,  by  every 
poisoned  arrow  in  Satan's  quiver  they  shall  rule  !  Even  thy 
name,  Barabbas,  shall  serve  them  as  a  leading  title  ;  'tis  thou 
shalt  be  <  King  of  the  Jews'  as  far  as  this  world  holds, — for 
He  who  goeth  before  us  is  King  of  a  wider  nation — a  nation 
of  immortal  spirits  over  whom  gold  has  no  power  !" 

Barabbas  gazed  at  him  in  awe,  understanding  little  of  what 


A   DREAM  OF  THE    WORLD'S   TRAGEDY         73 

he  meant,  but  chilled  by  the  stern  tone  of  his  voice  which 
seemed  to  have  within  it  a  jarring  note  of  menace  and  warn- 
ing. 

"  What  nation  dost  thou  speak  of" — he  murmured, — "  What 
world" 

"What  world?"  repeated  Melchior, — "No  single  world, 
but  a  thousand  million  worlds!  There,  far  above  us" — and 
he  pointed  to  the  dazzling  sky,  "  is  the  azure  veil  which  hides 
their  courses  and  muffles  their  music, — but  they  are  existent 
facts,  not  dreamer's  fancies, — huge  spheres,  vast  systems 
sweeping  onward  in  their  appointed  ways,  rich  with  melody, 
brimming  with  life,  rounded  with  light,  and  yonder  Man  of 
despised  Nazareth,  walking  to  His  death,  knows  the  secrets 
of  them  all !" 

Stricken  with  a  sudden  terror,  Barabbas  stopped  abruptly 
and  caught  the  impassioned  speaker  by  the  arm. 

"What  sayest  thou?"  he  gasped — "Art  thou  mad? — or 
hast  thou  too,  beheld  the  Vision?  For  I  have  thought 
strange  and  fearful  things  since  I  looked  upon  His  face  and 
saw —  Nay,  good  Melchior,  why  should  this  crime  be  visited 
upon  Judsea?  Let  me  harangue  the  people, — perchance  it 
is  not  yet  too  late  for  rescue !" 

"  Rescue  !"  echoed  Melchior — "  Rescue  a  lamb  from  wolves, 
— a  fawn  from  tigers, — or  more  difficult  still  a  Faith  from 
priestcraft !  Let  be,  thou  rash  son  of  blinded  passion,  let  be  ! 
What  is  designed  must  be  accomplished." 

He  was  silent  for  a  little  space,  and  seemed  absorbed  in 
thought.  Barabbas  walked  beside  him,  silent  too,  but  full  of 
an  inexplicable  horror  and  fear.  The  surging  mob  howled 
and  screamed  around  them, — their  ears  were  for  the  moment 
deaf  to  outer  things.  Presently  Melchior  looked  up  and  the 
amber  gleam  in  his  eyes  glittered  strangely,  as  he  said — 

"  And  Judas, — Judas  Iscariot,  thou  sayest,  was  of  a  simple 
nature  ?" 

"  He  seemed  so  when  I  knew  him" — answered  Barabbas 
with  an  effort,  for  his  thoughts  were  in  a  tangle  of  distress 
and  perplexity — "  He  was  notable  for  truth  and  conscientious- 
ness,— he  was  much  trusted,  and  kept  the  books  of  Shadeen. 
At  times  he  had  wild  notions  of  reform, — he  resented  tyranny, 
and  loathed  the  priests.  Yea,  so  much  did  he  loathe  them 
that  he  never  would  have  entered  the  synagogue,  had  it  not 
been  to  please  his  father,  and  more  specially  Judith,  his  only 
sister  whom  he  loved.  So  much  he  once  told  me.  One  day 


74  BARABBAS 

he  left  the  city  in  haste  and  secrecy,— none  knew  whither  h« 
went, — and  after  that" 

"After  that  thou  did'st  steal  Shadeen's  pearls  for  thy 
love  and  slay  thy  love's  slanderer," — finished  his  companion 
serenely,  "  and  thou  wert  plunged  in  prison  for  thy  follies  ; 
and  narrowly  hast  thou  escaped  being  crucified  this  day." 

Barabbas  looked  up,  his  black  eyes  firing  with  a  sudden 
ardour. 

"  I  would  have  died  willingly  to  save  yon  kingly  Man !' ' 
he  said  impulsively. 

Melchior  regarded  him  steadily,  and  his  own  eyes  softened. 

"  Breaker  of  the  law,  thief  and  murderer  as  thou  art  con- 
victed of  being,"  he  said,  "  thou  hast  something  noble  in  thy 
nature  after  all !  May  it  count  to  thy  good  hereafter !  And 
of  Judas  I  can  tell  thee  somewhat.  When  he  departed 
secretly  from  Jerusalem,  he  journeyed  to  the  borders  of  the 
Sea  of  Galilee,  and  there  did  join  himself  in  company  with 
the  Prophet  of  Nazareth  and  His  other  disciples.  He  wan- 
dered with  Him  throughout  the  land, — I  myself  saw  him 
near  Capernaum,  and  he  was  ever  foremost  in  service  to  his 
Master.  Now,  here  in  Jerusalem  last  night,  he  gave  Him 
up  to  the  guard, — and  lo,  the  name  of  '  Judas'  from  hence- 
forth will  stand  for  '  traitor'  to  the  end  of  time  !" 

Barabbas  shuddered,  though  he  could  not  have  told  why. 

"  Doth  Judith  know  of  this  ?"  he  asked. 

A  fleeting  cold  smile  hovered  on  Melchior's  lips. 

"  Judith  knoweth  much, — but  not  all.  She  hath  not  seen 
her  brother  since  yesterday  at  sundown." 

"  Then,  hath  he  fled  the  city  ?" 

Melchior  looked  at  him  strangely  for  a  moment.  Then  he 
answered — 

«  Yea,  he  hath  fled." 

"  And  those  others  who  followed  the  Nazarene,"  inquired 
Barabbas  eagerly — "  Where  are  they?" 

"  They  have  fled  also" — returned  Melchior.  "  What  else 
should  they  do  ?  Is  it  not  natural  and  human  to  forsake  the 
fallen?"  ' 

"  They  are  cowards  all  1"  exclaimed  Barabbas  hotly. 

"  Nay  !"  replied  Melchior — "  They  are — men  !" 

And  noting  his  companion's  pained  expression  he  added, — 

"  Knowest  thou  not  that  cowards  and  men  are  one  and  the 
same  thing,  most  excellent  Barabbas  ?  Did'st  ever  philoso- 
phise ?  If  not,  why  did'st  thou  read  Greek  and  Roman  scrolls 


A   DREAM  OF  THE    WORLD'S   TRAGEDY         75 

and  puzzle  thy  brain  with  the  subtle  wisdom  of  Egypt?  No 
man  was  ever  persistently  heroic,  in  small  matters  as  well  as 
great, — and  famous  deeds  are  ever  done  on  impulse.  Study 
thyself, — note  thine  own  height  and  breadth — thou  hast  so 
much  bone  and  muscle  and  sinew, — 'tis  a  goodly  frame,  well 
knit  together,  and  to  all  intents  and  purposes  thou  art  Man. 
Nevertheless  a  glance  from  a  woman's  eyes,  a  smile  on  a 
woman's  mouth,  a  word  of  persuasion  or  suggestion  from  a 
woman's  tongue,  can  make  thee  steal  and  commit  murder. 
Wherefore  thou,  Man,  art  also  Coward.  Too  proud  to  rob,  too 
merciful  to  slay, — this  would  be  courage,  and  more  than  is  in 
man.  For  men  are  pigmies, — they  scuttle  away  in  droves 
before  a  storm  or  the  tremor  of  an  earthquake, — they  are 
afraid  for  their  lives.  And  what  are  their  lives  ?  The  lives 
of  motes  in  a  sunbeam, — of  gnats  in  a  mist  of  miasma, — 
nothing  more.  And  they  will  never  be  anything  more,  till 
they  learn  how  to  make  them  valuable.  And  that  lesson  will 
never  be  mastered  save  by  the  few." 

Barabbas  sighed. 

"  Verily  thou  dost  love  to  repeat  the  tale  of  my  sins" — he 
said — "  Maybe  thou  dost  think  I  cannot  hear  it  too  often. 
And  now  thou  callest  me  coward !  yet  I  may  not  be  angered 
with  thee,  seeing  thou  art  a  stranger,  and  I,  despite  the  law's 
release,  am  still  no  more  than  a  criminal, — wherefore,  because 
thou  seemest  wise  and  of  singular  powers,  I  forbear  with  thy 
reproaches.  But  'tis  not  too  late  to  learn  the  lesson  thou  dost 
speak  of,  and  methinks  even  I  may  make  my  recovered  life  of 
value?" 

"  Truly  thou  mayest" — responded  Melchior — "  For  if  thou 
so  dost  choose,  not  all  the  powers  of  heaven  and  earth  can 
hinder  thee.  But  'tis  a  business  none  can  guide  thee  in.  Life 
is  a  talisman,  dropped  freely  into  thy  bosom,  but  the  fitting  use 
of  the  magic  gift  must  be  discovered  by  thyself  alone." 

At  that  moment,  the  moving  crowd  came  to  a  sudden  abrupt 
halt.  Loud  cries  and  exclamations  were  heard. 

"  He  will  die  ere  he  is  crucified  !" 

"  Lo  !  he  faints  by  the  way  !" 

"  If  he  can  walk  no  more,  bind  him  with  ropes  and  drag  him 
to  Calvary !" 

"  Bid  Simon  carry  him  as  well  as  the  Cross  1" 

"  Support  him,  ye  lazy  ruffians !"  cried  a  woman  in  the 
crowd, — "  Will  ye  have  Caesar  told  that  the  Jews  are  nothing 
but  barbarians  ?" 


76  BARABBAS 

The  clamour  grew  louder,  and  the  excited  mob  rolled  back 
upon  itself  with  a  force  that  was  dangerous  to  life  and  limb. 
People  fell  and  were  trampled  or  bruised, — children  screamed, 
and  for  a  few  moments  the  confusion  was  terrific. 

"  Now  would  be  the  time  to  attempt  a  rescue !"  muttered 
Barabbas,  with  some  excitement,  clenching  his  fists  as  though 
in  eagerness  to  begin  the  fray. 

Melchior  laid  a  restraining  hand  on  his  arm. 

"  As  well  try  to  pluck  the  sun  out  of  heaven !"  he  said  pas- 
sionately— "  Control  thyself,  rash  fool !  Thou  can'st  not  rescue 
One  for  whom  death  is  the  divine  fulness  of  life  !  Press  for- 
ward with  me  quickly,  and  we  shall  discover  the  cause  of  this 
new  delay, — but  say  no  word,  and  raise  not  a  hand  in  opposi- 
tion to  Destiny.  Wait  till  the  end !" 


CHAPTER    XII. 

WITH  these  words,  and  still  holding  Barabbas  firmly  by  the 
arm,  he  plunged  into  the  thickest  part  of  the  crowd  which  ap- 
peared to  yield  and  give  mysterious  way  to  his  passage, — and 
presently  reached  a  place  of  standing-ioom  where  it  was  possi- 
ble to  see  what  had  occasioned  the  halt  and  uproar.  All  the 
noise  and  fury  surged  round  the  grand  figure  of  the  "  Naza- 
rene"  who  stood  erect  as  ever,  but  nevertheless  seemed  even  in 
that  upright  position  to  have  suddenly  lost  consciousness.  His 
face  had  an  unearthly  pallor  and  His  eyes  were  closed, — and 
it  appeared  to  the  soldiers  and  people  as  if  Death  had  laid  a 
merciful  hand  upon  Him  ere  there  was  time  to  torture  His  life. 
In  response  to  sundry  calls  and  shouts  for  water  or  some  other 
cool  beverage  to  rouse  the  apparently  swooning  Captive,  a  man 
came  out  of  the  dark  interior  of  his  dwelling  with  a  goblet  con- 
taining wine  mingled  with  myrrh  and  handed  it  to  the  centu- 
rion in  charge.  Petronius,  with  a  strange  sinking  at  the  heart 
and  something  of  remorse  and  pity,  advanced  and  lifted  it  to 
the  lips  of  the  Divine  Sufferer,  who  as  the  cold  rim  of  the  cup 
touched  Him,  opened  His  starry  eyes  and  smiled.  The  infi- 
nite beauty  of  that  smile  and  its  pathetic  tenderness, — the  vast 
pardon  and  sublime  patience  it  expressed,  seemed  all  at  once 
to  flash  a  sudden'  mysterious  light  of  comprehension  into  the 
hearts  of  the  cruel  multitude,  for,  as  if  struck  by  a  spell,  their 


A   DREAM  OF  THE    WORLD'S   TRAGEDY         77 

cries  and  murmurings  ceased,  and  every  head  was  turned  towards 
the  great  Radiance  which  shone  upon  them  with  such  intense 
and  undefinable  glory.  Petronius  staggered  back  chilled  with 
a  vague  horror, — he  returned  the  cup  of  wine  and  myrrh  to 
the  man  who  had  offered  it, — the  "  Nazarene"  had  not  tasted 
it, — He  had  merely  expressed  His  silent  acknowledgment  by 
that  luminous  and  exquisite  smile.  And  strangely  awful  did 
it  suddenly  seem  to  the  bluff  centurion  that  such  an  One  as 
He  should  express  gratitude  to  any  man,  even  by  a  glance, — 
though  why  it  appeared  unnatural,  he,  Petronius,  could  not 
tell.  Meanwhile  some  of  the  women  pressing  closer  and  gazing 
full  into  the  calm  fair  face  of  the  Condemned,  were  touched 
into  awe  and  admiration  and  began  to  utter  exclamations  of 
regret  and  compassion, — others,  more  emotional,  and  encour- 
aged by  at  last  hearing  an  unmistakable  murmur  of  sympathy 
ripple  wave-like  through  the  throng,  broke  into  loud  weeping, 
and  beat  their  breasts  with  frenzied  gesticulations  of  mourning 
and  despair. 

"  They  will  change  their  minds,  these  Jews," — said  one  of  the 
soldiers  sullenly,  aside  to  Petronius — "  With  all  these  wailings 
and  halts  by  the  way,  our  work  will  never  be  done.  Best  press 
on  quickly." 

"  Hold  thy  peace !''  retorted  Petronius  angrily — "  Seest  thou 
not  the  Man  faints  with  fatigue  and  maybe  with  the  pain  of 
the  scourging  ?  Let  him  pause  a  while." 

But  He  of  whom  they  spoke  had  already  recovered  Himself. 
His  lips  parted  a  little, — they  trembled  and  were  dewy,  as 
though  some  heavenly  restorative  had  just  touched  them.  The 
faint  colour  flowed  back  to  His  face,  and  He  looked  dreamily 
about  Him,  like  a  strayed  Angel  who  scarcely  recognises  the 
sphere  into  which  it  has  wandered.  The  weeping  women 
gathered  near  Him  timidly,  some  carrying  infants  in  their 
arms,  and,  undeterred  by  the  frowns  of  the  soldiers,  ventured 
to  touch  His  garments.  One  young  matron,  a  woman  of  Rome, 
lifted  a  small  fair-haired  nursling  close  up  to  Him  that  He 
might  look  at  it, — the  little  one  stretched  out  its  dimpled  arms 
and  tried  to  clutch  first  the  crown  of  thorns,  and  then  the 
glittering  golden  hair.  The  sweet  encouragement  and  strong 
tenderness  of  expression  with  which  the  Divine  Immortal  met 
the  child's  laughing  eyes  and  innocently  attempted  caresses, 
melted  the  mother's  heart,  and  she  gave  way  to  uncontrollable 
sobbing,  clasping  her  loved  and  lovely  treasure  close,  and  letting 
her  tears  rain  on  its  nestling  head.  The  other  women  round 


78  BARABBAS 

her,  sympathetically  infected  by  her  example,  renewed  their 
lamentations  with  such  hysterical  passion  that  presently  the 
gradual  mutterings  of  impatience  and  discontent  that  had  for 
some  minutes  proceeded  from  the  male  portion  of  the  crowd, 
swelled  into  loud  remonstrance  and  indignation. 

"  What  fools  are  women  !"  "  Press  forward  !"  "  We  shall 
have  these  whimpering  souls  preventing  the  law's  fulfilment  1" 
"Why  delay  thus?" 

But  these  angry  outcries  were  of  little  avail,  and  the  women 
still  wept  and  clustered  about  the  "  Nazarene,"  till  He  Himself 
turned  His  eyes  upon  them  with  a  look  of  love  and  invincible 
command  which  like  a  charm  suddenly  hushed  their  clamour. 
At  the  same  moment,  a  low  voice,  rendered  faint  with  weari- 
ness, dropped  on  their  ears  melodiously  like  a  sweet  and  in- 
finitely sad  song. 

"  Daughters  of  Jerusalem,  weep  not  for  me,  but  weep  for 
yourselves  and  for  your  children  /"  Here  a  deep  sigh  inter- 
rupted speech  ;  then  the  mellow  accents  gathered  strength  and 
solemnity.  "  For  behold  the  days  are  coining  in  the  which  they 
shall  say,  Blessed  are  the  barren,  and  the  wombs  that  never 
bare,  and  the  breasts  which  never  gave  suck.  Then  shall  they 
begin  to  say  to  the  mountains,  Fall  on  us  !  and  to  the  hills, 
Cover  us!" 

The  rich  voice  faltered  for  a  moment,  and  the  beautiful 
eyes  of  the  captive  "  King"  filled  with  a  deep  meditative  pity 
as  He  added ; — "  For  if  they  do  these  things  in  a  green  tree, 
what  shall  be  done  in  the  dry  ?" 

The  listening  women  looked  up  at  Him  in  tearful  astonish- 
ment, quieted,  yet  understanding  nothing  of  His  words.  The 
last  sentence  seemed  to  them  particularly  vague  and  meaning- 
less,— they  could  not  comprehend  that  He  who  thus  spoke  to 
them  was  thinking  of  the  whole  world  merely  as  "  a  green 
tree"  or  a  planet  in  its  prime,  and  that  He  foresaw  little  but 
sorrow  from  the  wilful  disbelief  and  disobedience  of  its  inhabi- 
tants when  it  should  become  old  and  like  the  sapless  tree, 
"dry"  Dry  of  faith,  dry  of  love,  dry  of  all  sweet,  pure, 
holy  and  unselfish  emotion, — a  mere  withered  husk  of  a  world 
ready  to  be  scattered  among  the  star-dust  of  the  Universe, 
having  failed  to  obey  its  Maker's  will,  or  to  accomplish  its 
nobler  destiny.  Such  premonitory  signs  are  given  to  thinkers 
and  philosophers  alone, — the  majority  of  men  have  no  time 
and  less  inclination  to  note  or  accept  them'.  There  is  time  to 
eat,  time  to  steal,  time  to  lie,  time  to  murder,  time  to  become 


A  DREAM  OF  THE    WORLD'S  TRAGEDY         79 

a  degradation  to  the  very  name  of  Man  ; — but  there  is  no  time 
to  pause  and  consider  that  after  all  our  petty  labours  and  selfish 
ambitions,  this  star  on  which  we  live  belongs,  not  to  us,  but  to 
God,  and  that  if  He  but  willed  it  so,  it  could  be  blotted  out  of 
space  in  a  second  and  never  be  missed,  save  perhaps  for  the 
one  singular  distinction  that  the  Divine  Christ  dwelling  upon 
it  from  birth  to  death,  has  made  it  sacred. 

None  among  the  Jewish  populace  that  morning  were  able  to 
imagine  the  vast  wonder  and  mystery  investing  the  sublime 
Figure  which  moved  amongst  them  with  such  tranquil  dignity 
and  resignation, — none  could  foresee  the  tremendous  results 
which  were  destined  to  spring  from  the  mere  fact  of  His  exist- 
ence upon  earth.  All  that  they  saw  was  a  Man  of  extraordi- 
nary physical  beauty,  who  for  bold  and  open  teaching  of  new 
doctrines  pronounced  by  the  priests  to  be  blasphemous,  was 
being  led  to  His  death.  Thrust  violently  back  by  the  guards, 
the  frightened  group  of  women  who  had  wept  for  His  suffer- 
ings, got  scattered  among  the  crowd,  and,  drifting  hither  and 
thither  like  blown  leaves  in  a  storm,  forgot  their  tears  in  their 
anxiety  to  protect  their  children  from  the  reckless  pushing  and 
buffeting  of  the  onward  swarming  rabble.  The  disorder  was 
increased  by  the  terrified  starting  and  plunging  of  horses  and 
mules  that  got  entangled  in  the  crowd  during  the  progress  of 
the  procession  through  the  narrow  and  tortuous  streets, — but 
at  last  one  sharp  turn  in  the  road  brought  them  in  full  view  of 
Calvary.  The  people  set  up  a  wild  unanimous  shout, — and 
Simon  of  Gyrene  carrying  the  Cross  looked  up  startled  and 
pained  by  the  discordant  roar.  For  he  had  been  lost  in  a 
dream.  Unconscious  of  the  weight  he  bore,  he  had  seemed 
to  himself  to  walk  on  air.  He  had  spoken  no  word,  though 
many  around  him  had  mocked  him  and  striven  to  provoke  him 
by  insolent  jests  and  jeers, — he  was  afraid  to  utter  a  sound 
lest  he  should  disturb  and  dispel  the  strange  and  delicious 
emotion  he  experienced, — emotion  which  he  could  not  explain, 
but  which  kept  him  in  a  state  of  bewildered  wonderment  and 
ecstasy.  There  was  music  everywhere  about  him, — high  above 
the  mutterings  and  murmurings  of  the  populace,  he  heard 
mysterious  throbs  of  melody  as  of  harps  struck  by  the  air, — 
the  hard  stones  of  the  road  were  soft  as  velvet  to  his  sandalled 
feet, — the  Cross  he  carried  seemed  scented  with  the  myrtle  and 
the  rose, — and  there  was  no  more  weight  in  it  than  in  a  gathered 
palm-leaf  plucked  as  a  symbol  of  victory.  He  remembered 
now  in  his  youth  he  had  once  carried  the  baby  son  of  a  king 


80  BARABBA8 

on  his  shoulders  down  one  of  the  Cyrenian  hills  to  the  edge 
of  the  sea, — and  the  child,  pleased  with  the  swiftness  and  ease 
of  ita  journey,  had  waved  aloft  a  branch  of  vine  in  sign  of 
triumph  and  joy.  The  burden  of  the  Cross  was  no  heavier 
than  that  of  the  laughing  child  and  tossing  vine !  But  now, 
— now  the  blissful  journey  must  end, — the  rude  cries  of  the 
savage  multitude  aroused  him  from  his  reverie, — the  harp-like 
melodies  around  him  rippled  away  into  minor  echoes  of  deep 
sadness, — and  as  his  eyes  beheld  the  hill  of  Calvary,  he,  for 
the  first  time  since  he  began  his  march,  felt  weary  unto  death. 
He  had  never  in  all  his  years  of  life  known  such  happiness  as 
while  carrying  the  Cross  of  Him  who  was  soon  to  be  nailed 
upon  it ;  but  now  the  time  had  come  when  he  must  lay  it 
down,  and  take  up  the  far  more  weighty  burdens  of  the  world 
and  its  low  material  claims.  Why  not  die  here,  he  thought 
vaguely,  with  the  Man  whose  radiant  head  gleamed  before  him 
like  the  sun  in  heaven  ?  Surely  it  would  be  well,  since  here, 
at  Calvary,  life  seemed  to  have  a  sweet  and  fitting  end !  He 
was  only  a  barbarian,  uninstructed  and  ignorant  of  heavenly 
things, — he  could  not  analyse  what  he  felt  or  reason  out  his 
unfamiliar  sensations,  but  some  singular  change  had  been 
wrought  in  him,  since  he  lifted  up  the  Cross, — thus  much  he 
knew, — thus  much  he  realised, — the  rest  was  mere  wonder  and 
worship. 

As  the  multitude  poured  itself  towards  the  place  of  execu- 
tion a  party  of  horsemen  dashed  through  a  side-street  and 
careered  up  the  hill  at  full  gallop,  the  hoofs  of  their  spirited 
steeds  tearing  up  and  scattering  morsels  of  the  sun-baked  turf 
like  dust  in  the  air  as  they  passed.  They  were  Roman  nobles, 
visitors  to  Jerusalem,  who  hearing  of  what  was  about  to  take 
place,  had  come  out  to  see  this  singular  Jewish  festival  of 
blood.  After  them  followed  another  group  of  persons  on  foot, 
and  glittering  in  raiment  of  various  costly  hues, — these  were 
Caiaphas,  Annas,  and  many  of  the  members  of  the  Sanhedrim, 
accompanied  by  a  select  number  of  the  retinue  of  their  vari- 
ous households.  Meanwhile  Barabbas  was  being  guarded  and 
guided  forward  by  the  astute  Melchior  who  with  wonderful 
dexterity  and  composure,  piloted  him  through  the  thickest  of 
the  crush  and  brought  him  to  a  clear  space  at  the  foot  of  the 
hill.  Just  as  they  reached  the  spot,  several  richly -attired 
women,  some  of  them  veiled,  came  out  of  the  shady  avenues 
of  a  private  garden  close  by  and  began  the  ascent  at  a  slow 
and  sauntering  pace.  They  were  laughing  and  talking  gaily 


A   DREAM  OF  THE    WORLD'S  TRAGEDY         81 

»mong  themselves ;  one  of  them,  the  tallest,  walked  with  a  dis- 
tinctive air  of  haughtiness  and  a  swaying  suppleness  of  move- 
ment,— she  had  a  brilliant  flame-coloured  mantle  thrown  over 
her  head  and  shoulders. 

"  Lo,  there  !"  whispered  Melchior,  grasping  Barabbas  firmly 
by  the  arm  to  keep  him  prisoner — "  Yonder  she  goes !  Seest 
thou  not  yon  poppy -hued  gala  garb  ?  'Tis  the  silken  sheath 
of  the  flower  whose  perfume  drives  thee  mad  ! — the  dove-like 
desirer  of  stolen  pearls ! — the  purest  and  fairest  virgin  in 
Judaea,  Judith  Iscariot !" 

With  a  fierce  cry  and  fiercer  oath,  Barabbas  strove  to  wrench 
himself  from  his  companion's  hold. 

"  Eelease  me !"  he  gasped — "  Detain  me  not  thus,  or  by  my 
soul,  I  will  slay  thee  !" 

His  efforts  were  in  vain  ;  Melchior's  hand,  though  light,  was 
firm  as  iron  and  never  yielded,  and  Melchior's  eyes,  flashing 
fire,  yet  cold  as  ice  in  expression,  rested  on  the  heated  angry 
face  of  the  man  beside  him,  unswervingly  and  with  a  chill 
disdain. 

"  Thou  infatuated  fool !"  he  said  slowly — "  Thou  misguided 
barbarian  !  Thou  wilt  slay  me  ?  '  By  thy  soul'  thou  wilt  ? 
Swear  not  by  thy  soul,  good  ruffian,  for  thou  hast  one,  strange 
as  it  doth  seem !  'Tis  the  only  positive  thing  about  thee, 
wherefore  take  not  its  name  in  vain,  else  it  may  visit  vengeance 
on  thee!  Judgest  thou  me  as  easy  to  kill  as  a  Pharisee? 
Thou  art  in  serious  error !  The  steel  of  thy  knife  would  melt 
in  my  flesh, — thy  hands  would  fall  withered  and  benumbed 
did'st  thou  presume  to  lay  them  violently  upon  me.  Be  warned 
in  time,  and  pervert  not  my  friendship,  for  believe  me  thou 
wilt  need  it  presently." 

Barabbas  looked  at  him  in  wild  appeal, — a  frozen  weight 
seemed  to  have  fallen  on  his  heart,  and  a  sense  of  being  mas- 
tered and  compelled  vexed  his  impatient  spirit.  But  he  was 
powerless, — he  had,  on  a  mere  sudden  impulse,  put  himself,  he 
knew  not  why,  under  the  control  of  this  stranger, — he  had 
only  himself  to  blame  if  now  his  own  will  seemed  paralysed 
and  impotent.  He  ceased  struggling,  and  cast  a  longing  glance 
after  the  flame-coloured  mantle  that  now  appeared  to  be  float- 
ing lightly  up  the  hill  of  Calvary  like  a  stray  cactus-petal  on 
the  air. 

"  Thou  knowest  not,"  he  muttered — "  thou  can'st  not  know 
how  I  have  hungered  for  her  face" 

"And  thou  shalt  feed  on  it  ere  long" — rejoined  Melchior 


82  BARABBAS 

sarcastically, — "  And  may  it  quell  thy  vulgar  appetite  !  But 
assume  at  least  the  appearance  of  a  man, — betray  not  thyself 
before  her  maidens, — they  will  but  scoff  at  thee.  Moreover, 
bethink  thee  thou  art  here  as  witness  of  a  death, — a  death  far 
greater  than  all  love  !" 

Barabbas  sighed,  and  his  head  drooped  dejectedly  on  his 
breast.  His  strong  harsh  features  were  convulsed  with  passion, 
— but  the  strange  force  exercised  over  him  by  his  companion 
was  too  subtle  for  resistance.  Melchior  watched  him  keenly 
for  a  moment  ere  he  spoke  again, — then  he  said  more  gently, 
but  with  earnestness  and  solemnity — 

"  Lo,  they  ascend  Calvary  ! — Seest  thou  not  the  Condemned 
and  His  guards  are  already  half  way  up  the  hill  ?  Come,  let 
us  follow ; — thou  shall  behold  the  world  agonised  and  the  sun 
fade  in  heaven ! — thou  shalt  hear  the  conscious  thunder  roar 
out  wrath  at  this  symbolic  slaughter  of  the  Divine  in  Man ! 
No  worse  murder  was  ever  wrought, — none  more  truly  repre- 
sentative of  humanity ! — and  from  henceforth  the  earth  rolls 
on  its  appointed  way  in  a  mist  of  blood, — saved,  may-be,  but 
stained  ! — stained  and  marked  with  the  Cross, — for  ever !" 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

BARABBAS  trembled  as  he  heard.  Full  of  apprehensive 
trouble  and  dreary  foreboding,  he  followed  his  inscrutable  new 
acquaintance.  Some  strange  inward  instinct  told  him  that 
there  was  a  terrible  truth  in  Melchior's  words, — though  why 
a  stranger  and  alien  to  Judaea  should  know  more  concerning 
the  mystic  "  Nazarene"  than  the  Jews  themselves  was  a  prob- 
lem he  could  not  fathom.  Nevertheless  he  began  the  brief 
ascent  of  Calvary  with  a  sinking  heart,  and  a  sensation  that 
was  very  like  despair.  He  felt  that  something  tremendous  and 
almost  incomprehensible  was  about  to  be  consummated,  and 
that  on  the  children  of  Israel  for  evermore  would  rest  the 
curse  invoked  by  themselves.  Could  God  Himself  alter  tho 
deliberately  self-chosen  fate  of  a  man  or  a  nation  ?  No !  Even 
the  depraved  and  ill-taught  Barabbas  was  mentally  conscious 
of  the  awful  yet  divine  immutability  of  Free-will. 

The  dry  turf  crackled  beneath  the  tread  as  though  it  wera 


A  DREAM  OF  THE   WORLD'S  TRAGEDY        83 

on  fire,  for  the  heat  was  more  than  ever  overpoweringly  intense. 
Time  had  worn  on  till  it  was  nearly  three  o'clock  in  the  after- 
noon, and  the  broad  unshadowed  glare  of  the  sun  streamed 
pitilessly  down  upon  the  hill  of  execution  which  now  presented 
the  appearance  of  a  huge  hive  covered  thickly  with  thousands 
of  swarming,  buzzing  bees.  The  crowd  had  broken  up  on  all 
sides,  each  section  of  it  striving  to  attain  the  best  point  of  view 
from  whence  to  watch  the  progress  of  the  dire  tragedy  about  to 
be  enacted.  The  fatal  eminence  sloped  upward  very  gently, 
and  on  cooler  days  the  climb  would  have  scarcely  been  percep- 
tible, but  at  this  fierce  hour,  when  all  the  world  seemed  staring 
and  aflame  with  wonder,  the  way  appeared  difficult  and  long. 
Melchior  and  Barabbas  however,  walking  side  by  side,  managed 
to  keep  up  a  moderately  swift  and  even  pace,  despite  the  vin- 
dictive blaze  and  dazzle  of  the  sky,  and  never  paused  to  take 
breath  till,  as  they  neared  the  summit,  they  came  upon  a  little 
group  of  women  surrounding  the  unconscious  form  of  one  of 
their  companions.  Barabbas,  with  a  wild  idea  that  his  Judith 
might  be  amongst  them,  sprang  eagerly  forward,  and  this  time 
Melchior  let  him  go.  But  he  was  quickly  disappointed, — no 
silken-robed  beauty  was  there, — they  were  all  poor,  footsore, 
sad-faced,  ill-clad  creatures,  some  of  whom  were  silently  weep- 
ing, while  only  one  of  them  seemed,  by  her  singular  dignity 
of  bearing,  to  be  of  a  higher  rank  apart, — but  she  was  closely 
veiled  so  that  her  features  were  not  visible.  Their  whole  at- 
tention was  centred  on  the  woman  who  had  swooned,  and  she 
appeared,  from  her  exterior  condition,  to  be  the  poorest  of  them 
all.  Clothed  only  in  a  rough  garment  of  coarse  grey  linen 
bound  under  her  bosom  with  a  hempen  girdle,  she  lay  on  the 
ground  where  she  had  suddenly  fallen,  like  one  newly  dead, — and 
the  piteous  still  loveliness  of  her  was  such  that  Barabbas, 
though  his  wild  soul  mirrored  another  and  far  more  brilliant 
face,  could  not  help  but  be  moved  to  compassion,  as  he  bent 
forward  and  saw  her  thus  prone  and  senseless.  The  chief  glory 
that  distinguished  her  was  her  hair, — it  had  come  unbound, 
and  rippled  about  her  in  lavish  waves  of  warm  yet  pale  gold, — 
her  features  were  softly  rounded  and  delicate  like  those  of  a 
child,  and  the  thick  lashes  that  fringed  the  closed  eyes,  being 
more  darkly  tinted  than  the  hair,  cast  a  shadow  beneath,  sug- 
gestive of  pain  and  the  shedding  of  many  tears. 

"  What  aileth  her  ?"  asked  Barabbas  gently. 

One  or  two  of  the  women  eyed  him  doubtfully  but  offered 
uo  reply.  Melchior  had  approached  to  within  a  certain  dis- 


54  BARABBAS 

tance  of  the  group  and  there  he  waited.  Barabbas  beckoned 
him,  but  seeing  he  did  not  stir,  went  hastily  up  to  him. 

"  Shall  we  not  be  of  some  service  here  ?"  he  demanded — • 
"  'Tis  a  wondrous  fair  virgin  whom  sorrow  or  pain  hath  surely 
overcome." 

"  Do  as  it  eeemeth  unto  thee  well," — responded  Melchior 
quietly,  looking  him  full  in  the  face  as  he  spoke  ;  "  neverthe- 
less thou  must  be  advised  in  this  matter.  Yon  '  wondrous 
fair  virgin,'  as  thou  callest  her,  is  but  a  woman  of  ill-fame, — a 
golden-haired  wanton  of  the  city  ways  called  Mary  Magdalene." 

Barabbas  started  as  if  he  had  been  stung.  A  dark  frown 
gathered  on  his  brows. 

"Mary  Magdalene!"  he  muttered — "Of  a  truth  she  is  a 
sinner !  I  have  heard  sundry  evil  things  of  her, — yet  of  my- 
self I  would  not  be  merciless, — I  could  not  stone  a  woman, 
.  .  .  but  if  to-day  I  see  and  speak  with  Judith" 

"  Enough  1"  interrupted  Melchior  disdainfully — "  I  under- 
stand thee !  Thou  would'st  not  sully  thyself,  good  thief,  with 
even  so  much  as  a  look  from  a  wanton,  Judith  being  pure  as 
heaven  and  Mary  black  as  hell !  Leave  her  where  she  lies,  0 
thou  moralising  murderer, — thou  true  type  of  the  men  who 
make  such  women  ! — leave  her  to  the  ministrations  of  hef  own 
sex.  She  whom  thou,  assassin,  dost  scorn,  hath  been  brought 
to  penitence  and  pardoned  by  Him  who  dieth  presently,  yet 
what  of  that  ?  'Tis  naught,  'tis  naught ! — for  He  must  be 
crucified,  but  thou  canst  lire ! — 0  wondrous  world  that  thus 
pronounceth  equity  !  Come,  let  us  onward  !" 

Barabbas  listened,  sullenly  ashamed. 

"  If  she  be  penitent  'tis  well" — he  muttered — "  but  why 
then  goest  thou  not  thyself  to  her  ?" 

A  sudden  gravity  clouded  the  ironical  glitter  in  Melchior's 
eyes. 

"  Why  ?"  he  echoed  pensively,— then  after  a  pause,  "  Were 
I  to  tell  thee  truly  why,  thou  would'st  learn  more  than  is  yet 
fitting  to  thy  nature.  Let  it  suffice  to  thee  to  know  that 
among  those  women  there  is  One,  whom  I  may  not  venture  to 
approach  save  in  worship, — for  where  she  treads  is  holy  ground. 
For  her  sake  from  henceforth,  Woman  is  made  Queen  ! — nay, 
look  not  thus  strangely ! — thou  shalt  hear  more  of  this  anon." 

He  resumed  his  walk  sedately,  and  Barabbas  more  and  moro 
troubled  and  perplexed,  gave  a  disquieted  glance  backward 
over  his  shoulder  at  the  group  now  left  behind.  He  saw  that 
the  fainting  Magdalene  had  revived  sufficiently  to  be  lifted 


A   DREAM  OF  THE    WORLD'S   TRAGEDY         85 

partially  to  her  feet, — and  he  caught  the  flash  of  the  daziling 
sunlight  on  the  falling  masses  of  her  luxuriant  hair.  Then 
he  turned  his  eyes  away,  and  bent  his  looks  downward  to  the 
ground,  and  a  silence  fell  between  him  and  Melchior.  AH  at 
once  a  shriek  of  agony  tore  the  air  into  sharp  echoes,  followed 
by  another  and  yet  another.  Barabbas  stopped,  his  blood 
freezing  at  the  hideous  outcry.  Unable  to  speak,  he  gazed  at 
his  companion  in  affrighted  inquiry. 

"  'Tis  the  first  taste  of  pain  such  as  thou  mightest  this  day 
and  at  this  moment  have  suffered,"  said  Melchior,  answering 
his  look — "  They  are  nailing  down  two  thieves.  Hearest  thou 
not  the  clang  of  the  hammers  ?  A  few  paces  more  and  we 
shall  see  the  work." 

They  quickened  their  steps,  and  in  a  couple  of  minutes 
reached  the  summit  of  the  hill.  There  they  found  themselves 
in  full  view  of  the  terrible  scene  of  execution, — a  pageant  of 
such  tremendous  import,  such  sublime  horror,  that  the  imagi- 
nation of  man  can  scarcely  grasp  it,  —  scarcely  realise  the 
consummate  bitterness  of  the  awful  and  immortal  tragedy. 
The  multitude  had  formed  into  a  complete  ring,  circling  un- 
brokenly  round  the  crest  of  Calvary, — while  the  soldiery  had 
divided  into  two  lines,  one  keeping  to  the  right,  the  other  to 
the  left.  At  a  signal  from  the  centurion,  Simon  of  Cyrene 
laid  down  with  tender  and  lingering  reluctance  the  great  Cross 
he  had  so  lightly  carried, — and  as  he  did  so,  the  Man  of  Naza- 
reth, moving  tranquilly  to  the  spot  indicated  to  Him  by  His 
guards,  took  up  His  position  beside  the  intended  instrument 
of  His  death,  and  there  waited  patiently  for  the  accomplish- 
ment of  His  fate.  The  executioners  were  already  busily  occu- 
pied with  part  of  their  dreadful  task, — for,  at  the  crafty  sug- 
gestion of  Caiaphas  the  two  thieves  who  had  been  brought 
out  from  the  prison  that  morning  were  nailed  on  their  re- 
spective crosses  first.  This  was  to  satisfy  the  refined  cruelty 
of  the  Jewish  priests,  who  by  this  means  sought  to  overpower 
the  "Nazarene"  with  terror  by  forcing  Him  to  witness  the 
agonies  of  those  who  were  destined  to  suffer  in  His  sacred 
company.  But  herein  the  bloodthirsty  chiefs  of  the  Sanhe- 
drim were  doomed  to  disappointment.  No  shadow  of  fear 
blanched  the  serene  visage  of  the  Divine, — not  a  tremor  of 
horror  or  anxiety  quivered  through  that  stately  frame  of  heroic 
stature  and  perfect  mould.  He  stood  erect,  as  a  king  of  a 
thousand  worlds  might  stand,  conscious  of  power  and  glory, — - 
His  tall  white-robed  figure  was  fully  outlined  against  the  burn- 


86  BARABBAS 

ing  sky,  and  seemed  to  have  gathered  from  the  sun-ray?  a 
dazzling  luminance  of  its  own, — every  prickly  point  in  His 
crown  of  thorns  glistened  as  with  drops  of  dew, — His  fair 
calm  face  shone  with  a  beauty  not  of  mortals, — and  so  lightly 
did  His  sandalled  feet  seem  poised  on  the  hot  and  arid  soil 
beneath  Him,  that  He  scarcely  appeared  to  touch  the  earth 
more  than  a  sunlit  cloud  may  do  ere  rising  again  into  its  na- 
tive ether.  The  land,  the  sky,  the  air,  the  sun,  all  seemed  to 
be  a  part  of  Himself  and  to  share  mysteriously  in  the  knowl- 
edge of  His  presence ;  had  He  spoken  one  word, — one  word 
of  thunderous  command,  it  would  have  shaken  the  Universe. 
But  with  that  inward  force  known  only  to  God  and  the  angels, 
He  held  His  peace, — and  His  radiant  eyes,  in  their  poetic 
wistfulness  and  wonder,  seemed  saying  silently — "  I  go  to  lift 
the  curtain  from  this  Death,  which  all  My  foolish  creatures 
fear !  I  pass  through  torturing  pain  to  give  weak  human 
nature  courage !  And  I  descend  into  the  grave  as  Man,  to 
prove  that  Man,  though  seeming  dead,  shall  rise  to  life 
again !" 

Meanwhile  the  shrieks  and  cries  that  had  startled  Barabbas 
were  growing  louder  and  wilder.  They  all  proceeded  from 
one  of  the  doomed  thieves, — the  other  was  silent.  With  a 
mingling  of  morbid  curiosity  and  nervous  dread,  Barabbas 
went  shrinkingly  towards  the  spot  where  the  executioners  were 
at  work,  and  gazing  at  the  distorted  features  of  the  struggling 
criminal  gave  an  irrepressible  cry  of  amazement. 

"  Hanan !" 

Hanan  indeed  it  was,  his  former  fellow-prisoner,  with  whom 
he  had  fought  through  iron  bars  the  previous  night,  and  whom 
he  had  left  yelling  after  him  that  very  morning.  Hearing 
Barabbas  speak  his  name,  the  wretched  man  turned  his  pro- 
truding eyes  round  with  a  hideous  expression  of  rage  and 
envy. 

"  Thou,— Barabbas !  Thou, — free  ?  Dog !  Accursed 
devil !  What  evil  conspiracy  hast  thou  worked  in  to  get  thy- 
self released  and  me  condemned  ?  Through  thee  I  sinned  ! — 
through  thee  have  I  come  to  this  !  Coward !  I  spit  on  thee  ! 
Justice ! — I  will  have  j  ustice !  Thou  lying  hypocrite  !  Did'  st 
thou  not  swear  to  stand  by  thy  friends  ?  Let  be,  ye  brutes  !" 
and  with  a  yell  he  tore  his  arm  away  from  the  men  who  had 
seized  it  to  nail  it  against  the  left-hand  beam  of  the  cross  on 
which  he  was  stretched — "  Thou,  thou  Barabbas,  art  thief  as 
well  as  I — thou  art  worse  than  I,  for  thou  art  murderer  I 


A  DREAM  OF  THE   WORLD'S  TRAGEDY        87 

Come  thou  hither  and  be  tormented  in  my  stead!  This 
morning  thou  didst  leave  me  in  my  cell  starved  and  athirst,  — 
and  lo,  they  came  and  brought  me  forth  to  die,  —  while  thou 
art  here  pranked  out  in  soft  attire,  free  —  free  1  Thou  ruffian  ! 
And  this  is  Rome's  justice  for  he  Jews!  Ah!"  —  and  he 
screamed  furiously,  as  two  or  three  soldiers  beckoned  forward 
by  the  executioners  came  and  by  force  tied  his  arms  with 
strong  rope  to  the  cross-beams  of  the  instrument  of  death, 
while  the  great  sharp  nails  were  driven  remorselessly  through 
the  centre  of  his  palms,  —  "  Take  ye  Barabbas  and  crucify 
him  !"  he  yelled,  —  "  He  murdered  Gabrias,  —  he  stole  the  jewels 
of  Shadeen,  —  he  it  is  who  stirreth  up  sedition  in  the  city,  — 
bring  out  another  cross  for  Barabbas  !  —  let  Barabbas  die"  -  • 

Blood  sprang  to  his  mouth,  choking  his  utterance,  —  his  face 
grew  dusky  purple  with  agony  and  suffocation.  The  soldiers 
laughed. 

"Thou  cowardly  dog!"  said  one  of  them  —  "Die  like  a 
man,  if  there  be  any  manhood  in  a  Jew.  A  Roman  would 
scorn  to  make  such  outcry.  As  for  Barabbas,  he  is  set  free 
by  law  and  pardoned." 

Hanan  heard,  and  his  eyes  rolled  horribly  with  a  delirious 
glare. 

"  Pardoned  —  pardoned  !"  he  muttered  thickly  —  "  May  all 
the  curses  of  deepest  hell  be  on  thee  and  thy  wanton"  - 

But  his  sentence  was  left  unfinished,  for  at  that  moment  his 
cross  was  raised  and  set  upright  in  the  socket  prepared  for  it 
in  the  ground,  —  and  the  blistering  sun  blazed  down  upon  his 
bare  head  and  naked  body  like  an  opened  furnace-fire.  He 
twisted  and  writhed  in  vain,  —  in  his  indescribable  torture  he 
would  have  torn  his  hands  from  the  nails  which  pierced  them, 
had  they  not  been  too  tightly  bound  for  such  an  effort.  Most 
awful  it  was  to  look  upon  him  hanging  thus,  with  the  anguished 
blood  blackening  in  his  veins  and  swelling  his  straining  muscles, 
—  and  Barabbas  turned  away  his  eyes,  sick  and  shuddering. 
Do  they  all  suffer  like  that?"  he  asked  of  Melchior  falter- 


All  who  are  made  of  clay  and  clay  only,  suffer  thus"  — 
responded  Melchior,  eyeing  the  tormented  criminal  with  an  air 
of  scientific  coldness,  —  "  He  has  had  his  chance  in  this  world 
and  lost  it.  None  but  himself  can  be  blamed  for  his  present 
condition." 

"Wilt  thou  apply  such  moralising  to  the  Nazarene?"  de- 
manded Barabbas  half  indignantly. 


88  BARABBAS 

Melchior  lifted  his  eyes  for  an  instant  to  the  sky  as  though 
he  saw  some  wonder  there. 

"Ay!  Even  to  the  Nazarene !"  he  said  softly — "He  also 
hath  had  His  Way,  and  chosen  His  condition, — and  unto  Him 
be  the  glory  hereafter ! — Time  is  His  slave, — and  Destiny  His 
footstool,  and  His  Cross  the  safety  of  Humanity  !" 

"  Nay,  if  such  be  thy  thought  of  Him" — murmured  Ba- 
rabbas,  shaken  to  his  very  soul  by  a  trembling  awe  he  could 
not  explain,  "  were  it  not  well  to  speak  with  Him  ere  He  dies  ? 
— to  crave  a  blessing" 

"  His  blessing  is  not  for  me,  but  all" — interrupted  Melchior 
with  solemnity — "  And  I  have  spoken  with  Him, — long  ago, 
when  His  life  on  earth  was  young.  But  now,  'tis  not  a  time 
for  words, — 'tis  a  time  for  vigilance  and  prayer ; — watch  thou 
therefore  with  me,  and  hold  thy  peace, — this  is  but  the  be- 
ginning of  wonders." 

Just  then  the  executioners  finished  nailing  the  second  thief 
to  his  cross.  This  man  made  no  resistance  and  scarce  an  out- 
cry. Once  only,  as  his  feet  were  pierced  by  the  huge  nail  that 
was  roughly  hammered  through  them,  he  gave  vent  to  an 
irresistible  faint  shriek  of  pain, — but  afterwards,  with  an 
almost  superhuman  effort  he  controlled  himself,  and  only 
moaned  a  little  now  and  then.  His  eyes  turned  constantly 
towards  the  "  Nazarene" — and  he  seemed  to  derive  ease  and 
satisfaction  from  merely  looking  in  that  direction.  There  was 
much  renewed  excitement  and  stir  among  the  thronging  people 
as  they  saw  the  second  cross  about  to  be  set  up,  for  they  judged 
that  but  little  time  would  now  elapse  before  the  crowning  act 
of  the  appalling  drama, — the  crucifixion  of  Him  whom  they 
accused  of  blasphemy  because  "  Pie  made  Himself  the  Son  of 
God."  And  in  the  restless  surging  to  and  fro  of  the  mob, 
Barabbas  suddenly  spied  standing  somewhat  apart,  a  knot  of 
women  whose  costly  raiment,  adorned  with  jewels,  bespoke 
them  of  higher  wealth  and  rank  than  ordinary, — and  among 
them  one  dazzlingly  fair  face  shone  forth  like  a  star  amid 
flame,  for  the  hair  which  clustered  above  it  was  of  a  red-gold 
lustre,  and  the  mantle  flung  about  it  had  the  glowing  tint  of 
fire.  One  devouring  eager  look,  and  Barabbas,  forgetting  all 
fear,  warning,  or  prophecy,  fled  like  a  madman  towards  that 
flashing  danger-signal  of  a  beauty  that  seemed  to  burn  the 
very  air  encompassing  it, — and  with  wild  eyes,  out-stretched 
hands  and  breathless  utterance  he  cried, — 

"JUDITH!" 


4   DREAM  OF  THE    WORLD'S  TRAGEDY         89 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

SHE  whom  he  thus  called  upon  turned  towards  him  as  he 
came  with  a  haughty  air  of  offence  and  inquiry, — and  the 
marvellous  loveliness  of  her  as  she  fully  confronted  him  checked 
his  impetuous  haste  and  held  him,  as  it  had  often  done  before, 
tongue-tied,  bewildered  and  unmanned.  Nothing  more  beauti- 
ful in  the  shape  of  woman  could  be  imagined  than  she, — her 
fairness  was  of  that  rare  and  subtle  type  which  in  all  ages  has 
overwhelmed  reason,  blinded  judgment  and  played  havoc  with 
the  passions  of  men.  Well  did  she  know  her  own  surpassing 
charm, — and  thoroughly  did  she  estimate  the  value  of  her 
fatal  power  to  lure  and  rouse  and  torture  all  whom  she  made 
the  victims  of  her  almost  resistless  attraction.  She  was  Judith 
Iscariot, — only  daughter  of  one  of  the  strictest  and  most  re- 
spected members  of  the  Pharisaical  sect  in  Jerusalem, — and 
by  birth  and  breeding  she  should  have  been  the  most  sancti- 
monious and  reserved  of  maidens, — but  in  her  case,  nature  had 
outstepped  education.  Nature,  in  a  picturesque  mood,  had 
done  wondrous  things  for  her, — things  that  in  the  ordinary 
opinion  of  humankind,  generally  outweigh  virtue  and  the 
cleanness  of  the  soul  in  the  sight  of  Heaven.  To  Nature 
therefore  the  blame  was  due  for  having  cast  the  red  glow  of  a 
stormy  sunset  into  the  bronze- gold  of  her  hair, — for  having 
melted  the  blackness  of  night  and  the  fire  of  stars  together 
and  set  this  mingled  darkness  and  dazzle  floating  liquidly  in 
her  eyes, — for  having  bruised  the  crimson  heart  of  the  pome- 
granate-buds and  made  her  lips  the  colour  of  the  perfect 
flower, — and  for  having  taken  the  delicate  cream  and  pink  of 
early  almond  blossoms  and  fixed  this  soft  flushing  of  the 
Spring's  life-blood  in  the  coloring  of  her  radiant  face.  Small 
cause  for  wonder  was  there  in  the  fact  that  her  beauty  con- 
quered all  who  came  within  its  radius ; — even  her  rigid  father 
himself  grew  lax,  weak  and  without  authority  as  far  as  she 
was  concerned,  and  blinded  by  the  excess  of  his  parental  pride 
in  her  perfections,  had  gradually  become  the  merest  tool  in  her 
haiids.  How  then  could  Barabbas,  the  criminal  Barabbas, 
feel  himself  other  than  the  most  abject  of  slaves  in  such  a 
dazzling  presence!  A  beaten  hound,  a  chidden  child  were 
8* 


90  BARABBAS 

firmer  of  resolution  than  he  when  the  chill  yet  lustrous  glance 
he  loved  fell  on  him  like  a  star-beam  flashing  from  a  frosty 
sky  and  set  his  strong  nerves  trembling. 

"  Judith  !"  he  exclaimed  again, — and  then  stopped,  discour- 
aged ;  for  her  large  eyes,  cold  as  the  inner  silence  of  the  sea, 
surveyed  him  freezingly  as  though  he  were  some  insolently 
obtrusive  stranger. 

"  Judith !"  he  faltered  appealingly — "  Surely  thou  dost 
know  me, — me,  Barabbas  !" 

A  sudden  light  of  comprehension  swept  away  the  proud 
annoyance  of  her  look, — her  red  lips  parted  a  little,  showing 
the  even  small  white  teeth  within, — then  a  glimmer  of  amuse- 
ment illumined  her  features,  wakening  dimples  at  the  curves 
of  her  mouth  and  lifting  the  delicately  pencilled  corners  of 
her  eyebrows, — then  she  broke  into  a  soft  peal  of  careless, 
vibrating  laughter. 

"Thou,  Barabbas?"  she  said,  and  laughed  once  more, — 
"  Thou  ?  Nay,  'tis  not  possible  !  Barabbas  was  of  late  in 
prison,  and  of  a  truth  he  could  not  steal  from  thence  such 
purple  raiment  and  solemnly  sedate  expression  as  thou  wear- 
est!  Thou  can'st  not  be  Barabbas, — for  scarce  two  hours 
agone  I  saw  him  standing  before  Pilate,  unclad,  and  foul  as 
wolves  and  leopards  are ! — yet  verily  he  seemed  a  nobler  man 
than  thou  !" 

Again  she  gave  vent  to  her  silvery  mocking  mirth,  and  her 
eyes  flung  him  a  glittering  challenge  of  disdain  and  scorn. 
He,  however,  had  recovered  partial  control  of  his  emotions, 
and  met  her  taunting  gaze  stedfastly  and  with  something  of 
sadness, — his  dark  face  had  grown  very  pale, — and  all  the 
warmth  and  rapture  had  died  out  of  his  voice  when  he  spoke 
again. 

"  I  am  Barabbas" — he  repeated  quietly — "  And  thou, 
Judith,  dost  know  it.  Have  I  not  suffered  for  thy  sake  ? — 
and  wilt  thou  still  mock  at  me?" 

She  glanced  him  up  and  down  with  an  air  of  mingled  de- 
rision and  pity. 

"  I  do  not  mock  at  thee,  fool ! — thou  dreamest !  How 
darest  thou  say  thou  hast  suffered  for  my  sake !  I  will  have 
thee  scourged  for  thy  presumption  !  What  has  the  daughter 
of  Iscariot  to  do  with  thee,  thou  malefactor?  Thou  dost 
forget  thy  crimes  too  easily  !" 

"Judith!"  he  muttered,  his  pale  features  growing  paler, 
and  his  hands  clenching  themselves  in  an  involuntary  move- 


A   DREAM  OF  THE   WORLD'S  TRAGEDY         91 

ment  of  desperate  despair, — "Bethink  thee  of  thy  words! 
Remember  the  old  days,  .  .  .  have  pity" 

She  cut  short  his  hesitating  speech  by  an  offended  gesture 
and  turning  to  the  women  who  stood  near,  exclaimed  deri- 
sively, 

"  Lo,  maidens,  'tis  Barabbas !  Remember  ye  him  who 
was  ever  wont  to  pass  by  the  well  in  our  palm-tree  nook  in 
his  goings  and  comings  to  and  from  the  house  of  Shadeen  ? — 
how  he  would  linger  with  us  till  sunset,  wasting  his  time  in 
idle  words  and  rumours  of  the  town,  when  of  a  truth  he  should 
have  been  better  employed  in  useful  errandry.  Tis  the  same 
knave  who  knotted  for  me  the  silken  hammock  on  the  fig-tree 
boughs  in  my  father's  garden, — and  for  Aglaie,  yonder  sim- 
pering Greek  girl  of  mine,  he  once  pulled  down  a  flower  that 
blossomed  too  high  for  her  to  reach.  'Twas  all  the  service 
he  ever  did  for  us,  methinks ! — yet  he  hath  become  of  a  most 
excellent  pride  in  prison  ! — the  unexpected  freedom  given 
him  by  the  people's  vote  hath  puffed  him  out  with  singular 
vanities !  Would  ye  have  known  him,  maidens,  clad  thus  in 
purple,  and  of  so  decorous  a  demeanour?  As  I  live,  he 
would  have  adorned  a  cross  most  fittingly! — 'twere  pity  he 
were  not  nailed  beside  the  Nazarene  !" 

The  women  to  whom  she  spoke  laughed  carelessly  to  please 
her, — but  one  or  two  of  them  seemed  sorry  for  Barabbas,  and 
glanced  at  him  kindly  and  with  a  certain  pity.  He  meanwhile 
showed  no  anger  or  impatience  at  the  scoffing  words  of  his 
beautiful  tormentor,  but  simply  looked  her  straight  in  the  eyes, 
questioningly  and  sorrowfully.  A  deeper  flush  coloured  her 
fair  cheeks, — she  was  evidently  troubled  by  the  stedfastness 
of  his  gaze, — and,  noting  this  momentary  embarrassment  of 
hers,  he  seized  his  opportunity  and  made  a  resolute  step  to- 
wards her,  catching  her  hand  in  his  own. 

"  Is  this  thy  welcome,  Judith  ?"  he  said  in  a  passionate 
whisper — "  Hast  thou  no  thought  of  what  my  long  long  misery 
has  been  apart  from  thee  ?  Deny  it  as  thou  wilt,  I  sinned  for 
thy  sake  and  suffered  for  thy  sake ! — and  'twas  this  thought 
and  this  alone  that  made  my  suffering  less  hard  to  bear.  Mock 
me,  reject  me,  thou  can'st  not  hinder  me  from  loving  thee! 
Slay  me,  if  it  give  thee  pleasure,  with  the  jewelled  dagger 
hanging  at  thy  girdle,  I  shall  die  happy  at  thy  feet, — loving 
thee  to  the  last,  thou  cruel  virgin  of  my  soul !" 

His  voice  in  its  very  whisper  thrilled  with  the  strange  music 
that  love  can  give  to  the  roughest  tones, — his  black  eyes  burned 


92  BAR ABB AS 

with  ardour, — and  his  lips  trembled  in  their  eloquent  appeal. 
She  heard, — and  a  slow  smile  smoothed  away  the  disdain  in 
her  face ;  he  had  grasped  her  left  hand  in  his  and  she  did  not 
withdraw  it.  But  with  her  right  she  felt  for  the  dagger  he 

rke  of, — it  was  the  merest  toy  weapon  set  in  a  jewelled 
ath, — yet  sharp  and  strong  enough  to  kill.  Moved  by 
capricious  impulse  she  suddenly  drew  forth  the  blade  and 
pointed  it  at  his  breast.  He  did  not  flinch, — nor  did  he  for 
a  second  remove  his  eyes  from  the  adoriug  contemplation  of 
her  perfect  loveliness.  For  a  moment  she  remained  thus, — 
the  weapon  uplifted, — the  radiant  smile  playing  round  her 
mouth  like  a  sunbeam  playing  round  a  flower, — then,  laughing 
outright  and  joyously,  she  thrust  back  the  dagger  in  its  sheath. 

"  For  this  time  I  will  let  thee  live," — she  said  with  an  im- 
perial air  of  condescension — "  The  feast  of  death  to-day  hath 
suflicient  material  in  the  traitorous  Nazarene  and  yonder  rascal 
thieves.  Only  I  pray  thee  loosen  my  wrist  from  thy  rough 
grasp,  else  I  must  hate  thee.  Lo,  thou  hast  bruised  me,  fool ! 
— so  rude  a  touch  deserves  no  pardon  !" 

Her  delicate  dark  brows  contracted  petulantly.  Barabbas 
gazed  remorsefully  at  the  red  dents  his  fingers  had  made  on  the 
velvet  softness  of  her  hand,  adorned  with  a  few  great  jewels 
glistening  star-like, — but  he  said  no  word, — his  heart  was  beat- 
ing too  painfully  and  quickly  for  speech.  She,  meanwhile, 
examined  minutely  the  offending  marks, — then  suddenly  raising 
her  eyes  with  an  indescribable  witchery  of  glance  and  smile  she 
said, 

"  Gabrias  would  have  kissed  it !" 

Had  the  ground  opened  beneath  his  feet, — had  a  lightning- 
bolt  sped  from  heaven,  Barabbas  could  not  have  been  more 
amazed  and  appalled.  Gabrias  !  The  sleek,  sanctimonious 
and  false-tongued  Pharisee  whom  he  slew  and  for  whose  mur- 
der he  had  been  cast  into  prison  !  She, — Judith, — spoke  of 
him  thus, — and  now  !  With  his  brain  in  a  whirl  and  a  violent 
fury  beginning  to  stir  in  his  blood,  he  stared  at  her,  his  face 
livid,  his  eyes  blazing. 

"  Gabrias !"  he  muttered  thickly — "  What  sayest  thou  ? — 
Gabrias" 

But  ere  he  could  finish  his  incoherent  sentence  there  came  a 
sudden  ugly  forward  rush  of  the  mob,  who  growing  impatient 
of  restriction,  sought  to  break  the  line  of  the  soldiery  in  order 
to  see  more  clearly  the  preparations  for  the  death  of  the  "  Naza- 
rene" which  were  now  about  to  commence.  There  ensued  a 


A  DREAM  OF  THE    WORLD'S  TRAGEDY         93 

great  noise  and  calling  to  order  and  a  motley  scene  of  confusion, 
during  which  a  company  of  imposingly  attired  personages  ad- 
vanced to  the  spot  where  Judith  and  her  women  stood  and 
took  up  their  position  there.  Among  them  was  the  high-priest 
Caiaphas,  whose  severely  intellectual  countenance  darkened  with 
wrath  as  he  caught  sight  of  Barabbas. 

"  What  doest  thou  here,  dog  ?"  he  demanded,  approaching 
and  addressing  him  in  a  fierce  whisper — "  Did  I  not  warn  thee  ? 
Get  thee  hence  !  The  law's  release  hath  not  made  thee  clean 
of  sin, — thou  shalt  not  mingle  with  the  reputable  and  godly 
in  the  land.  Get  thee  hence,  I  say,  or  I  will  make  thee  accursed 
in  all  men's  sight, — yea,  even  as  a  leper  is  accursed !" 

His  tall  form  quivered, — and  he  raised  his  arm  with  a  gesture 
of  stern  menace.  Barabbas,  pale  to  the  lips,  half  breathless 
and  giddy  with  the  sickening  sensations  of  doubt  and  horror 
which  Judith  had  so  unexpectedly  raised  in  his  soul,  met  his 
cold  eyes  unflinchingly. 

"  Thou  insolent  priest !"  he  said — "  Threaten  thy  curses  to 
those  who  fear  them, — but  I,  Barabbas,  defy  thee!  Where- 
fore should'st  thou,  liar  and  hypocrite,  sun  thyself  in  the  smile 
of  the  maiden  Iscariot,  and  I,  her  friend  in  olden  days,  be  by 
thy  mandate  debarred  her  company  ?  Verily  there  is  a  light 
beginning  to  dawn  on  my  foolish  and  long-darkened  brain, — 
verily  I  do  perceive  wherein  my  trust  has  been  betrayed !  I 
read  thy  thoughts,  thou  evil-minded  and  bloodthirsty  Caiaphas ! 
As  in  a  vision  vouchsafed  in  the  silence  of  the  night  I  see  the 
measure  of  thy  plotting !  Look  to  thyself ! — for  'tis  not  Judas 
but  thou  who  hast  brought  to  this  death  the  innocent  Nazarene, 
— thou  and  thy  tyrannous  craft !  Look  to  thyself, — for  as  God 
liveth  there  is  a  vengeance  waiting  for  thee  and  thine  !" 

He  spoke  at  random,  hardly  conscious  of  what  he  said,  but 
carried  away  by  a  force  and  fervour  not  his  own,  which  made 
him  tremble.  Caiaphas  retreated,  staring  at  him  in  dumb  rage 
and  amazement, — Judith  listening,  laughed. 

"  He  hath  turned  prophet  also  !"  she  exclaimed  mirthfully — • 
"  Let  him  be  crucified  !" 

Her  malicious  and  cruel  suggestion  fell  on  unheeding  ears, 
for  just  then  there  was  another  rush  and  outcry  from  the  mob, 
and  another  futile  struggle  with  the  soldiers.  Barabbas  was 
compelled  to  fight  with  the  rest  of  the  reckless  crowd  for  a 
footing, — and,  in  the  midst  of  the  crush,  a  strong  hand  sud- 
denly caught  and  plucked  him  as  it  were  out  of  chaos.  Mel- 
»hior  confronted  him, — there  was  a  solemn  tender  look  in  bia 


94  BARABBAS 

eyes, — the  ordinary  cold  composure  of  his  features  was  softened 
by  deep  emotion. 

"  Thou  poor  rash  sinner !"  he  said,  but  with  great  gentleness 
— "  Thou  hast  had  the  first  blow  on  thy  credulous  man's  heart, 
— the  first  blight  on  thy  erring  man's  passions !  Stay  thou 
now  with  me,  and  ache  in  silence ;  let  the  world  and  its  ways 
sink  out  of  thy  sight  and  memory  for  a  space, — and  if  thy 
soul  doth  crave  for  Love,  come  hither  and  behold  it  in  all  its 
great  supernal  glory,  slain  to  appease  the  ravening  hate  of 
man !" 

His  voice,  usually  so  calm,  shook  as  though  tears  were 
threatening  to  overcome  it — and  Barabbas,  troubled,  oppressed, 
and  smarting  with  his  own  sense  of  wrong,  yielded  to  his  touch 
passively,  moved  by  his  words  to  a  certain  awe  and  self-sur- 
render. Lifting  his  anguished  eyes  he  looked  fixedly  at  his 
companion, — 

"  Tell  me  the  truth  now  if  thou  knowest  it,"  he  said  in 
hoarse  accents  that  were  almost  inaudible — "  She  is  false  ? — 
yet  no !  Do  not  speak  !  I  could  not  bear  it !  Let  me  die 
rather  than  lose  my  faith  !" 

Melchior  made  no  reply,  but  simply  attended  to  the  difficult 
business  of  pushing  and  pulling  him  through  the  crowd,  till 
they  managed  at  last  to  find  an  open  spot  almost  immediately 
opposite  the  crosses  of  the  two  thieves  who  by  this  time  were 
gasping  aloud  in  the  agonies  of  heat  and  suffocation,  their 
strained  limbs  visibly  quivering.  The  men  of  death  were  all 
gathered  closely  round  the  tall  white  figure  of  the  "  Nazarene," 
— they  were  stripping  Him  of  His  garments.  Meanwhile, 
Petronius  the  centurion  stood  by,  watching  the  process  and 
leaning  meditatively  on  his  drawn  sword. 

"  Pilate  is  crazed !"  said  an  officer,  approaching  him  with  a 
huge  parchment  scroll — "  Lo  what  he  hath  inscribed  to  be 
nailed  above  the  cross  of  the  prophet  from  Galilee  I" 

Petronius  took  the  scroll  and  spreading  it  out,  read  it  slowly 
and  with  labour  for  he  had  little  scholarship.  Three  times 
over  were  the  same  words  written,  in  Greek,  in  Latin,  and  in 
Hebrew— 

"  JESUS  OF  NAZARETH, 
KINO  OP  THE  JEWS." 

"  Where  see  ye  any  madness  in  our  governor  ?"  demanded 
Petronius, — "  There  is  naught  of  such  import  in  the  super- 
scription." 


A   DREAM  OF  THE    WORLD'S  TRAGEDY         95 

"  Nay,  but  there  is,'  — persisted  the  man  who  had  brought 
it — "  And  so  it  was  pointed  out,  for  Caiaphas  spake  unto  Pilate 
thus — '  Write  not,  King  of  the  Jews,  but  that  he  said,  I  am 
King  of  the  Jews  !'  And  Pilate,  being  but  newly  recovered 
from  his  well-nigh  deadly  swoon,  was  wroth  with  Caiaphas, 
and  answered  him  in  haste,  saying — '  What  I  have  written,  1 
have  written  /'  And  of  a  truth  they  parted  ill  friends." 

Petronius  said  no  more, — but  glanced  at  the  inscription 
again,  and  then,  advancing,  gave  it  to  one  of  the  executioners. 
This  man,  grimy  and  savage-featured,  surveyed  it  with  an  ad- 
miring leer,  and  flattening  it  out,  began  to  nail  it  at  once  to  the 
top  of  the  great  Cross  which  still  lay  on  the  ground  where 
Simon  of  Cyrene  had  left  it,  waiting  for  its  Divine  occupant. 
With  a  few  deft  blows  he  soon  fixed  it  firmly  in  position,  and 
satisfied  with  its  prominent  ppearance,  he  read  it  with  the 
tardy  pains  of  a  child  learning  its  first  alphabet.  Tracing 
out  each  letter  with  his  blood-stained  finger,  he  gradually  un- 
solved for  himself  the  mystic  words  that  have  since  resounded 
through  the  whole  civilised  world,  and  muttered  them  beneath 
his  breath  with  a  mingling  of  dull  wonder  and  scorn, — 
"JESUS  OF  NAZARETH, 
KING  OP  THE  JEWS." 


CHAPTER  XV. 

THE  scene  had  now  assumed  a  wonderful  and  terrible  pic- 
turesqueness.  The  populace,  finding  that  sudden  rushes  were 
of  no  avail  to  break  the  firm  line  of  the  Roman  soldiery,  re- 
mained wedged  together  in  a  sullen  heated  mass,  watching  the 
proceedings  in  morose  silence.  There  were  a  few  detached 
groups  standing  apart  from  the  actual  multitude,  evidently  by 
permission  of  the  authorities, — one  being  composed  of  the 
poorly-clad  women  whom  Barabbas  had  seen  and  spoken  to  on 
the  way  up  the  hill,  and  even  at  the  distance  he  was  he  could 
see  the  golden  gleam  of  the  Magdalen's  hair,  though  her  face 
was  buried  in  her  hands.  And, — for  the  distraction  of  his 
peace, — he  could  also  see  the  supple  form  of  Judith  Iscariot, 
wrapped  in  her  flame-coloured  mantle,  and  looking  like  a  tall 
poppy-flower  blossoming  in  the  sun, — the  stately  Caiaphas  stood 


96  BARABBAS 

beside  her,  with  other  men  of  note  and  position  in  the  city  of 
Jerusalem, — one  or  two  of  the  stranger  Roman  nobles  had  de- 
scended from  their  horses,  and  were  eagerly  bending  towards 
her  in  courtly  salutation.  Barabbas  gazed  at  her  and  grew 
sick  at  heart, — a  horrible  disillusion  and  disappointment  crushed 
his  spirit  and  filled  him  with  a  silent  rage  of  pain,  an  intoler- 
able agony  of  despair.  All  at  once  the  ground  rocked  beneath 
his  feet  like  a  wave  of  the  sea, — he  staggered  and  would  have 
fallen  had  not  his  friend  Melchior  held  him  up. 

"  What  is  it?"  he  muttered,  but  Melchior  replied  not.  He 
was  looking  at  the  soldiers,  who  had  also  felt  the  sudden  bil- 
lowy movement  of  the  earth  on  which  they  stood,  but  who, 
trained  to  a  wooden  impassiveness,  only  glanced  at  one  another 
inquiringly  for  a  second  and  then  resumed  their  stiff  attitude 
and  immobility  of  expression.  The  ground  steadied  itself  as 
swiftly  as  it  had  trembled,  and  the  populace,  in  their  intense 
excitement,  had  evidently  failed  to  note  its  momentary  undu- 
lation. 

Presently  a  loud  roar  of  ferocious  delight  went  up  from  the 
mob, — the  executioners  had  stripped  the  Condemned  of  His 
garments, — and,  pleased  with  the  texture  and  softness  of  their 
material,  were  now  casting  lots  for  their  possession.  They  dis- 
puted loudly  and  angrily,  the  chief  contention  raging  over  the 
question  as  to  who  should  have  the  upper  robe  or  mantle 
which  was  made  of  pure  white  wool,  woven  smoothly  through- 
out from  top  to  hem  without  seam.  Throwing  it  from  hand 
to  hand  they  examined  the  fleecy  fabric  with  covetous  eager- 
ness, making  clamorous  and  conflicting  assertions  as  to  its  actual 
monetary  value,  much  as  the  relatives  of  a  dead  man  squabble 
over  the  division  of  his  poor  earthly  property.  And  in  the 
meantime  while  they  argued  hotly  together  and  lost  patience 
one  with  the  other,  the  immortal  "  Nazarene"  stood  ungar- 
mented,  awaiting  their  cruel  pleasure.  His  grand  Figure  shone 
white  as  polished  alabaster  in  the  brilliant  sun, — an  inward 
luminance  gleamed  like  fire  through  the  azure  branches  of  His 
veins  and  the  spotless  purity  of  His  flesh ;  His  arms  had  been 
unbound,  and  with  an  air  of  mingled  relief  and  weariness  He 
stretched  them  forth  as  one  conscious  of  pleasant  freedom,  and 
the  shadow  of  their  whiteness  fell  on  the  dull  brown  earth  like 
a  reflection  of  the  Cross  on  which  He  was  so  soon  to  perish. 
And  when  he  allowed  them  to  drop  again,  gently  and  languidly 
at  His  sides,  that  shadow  seemed  yet  to  stay  upon  the  ground 
and  deepen  and  darken.  No  clouds  were  in  the  sky  ;  the  sun 


A   DREAM  OF  THE    WORLD'S   TRAGEDY         97 

was  at  full  dazzle  and  splendour, — nevertheless  that  mysterious 
stain  widened  and  spread  slowly,  as  though  some  sudden  moist- 
ure beneath  the  soil  were  gradually  rising  to  an  overflow.  Ba- 
rabbas  noticed  it, — he  saw  too  that  Melchior  observed  the 
same  phenomenon,  but  neither  of  them  spoke.  For  the  in- 
terest and  horror  of  the  Divine  drama  were  now  culminating 
to  their  supremest  point ; — the  casting  of  lots  for  the  garments 
of  the  Condemned  was  over, — and  each  man  was  apparently 
satisfied  with  his  share  of  the  spoil.  The  chief  executioner, 
not  without  a  touch  of  pity  in  his  rough  face,  approached  the 
"  Nazarene,"  and  instead  of  using  force  as  he  had  been  com- 
pelled to  do  in  the  case  of  the  crucified  malefactors,  bade  Him, 
in  a  low  tone,  take  His  place  upon  the  Cross  without  offering 
useless  resistance  to  the  law.  The  terrible  mandate  was  obeyed 
instantly  and  unhesitatingly.  With  perfect  calmness  and  the 
serene  ease  of  one  who,  being  tired,  is  glad  to  rest,  the  Ruler 
of  the  Worlds  laid  Himself  down  within  the  waiting  arms  of 
Death.  As  peacefully  as  a  weary  traveller  might  stretch  him- 
self upon  a  couch  of  softest  luxury,  so  did  the  Conqueror  of 
Time  stretch  out  His  glorious  limbs  upon  the  knotty  wooden 
beams  of  torture,  with  sublime  readiness  and  unconquerable 
patience.  Had  He  spoken  at  that  thrilling  moment  He  might 
have  said — "  Even  so,  0  children  of  My  Father,  lay  your- 
selves down  upon  the  rack  of  the  world's  misprisal  and  con- 
tempt !  If  ye  would  win  a  force  divine,  stretch  out  your  limb* 
in  readiness  to  be  pierced  by  the  nails  that  shall  be  driven  into 
them  by  friends  and  foes !  Wear  ye  the  crown  of  thorns  till 
the  blood  starts  from  your  aching  brows, — be  stripped  bare  to 
the  malicious  gaze  of  sensuality  and  sin !  Let  them  think 
that  they  have  tortured  you,  slain  you,  buried  you, — hidden 
you  out  of  sight  and  out  of  mind !  Then  arise,  0  ye  children 
of  My  Father, — arise  on  the  wings  of  the  morning,  full-filled 
with  power ! — power  living,  everlasting,  and  triumphant ! — for 
ye  shall  see  the  world  at  your  feet  and  all  heaven  opened  above 
you ;  the  circling  universe  shall  ring  with  the  music  of  your 
names  and  the  story  of  your  faithfulness,  and  sphere  upon 
sphere  of  Angels  shall  rejoice  with  you  in  glory !  For  behold, 
from  this  day  henceforth,  I  and  those  whom  I  call  Mine,  shall 
alter  Death  to  Life  and  Life  to  Immortality." 

But  no  words  such  as  these  were  uttered :  the  Divine  lips 

were  fast  closed  and  mute  as  heaven  itself.     But  from  the 

watching  crowd  there  went  up  a  faint  murmur  of  irrepressible 

admiration  for   the  tranquil  heroism  with  which  the  young 

B       9  9 


98  BARABBAS 

"  Prophet  of  Galilee"  accepted  His  fate,  as  well  as  for  the 
singularly  sculptural  beauty  and  resignation  of  His  attitude. 
The  executioners  approached  Him  with  a  certain  aw*  and 
timorousness. 

"  One  would  think  him  made  of  marble,"  muttered  one, 
pausing,  hammer  in  hand. 

"  Marble  doth  not  bleed,  thou  fool  1"  said  his  fellow  harshly, 
yet  with  an  angry  consciousness  that  he  too  felt  a  tremor  of 
fear  and  repugnance  at  the  work  about  to  be  done.  • 

The  other  men  were  silent. 

The  select  and  richly-attired  company  of  those  influential 
or  wealthy  persons  who  were  standing  immediately  round  the 
high-priest  Caiaphas,  now  advanced  a  little, — and  Judith  Is- 
cariot,  radiant  as  a  sun-flash  embodied  in  woman's  shape,  leaned 
forward  eagerly  with  the  pleased  smile  of  a  child  who  is  prom- 
ised some  rare  and  mirthful  gala  show.  Her  brilliant  dark 
eyes  rolled  indifferently  and  coldly  over  the  outstretched  Form 
upon  the  Cross, — her  jewelled  vest  rose  and  fell  lightly  with 
the  gradual  excited  quickening  of  her  breath.  She  looked, — 
but  she  did  not  speak, — she  seemed  to  gloat  silently  upon  the 
prospect  of  the  blood-shedding  and  torture  soon  to  ensue. 
And  from  the  opposite  side  to  that  on  which  she  stood,  there 
suddenly  emerged  another  woman,  young  and  fair  as  she, 
though  worn  with  weeping, — a  woman  whose  wild  white  face 
was  like  that  of  some  beautiful  sad  angel  in  torment.  Throw- 
ing up  her  hands  in  a  dumb  frenzy  of  protest  and  appeal,  she 
ran  unsteadily  forward  a  few  steps,  then  stopped  and  fell  on 
her  knees,  covering  her  anguished  features  in  the  loosened 
shower  of  her  golden  hair  with  a  low  shuddering  cry.  None 
out  of  the  assembled  throng  went  to  offer  her  comfort  or  assist- 
ance,— people  peered  curiously  at  her  over  each  other's  shoul- 
ders, exchanging  a  few  side-looks  of  derision  and  contempt, — 
but  not  a  soul  approached  her  save  one, — one  of  her  own  sex, 
who  was  closely  veiled,  and  who,  advancing  with  a  light  yet 
queenly  tread,  knelt  down  beside  her,  and  passing  one  arm 
around  her,  laid  her  forlorn  fair  head  against  her  breast  and  so 
quietly  remained.  Judith  Iscariot,  lifting  her  ringed  hand  to 
her  eyes  to  shade  them  from  the  sun's  glare,  gazed  at  that 
kneeling  group  of  two  with  haughty  disgust  and  scorn. 

"  Lo,  the  sinners  with  whom  this  madman  of  Galilee  con- 
sorted!" she  exclaimed  to  Caiaphas — "Yonder  yellow-haired 
vileness  is  the  Magdalen, — she  should  be  stoned  from  hence  1" 

"  Yea  verily  she  should  be  stoned  from  any  place  where  thou 


A  DREAM  OF  THE    WORLD'S  TRAGEDY         99 

dost  pass,  fair  Judith  !"  said  Caiaphas  deferentially,  yet  with 
the  shadow  of  a  sneer  on  his  thin  pale  lips — "  Evil  company 
should  be  far  distant  from  thee,  and  for  this  cause  did  I  just 
lately  chase  the  insolent  Barabbas  from  thy  presence.  But  con- 
cerning this  woman  Magdalen,  yonder  matron  who  doth  thus 
embrace  her,  cannot  immediately  be  spoken  with  or  banished 
from  this  place,  for  'tis  the  Mother  of  the  Galilean.  She  hath 
come  hither  to  behold  him  die.  Were  we  to  visit  her  with 
harshness,  or  deny  and  deprive  her  of  her  privilege  to  watch 
this  death  and  make  fitting  lament  thereon,  she  and  the  women 
she  elects  as  friends, — the  populace  would  raise  an  outcry 
against  us,  and  most  justly.  For  law  must  ever  go  hand  in 
hand  with  mercy.  Have  patience  then,  good  Judith,  till  the 
end, — though  of  a  truth  I  crave  to  know  why  thou  hast  ven- 
tured hither  if  thou  art  offended  at  the  sight  of  sinners  ?  In 
such  a  multitude  as  this  thou  can'st  not  hope  to  find  all  vir- 
tuous!" 

Something  sarcastic  in  the  tone  of  his  voice  called  up  a  sud- 
den red  flush  on  Judith's  cheeks, — but  her  eyes  grew  cold  and 
hard  as  a  midnight  frost. 

"  I, — like  the  mother  of  the  Nazarene,  have  come  to  see  him 
die  !"  she  said  with  a  cruel  smile, — "  She  will  watch  his  torture 
with  tears  doubtless, — but  I,  with  laughter !  His  agony  will 
be  my  joy !  For  I  hate  him, — I  hate  him  !  He  hath  cast 
dissension  in  our  house, — he  hath  turned  my  brother's  heart 
from  mine,  aud  made  of  him  a  slave  to  his  fanatic  doctrine. 
For  look  you,  what  happier  man  was  there  than  Judas,  be- 
loved of  my  father,  and  dear  to  me  beyond  all  earthly  count- 
ings, till  in  an  evil  hour  he  was  ensnared  from  home  by  idle 
rumours  of  the  power  of  this  boastful  prophet  of  Galilee  ? 
What  needed  we  of  any  new  religion, — we  who  served  the  God 
of  Abraham,  of  Isaac  and  of  Jacob,  and  who  had  followed  the 
teachings  of  the  law  from  our  youth  up  till  now  ?  Is  it  not  a 
shame  to  speak  it,  a  shame  to  think  it,  that  Judas,  well-born 
and  comely  of  countenance,  my  father's  only  son  and  heir,  hath 
actually  wandered  in  vagabondage  across  the  land  with  this 
carpenter's  son  of  Nazareth,  dwelling  among  common  fisher- 
folk,  visiting  the  unclean  and  leprous  poor,  eating  the  husks  of 
want  instead  of  the  bread  of  plenty, — deserting  his  home,  for- 
saking me,  his  sister,  and  disobeying  his  father's  command,  all 
for  the  sake  of  this  impostor  who  hath  at  last  been  found  guilty 
of  blasphemy  and  condemned  to  his  long-deserved  death. 
Judge  how  I  hate  the  traitor  !  Ay,  with  a  hate  surpassing  any 


100  BARABBAS 

love !  I  rose  betimes  this  morning  to  be  the  witness  of  his 
trial, — when  the  mob  were  inclined  to  pity,  I  whispered  words 
that  roused  them  anew  to  wrath, — 'twas  I  who  gave  the  key- 
note '  Crucify  him  !' — did'st  thou  not  mark  how  readily  the 
chorus  answered  ?" 

Caiaphas  looked  down  a  trifle  uneasily,  then  up  again. 

"  Yea,  I  did  mark  it," — he  said  softly — "  And  that  I  heard 
and  knew  thy  voice  is  no  matter  for  surprise,  seeing  that  it  was 
a  strain  of  music  amid  much  discord.  And  freely  do  I  sym- 
pathise with  thy  sorrow  concerning  Judas, — thy  brother  was 
ever  thy  dear  and  favourite  companion,  and  this  Galilean  mir- 
acle-monger hath  brought  him  naught  save  ruin.  He  hath  fled 
the  city  they  say.  Knowest  thou  whither  ?" 

A  vague  anxiety  shadowed  the  beautiful  face  he  watched  so 
narrowly. 

"  Nay,  not  I,"  she  answered,  and  her  accents  trembled — 
"  Last  night  he  came  to  me, — 'twas  after  he  had  led  the  guards 
to  the  garden  of  Gethsemane  where  they  captured  the  Naza- 
rene, — and  like  a  madman,  he  called  down  curses  upon  himself 
and  me.  He  was  distraught, — I  knew  him  not, — he  raged  and 
swore.  I  strove  to  calm  him, — he  thrust  me  from  him, — I 
called  him  by  every  endearing  name,  but  he  was  as  one  deaf  to 
affection  or  to  reason ; — I  bade  him  think  of  our  dead  mother, 
how  she  loved  him, — he  shrieked  at  me  as  though  I  had 
plunged  a  dagger  in  his  heart.  Our  father  besought  him  with 
tears  to  remember  all  the  claims  of  family  and  duty,  but  still 
he  raved  and  beat  his  breast,  crying  aloud  '  I  have  sinned  !  I 
have  sinned  !  The  weight  of  heaven  and  earth  crushes  my  soul 
. — the  innocent  blood  is  red  upon  my  hands  !  I  have  sinned  ! 
I  have  sinned !'  Then  with  a  sudden  violence  he  flung  us  from 
him,  and  rushed  furiously  from  our  dwelling  out  into  the  night. 
I  followed  him  fast,  hoping  to  stay  him  ere  he  could  have  left 
our  garden, — but  his  was  a  crazed  speed, — I  found  him  not. 
The  moon  was  shining  and  the  air  was  still, — but  he  had  gone, 
— and  since  then  I  have  not  seen  him." 

Two  tears  quivered  on  her  silky  lashes  and  fell  among  the 
jewels  at  her  breast.  A  gathering  trouble  darkened  the  high- 
priest's  countenance. 

u  'Tis  strange,"  he  muttered — "  'Tis  very  strange !  He  hath 
fulfilled  a  duty  to  the  laws  of  his  people,  and  now,  when  all  is 
done,  he  should  rejoice  and  not  lament.  Nevertheless,  be  sure 
his  humour  is  but  temporarily  distracted,  though  I  recognise 
the  actual  cause  thou  hast  for  sisterly  misgiving.  Yet  take 


A   DREAM  OF  THE    WORLD'S   TRAGEDY       101 

thou  comfort  in  believing  all  is  well, — and  let  thy  thirst  of 
vengeance  now  be  satisfied,  for  see,  they  do  begin  to  nail  the 
malefactor  down." 

He  spoke  thus,  partly  to  divert  Judith's  thoughts  from 
anxiety  on  her  brother's  account,  and  partly  because  just  then 
he  saw  Petronius  the  centurion  give  the  fatal  signal.  Petro- 
nius  had  in  truth  purposely  delayed  this  act  till  the  last  possible 
moment,  and  now,  when  he  was  finally  compelled  to  lift  his 
gauntleted  hand  in  sign  that  the  terrible  work  of  torture  should 
commence,  he  caught,  for  the  further  inward  distress  and  re- 
morse of  his  mind,  a  sudden  look  from  the  patient,  upturned, 
Divine  eyes.  Such  eyes  ! — shining  like  twin  stars  beneath  the 
grand  supernal  brows  round  which  the  rose-thorns  pressed  their 
piercing  circlet, — eyes  alit  with  some  supreme  inscrutable 
secret  spell  that  had  the  power  to  shake  the  spirit  of  the  strong- 
est man.  Petronius  could  not  bear  those  eyes, — their  lustrous 
purity  and  courage  were  too  much  for  his  composure, — and 
trembling  from  head  to  foot  with  an  almost  womanish  nervous- 
ness he  turned  abruptly  away.  The  murmuring  noise  of  the 
vast  expectant  multitude  died  off  gradually  like  the  retreating 
surge  of  a  distant  sea, — a  profound  silence  reigned, — and  the 
hot  movelessness  of  the  air  grew  more  and  more  weightily  in- 
tensified. The  executioners  having  received  their  commands, 
and  overcoming  their  momentary  hesitation,  gathered  in  a  rough 
half-nude  group  around  the  Cross  whereon  lay  unresistingly  the 
Wonder  of  the  Ages,  and  knelt  to  their  hideous  task,  their 
muscular  brown  arms,  grimy  with  dust  and  stained  already 
with  splashes  of  blood  from  the  crucifying  of  the  two  thieves, 
contrasting  strangely  with  the  dazzling  whiteness  of  the  Figure 
before  them.  They  paused  a  moment,  holding  the  huge  long- 
pointed  nails  aloft,  .  .  .  would  this  Man  of  Nazareth  struggle  ? 
— would  it  be  needful  to  rope  His  limbs  to  the  wooden  beams 
as  they  had  done  to  the  other  two  condemned?  With  the 
fierce  scrutiny  of  those  accustomed  to  signs  of  rebellion  in  the 
tortured,  they  studied  their  passive  Captive,  .  .  .  not  a  quiver 
stirred  the  firmly  composed  limbs,  ...  not  a  shade  of  anxiety 
or  emotion  troubled  the  fair  face,  .  .  .  while  the  eyes,  rolled 
up  to  the  blinding  splendour  of  the  sky,  were  gravely  thought- 
ful and  full  of  peace.  No  bonds  were  needed  here; — the 
Galilean  was  of  marvellously  heroic  mould, — and  every  hard- 
ened torturer  around  Him,  silently  in  his  heart  of  hearts  recog- 
nised and  respected  the  fact.  Without  further  parley  they 
commenced  their  work,  .  .  .  and  the  startled  earth,  affrighted, 
9* 


102  BARABBAS 

groaned  aloud  in  cavernous  echoes  as  the  cruel  hammers  heavily 
rose  and  fell,  clanging  out  the  tocsin  of  a  God's  death  and  a 
world's  redemption.  And  at  the  self-same  moment,  up  to  the 
far  star-girdled  Throne  of  the  Eternal,  sped  the  tender  low- 
breathed  supplication  of  the  dying  Well- Beloved, 

"  Father  t  forgive  them,  for  they  know  not  what  they  do  !" 


CHAPTER    XVI. 

A  DREADFUL  hush  of  horror  reigned.  The  stirless  heat  of 
the  atmosphere  felt  as  heavy  to  the  senses  as  an  overhanging 
solid  mass  of  burning  iron.  The  forces  of  Nature  seemed 
paralysed,  as  though  some  sudden  shock  had  been  dealt  at  the 
core  of  life,  or  as  though  the  rolling  world  had  paused,  palpi- 
tating for  breath  in  its  pacing  round  the  sun.  Not  a  sound 
broke  the  oppressive  stillness  save  the  dull  reverberation  of  the 
hammers  at  their  deadly  business, — for  the  vast  human  multi- 
tude stood  dumb,  sullenly  watching  the  working  of  their  will, 
yet  moved  by  a  vague  remorse  and  an  equally  vague  terror. 
Not  one  among  them  would  have  dared  to  suggest  at  this  late 
hour  any  mercy  for  the  Victim  ;  they,  the  people,  had  desired 
this  thing,  and  their  desire  was  being  accomplished.  All  being 
carried  out  as  they  wished,  they  could  not  well  complain,  nor 
could  they  recall  their  own  decision.  But  there  was  something 
unnatural  and  ghastly  in  the  scene, — a  chill  sense  of  nameless 
desolation  began  to  creep  upon  the  air, — and  while  each  man 
and  woman  present  strained  both  body  and  sight  to  see  the  fine 
fair  limbs  of  the  "  Galilean"  pierced  through  and  fastened  to 
the  torture-tree,  they  were  all  conscious  of  fear  ;  fear  of  what 
or  of  whom,  none  could  have  truly  told, — nevertheless  fear  dom- 
inated and  daunted  the  spirits  of  every  one.  And  it  was  this 
unconfessed  inexplicable  alarm  that  kept  them  silent, — so  that 
not  even  a  whispered  "  Alas  I"  escaped  from  any  pitying  voice 
when  the  beauteously  arched,  delicate  feet  of  the  Divine  Suf- 
ferer were  roughly  seized,  crossed  over  and  held  in  position  by 
one  executioner,  while  another  placed  the  nail  in  the  nerve- 
centres  of  the  tender  flesh.  A  third  callous  ruffian  dealt  the 
measured  blows  which  drove  in  the  thick,  sharp  iron  prong 
with  a  Blow  force  calculated  to  double  and  treble  the  exquisite 


A   DREAM  OF  THE    WORLD'S  TRAGEDY       103 

agony  of  lingering  martyrdom, — and  Bwiftly  the  hurt  veins 
rebelled  against  their  wrong  in  bursting  jets  of  innocent  blood. 
The  crimson  stain  welled  up  and  made  a  piteous  rose  on  the  torn 
skin's  whiteness,  but  He  who  was  thus  wounded,  stirred  not  at 
all,  nor  uttered  a  cry.  His  human  flesh  mutely  complained  of 
human  injustice  in  those  reproachful  red  life-drops ;  but  the 
indomitable  Spirit  that  dwelt  within  that  flesh  made  light  of 
merely  mortal  torment,  and  was  already  seizing  Death  in  the 
grasp  of  victory.  And  the  feet  that  had  borne  their  Owner 
into  dreary,  forsaken  ways  where  the  poor  and  the  outcast 
dwell  in  sorrow, — that  had  lightly  paused  among  the  "  lilies  of 
the  field"  while  such  sweet  words  were  spoken  as  made  these 
simple  flowers  talismans  of  grace  for  ever, — that  had  moved 
softly  and  tenderly  through  the  fields  of  corn  and  gardens  of 
olive,  and  villages  and  towns  alike,  carrying  consolation  to  the 
sad,  hope  to  the  lost,  strength  to  the  weak, — now  throbbed 
and  ached  and  bled  in  anguish  for  man's  ingratitude,  man's 
forgetfulness,  man's  abhorrence  of  the  truth  and  suicidal  doubt 
of  God.  How  easy  it  is  to  hate !  .  .  .  how  difficult  to  love, 
as  Love  demands  !  .  .  .  Many  assembled  there  on  Calvary  that 
never-to-be-forgotten  day,  had  listened  to  the  fearless  and  holy 
teaching  of  Him  whose  torment  they  now  coldly  watched,  when 
in  the  fields,  on  the  hills  or  by  the  reverent  sea,  He  had  taught 
them  the  startling  new  lesson  that  "  God  is  a  Spirit ;  and 
they  that  worship  Him  must  worship  Him  in  Spirit  and  in 
Truth"  No  savage  "  Jehovah- Jireh,"  craving  for  murder  and 
thirsting  for  vengeance  was  the  supreme  Creator,  but  a  Father, 
— a  loving  Father,  of  whom  this  youthful  Prophet  with  the 
heaven-lit  eyes  had  said — "  Fear  not,  little  flock  ! — it  is  your 
Father's  good  pleasure  to  give  you  the  Kingdom  /"  He, — 
this  Man  upon  the  Cross, — had  on  one  memorable  morning, 
gathered  about  Hun  a  crowd  of  the  fallen  and  sick  and  poor 
and  disconsolate,  and  with  a  tender  smile  as  radiant  as  the 
summer  sunshine,  had  said — "  Come  unto  Me,  all  ye  that  are 
weary  and  heavy-laden,  and  I  will  give  you  rest !"  .  .  .  And 
they  had  come, — those  heart-broken  and  agonised  of  the  earth, 
— they  had  knelt  and  wept  at  His  feet, — they  had  kissed  His 
garments  and  the  ground  on  which  He  trod, — they  had  placed 
their  little  children  in  His  arms,  and  had  told  Him  all  their  sor- 
rows. And  He  had  laid  His  hands  upon  them  in  blessing, — those 
fair  white  hands  of  mystic  power  and  healing  which  dispensed 
naught  but  good, — but  which  now,  palms  outward,  were  fastened 
to  the  death-rack,  ...  a  symbolic  token  of  the  world's  reward 


104  BARABBAS 

to  all  its  noblest  souls !  .  .  .  The  blood  oozed  slowly  and  re 
luctantly  from  those  hands,  but,  as  was  usual  in  the  dolours  of 
crucifixion,  gathered  itself  painfully  in  the  outstretched  arms, 
— swelling  the  veins  and  knotting  the  muscles, — though  as  yet 
the  terrible  ordeal  had  not  reached  its  height,  for  the  Cross  had 
still  to  be  lifted.  For  that  tremendous  uplifting  the  whole 
universe  waited, — for  that,  the  very  heavens  were  at  pause  and 
the  angels  stricken  dumb  ! 

The  executioners  having  finished  the  first  part  of  their  task, 
now  beckoned  the  centurion  to  step  forward  and  see  for  him- 
self that  the  nails  in  the  Victim's  body  were  secure,  so  that  he 
might  be  able  to  certify  to  the  authorities  that  the  law  had  been 
adequately  fulfilled.  With  a  sickening  heart,  Petronius  obeyed 
the  signal.  But  his  sight  was  dazzled, — his  brain  reeled, — 
there  was  a  choking  dryness  in  his  throat,  and  he  could  not 
speak  a  word.  Yet  this  time  the  Man  of  Sorrows  never  looked 
at  him, — the  Divine  orbs  of  light  and  genius  were  turned  to 
heaven  alone,  as  though  absorbing  the  fiery  glory  of  the  sun. 
And, — was  it  fancy,  or  some  delusion  of  his  own  sense  of 
vision  that  suddenly  gave  him  the  impression  of  an  approach- 
ing darkness  in  the  sky  ? — as  if  indeed  the  sun  were  losing 
lustre?  He  rubbed  his  eyes  and  gazed  dubiously  about, — 
surely  a  mysterious  shadow  as  of  outspread  wings  rested  on  the 
landscape  !  Were  the  people, — were  the  soldiers  conscious  of 
this  ?  Apparently  not.  Their  attention  was  concentrated  on 
the  work  of  death, — and  there  was  a  general  eager  forward 
movement  of  the  crowd  to  see  the  Cross  set  up.  As  Petro- 
nius, dazed  and  bewildered,  stepped  back,  the  executioners,  six 
in  all,  men  of  sinewy  and  powerful  build,  bent  themselves 
energetically  to  the  completion  of  their  work,  ...  in  vain! 
Their  united  forces  could  not  raise  the  world's  Eternal  Sym- 
bol one  inch  from  the  ground.  They  struggled  and  dragged  at 
it,  the  sweat  pouring  from  their  brows, — but  its  priceless  freight 
of  Godhead,  Majesty  and  Love  resisted  all  their  efforts. 

"  I  said  he  was  a  Hercules,"  growled  the  chief  man,  wring- 
ing the  perspiration  from  his  rough  beard, — "  The  Cross  itself 
is  of  uncommon  size,  and  he  upon  it  hath  the  mould  of  heroes. 
What,  Simon  !  Simon  of  Gyrene  !  Art  thou  there  ?" 

The  crowd  moved  and  murmured  and  made  way, — and 
Simon,  thus  apostrophised,  came  slowly  to  the  front. 

"What  need  ye  more  of  me?"  he  demanded  sullenly, 
"Think  ye  I  will  aid  in  murder?" 

"  Thou  Libyan  ass  I"  retorted  the  executioner — "  Who  talks 


A   DREAM  OF  THE    WORLD'S   TRAGEDY      1JJ5 

of  murder  ?  This  is  the  law's  work,  not  ours.  Lend  us  thy 
brawny  arms  a  minute's  space, — thou  art  made  in  a  giant's 
shape,  and  should'st  have  a  giant's  |force  withal.  An'  thou 
wilt  not" — he  added  in  a  lower  tone — "  we  must  use  greater 
roughness." 

Simon  hesitated, — then,  as  if  inwardly  compelled,  advanced 
submissively  to  the  foot  of  the  Cross.  His  eyes  were  cast 
down,  and  he  bit  his  lips  to  hide  their  nervous  trembling. 

"  Lift  ye  all  together  the  upper  beams" — he  said  softly  to 
the  executioners,  hushing  his  voice  like  one  who  speaks  in 
rapture  or  in  reverence — "  I  will  support  the  end." 

They  stared  amazedly, — he  was  voluntarily  choosing  the 
greater  weight  which  would  inevitably  be  his  to  bear  directly 
the  Cross  was  raised.  But  they  offered  no  opposition. 
Stronger  than  any  lion  he  was  known  to  be, — let  him  test  his 
strength  now,  for  here  was  his  opportunity  !  So  they  thought 
as  they  went  in  the  direction  he  indicated, — three  men  to  the 
right  and  three  to  the  left.  The  excitement  of  the  people  was 
now  intense, — so  passionately  absorbed  indeed  had  it  become 
that  none  seemed  to  be  aware  of  a  singular  circumstance  that 
with  each  moment  grew  more  pronounced  and  evident, — this 
was  the  solemn  spreading  of  a  semi-darkness  which,  like 
advancing  twilight,  began  gradually  to  blot  out  all  the  brilliant 
blue  of  the  afternoon  skies.  It  came  on  stealthily  and  almost 
imperceptibly, — but  the  crowd  saw  nothing  as  yet,  .  .  .  noth- 
ing but  the  huge  bronzed  figure  of  Simon  stooping  to  lift  the 
Crucified.  Tenderly,  and  with  a  strange  air  of  humiliation, 
the  rough-featured  black-browed  Cyrenian  laid  hands  upon  the 
Cross  once  more, — the  Cross  he  had  so  lightly  borne  to  Calvary, 
— and  grasping  it  firmly,  drew  it  up,  up  by  slow  and  sure  de- 
grees, till  the  pierced  and  bleeding  feet  of  the  Christ  came  close 
against  his  straining  breast,  .  .  .  inch  by  inch,  with  panting 
breath  and  an  ardent  force  that  was  more  like  love  than  cruelty, 
he  lifted  it  higher  and  higher  from  the  ground,  the  executioners 
holding  and  guiding  the  transverse  beams  upward  till  these  were 
beyond  their  reach, — and  Simon  alone,  with  wildly  beating 
heart  and  muscles  stretched  nigh  to  breaking,  supported  for  one 
lightning  instant  the  world's  Redeemer  in  his  arms  !  He 
staggered  and  groaned, — the  blood  rushed  to  his  face  and  the 
veins  in  his  forehead  swelled,  .  .  .  but  he  held  his  ground  for 
that  one  terrible  moment,  .  .  .  then,  ...  a  dozen  men  rushed 
excitedly  to  his  assistance,  and  with  their  aid,  the  great  Cross, 
with  the  greatest  Love  transfixed  upon  it,  was  thrust  into  the 


106  BARABBAS 

deep  socket  dug  for  its  reception  on  the  summit  of  the  hill.  It 
fell  in  with  a  thudding  reverberation  as  though  its  end  had 
struck  the  very  centre  of  the  earth, — and  trembling  to  and  fro 
for  a  few  seconds  like  a  tree  shaken  by  a  storm-wind,  was  soon 
perfectly  still,  fixed  steadily  upright  between  the  two  already 
crucified  thieves,  who  though  dying  fast,  were  not  yet  dead. 
Salvation's  Symbol  stood  declared ! — and  Simon  of  Gyrene, 
having  done  all  he  was  needed  to  do,  retreated  slowly  with 
faltering  steps  and  swimming  brain,  conscious  only  of  one 
thing, — that  the  blood  of  the  Victim  had  stained  his  breast, 
and  that  the  stain  seemed  to  burn  his  flesh  like  fire.  He  folded 
his  garment  over  it  to  hide  it,  as  though  it  were  a  magic  talis- 
man which  must  for  safety's  sake  be  well  concealed ;  it  gave 
him  pain  as  much  as  if  he  had  himself  been  wounded,  .  .  . 
and  yet  ...  it  was  a  pang  that  thrilled  and  warmed  his  soul ! 
He  saw  nothing, — the  earth  appeared  to  eddy  round  him  like 
a  wave, — but  he  stumbled  on  blindly,  heedless  of  whither  he 
went  and  forcing  his  way  through  the  crowd  that  gaped  at  him 
in  wonderment,  the  while  he  muttered  from  time  to  time  under 
his  breath  the  words  of  the  inscription  above  the  head  of  the 
Divine  Martyr, 

"  JESUS  OP  NAZARETH,  KING  OP  THE  JEWS  !" 
And  now,  the  Cross  being  openly  set  up,  and  the  slow 
devourings  of  death  having  commenced  upon  the  sinless  Sacri- 
fice, a  long  wild  shout  of  savage  exultation  arose  from  the 
multitude, — a  shout  that  rang  in  harsh  hoarse  echoes  over  the 
hill,  through  the  low-lying  gardens  beyond,  and  away  as  it 
seemed  to  the  summit  of  Mount  Moriah,  where  over  Solomon's 
glistening  Temple,  a  cloud  as  of  dust  or  smoke,  hung  like  a 
warning  of  storm  and  fire.  And  the  barbaric  human  clamour 
as  it  mutteringly  died- away  was  suddenly  taken  up  and  all 
unexpectedly  answered  by  a  grander  uproar, — a  deep,  threaten- 
ing boom  of  far-off  thunder.  In  circling  tones  and  semi-tones 
of  wrath  it  volleyed  through  the  skies, — and,  startled  by  the 
sound,  the  people,  roused  for  the  first  time  from  their  morbid 
engrossment  in  the  work  of  cruel  torture  and  blood-shedding, 
looked  up  and  saw  that  the  heavens  were  growing  dark  and 
that  the  sun  was  nearly  covered  by  an  inky  black  cloud,  from 
which  its  rim  peered  feebly  like  a  glimmering  half-moon. 
Against  the  background  of  that  obscured  sun  and  sable  cloud 
the  Cross  stood  clear,  the  outstretched  Figure  on  it,  looking,  in 
that  livid  murkiness,  whiter  than  a  shape  of  snow, — and  the 
multitude  silenced  anew  by  some  strange  terror,  watched  and 


A  DREAM  OF  THE    WORLD'S   TRAGEDY       J07 

listened, — chained  in  their  thousands  to  the  one  spot  by  mingled 
fear  and  fascination.  Afraid  to  move  they  knew  not  why,  and 
waiting  for  they  knew  not  what,  they  gazed  all  with  one  accord 
at  the  huge  Cross  and  its  emblazoned  Glory  suspended  between 
them  and  the  pallidly  vanishing  sun, — and  murmured  to  one 
another  vaguely  between-whiles  of  storm  and  rain, — there 
would  be  a  heavy  shower  they  said, — good  for  the  land  and 
cooling  to  the  air.  But  they  spoke  at  random, — their  thoughts 
were  not  with  their  words,  and  their  minds  were  ill  at  ease. 
For  the  omnipresent  spirit  of  fear,  like  a  chill  wind,  breathed 
upon  their  nerves,  lifting  the  very  hair  of  their  flesh  and  caus- 
ing their  limbs  to  tremble.  And  ever  the  skies  darkened,  and 
ever,  with  scarce  a  moment's  pause,  the  gathering  thunders 
rolled. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

DEEPER  and  deeper  drooped  the  dull  grey  gloom,  like  a 
curtain  falling  slowly  and  impenetrably  over  all  things.  The 
strange  stillness  of  the  multitude,  .  .  .  the  heavy  breathless- 
ness  of  the  air,  .  .  .  and  the  appalling  effect  of  the  three 
crosses  with  the  tortured  figures  on  them,  standing  out  against 
the  lurid  storm-light,  were  sufficient  to  inspire  a  sense  of  awe 
and  dread  in  the  mind  of  the  most  hardened  and  callous  be- 
holder. The  booming  thunder  swinging  to  and  fro  in  the 
clouds  resembled  the  sepulchral  sound  of  an  iron-tongued 
funeral  bell,  half  muffled,  half  clamant,  .  .  .  and  presently 
the  landscape  took  upon  itself  a  spectral  look,  as  of  being  a 
dream  scene  unsubstantially  formed  of  flitting  vapour.  The 
circling  line  of  the  Roman  soldiery  appeared  to  lessen  to  the 
merest  thread  of  gleaming  steel, — the  serried  ranks  of  the 
populace  merged  into  a  confused,  apparently  intangible  blur, — 
and  in  the  singular  flitting  and  wavering  of  light  and  shade,  it 
happened  that  at  last  only  the  one  central  Cross  became  pre- 
eminently visible.  Outlined  with  impressive  distinctness,  it 
suddenly  seemed  to  assume  gigantic  proportions,  stretching 
interminably  as  it  were  to  east  and  west,  up  to  heaven  and 
down  to  earth,  while  behind  the  head  of  the  Divine  Crucified, 
a  golden  pearl  of  the  veiled  sun  shone  like  the  suggestion  of  a 
new  world  bursting  into  being.  One  instant  this  weird  glamour 


108  BARABBAS 

lasted,  .  .  .  and  then  a  blue  blaze  of  lightning  cut  up  the  sky 
into  shreds  and  bars,  followed  instantaneously  by  a  terrific  clap 
of  thunder.  Men  grew  pale,  .  .  .  women  screamed,  .  .  . 
even  the  soldiers  lost  their  wonted  composure  and  looked  at 
each  other  in  doubting  and  superstitious  dread.  For  they  had 
their  gods,  these  rough  untutored  men, — they  believed  in  the 
angers  of  Jupiter, — and  if  the  fierce  god's  chariot-wheels  were 
rattling  through  the  far  empyrean  thus  furiously,  surely  his 
wrath  would  soon  exceed  all  bounds  1  And  could  it  be  because 
the  "  Nazarene"  was  crucified  ?  Their  darkening  countenances 
full  of  apprehension,  expressed  their  thoughts,  and  the  high- 
priest  Caiaphas,  quick  to  detect  the  least  hint  of  a  change  in 
the  popular  sentiment,  became  uneasy.  This  storm,  com- 
mencing at  the  very  moment  of  the  crucifixion,  might  so  im- 
press and  terrify  the  ignorant  rabble,  that  they  might  imagine 
the  death  of  the  Galilean  Prophet  was  being  visited  on  them  by 
the  powers  of  heaven, — and  possibly  might  insist  on  having  Him 
taken  down  from  the  Cross  after  all.  He  imparted  his  politic 
fears  to  Judith  Iscariot  in  a  whisper, — she  too  had  grown  pale 
at  the  loud  threat  of  the  gathering  storm,  and  was  not  without 
a  nervous  sense  of  alarm, — but  she  was  prouder  than  most  of 
her  sex,  and  scorned  to  outwardly  show  any  misgiving  what- 
ever she  inwardly  felt.  And  while  Caiaphas  yet  murmured 
discreetly  in  her  ear,  a  sudden  glow  as  of  fire  was  flung  upon 
Calvary, — the  sable  mask  of  cloud  slid  from  the  sun, — and 
wide  rays  of  light  tinged  with  a  singular  redness  like  that  of 
an  out-breaking  volcano,  blazed  forth  brilliantly  over  the  hill. 
Cheered  by  the  splendour,  the  people  threw  off,  in  part,  their 
vague  terrors, — their  faces  brightened, — and  Caiaphas  profiting 
by  his  opportunity,  stepped  out  in  full  view  of  the  crowd,  and 
advanced  majestically  towards  the  Cross  from  which  the  "  King 
of  the  Jews"  looked  down  upon  him.  Lifting  his  hand  to 
shade  his  eyes  from  the  crimson  glare  which  haloed  with  a 
burning  ring  the  outstretched  patient  Figure,  he  exclaimed  in 
clear  loud  accents — "  Thou  that  destroy est  the  temple  and 
buildest  it  in  three  days,  save  thyself  and  come  down  from 
tlie  cross  !" 

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.  Caia- 
phas smiled  proudly, — he  had  struck  the  right  note,  and  had 
distracted  the  attention  of  the  mob  from  their  personal  alarms 


A  DREAM  OF  THE    WORLD'S   TRAGEDY       109 

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  should'st  die,  ...  yet  willingly  would  I  have 
seen  Barabbas  nailed  where  thou  art !  Nevertheless  thou  art 
a  false  and  evil  prophet, — if  thou  be  the  Christ,  save  thyself 
and  us  /" 

The  other  crucified  malefactor,  close  upon  his  end,  and  pant- 
ing 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  con- 
tinued 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. 
10 


HO  B ARABS AS 

"  Lord  .  .  .  Lord"  ...  he  stammered  feebly.  "  Remem- 
ber me  .  .  .  when  .  .  .  thou  earnest  .  .  .  into  .  .  .  thy  King- 
dom!" 

Slowly, — with  aching  difficulty,  but  with  unconquerably 
tender  patience,  the  Divine  head  was  gently  raised, — the  lus- 
trous 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  shalt  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  pluck- 
ing 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, 


A   DREAM  OF  THE   WORLD'S  TRAGEDY       HI 

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  be  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, 
•he  cried  again, 


112  B ARABS  AS 

"  Hearest  thou  me,  thou  boaster  and  blasphemer  ?  If  thou 
be  the  Son  of  God,  come  down  from  the  Cross!'1 

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  tranverse 
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  van- 
ished, 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,  dense 
darkness  fell, — impenetrable,  sooty  darkness  that  in  one  breath 
of  time  blotted  out  the  face  of  nature  and  made  of  the  sum- 
mer-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,  mad- 
dening knowledge  that  numbers  of  reckless  terrified  human 
beings  were  rushing  hither  and  thither,  unseeingly  and  dis- 
tractedly,— these  were  the  first  results  of  that  abrupt  descent 
of  black  night  in  bright  day.  "  Light !  Give  us  light,  0 
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  re- 
peating monotonously,  "  Light, — light !  0  God  of  our  fathers, 
give  us  light !" 


A  DREAM  OF  THE    WORLDS  TRABEDT      113 

Bufc  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-pos- 
session 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  I 
They  are  all  dead  men  I" 

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  veri- 
table 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  un- 
natural midnight  reigned,  supreme,  impermeable.  There  was 
no  order  left ;  the  soldiery  were  scattered ;  the  mob  were  sepa- 
rated 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  Kedeemer  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  \ 
h  10* 


114  BAR  ABB  AS 

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  to- 
gether 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  spirit- 
ual 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  en- 
compass 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,  0  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  it  was  to  hear  the  divers  con- 
trasting petitions  that  now  went  muttering  up  to  the  invisible 
Unknown  ; — Latin  tongues  against  Hebrew  and  Greek, — ap- 
peals 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  1  We  have 
sinned, — we  have  turned  aside  from  Thy  judgments,  And  it 
hath  profited  us  naught !  Remember  us,  0  God,  and  be  merci- 
ful !  Consume  us  not  with  Thy  just  displeasure !  Be  merci- 
ful and  mindful  of  us  for  blessing  1  Save  us  unto  life  I  By 


A   DREAM  OF  THE    WORLD'S  TRAGEDY       115 

Thy  promise  of  salvation  and  mercy,  Spare  us  and  be  gracious 
unto  us,  0  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  to- 
wards Judith  Iscariot  just  as  the  darkness  fell, — and  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 
needfully  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,  wonder- 
ing whether  he  could  move  from  the  spot  without  stumbling 
against  one  at  least  of  tho>se  three  terrible  crosses  which  he 
knew  must  be  very  near.  For  Judith  had  stood  directly  be- 
neath 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 
within  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, 


116  BARABBAS 

— to  know  that  he  might  almost  touch  His  pierced  and  bleed, 
ing  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  mist?  fell ;  and,  clasping  her  firmly,  he 
retreated  inch  by  inch,  till  he  thought  he  was  far  enough  re- 
moved from  that  superhuman  Symbol  which  made  its  unseen 
Presence  all-dominant  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.  Im- 
possible, 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. 

And, — as  he  kissed  her  she  stirred, — her  body  quivered  in 
his  hold, — consciousness  returned,  and  in  a  moment  or  two  she 
lifted  herself  upright.  Sighing  heavily,  she  murmured  like 
one  in  a  dream — 

"Is  it  thou,  Caiaphas?" 

A  fierce  pang  contracted  the  heart  of  the  unhappy  man  who 
loved  her, — he  staggered,  and  almost  let  her  fall  from  his  em- 
brace. Then,  controlling  his  voice  with  an  effort,  he  answered 


«  Nay,— it  Is  I,— Barabbas." 


A  DREAM  OF  THE    WORLD'S  TRAGEDY      117 

"  Thou !"  and  she  flung  one  arm  about  his  neck  and  held 
him  thus  entwined — "  Thou  were  ever  brave  and  manful ! — 
save  me,  my  love,  save  me !  Take  me  out  of  this  darkness, — 
there  must  be  light  in  the  city, — and  thou  art  fearless  and 
skilful  enough  to  find  a  way  down  this  accursed  hill." 

"  I  cannot,  Judith  !"  he  answered,  his  whole  frame  trem- 
bling at  the  touch  of  her  soft  caressing  arm, — "  The  world  is 
plunged  in  an  impenetrable  night, — storm  and  upheaval  threaten 
the  land, — the  city  itself  is  blotted  out  from  view.  The  peo- 
ple are  at  prayer ;  none  dare  move  without  danger, — there  is 
no  help  for  it  but  to  wait,  here  where  we  are,  till  the  light 
cometh." 

"  What,  thou  art  coward  after  all !"  exclaimed  Judith, 
shaking  herself  free  from  his  clasp — "  Thou  fool !  In  the 
city  lamps  can  be  lit  and  fires  kindled,  and  we  be  spared  some 
measure  of  this  gloom.  If  thou  wert  brave, — and  more  than 
all,  if  thou  did'st  love  me, — thou  would'st  arouse  thy  will,  thy 
strength,  thy  courage, — thou  would'st  lead  me  safely  through 
this  darkness  as  only  love  can  lead, — but  thou  art  like  all  men, 
selfish  and  afraid !" 

"  Afraid  !  Judith  !"  His  chest  heaved, — his  limbs  quiv- 
ered. "  Thou  dost  wrong  me  ! — full  well  thou  knowest  thou 
dost  wrong  me !" 

"  Prove  it  then !"  said  Judith  eagerly,  flinging  herself 
against  him  and  putting  both  arms  round  his  neck  confidingly 
— "  Lo,  I  trust  thee  more  than  any  man  !  Lead  me  from 
hence,  we  will  move  slowly  and  with  care, — thou  shalt  hold 
me  near  thy  heart, — the  path  is  straight  adown  the  hill, — the 
crosses  of  the  criminals  are  at  the  summit,  as  thou  knowest, 
and  if  we  trace  the  homeward  track  from  hence  surely  it  will 
be  easy  to  feel  the  way." 

"  What  of  the  multitude  ?"  said  Barabbas — "  Thou  know- 
est not,  Judith,  how  wildly  they  are  scattered, — how  in  their 
straying  numbers  they  do  obstruct  the  ground  at  every  turn, — 
and  it  is  as  though  one  walked  at  the  bottom  of  the  sea  ac 
midnight,  without  the  shine  of  moon  or  stars." 

"  Nevertheless,  if  thou  lovest  me,  thou  wilt  lead  me," — 
repeated  Judith  imperatively.  "But  thou  dost  not  love 
me !" 

"  I  do  not  love  thee  !  I !"  Barabbas  paused, — then  caught 
the  twining  arms  from  about  his  neck  and  held  them  hard. 
"  So  well  do  I  love  thee,  Judith,  that,  if  thou  playest  me  false, 
I  can  hate  thee  1  ;Tis  thou  that  art  of  dubious  mind  in  love. 


118  BARABBAS 

I  have  loved  only  thce;  but  thou,  perchance,  eince  I  was 
chained  in  prison,  hast  loved  others.  Is  it  not  so  ?  Speak !" 

For  all  answer  she  clung  about  his  neck  again  and  began  to 
weep  complainingly. 

"  Ah,  cruel  Barabbas  !"  she  wailed  to  him  between  her  sobs, 
— "  Thou  standest  here  in  this  darkness,  prating  of  love  while 
death  doth  threaten  us.  Lead  me  away  I  tell  thee, — take  me 
homeward, — and  thou  shalt  have  thy  reward.  Thou  wilt  not 
move  from  this  accursed  place  which  hath  been  darkened  and 
confused  by  the  evil  spells  of  the  Nazarene, — thou  wilt  let  me 
perish  here,  because  thou  dost  prize  thine  own  life  more  than 
mine !" 

"  Judith  !  Judith  !"  cried  Barabbas  in  agony — "  Thou  dost 
break  my  heart, — thou  dost  torture  my  soul !  Beware  how 
thou  speakest  of  the  dying  Prophet  of  Galilee, — for  thou 
did'st  taunt  Him  in  His  pain, — and  this  darkness  fell  upon  us 
when  thy  cruel  words  were  spoken.  Come, — if  thou  must 
come  ;  but  remember  there  is  neither  sight  nor  sense  nor  order 
in  the  scattered  multitude  through  which  we  must  tight  our 
passage, — 'twere  safer  to  remain  here, — together, — and  pray." 

"  I  will  not  pray  to  God  so  long  as  He  doth  wantonly  afflict 
us  !"  cried  Judith  loudly  and  imperiously — "  Let  Him  strike 
slaves  with  fear, — I  am  not  one  to  be  so  commanded  !  An' 
thou  wilt  not  help  me  I  will  help  myself;  I  will  stay  no  longer 
here  to  be  slain  by  the  tempest,  when  with  courage  I  might 
reach  a  place  of  safety." 

She  moved  a  step  away, — Barabbas  caught  her  mantle. 

';  Be  it  as  thou  wilt !"  he  said,  driven  to  desperation  by  her 
words, — "  Only  let  me  hold  thee  thus," — and  he  placed  one  arm 
firmly  round  her, — "  Now  measure  each  pace  heedfully, — walk 
warily  lest  thou  stumble  over  some  swooning  human  creature, 
— and  with  thy  hands  feel  the  air  as  thou  goest,  for  there  are 
many  dangers." 

As  he  thus  yielded  to  her  persuasions,  she  nestled  against 
him  caressingly,  and  lifted  her  face  to  his.  In  the  gloom  thoir 
lips  met,  and  Barabbas,  thrilled  through  every  pulse  of  his 
being  by  that  voluntary  kiss  of  love,  forgot  his  doubts,  his  sus- 
picions, his  sorrows,  his  supernatural  forebodings  and  fears, 
and  moved  on  with  her  through  the  darkness  as  a  lost  and 
doomed  lover  might  move  with  his  soul's  ruiu.  through  the 
black  depths  of  hell. 


DREAM  OF  THE    WORLD'S   TRAGEDY      119 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

SLOWLY  and  cautiously  they  groped  their  way  along  and 
for  two  or  three  yards  met  with  no  obstacle.  Judith  was  tri- 
umphant, and  with  every  advancing  step  she  took,  began  to 
feel  more  and  more  secure. 

"  Did  I  not  tell  thee  how  it  would  be  ?"  she  said  exultingly, 
as  she  clung  close  to  Barabbas, — "Danger  flies  from  the 
brave-hearted,  and  ere  we  know  it  we  shall  find  ourselves  at 
the  foot  of  the  hill." 

"  And  then  ?" — murmured  Barabbas  dubiously. 

"  Then,  doubt  not  but  that  we  shall  discover  light  and 
guidance.  And  I  will  take  thee  to  my  father's  house,  and  tell 
him  thou  hast  aided  in  my  rescue,  and  he  will  remember  that 
thou  hast  been  freed  from  prison  by  the  people's  vote,  and  he 
will  overlook  thy  past,  and  receive  thee  with  honour.  Will 
that  not  satisfy  thee  and  make  thee  proud  ?" 

He  shuddered  and  sighed  heavily. 

"  Alas,  Judith,  honour  and  I  are  for  ever  parted,  and  I  shall 
never  be  proud  of  aught  in  this  world  again  !  There  is  a 
sorrow  on  my  heart  too  heavy  for  me  to  lift, — perchance  'tis 
my  love  for  thee, — perchance  'tis  the  weight  of  mine  own  folly 
and  wickedness ;  but  be  the  burden  what  it  may,  I  am  stricken 
by  a  grief  that  will  not  vent  itself  in  words.  For  'tis  I, 
Judith,  I  who  should  have  died  to-day,  instead  of  the  holy 
'  Nazarene'  1" 

She  gave  an  exclamation  of  contempt  and  laughed. 

"  Callest  thou  him  holy  ?"  she  cried  derisively — "  Then  thou 
art  mad  ! — or  thou  hast  a  devil  1  A  malefactor,  a  deceiver,  a 
trickster,  a  blasphemer, — and  holy  !" 

Another  li«ht  laugh  rippled  from  her  lips,  but  was  quickly 
muffled,  for  Barabbas  laid  his  hands  upon  her  mouth. 

"  Hush, — hush  !"  he  muttered, — "  Be  pitiful !  Some  one 
is  weeping,  .  .  .  out  there  in  the  gloom  !  Hush  !" 

She  struggled  with  him  angrily,  and  twisted  herself  out  of 
his  hold. 

"  What  do  I  care  who  weeps  or  laughs  ?"  she  exclaimed, — 
"  Why  dost  thou  pause  ?  Art  stricken  motionless  ?" 

But  Barabbas  replied  not.     He  was  listening  to  a  melaa- 


120  BARABBAS 

choly  sobbing  sound  that  trembled  through  tbe  darkness, — the 
sorrowing  clamour  of  a  woman's  breaking  beart, — and  a  strange 
anguish  oppressed  him. 

"Come!"  cried  Judith. 

He  roused  himself  with  an  effort. 

"  I  can  go  no  further  with  tbee,  Judith," — he  said  sadly, — 
"Something, — I  know  not  what, — drags  me  back.  I  am 
giddy, — faint, — I  cannot  move  I" 

"Coward!"  she  exclaimed — "Farewell  then!  I  go  on 
without  thee." 

She  sprang  forward — but  he  caught  her  robe  and  detained 
her. 

"  Nay, — have  patience, — wait  but  a  moment" — he  implored 
in  tones  that  were  hoarse  and  unsteady — "  I  will  force  my 
steps  on  with  thee,  even  if  I  die.  I  have  sinned  for  thy  sake 
in  the  past — it  matters  little  if  I  sin  again.  But  from  my 
soul  I  do  beseech  thee  that  thou  say  no  more  evil  of  the 
'  Nazarene'  I" 

"What  art  thou,  that  thou  should'st  so  command  me?" 
she  demanded  contemptuously, — "  And  what  has  the  '  Naza- 
rene' to  do  with  thee,  save  that  he  was  sentenced  to  death 
instead  of  thou  ?  Thou  weak  slave  !  Thou,  who  did'st  steal 
pearls  only  because  I  said  I  loved  such  trinkets ! — oh,  worthy 
Barabbas,  to  perjure  thyself  for  a  woman's  whim  ! — thou,  who 
did'st  slay  Gabrias  because  he  loved  me !" 

"  Judith  1"  A  sudden  access  of  fury  heated  his  blood, — 
and  seizing  her  in  both  arms  roughly  he  held  her  as  in  a  vice. 
"  This  is  no  time  for  folly, — and  whether  this  darkness  be  of 
heaven  or  hell,  thou  darest  not  swear  falsely  with  death  so 
close  about  us !  Take  heed  of  me !  for  if  thou  liest  I  will 
slay  thee!  Callest  thou  me  weak?  Nay,  I  am  strong, — 
strong  to  love  and  strong  to  hate,  and  as  evil  in  mind  and 
passion  as  any  man  !  I  will  know  the  truth  of  thee,  Judith, 
before  I  move,  or  let  thee  move  another  inch  from  hence ! 
Gabrias  loved  thee,  thou  sayest, — come,  confess, — did'st  thou 
in  thy  turn  love  Gabrias  ?" 

She  writhed  herself  to  and  fro  in  his  grasp  rebelliously. 

"I  love  no  man  !"  she  cried  in  defiance  and  anger.  "AD 
men  love  me  !  Am  I  not  the  fairest  woman  in  Judaea  ? — and 
thou  speakest  to  me  of  one  lover — one  !  And  thou  would'st 
be  that  one  thyself?  0  fool !  What  aileth  thee?  Lo,  thou 
hast  me  here  in  thine  arms, — thou  can'st  take  thy  fill  of  kisses 
an'  thou  wilt, — I  care  naught  so  long  as  thou  dost  not  linger 


A  DREAM  OF  THE    WORLD'S   TRAGEDY       121 

on  this  midnight  way.  I  offer  thee  my  lips, — I  am  thy  sole 
companion  for  a  little  space, — be  grateful  and  content  that 
thou  hast  so  much.  Gabrias  loved  me  I  tell  thee, — with 
passion,  yet  guardedly, — but  now  there  are  many  greater  than 
he  who  love  me,  and  who  have  not  his  skill  to  hide  their 
thought" 

"Such  as  the  high-priest  Caiaphas!"  interrupted  Barabbas 
in  choked  fierce  accents. 

i  She  gave  a  little  low  laugh  of  triumph  and  malice  com- 
mingled. 

"  Come !"  she  said,  disdaining  to  refute  his  suggestion, — 
"  Come,  and  trouble  not  thyself  concerning  others,  when  for 
this  hour  at  least  I  am  all  thine.  Rejoice  in  the  advantage 
this  darkness  gives  thee, — lo,  I  repel  thee  not ! — only  come, 
and  waste  no  more  precious  time  in  foolish  questioning." 

He  loosened  his  arms  abruptly  from  about  her,  and  stood 
motionless. 

"  Come  I"  she  cried  again. 

He  gave  her  no  response. 

She  rushed  at  him  and  clutched  him  by  his  mantle,  putting 
up  her  soft  face  to  his,  and  showering  light  kisses  on  his  lips 
and  throat. 

"  Barabbas,  come  !"  she  clamoured  in  his  ears — "  Lead  me 
onward  ! — thou  shalt  have  love  enough  for  many  days !" 

He  thrust  her  away  from  him  loathingly. 

"  Get  thee  hence  !"  he  cried, — "  Fairest  woman  of  Judaea, 
as  thou  callest  thyself  and  as  thou  art,  tempt  me  no  more  lest 
in  these  hellish  vapours  I  murder  thee !  Yea,  even  as  I  mur- 
dered Gabrias !  Had  I  thought  his  boast  of  thee  was  true, 
he  should  have  lived,  and  thou  should'st  have  been  slain ! 
Get  thee  hence,  thou  ruin  of  men  ! — get  thee  hence, — alone  ! 
I  will  not  go  with  thee ! — I  tear  the  love  of  thee  from  out  my 
heart,  and  if  I  ever  suffer  thy  fair  false  face  to  haunt  my 
memory,  may  Heaven  curse  my  soul !  I  take  shame  upon 
myself  that  I  did  ever  love  thee,  thou  evil  snare ! — deceive 
others  as  thou  wilt,  thou  shalt  deceive  Barabbas  no  more !" 

Again  she  laughed,  a  silvery  mocking  laugh,  and  like  some 
soft  lithe  snake,  twined  herself  fawningly  about  him. 

"  No  more  ?"  she  queried  in  dulcet  whispers — "  Thou  wilt 
not  be  deceived,  thou  poor  Barabbas? — thou  wilt  hot  be 
caressed? — thou  wilt  no  longer  be  my  slave?  Alas,  thou 
can'st  not  help  thyself,  good  fool! — I  feel  thee  tremble, — I 
hear  thee  sigh  ! — come, — come !"  and  she  pulled  him  per- 
r  11 


122  BARABBAS 

suasively  by  the  arm, — "  Come ! — and  perchance  thou  shalt 
have  a  victory  thou  drearnest  not  of!" 

For  one  dizzy  moment  he  half  yielded,  and  suffered  himself 
to  be  dragged  forward  a  few  paces  like  a  man  in  a  dull  stupor 
of  fever  or  delirium, — then,  the  overpowering  emotion  he  had 
felt  before,  came  upon  him  with  tenfold  force,  and  again  he 
stopped. 

"No!"  he  exclaimed— " No,  I  will  not!  I  cannot!  No 
more,  no  more !  I  will  go  no  further  !" 

"  Die  then,  fool,  in  thy  folly !"  she  cried,  and  bounded  away 
from  him  into  the  gloom.  Hardly  had  she  disappeared,  when 
a  monster  clap  of  thunder  burst  the  sky,  and  a  ball  of  fire  fell 
to  earth,  hissing  its  way  through  the  darkness  like  a  breaking 
bomb.  At  the  same  instant  with  subterranean  swirl  and  rumble 
the  ground  yawned  asunder  in  a  wide  chasm  from  which  arose 
serpentine  twists  of  fiery  vapour  and  forked  tongues  of  flame. 
Paralysed  with  horror,  Barabbas  stared  distractedly  at  this 
terrific  phenomenon,  and  as  he  looked,  saw  the  lately  vanished 
Judith  made  suddenly  visible  in  a  glory  of  volcanic  splendour. 
Her  figure,  brilliantly  lighted  up  by  the  fierce  red  glow,  was 
on  the  very  edge  of  the  hideous  chasm,  and  appeared  to  blaze 
there  like  a  spirit  of  fire.  Had  she  gone  one  step  further,  she 
would  have  been  engulfed  within  its  depths, — as  it  was  she  had 
escaped  by  a  miracle.  For  one  moment  Barabbas  beheld  her 
thus,  a  glittering  phantom  as  she  seemed,  surrounded  by  dense 
pyramids  of  smoke  and  jets  of  flame, — then,  with  another 
underground  roar  and  trembling  the  ghastly  light  was  quenched 
and  blackness  closed  in  again, — impenetrable  blackness  in  which 
nothing  could  be  seen,  and  nothing  heard  save  the  shrieks  and 
groans  of  the  people. 


CHAPTER   XX. 

THE  panic  was  now  universal  and  uncontrollable.  Crowds 
of  frantic  creatures,  struggling,  screaming,  weeping,  and  fight- 
ing invisibly  with  one  another,  rushed  madly  up  and  down  in 
the  darkness,  flinging  themselves  forward  and  backward  like  the 
swirling  waves  of  a  sea.  The  murky  air  resounded  with  yells 
and  curses, — now  and  then  a  peal  of  hideous  laughter  rang 


A  DREAM  OF  THE    WORLD'S   TRAGEDY       123 

out,  and  sometimes  a  piercing  scream  of  pain  or  terror,  while 
under  all  these  louder  and  more  desperate  noises  ran  the  mo- 
notonous murmuring  of  prayer.  The  impression  and  expecta- 
tion of  renewed  disaster  burdened  the  minds  of  all ;  the  shud- 
dering trouble  of  the  earth  had  terrified  the  boldest,  and  many 
were  in  momentary  dread  that  the  whole  hill  of  Calvary  would 
crumble  beneath  them  and  swallow  them  up  in  an  abyss  of  fire. 
Barabbas  stood  still  where  Judith  had  left  him, — his  limbs 
quivering,  and  a  cold  sweat  breaking  out  over  all  his  body, — 
yet  he  was  not  so  much  conscious  of  fear  as  of  horror, — hor- 
ror and  shame  of  himself  and  of  the  whole  world.  An  inef- 
faceable guilt  seemed  branded  on  mankind, — though  how  this 
conviction  was  borne  in  upon  him  he  could  not  tell.  Pres- 
ently, determining  to  move,  he  began  to  retrace  his  steps  cau- 
tiously backward,  wondering,  with  a  sinking  heart,  whether 
Judith  had  still  gone  on  ?  She  must  have  realised  her  danger ; 
she  would  never  have  proceeded  further,  knowing  of  that  fright- 
ful rent  in  the  ground,  into  which,  in  her  wilful  recklessness, 
she  had  so  nearly  plunged.  Once  he  called  "  Judith  !"  loudly, 
but  there  was  no  response. 

Stumbling  along  in  doubt  and  dread,  his  foot  suddenly  came 
in  contact  with  a  figure  lying  prone,  and  stooping  to  trace  its 
outline,  he  touched  cold  steel. 

"  Take  heed,  whosoe'er  thou  art,"  said  a  smothered  voice, 
"  and  wound  not  thyself  against  my  sword-edge.  I  am  Petro- 
nius." 

"  Dost  thou  find  safety  here,  soldier  ?"  inquired  Barabbas 
tremulously — "  Kuowesfc  thou  where  thou  art  in  this  dark- 


"  I  have  not  moved  from  hence" — replied  Petronius ;  "  I 
was  struck  as  by  a  shock  from  heaven,  and  I  have  stayed  as  I 
fell.  What  would  it  avail  me  to  wander  up  and  down  ?  More- 
over, such  as  I  am,  die  at  their  post  if  die  they  must, — and 
my  post  is  here,  close  by  the  Cross  of  the  '  Nazarene.' " 

Barabbas  shuddered,  and  his  blood  grew  cold  in  his  veins. 

"  Is  He  dead  ?"  he  asked  in  hushed  awed  accents. 

"  Nay,  He  breathes  yet'1 — replied  the  centurion  with  equal 
emotion — "  And — He  suffers!" 

Yielding  to  an  overwhelming  impulse  of  passion  and  pain, 
Barabbas  groped  his  way  on  a  few  steps,  and  then,  halting, 
stretched  out  his  hands. 

"Where  art  thou?"  he  muttered  faintly — "0  thou  who 
diest  in  my  wretchsd  stead,  where  art  thou?" 


124  BARABBAS 

He  listened,  but  caught  no  sound  save  that  of  sobbing. 

Keeping  his  hands  extended,  he  felt  the  dense  air  up  and 
down. 

"  Who  is  it  that  weeps  ?"  he  asked,  softening  his  voice  to  its 
gentlest  tone — "  Speak  to  ine,  I  beseech  thee  ! — whether  man 
or  woman,  speak !  for  behold  I  am  a  sinner  and  sorrowful  as 
thou  1" 

A  long,  low  gasping  sigh  quivered  through  the  gloom, — a 
sigh  of  patient  pain ;  and  Barabbas,  knowing  instinctively 
Who  it  was  that  thus  expressed  His  human  sense  of  torture, 
was  seized  by  an  agony  he  could  not  quell. 

"  Where  art  thou  ?"  he  implored  again  in  indescribable  anx- 
iety— "  I  cannot  feel  thee, — I  cannot  find  thee  1  Darkness 
covers  the  world  and  I  am  lost  within  it !  Thy  sufferings, 
Nazarene,  exceed  all  speech,  yet,  evil  man  as  I  am,  I  swear  my 
heart  is  ready  to  break  with  tbine !" 

And  as  he  thus  spoke  involuntarily  and  incoherently,  he 
flung  himself  on  his  knees,  and  scalding  tears  rushed  to  his 
eyes.  A  trembling  hand  touched  him, — a  woman's  hand. 

"  Hush  !"  whispered  a  broken  voice  in  the  gloom — "  Thou 
poor,  self-tormented  sinner,  calm  thyself,  and  pray !  Fear  not ; 
count  not  up  thy  transgressions,  for  were  they  more  numerous 
than  the  grains  of  sand  in  the  desert,  thy  tears  and  sorrows 
here  should  win  thy  pardon.  Kneel  with  us,  if  thou  wilt,  and 
watch ;  for  the  end  approaches, — the  shadows  are  passing,  aud 
light  is  near." 

"  If  this  bo  so,"  said  Barabbas,  gently  detaining  the  small 
hand  that  touched  him — "  Why  dost  thou  still  continue  to 
weep?  Who  art  thou  that  art  so  prodigal  of  tears?" 

"  Naught  but  woman," — answered  the  sweet  whispering 
voice — "  And  as  woman  I  weep, — for  the  great  Love's  wrong  !" 

She  withdrew  her  hand  from  his  clasp, — and  he  remained 
where  he  was  beside  her,  quietly  kneeling.  Conscious  of  the 
nearness  of  the  Cross  of  the  "  Nazarene"  and  of  those  who 
were  grouped  about  it  he  felt  no  longer  alone, — but  the  weight 
of  the  mysterious  sorrow  he  carried  within  himself  perceptibly 
increased.  It  oppressed  his  heart  and  bewildered  his  brain, — 
the  darkness  seemed  to  encircle  him  with  an  almost  palpable 
density, — and  he  began  to  consider  vaguely  that  it  would  be 
well  for  him,  if  he  too,  might  die  on  Calvary  with  that  mystic 
"  King"  whose  personality  had  exercised  so  great  a  fascination 
over  him.  What  had  he  to  live  for  ?  Nothing.  He  was  out- 
cast through  his  own  wickedness,  and  as  the  memory  of  his 


A   DREAM  OF   THE    WORLD'S   TRAGEDY       125 

sins  clouded  his  mind  he  grew  appalled  at  the  evil  in  his 
own  nature.  His  crimes  of  theft  and  murder  were  the  result 
of  his  blind  passion  for  Judith  Iscariot, —  and  this  blind 
passion  now  seemed  to  him  the  worst  crime  of  all.  For  this 
his  name  and  honour  were  gone, — for  this  he  had  become 
a  monster  of  iniquity  in  his  own  sight.  Yet,  strange  to  say, 
only  that  very  morning,  he  had  not  thought  himself  so  vile. 
Between  the  hours  of  his  being  brought  before  Pilate,  and  now, 
— when  he  knelt  in  this  supernatural  darkness  before  the  un- 
seen dying  "  Man  of  Nazareth,"  an  age  seemed  to  have  passed, 
— a  cycle  of  time  burdened  with  histories, — histories  of  the 
soul  and  secret  conscience,  which  are  of  more  weight  in  God's 
countings  than  the  histories  of  empires.  The  people  had  re- 
leased him, — they  had  hailed  him,  the  liberated  thief  and  mur- 
derer, with  acclamations, — true  ! — but  what  was  all  this  popu- 
lar clamour  worth  when  in  his  own  heart  he  knew  himself  to 
be  guilty  of  the  utmost  worst  that  could  be  done  to  him  ?  Oh, 
the  horrible  horrible  burden  of  recognised  sin ! — the  dragging 
leaden  weight  that  ties  the  immortal  spirit  down  to  grossness 
and  materialism  when  it  would  fain  wing  its  way  to  the  high- 
est attainment ! — the  crushing  consciousness  of  being  driven 
back  into  darkness  out  of  light  supernal !  of  being  thrust 
away  as  it  were,  with  loathing,  out  of  the  sight  and  knowledge 
of  the  Divine !  This  was  a  part  of  the  anguish  of  Barabbas, 
— a  mental  anguish  he  had  never  felt  till  now, — and  this  was 
why  he  almost  envied  his  former  comrade  Hanan  for  having 
been  elected  to  die  in  the  companionship  of  the  "  Nazarene." 
All  these  thoughts  of  his  were  purely  instinctive  ;  he  could  not 
reason  out  his  emotions,  because  they  were  unlike  himself  and 
new  to  him.  Nevertheless,  if  he  uttered  a  prayer  at  all  while 
kneeling  in  that  solemn  gloom,  it  was  for  death,  not  life. 

And  now,  all  suddenly  through  the  heavy  murk,  a  muffled 
clangour  stirred  the  air, — the  tolling  of  great  bells  and  smaller 
chimes  from  the  city.  Swinging  and  jangling  they  made  them- 
selves heard  distinctly  for  the  first  time  since  the  darkness  fell 
over  the  land, — a  sign  that  the  atmosphere  was  growing  clearer. 
They  were  ringing  out  the  hour  of  sunset,  though  no  sun  was 
visible.  And,  as  they  rang,  Barabbas  felt  that  some  one  near 
him  moved  softly  among  the  shadows  and  stood  upright.  He 
strove  to  discern  the  outline  of  that  risen  shape,  and  presently, 
to  his  intense  amazement,  saw  a  pale  light  begin  to  radiate 
through  the  vapours  and  gradually  weave  a  faintly  luminous 
halo  round  the  majestic  form  of  a  Woman,  whose  face,  divinely 
11* 


126  BARABBAS 

beautiful,  supremely  sad,  shone  forth  from  the  darkness  like  a 
star,  and  whose  clasped  hands  were  stretched  towards  the  great 
invisible  Cross  in  an  attitude  of  yearning  and  prayer.  And 
the  bells  rang  and  the  light  widened,  and  in  two  or  three  mo- 
ments more,  a  jagged  rift  of  dusky  red  opened  in  the  black 
sky.  Broadening  slowly,  it  spread  a  crimson  circle  in  the 
heavens  immediately  behind  the  summit  of  the  Cross  of  the 
"  Nazarene" — first  casting  ruddy  flashes  on  the  inscribed  letters 
"Jesus  of  Nazareth,  King  of  the  Jews,"  and  then  illumining 
with  a  flame-like  glow  the  grand  thorn-crowned  head  of  the 
Crucified.  Ah,  what  sublime,  unspeakable,  mystic  agony  was 
written  now  upon  that  face  Divine  !  Horror  of  the  world's  sin 
— pity  for  the  world's  woe, — love  for  the  world's  poor  creatures, 
— and  the  passionate  God's  yearning  for  the  world's  pardon  and 
better  hope  of  heaven, — all  these  great  selfless  thoughts  were 
seen  in  the  indescribably  beautiful  expression  of  the  pallid 
features,  the  upward  straining  eyes, — the  quivering,  tender 
lips, — and  Barabbas  staring  at  the  wondrous  sight,  felt  as  though 
his  very  soul  and  body  must  melt  and  be  dissolved  in  tears  for 
such  a  kingly  Sorrow  !  The  blood-red  cleft  in  the  sky  length- 
ened,— and,  presently  shooting  forth  arrowy  beams  as  of  fire, 
showed  a  strange  and  solemn  spectacle.  For  as  far  as  eye  could 
see  in  the  lurid  storm-light,  the  whole  multitude  of  the  people 
upon  Calvary  were  discovered  kneeling  before  the  Cross  of 
Christ !  All  faces  were  turned  towards  the  dying  Saviour ;  in 
trouble,  in  fear  and  desperation,  every  human  creature  there  had 
fallen  unknowingly  before  their  only  Rescue  whose  name  was 
Love ! — and,  as  the  darkness  broke  up  and  parted  in  long  wavy 
lines,  the  widening  radiance  of  the  heavens  revealed  what 
seemed  to  be  a  worshipping  world !  .  .  .  But  only  for  an 
inetant, — for  with  the  gathering,  growing  light  came  the  rush 
of  every-day  life  and  movement, — the  prostrate  crowd  leaped 
up  with  shouts  of  joy,  glad  exclamations  of  relief  and  laugh- 
ter,— danger  was  over, — death  no  longer  seemed  imminent, — 
and  as  a  natural  result  God  was  forgotten.  The  thunder  still 
growled  heavily,  but  its  echoes  were  rolling  off  into  the  far 
distance.  And  while  the  people  grew  more  and  more  animated, 
scattering  themselves  in  every  direction,  finding  and  embracing 
their  friends  and  narrating  their  past  fears,  Barabbas  rose  also 
from  his  knees,  wondering,  awed  and  afraid.  Directly  facing 
him  was  the  Cross  of  the  "  Nazarene," — but,  beside  him  was — 
the  Magdalen  I  With  her  he  had  knelt  in  the  deep  darkness, 
— it  must  have  been  her  hand  that  had  touched  him, — it  must 


A  DREAM  OF  THE   WORLD'S  TRAGEDY       127 

have  been  her  voice  that  had  so  gently  soothed  him.  He 
trembled  ;  she  was  a  woman  of  many  sins, — yet  was  she, — was 
she  so  much  worse  than, — than  Judith  ?  His  soul  sickened 
as  this  comparison  crossed  his  mind ;  yet,  loathe  it  as  he 
might,  it  still  forced  itself  upon  his  attention.  Judith  Iscariot, 
beautiful,  imperious,  and  triumphant  in  the  secrecy  of  undis- 
covered sin, — Mary  Magdalene,  beautiful  also,  but  broken- 
hearted, humbled  to  the  dust  of  contempt,  openly  shamed, — 
and — penitent.  Which  of  the  twain  deserved  the  greater  con- 
demnation ? 

A  deep  sigh,  broke  from  his  lips, — a  sigh  that  was  almost  a 
groan;  an  evil  man  himself,  what  right  had  he  to  judge  of 
evil  women  1  Just  then  the  Magdalen  raised  her  tear-wet  eyes 
and  looked  at  him, — her  luxuriant  hair  fell  about  her  like  a 
golden  veil, — her  mouth  quivered  as  though  she  were  about  to 
speak, — but  as  she  met  his  sternly  meditative  gaze,  she  re- 
coiled, and  hiding  her  face  in  the  folds  of  her  mantle,  dragged 
herself  nearer  to  the  foot  of  the  Cross  and  crouched  there, 
motionless.  And  the  other  woman, — she  for  whom,  as  Barab- 
bas  imagined,  the  welcome  light  had  been  kindled  in  the  begin- 
ning,— what  of  her?  She  no  longer  stood  erect  as  when  the 
bells  had  rung, — she  had  fallen  once  more  upon  her  knees, 
and  her  face,  too,  was  hidden. 

Suddenly  a  voice,  pulsating  with  keenest  anguish,  yet  sweet 
and  resonant,  pealed  through  the  air : 

"  Eli,  Eli,  lama  sabacthani!" 

"With  one  accord  the  moving  populace  all  came  to  an  abrupt 
halt,  and  every  eye  was  turned  towards  the  central  Cross  from 
whence  these  thrilling  accents  rang.  Bars  of  gold  were  in  the 
sky, — and  now,  the  long-vanished  sun,  red  as  a  world  on  fire, 
showed  itself  in  round  splendour  above  the  summit  of  Calvary. 

".£7i,  Eli,  lama  sabacthani!"  cried  the  rich  agonised  voice 
again,  and  the  penetrating  appeal,  piercing  aloft,  was  caught 
up  in  the  breaking  clouds  and  lost  in  answering  thunder. 

"He  calleth  for  Elias  /"  exclaimed  a  man,  one  of  those  in 
the  front  rank  of  the  crowd  that  was  now  pressing  itself  towards 
the  Cross  in  morbid  curiosity, — "  Let  us  see  whether  JSlias  will 
come  to  take  him  down  /" 

And  he  laughed  derisively. 

Meanwhile  Petronius,  the  centurion,  looked  up, — and  saw 
that  the  last  great  agony  of  death  was  on  the  "  Nazarene." 
Death  in  the  bloom  of  life, — death,  when  every  strong  human 
nerve  and  sinew  and  drop  of  blood  most  potently  rebelled  at 


128  BARABBAS 

such  premature  dissolution, — death  in  a  torture  more  hideous 
than  imagination  can  depict  or  speech  describe, — this  was  the 
fate  that  now  darkly  descended  upon  divinest  Purity,  divinest 
Love  !  Terrible  shudderings  ran  through  the  firm,  heroically 
moulded  Man's  frame, — the  beautiful  eyes  were  rolled  up  and 
fixed, — the  lips  were  parted,  and  the  struggling  breath  panted 
forth  in  short  quick  gasps.  The  fiery  gold  radiance  of  the 
heavens  spread  itself  out  in  wider  glory, — the  sun  was  sinking 
rapidly.  Moved  by  an  impulse  of  compassion,  Petronius 
whispered  to  a  soldier  standing  by,  who,  obeying  his  officer's 
suggestion,  dipped  a  sponge  in  vinegar  and,  placing  it  on  a  tall 
reed,  lifted  it  to  the  lips  of  the  immortal  Sufferer,  with  the 
intention  of  moistening  the  parched  tongue  and  reviving  the 
swooning  senses.  But  there  was  no  sign  that  He  was  conscious, 
• — and  while  the  soldier  still  endeavoured  to  pass  the  sponge 
gently  over  the  bleeding  brows  to  cool  and  comfort  the  torn 
and  aching  flesh,  the  sleek  priest  Annas  stepped  forward  from 
amongst  the  people  and  interfered. 

"  Let  be, — let  be!"  said  he  suavely  and  with  a  meek  smile, 
— "  Let  us  see  whether  Elias  will  come  to  save  him  /" 

The  crowd  murmured  approval, — the  soldier  dropped  the 
reed,  and  glancing  at  Petronius,  drew  back  and  stood  apart. 
Petronius  frowned  heavily,  and  surveyed  the  portly  priest  with 
all  a  martial  Roman's  anger  and  disdain;  then  he  raised  his 
eyes  again,  sorrowfully  and  remorsefully,  to  the  tortured  figure 
of  the  Crucified.  Harder  aud  faster  came  the  panting  breath  ; 
and,  by  some  inexplicable  instinct  all  the  soldiers  and  as  many 
of  the  multitude  as  could  get  near,  gathered  together  in  solemn 
silence,  and  stared  up  as  though  fascinated  by  some  mystic 
spell  at  the  last  fierce  struggle  between  that  pure  Body  and 
divine  Spirit.  The  sun  was  disappearing, — and  from  its  fall- 
ing disc,  huge  beams  rose  up  on  every  side,  driving  all  the 
black  and  thunderous  clouds  in  the  direction  of  Jerusalem, 
where  they  hung  darkening  over  the  city  and  Solomon's  Tem- 
ple. Suddenly  the  difficult  breathing  of  the  "Nazarene" 
ceased ;  a  marvellous  luminance  fell  on  the  upturned  face, — 
the  lips  that  had  been  parted  in  gasping  agony  closed  in  a 
dreamy  smile  of  perfect  peace, — and  a  flaming  golden  glory, 
wing-shaped  and  splendid,  woven  as  it  seemed  out  of  all  the 
varying  hues  of  both  storm  and  sunset,  spread  itself  on  either 
side  of  the  Cross.  Upward,  to  the  topmost  visible  height  of 
heaven,  these  giant  cloud-pinions  towered  plume-wise,  and 
between  them,  and  behind  the  dying  Christ,  the  sun,  now 


A  DREAM  OF  THE    WORLD'S  TRAGEDY      129 

sunk  to  a  half-circle,  glittered  like  an  enormous  jewelled  mon- 
strance for  the  Host  in  some  cathedral  of  air.  In  the  midst 
of  this  ethereal  radiance  the  pale  face  of  the  world's  Redeemer 
shone  forth,  rapt  and  transfigured  by  mysterious  ecstasy, — and 
His  voice,  faint,  solemn  but  melodious  as  music  itself,  thrilled 
softly  through  the  light  and  silence : 
j,  "  Father  I  Into  thy  hands  .  .  .  I  commend — my  Spirit  /" 

As  the  words  were  uttered,  Petronius  and  the  soldier  who  had 
proffered  the  vinegar,  exchanged  a  glance, — a  rapid  glance  of 
mutual  suggestion  and  understanding.  With  assumed  rough- 
ness and  impatience,  the  soldier  raised  his  spear  and  deliberately 
thrust  it  deep  into  the  side  of  the  dying  "  Nazarene."  A 
stream  of  blood  gushed  out,  mingled  with  water ;  and  the  man 
whose  merciful  desire  to  put  an  end  to  torture  had  thus  im- 
pelled him  to  pierce  the  delicate  flesh,  sprang  back,  vaguely 
affrighted  at  what  he  had  done.  For,  with  the  sharp  shock 
of  the  blow,  the  thorned-crowned  Head  drooped  suddenly, — 
the  eyes  that  had  been  turned  to  heaven  now  looked  down, 
.  .  .  down,  for  the  last  time  to  earth,  .  .  .  and  rested  upon 
the  watching  crowd  with  such  an  unspeakable  passion  of  pity, 
love,  and  yearning,  that  all  the  people  were  silent,  stricken 
with  something  like  shame  as  well  as  awe.  Never  again  in  all 
the  centuries  to  come  would  such  a  Love  look  down  upon 
Humanity  ! — never  again  would  the  erring  world  receive  such 
a  sublime  Forgiveness  ! — such  a  tender  parting  Benediction  ! 
The  wondrous  smile  still  lingered  on  the  pale  lips, — a  light 
more  glorious  than  all  the  sunshine  that  ever  fell  on  earth, 
illumined  the  divinely  beautiful  features.  One  last,  lingering, 
compassionate  gaze, — the  clear,  searching,  consciously  supernal 
gaze  of  an  immortal  God  bidding  farewell  for  ever  to  mortality, 
and  then,  .  .  .  with  an  exulting:  sweetness  and  solemnity,,  the 
final  words  were  uttered : 

"  It  is  finished  /' ' 

The  fair  head  fell  forward  heavily  on  the  chest, — the  tor- 
tured limbs  quivered  once  .  .  .  twice  .  .  .  and  then  were 
still.  Death  had  apparently  claimed  its  own, — and  no  sign 
was  given  to  show  that  Death  itself  was  mastered.  All  was 
over ; — God's  message  had  been  given,  and  God's  Messenger 
slain.  The  law  was  satisfied  with  its  own  justice !  A  god 
could  not  have  died, — but  He  who  had  been  called  the  "  Son, 
of  God"  was  dead  !  It  was  "  finished ;" — the  winged  glory 
in  the  skies  folded  itself  up  and  fled  away,  and  like  a  torch 
inverted,  the  red  sun  dropped  into  the  night, 
t 


130  BARABBAS 


CHAPTER  XXL 

A  BRIEF  pause  ensued.  The  solemn  hush  that  even  in  a 
callous  crowd  invariably  attends  the  actual  presence  of  death 
reigned  unbroken  for  a  while, — then  one  man  moved,  another 
spoke,  the  spell  of  silence  gave  way  to  noise  and  general  ac- 
tivity, and  the  people  began  to  disperse  hastily,  eager  to  get 
back  safely  to  their  homes  before  the  deepening  night  entirely 
closed  in.  Some  compassion  was  expressed  for  the  women  who 
were  crouched  at  the  foot  of  the  "  Nazarene's"  Cross, — but  no 
one  went  near  them,  or  endeavoured  to  rouse  them  from  their 
forlorn  attitudes.  Barabbas  had,  unconsciously  to  himself,  re- 
coiled from  the  horror  of  beholding  the  Divine  death-agony, 
and  now  stood  apart,  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  ground  and  his  tired 
body  quivering  in  every  limb.  The  populace  appeared  to  have 
forgotten  him, — they  drifted  past  him  in  shoals,  talking,  laugh- 
ing, and  seemingly  no  longer  seriously  oppressed  by  the  recol- 
lection of  the  terrifying  events  of  the  afternoon.  The  three 
crosses  stood  out  black  against  the  darkening  sky ; — the  execu- 
tioners were  beginning  to  take  down  the  body  of  Hanan  in 
which  a  few  wretched  gasps  of  life  still  lingered.  Looking 
from  right  to  left,  Barabbas  could  see  no  face  familiar  to  him, 
— the  high-priest  Caiaphas  and  Annas  had  disappeared, — there 
was  no  sign  of  Judith  Iscariot  anywhere,  and  he  could  not 
even  perceive  the  striking  and  quaintly  garbed  figure  of  his 
mysterious  acquaintance  Melchior.  The  only  person  he  recog- 
nised was  Petronius  the  centurion,  who  was  still  at  his  post  by 
the  central  Cross,  and  who  by  his  passive  attitude  and  downcast 
eyes  appeared  to  be  absorbed  in  melancholy  meditation.  Ba- 
rabbas approached  him,  and  saw  that  his  rough  bearded  face 
was  wet  with  tears. 

"Truly"  he  muttered  beneath  his  breath  as  he  thrust  his 
sword  of  office  back  into  its  scabbard — "  Truly  this  Man  was 
the  Son  of  God!" 

Barabbas  caught  the  words,  and  stared  at  him  in  questioning 
terror. 

"Thinkest  thou  so?"  he  faltered— "  Then  .  .  .  what  shall 
be  done  to  those  who  have  slain  Him  ?" 

"  I  know  not," — answered  Petronius, — "  I  am  an  ignorant 


A  DREAM  OF  THE    WORLD'S   TRAGEDY      131 

fool.  But  perchance  no  more  ignorant  than  they  who  did  pre- 
fer thy  life,  Barabbas,  to  the  life  of  the  '  Nazarene.'  Nay, 
look  not  so  heavily ! — thou  art  not  to  blame, — 'twas  not  thy 
choosing.  'Twas  not  even  the  people's  choosing — 'twas  the 
priests'  will !  A  curse  on  priests,  say  I ! — they  have  worked 
all  the  evil  in  the  world  from  the  beginning,  blaspheming  the 
names  of  the  Divine  to  serve  their  ends.  This  Crucified  Man 
was  against  priestcraft, — hence  His  doom.  But  I  tell  thee  this 
same  '  King  of  the  Jews'  as  they  called  Him,  was  diviner  than 
any  of  the  gods  I  wot  of, — and  mark  me ! — we  have  not  seen 
or  heard  the  last  of  Him  1" 

He  turned  away  with  a  kind  of  fierce  impatience  and  shame 
of  his  own  emotion,  and  resumed  his  duty,  that  of  superintend- 
ing the  taking  down  of  the  three  crucified  bodies  from  their 
respective  trees  of  torture.  Barabbas  sighed,  and  stood  look- 
ing on,  pained  and  irresolute.  The  shadows  of  night  darkened 
swiftly, — and  the  figure  of  the  dead  Christ  above  him  seemed 
strange  and  spectral, — pathetic  in  its  helplessness, — yet  .  .  . 
after  all, — a  beautiful  lifeless  body, — and  .  .  .  nothing  more  I 
A  sense  of  bitter  disappointment  stole  over  him.  He  now 
realised  that  throughout  the  whole  of  the  terrible  tragedy,  he 
had,  unconsciously  to  himself,  believed  it  impossible  for  the 
wondrous  "  Man  of  Nazareth"  to  die.  The  impression  had 
been  firmly  fixed  in  his  mind,  he  knew  not  how,  that  at  the  last 
moment,  some  miracle  would  be  enacted  in  the  presence  of  the 
whole  multitude ; — that  either  the  Cross  itself  would  refuse  to 
hold  its  burden, — or  that  some  divinely  potent  messenger  from 
heaven,  whose  heralds  had  been  the  storm  and  earthquake, 
would  suddenly  descend  in  glory  and  proclaim  the  suffering 
"Prophet"  as  the  true  Messiah.  Surely  if  He  had  been  in- 
deed the  "  Son  of  God"  as  Petronius  said,  His  power  would 
have  been  thus  declared !  To  Barabbas  the  present  end  of 
things  seemed  inadequate.  Death  was  the  ordinary  fate  of 
men ;  he  would  have  had  the  kingly  "  Nazarene"  escape  the 
common  lot.  And  while  he  pondered  the  bewildering  problem, 
half  in  vexation,  half  in  sorrow,  a  voice  said  softly  in  his  ear — 

"  It  is  finished  !" 

He  started,  and  turned  to  behold  his  friend,  the  mystic  Mel- 
chior,  whose  dark  features  were  ghastly  with  a  great  pallor,  but 
who  nevertheless  forced  a  grave  and  kindly  smile  as  he  re- 
peated,— 

"7<  is  finished  !  Did'st  thou  not  also,  with  all  the  rest  of 
the  world,  receive  that  marvellous  assurance?  Henceforth 


132  BAR  ABB  AS 

there  will  bo  no  true  man  alive  who  fears  to  die  !  Come ;  we 
have  no  more  to  do  here ; — our  presence  is  somewhat  of  a 
sacrilege.  Leave  the  dead  Christ  to  the  tears  and  lamentations 
of  the  women  who  loved  Him.  We  men  have  done  our  part ; 
we  have  murdered  Him  1" 

He  drew  Barabbas  away  despite  his  expressed  reluctance. 

"  I  tell  thee,"  he  said — "  thou  shalt  see  this  Wonder  of  the 
Ages  again  at  an  hour  thou  dreamest  not  of.  Meantime,  come 
with  me,  and  hesitate  no  more  to  follow  out  thy  destiny." 

"My  destiny!"  echoed  Barabbas  —  "Stranger,  thou  dost 
mock  me !  If  thou  hast  any  mystic  power,  read  my  soul  and 
measure  its  misery.  I  have  no  destiny  save  despair." 

"•Despair  is  a  blank  prospect," — said  his  companion  tranquilly, 
"  Nevertheless  because  a  woman  is  false  and  thy  soul  is  weak 
thou  needest  not  at  once  make  bosom-friends  with  desperation. 
Did'st  thou  discover  thy  Judith  in  the  darkness  ?" 

The  sombre  eyes  of  Barabbas  flashed  with  mingled  wrath 
and  anguish  as  he  answered 

"  Ay, — I  found  her, — and, — I  lost  her !" 

"  Never  was  loss  so  fraught  with  gain  I" — said  Melchior — 
"  I  saw  her,  when  the  light  began  to  pierce  the  storm-clouds, 
hurrying  swiftly  down  the  hill  citywards." 

"  Then  she  is  safe  1"  exclaimed  Barabbas,  unable  to  conceal 
the  joy  he  felt  at  this  news. 

"  Truly  she  is, — or  she  should  be,"  responded  Melchior ; 
"  She  had  most  excellent  saintly  protection.  The  high-priest 
Caiaphas  was  with  her." 

Barabbas  uttered  a  fierce  oath  and  clenched  his  fist.  Mel- 
chior observed  him  attentively. 

"  Methinks  thou  art  still  in  her  toils,"  he  said — "  Untutored 
savage  as  thou  art,  thou  can'st  not  master  thy  ruffian  passions. 
Nevertheless  I  will  yet  have  patience  with  thee." 

11  Thou  wilt  have  patience  with  me!"  muttered  Barabbas 
with  irritation, — "Thou  wilt!  Nay,  but  who  art  thou,  and 
what  hast  thou  to  do  with  me,  now  or  at  any  future  time  ?" 

"What  have  I  to  do  with  thee?"  repeated  Melchior — 
"  Why — nothing  !  Only  this.  That  being  studiously  inclined, 
I  make  thee  an  object  of  my  study.  Thou  art  an  emblem  of 
thy  race  in  days  to  come,  Barabbas; — as  I  before  told  thee, 
thou  art  as  much  the  symbol  of  the  Israelites  as  yonder  cruci- 
fied '  Nazarene'  is  the  symbol  of  a  new  faith  and  civilisation. 
Did  I  not  say  to  thee  a  while  ago  that  thou,  and  not  He»  must 
be  from  henceforth  '  King  of  the  Jews'  ?  " 


A   DREAM  OF  THE    WORLD'S   TRAGEDY       133 

"I  understand  thee  not,"  said  Barabbas  wearily — "Thou 
wilt  ever  speak  in  parables!" 

"  'Tis  the  custom  of  the  East" — answered  Melchior  com- 
posedly,— "  And  I  will  read  thee  the  parable  of  thyself  at  some 
more  fitting  time.  At  present  the  night  is  close  upon  us,  and 
there  is  yet  much  to  be  done  for  the  world's  wonderment,  .  .  . 
stay  ! — whom  have  we  here '?" 

He  stopped  abruptly,  holding  Barabbas  back  by  the  arm. 
They  had  nearly  stumbled  over  the  prostrate  form  of  a  man 
who  was  stretched  out  on  the  turf  face  downward,  giving  no 
other  sign  of  life  save  a  convulsive  clutching  movement  of  his 
hands.  Melchior  bent  over  him  and  tried  to  raise  him,  but  his 
limbs  were  so  rigidly  extended  that  he  appeared  to  be  positively 
nailed  to  the  ground. 

"  He  is  in  some  fit,  or  hath  the  falling-sickness" — said 
Barabbas, — "  Or  he  hath  been  smitten  thus  with  terror  of  the 
earthquake." 

All  at  once  as  they  still  made  efforts  to  lift  him,  the  fallen 
man  turned  up  a  ghastly  face  and  stared  at  them  as  though  he 
saw  some  hideous  and  appalling  vision.  Tearing  up  handfuls 
of  the  grass  and  earth  in  his  restless  fingers,  he  struggled  into 
a  kneeling  posture,  and  still  surveyed  them  with  so  much  wild- 
ness  and  ferocity  that  they  involuntarily  drew  back,  amazed. 

"  What  will  ye  do  to  me  ?"  he  muttered  hoarsely, — "  What 
death  will  ye  contrive  ?  Stretch  me  on  a  rack  of  burning  iron, 
— tear  my  bones  one  by  one  from  out  my  flesh, — let  the 
poisoned  false  blood  ooze  out  drop  by  drop  from  my  veins, — 
do  all  this  and  ye  shall  not  punish  me  as  I  deserve  !  There 
are  no  ways  of  torture  left  for  such  an  one  as  I  am  !"  And 
with  a  frightful  cry  he  suddenly  leaped  erect.  "  Coward, 
coward,  coward  !"  he  shrieked,  tossing  his  arms  wildly  in  the 
air.  (<  Coward  !  Brand  it  on  the  face  of  heaven  ! — the  only 
name  left  to  me — coward !  False  treacherous  coward  !  Write 
it  on  stone, — post  it  up  in  every  city, — shout  it  in  the  streets 
— tell  all  the  world  of  me, — me,  the  wretched  and  accursed 
man, — the  follower  of  the  Christ, — the  faithless  servant  who 
denied  his  Master !" 

With  another  terrible  cry,  he  again  flung  himself  on  the 
ground  and  throwing  his  arms  over  his  head,  wept  aloud  in  all 
the  fierce  abandonment  of  a  strong  man's  utter  misery. 

Melchior  and  Barabbas  stood  beside  him,  silent.  At  last 
Melchior  spoke. 

"  If  thou  art  Peter" — he  began. 
12 


134  BARABBAS 

"  Oh,  that  I  were  not !"  cried  the  unhappy  man—"  Oh,  that 
I  were  anything  in  the  world, — a  dog,  a  stone,  a  clod  of  earth, 
• — anything  but  myself!  Look  you,  what  is  a  man  worth,  who, 
in  the  hour  of  trial,  deserts  his  friend  !  And,  such  a  Friend ! 
— a  King — a  God !"  Tears  choked  his  voice  for  a  moment's 
space  ;  then  raising  his  forlorn  head,  he  looked  piteously  at  his 
interlocutors.  "  Ye  are  strangers  to  me" — he  said — "  Why  do 
ye  stand  there  pitying  ?  Ye  know  naught  of  what  has  chanced 
concerning  the  Man  of  Nazareth." 

"  We  know  all," — replied  Melchior  with  grave  gentleness 
— "  And  for  the  '  Nazarene,'  grieve  not,  inasmuch  as  His 
sorrows  are  over, — He  is  dead." 

"  Ye  know  naught — naught  of  the  truth  1"  cried  Peter  de- 
spairingly— "  That  He  is  dead  is  manifest,  for  the  world  is 
dark  as  hell  without  Him  1  Yea,  He  is  dead  ; — but  ye  know 
not  how  His  death  was  wrought !  I  watched  Him  die  ; — afar 
off  I  stood, — always  afar  off! — afraid  to  approach  Him, — afraid 
to  seek  His  pardon, — afraid  of  His  Goodness, — afraid  of  my 
wickedness.  Last  night  He  looked  at  me, — looked  at  me 
straightly  when  I  spoke  a  lie.  Three  times  did  I  falsely  swear 
I  never  knew  Him, — and  He, — He  said  no  word,  but  only 
looked  and  gently  smiled.  Why,  oh,  why" — moaned  the 
miserable  man,  breaking  into  tears  again, — "  why,  when  I  de- 
nied His  friendship  did  He  not  slay  me  ? — why  did  not  the 
earth  then  open  and  swallow  me  in  fire  !  Nay,  there  was  no 
quick  vengeance  taken, — only  that  one  look  of  His, — that  look 
of  pity  and  of  love  !— 0  God,  0  God !  I  feel  those  heavenly 
eyes  upon  me  now,  searching  the  secrets  of  my  soul !" 

Weeping,  he  hid  his  face, — his  wretchedness  was  so  complete 
and  crushing  that  the  hardest  and  most  unpitying  heart  in  the 
world  would  have  been  moved  to  compassion  for  such  bitter 
and  remorseful  agony.  Barabbas,  inclined  to  despise  him  at 
first  for  the  confession  of  his  base  cowardice,  relented  some-) 
what  at  the  sight  of  so  much  desperation,  and  there  was  at 
certain  touch  of  tenderness  in  the  austerity  of  Melchior's 
manner,  as  with  a  few  earnest  words  he  persuaded  the  sorrow- 
ing disciple  to  rise  and  lean  upon  his  arm. 

u  What  is  past  is  past," — he  said  gravely — "  Thou  can'st 
never  undo,  Peter,  what  thou  hast  done, — and  this  falsehood 
of  thine  must  needs  be  chronicled  for  all  time  as  a  token  to 
prove  a  truth, — the  awful  truth  that  often  by  one  act,  one 
word,  man  makes  his  destiny.  Alas  for  thee,  Peter,  that  thou 
too  must  serve  as  symbol !  A  symbol  of  error, — for  on  thy 


A  DREAM  OF  THE    WORLD'S  TRAGEDY       135 

one  lie,  self-serving  men  will  build  a  fabric  of  lies  in  which  the 
Master  whom  thou  hast  denied  will  have  no  part.  I  know  thy 
remorse  is  great  as  thy  sin, — yet  not  even  remorse  can  change 
the  law, — for  every  deed,  good  or  evil,  that  is  done  in  this 
world,  works  out  its  own  inexorable  result.  Nevertheless  thou 
hast  not  erred  so  wickedly  as  thy  fellow,  Judas." 

"  Nay,  but  he  could  die  !"  cried  Peter,  turning  his  wild  white 
face  to  the  dark  heavens — "  Judas  could  die  ! — but  I,  coward . 
as  I  am,  live  on  I" 

Barabbas  started  violently. 

"  Die ?"  he  exclaimed,  "  What  sayest  thou ?  Judas?  Judas 
Iscariot  ? — He  is  not  dead  ?" 

Peter  threw  up  his  arms  with  a  frenzied  gesture  of  despair. 

"  Not  dead  ? — not  dead  ?" — he  echoed  shrilly — "  If  ye  do 
not  believe  me,  come  and  see  1  Come  !  Down  by  Gethsemane 
ye  will  find  him, — outside  the  garden,  in  a  dark  hollow  sloping 
downward  like  a  grave, — under  the  thickest  shadows  of  the 
olive-trees  and  close  to  the  spot  where  he  betrayed  the  Master. 
There  ye  shall  behold  him  !"  and  his  agonised  voice  sank  to  a 
shuddering  whisper ;  "  His  body  hangs  from  a  gnarled  leafless 
branch  like  some  untimely  fruit  of  hell, — some  monstrous  birth 
of  devils  ! — the  very  air  seems  poisoned  by  his  livid  corpse ! 
Horrible !  .  .  .  horrible !  ...  ye  know  not  how  he  looks, 
.  .  .  dead,  .  .  .  aod  swinging  from  the  leafless  bough !  He 
slew  himself  thus  last  night  rather  than  face  this  day, — would 
to  God  I  had  done  likewise  1 — so  should  I  have  been  even  as 
he,  cold,  stiff"  and  free  from  torturing  memory  these  many 
hours !" 

Overwhelmed  by  this  new  and  unexpected  horror,  Barabbas 
felt  as  though  the  earth  were  giving  way  beneath  him, — he 
staggered  and  would  have  fallen  had  not  Melchior  caught  him 
by  the  arm. 

"  Judith  !"  he  gasped  hoarsely — "  Judith  ! — her  brother — 
dead — and  self-slain  !  How  will  she  bear  it !  Oh,  my  God, 
my  God !  who  will  tell  her  1" 

Peter  heard  the  muttered  words  and  gave  vent  to  a  bitter 
cry  of  misery  and  fury. 

"Who  will  tell  her!"  he  shrieked— « I  will!  I  will  con- 
front the  fiend  in  woman's  shape, — the  mocking,  smiling,  sweet- 
voiced,  damned  devil  who  lured  us  on  to  treachery !  Judith, 
sayest  thou  ?  Bring  me  to  her, — confront  me  with  her,  and  I 
will  blazon  forth  the  truth !  I  will  rend  heaven  asunder  with 
mine  accusation  1" 


136  BARABBAS 

He  shook  his  clenched  hands  aloft,  and  for  the  moment,  his 
grief-stricken  face  took  upon  itself  a  grandeur  and  sublimity 
of  wrath  that  was  almost  superhuman. 

"Who  will  tell  her?"  he  repeated — "Not  only  I  but  the 
slain  Judas  himself  will  tell  her ! — his  fixed  and  glassy  eyes 
will  brand  their  curse  upon  her, — his  stark  dead  body  will  lay 
its  weight  upon  her  life, — his  dumb  mouth  will  utter  speechless 
oracles  of  vengeance  I  Accursed  be  her  name  forever  ! — she 
knew, — she  knew — how  weak  men  are, — how  blind,  how  mad, 
how  fooled  and  frenzied  by  a  woman's  beauty, — she  traded  on 
her  brother's  tenderness,  and  with  the  witchery  of  her  tongue 
she  did  beguile  even  me.  Do  I  excuse  mine  own  great  wicked- 
ness? Nay,  for  my  fault  was  not  of  her  persuasion,  and  I  am 
in  my  own  sight  viler  than  any  sinner  that  breathes, — but  I 
say  she  knew,  as  evil  women  all  do  know,  the  miserable  weak- 
ness of  mankind,  and  knowing  it  she  had  no  mercy !  'Tis  she 
hath  brought  her  brother  to  his  death, — for  'twas  her  subtle 
seeming-true  persuasion  that  did  work  upon  his  mind  and  lead 
him  to  betray  the  Master !  Yea,  'twas  even  thus ! — and  I  will 
tell  her  so ! — I  will  not  shrink  ! — God  grant  that  every  word  I 
speak  may  be  as  a  dagger  in  her  false  false  heart  to  stab  and 
torture  her  for  ever  1" 

His  features  were  transfigured  by  strange  fervour, — a  solemn 
passion,  austere  and  menacing,  glowed  in  his  anguished  eyes, 
and  Barabbas,  with  a  wild  gesture  of  entreaty  cried  aloud, 

"  Man,  undo  thy  curse  1  She  is  but  a  woman — and — I  loved 
her!" 

Peter  looked  at  him  with  a  distracted  dreary  smile. 

"  Loved  her  !  Who  art  thou  that  speakest  of  love  in  these 
days  of  death  ?  Lo  you,  there  is  no  love  left  in  all  the  world, 
— 'tis  crucified !  Loved  her,  thou  sayest  ?  Then  come  and 
see  her  work, — come  ! — 'tis  a  brave  testimony  of  true  love  ! — 
come !" 

He  beckoned  them  mysteriously,  and  began  to  run  before 
them.  .  .  .  Melchior  stopped  him. 

"Where  dost  thou  hasten,  Peter?"  he  said  gently,  "Thou 
art  distraught  with  sorrow, — whither  would'st  thou  have  us 
follow  thee?" 

"  To  Gethsemane !"  replied  Peter  with  a  terrible  look — "  To 
Gethsemane, — but  not  inside  the  garden  !  No — no  ! — for 
there  He,  the  Elect  of  God,  the  Messenger  of  Heaven,  last 
night  prayed  alone, — and  we,  we  His  disciples,  did  we  pray 
also?  Nay — we  slept!"  and  he  broke  into  a  discordant  peal 


A  DREAM  OF  THE    WORLD'S   TRAGEDY       137 

of  delirious  laughter — "  We,  being  men,  could  find  naught 
better  to  do  than  sleep !  More  senseless  than  the  clods  of 
earth  on  which  we  lay,  we  slumbered  heavily  inert,  dead  to 
our  Master's  presence,  deaf  to  His  voice !  '  Could  ye  not 
watch'  said  He,  with  soft  patience  to  us,  '  with  Me  one  hour  ?' 
No,  not  one  hour  ! — it  was  not  in  us  to  forget  ourselves  in  His 
grief,  even  for  that  space  of  time.  We  craved  for  sleep,  and 
took  it, — we  could  not  sacrifice  an  hour's  comfort  for  His  sake ! 
Why,  all  heaven  was  wakeful ! — the  very  leaves  and  blades  of 
grass  must  have  found  eyes  to  watch  with  Him, — we, — we  men 
only,  His  friends  and  followers — slept !  Oh,  'twas  brave  of 
us  1 — 'twas  passing  tender  !  Mark  ye  thus  the  value  of  earth's 
love !  we  swore  we  loved  Him, — nevertheless  we  left  Him. 
When  the  guards  came  suddenly  upon  us,  we  all  forsook  Him 
and  fled, — I  only  followed  Him,  but  afar  off, — always  afar  off  I 
This  is  what  man  calls  faithfulness  !"  He  paused,  trembling 
violently,  then  resumed  in  impatience  and  agitation — u  Come  ! 
not  inside  Gethsemane,  for  methinks  there  are  angels  there, — 
but  outside,  where  Judas  waits !  He  is  patient  enough  now, 
— he  will  not  move  from  thence  till  he  is  carried, — will  ye  bear 
him  home  ?  Home  to  his  father's  house  ! — lay  him  down  at 
his  sister's  feet  while  his  dead  eyes  stare  beyond  all  life  and 
time  out  to  interminable  doom  ! — Carry  him  home  and  lay  him 
down  ! — down  before  her  who  did  wickedly  and  wantonly  work 
his  ruin, — and  let  her  weep — weep  till  tears  drown  every  vestige 
of  her  beauty,  and  yet  she  shall  never  blot  from  her  accursed 
life  the  memory  of  the  evil  she  hath  done !" 

"  Oh,  thou  unpitying  soul !"  cried  Barabbas  desperately — 
"  What  proof  hast  thou,  thou  self-convicted  false  disciple,  of 
Judith's  wrong-doing  ?  How  hath  she  merited  thy  malediction  ? 
Thou  dost  rave  ! — thy  words  are  wild  and  without  reason  ! — as 
coward  thou  did'st  deny  thy  Master, — as  coward  still  thou  wilt 
shift  blame  upon  a  woman !  How  can'st  thou  judge  of  herr 
being  thyself  admittedly  so  vile  ?" 
'  Peter  looked  at  him  in  haggard  misery. 

"  Vile  truly  am  I" — he  said — "  And  coward  I  have  pro- 
claimed myself.  But  who  art  thou  ?  If  I  mistake  not,  thou 
art  the  people's  chosen  rescued  prisoner, — Barabbas  is  thy 
name.  Wert  thou  not  thief  and  murderer?  Art  thou  not 
vile?  Art  thou  not  coward?  I  reproach  thee  not  for  thy 
sins !  Nevertheless  I  know  who  roused  the  baser  part  of  me, 
for  every  man  hath  a  baser  part, — and  who  did  change  the 
faithful  Judas  to  a  traitor.  'Twas  subtly  done, — 'twas  even 
12* 


138  BARABBAS 

wise  in  seeming, — so  cunningly  contrived  as  to  appear  most 
truly  for  the  best.  Would  ye  know  how  ?  Then  follow  me 
as  I  bid — and  I  will  tell  all  while  my  heart  is  full ;  for  if  God 
be  merciful  to  me  I  shall  not  live  long ;  and  I  must  speak  the 
truth  before  I  die." 

He  was  calmer  now  and  his  words  were  more  coherent ; 
Melchior  exchanged  a  meaning  look  with  Barabbas,  and  they 
both  silently  prepared  to  follow  him.  As  they  began  to  walk 
forward  slowly,  a  man,  tall,  and  of  singularly  stately  bearing, 
brushed  past  them  in  the  darkness,  and  with  a  murmured  word 
of  apology  and  salutation  pressed  on  in  evident  haste.  Peter 
stopped  abruptly,  looking  after  him. 

"  Yonder  goes  Joseph  of  Arimathea" — he  murmured,  strain^ 
ing  his  eyes  through  the  evening  shadows  to  watch  the  swiftly 
receding  figure — u  A  good  man  and  a  just.  In  secret  he  also 
was  one  of  the  Master's  followers.  Whither,  I  wonder,  doth 
he  bend  his  steps  so  late?" 

He  seemed  troubled  and  perplexed  ; — Melchior  touched  his 
arm  to  recall  his  wandering  thoughts.  He  started  as  from  a 
dream  and  looked  round  with  a  vague  smile.  At  that  mo- 
ment the  moon  rose,  and  lifting  up  a  silver  rim  above  Calvary, 
illumined  with  sudden  ghostly  radiance  the  three  crosses  on  the 
summit  of  the  hill.  They  were  empty.  With  haggard  face 
and  piteous  eyes,  Peter  gazed  upward  and  realised  that  the 
body  of  his  Lord  was  taken  down  from  the  cross  and  no  longer 
visible, — and,  covering  his  face  in  a  fold  of  his  mantle,  he 
turned  away  and  walked  on  slowly,  while  his  companions  fol- 
lowing him  in  pitying  silence  heard  the  sound  of  smothered 
bitter  weeping. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

AT  the  foot  of  the  hill  they  stopped. 

To  the  left  a  tuft  of  palm-trees  towered,  and  under  their 
spreading  fan-like  leaves  was  a  well  of  clear  water,  with  a 
rough  stone  bench  beside  it.  The  stars  were  beginning  to 
sparkle  thickly  in  the  sky,  and  the  climbing  moon  already  lit 
the  landscape  with  almost  the  clearness  of  day. 

Peter  uncovered  his  pallid  face  and  looked  awfully  around 
him. 


A  DREAM  OF  THE   WORLD'S  TRAGEDY       139 

"  Here,"  he  said  in  trembling  accents, — "  here  the  Master 
sat  three  days  agone.  Here  did  He  discourse  of  marvels, — of 
the  end  of  this  world  and  of  the  glory  of  the  world  to  come, 
and  flashing  upon  us  His  eyes  full  of  strange  light  and  fire  He 
said  'Heaven  and  earth  shall  pass  away,  but  My  words  shall 
not  pass  away  /'  Here, — only  three  days  agone  !" 

He  sighed  heavily,  and  moving  feebly  to  the  stone  bench, 
sank  down  upon  it,  shuddering. 

"  Bear  with  me,  sirs,  a  while" — he  murmured  faintly, 
"  There  is  a  mist  before  my  sight,  and  I  must  rest  ere  I  can 
walk  further.  Would  ye  not  think  ine  stricken  old  ? — yet  I 
am  young — younger  by  two  years  than  He  who  died  to-day. 
Yea,  we  were  all  in  the  prime  of  youth  and  strength,  we  who 
followed  Him — and  we  should  by  very  ardour  of  our  blood 
have  had  some  courage, — yet  were  we  as  weak  and  cowardly  as 
though  we  had  been  dotards  in  the  depth  of  age  !" 

His  two  companions  said  nothing.  Barabbas,  preoccupied 
with  thoughts  too  wretched  for  utterance,  sat  down  wearily  on 
the  projecting  edge  of  the  well,  and  btared  darkly  into  the  still 
water  where  a  few  stars  were  glitteringly  reflected ;  Melchior 
stood,  leaning  slightly  against  one  of  the  tall  slim  palm-tree 
stems,  his  picturesque  saffron-hued  garments  appearing  white 
in  the  early  brilliance  of  the  moon,  and  his  dark  features 
sternly  composed  and  attentive.  To  him  Peter  turned  his  rest- 
less weary  eyes. 

"Thou  art  of  Egypt  surely?"  he  said— "  Thou  hast  the 
manner  born  of  the  land  where  men  do  chronicle  the  histories 
of  life  and  time  ?" 

Melchior  met  his  questioning  gaze  tranquilly. 

"  Trouble  not  thy  mind  concerning  me,  thou  forlorn  disciple 
of  the  God  !"  he  answered — "  Whence  I  come  or  whither  I  go 
is  of  no  more  purport  than  the  tossing  hither  and  thither  of  a 
grain  of  dust  or  sand.  Henceforward  let  no  man  set  value  on 
himself,  since  the  Divine  hath  condescended  to  be  humiliated 
even  unto  death." 

Peter  scrutinised  him  yet  more  closely. 

"  Wert  thou  also  His  disciple  ?"  he  asked. 

"  As  well  inquire  of  me  whether  I  feel  the  warmth  and  see 
the  glory  of  the  sun  !" — responded  Melchior — "  Those  of  my 
race  and  calling  have  known  of  Him  these  thousand  years  and 
waited  for  His  coming.  Nevertheless,  touching  these  mysteries 
they  are  not  for  thy  nation,  Peter,  nor  for  thy  time, — where- 
fore I  pray  thee,  if  thou  desirest  to  have  speech  with  us  on 


140  BARABBAS 

any  matter,  let  it  be  now,  and  concern  not  thy  mind  with  the 
creed  of  one  who  is  and  ever  will  be  a  stranger  to  Judaea." 

He  spoke  gravely,  gently,  but  with  an  air  that  repelled 
inquisitiveness. 

Peter  still  kept  his  eyes  fixed  musingly  upon  him, — then  he 
gave  vent  to  another  troubled  sigh. 

"  Be  it  as  thou  wilt  1"  he  said — "  Yet  truly  thou  dost  call  to 
mind  the  tale  I  have  been  told  of  certain  kings  that  came  to 
worship  the  Lord  at  Bethlehem,  the  night  that  He  was  born. 
'Twas  a  strange  history !  and  often  have  I  marvelled  how  they 
could  have  known  the  very  day  and  hour,  .  .  .  moreover  there 
were  wise  men  from  the  East" — He  broke  off, — then  added 
hurriedly — "  Wert  thou  perchance  one  of  these  ?" 

Melchior  shook  his  head  slightly,  a  faint  serious  smile  on  his 
lips. 

"  Howbeit,"  went  on  Peter  with  melancholy  emotion,  "  if 
thou  dost  ever  write  of  this  day,  I  pray  thee  write  truly.  For 
methiuks  the  Jews  will  coin  lies  to  cleanse  this  day  from  out 
the  annals  of  their  history." 

"  'Tis  thou  should'st  write,  Peter" — said  Melchior  with  a 
keen  look, — "And  in  thy  chronicle  confess  thine  own  great 
sin." 

"  I  am  no  scribe" — replied  the  disciple  sorrowfully,  "  T  have 
never  learned  the  skill  of  letters.  But  if  I  ever  wrote,  thinkest 
thou  I  would  omit  confession  of  my  frailty  ?  Nay  ! — I  would 
blazon  it  in  words  of  fire !"  He  paused  with  a  wild  look,  then 
resumed  more  calmly — "Sir,  this  will  never  be.  I  am  an 
ignorant  man,  and  have  no  learning  save  that  which  He  of 
Nazareth  taught,  and  which  I  was  ever  the  last  to  comprehend. 
Therefore  I  say,  report  my  story  faithfully — and  if  thou  wilt 
be  just  say  this  of  the  dead  Judas, — that  out  of  vain-glorious 
pride  and  love  he  did  betray  his  Master, — yea,  out  of  love  was 
born  the  sin, — love  and  not  treachery  1" 

Barabbas  turned  from  his  dreary  contemplation  of  the  deep 
well-water,  and  fixed  his  brooding  black  eyes  upon  the  speaker, 
— Melchior  still  maintained  his  attitude  of  grave  and  serene 
attention. 

"  Judith  was  treacherous" — continued  Peter — "  but  not  so 
Judas.  Beautiful  as  he  was  and  young,  his  thoughts  aspired 
to  good, — his  dreams  were  for  the  purification  of  the  world, 
the  happiness  of  all  mankind.  He  loved  the  Master, — ay, 
with  a  great  and  passionate  love  exceeding;  all  of  ours, — and  he 
believed  in  His  Divinity  and  worshipped  Him.  He  willingly 


A  DREAM  OF  THE    WORLD'S  TRAGEDY       141 

resigned  home,  country  and  kindred  to  follow  Him, — and  now, 
having  sinned  against  Him,  he  hath  given  his  life  as  penalty. 
Can  mortal  man  do  more  ?  Grod  knoweth  !" 

He  stopped  again, — his  breath  came  in  a  short  gasping  sigh. 

"  When  we  entered  Jerusalem  a  week  agone" — lie  continued 
slowly, — "  Judas  had  been  long  absent  from  his  father's  house, 
and  long  estranged  from  his  one  sister  whom  he  loved.  Ye 
know  the  manner  of  our  coming  to  the  city? — how  the  multi- 
tude rushed  forth  to  meet  and  greet  Jesus  of  Nazareth,  and 
called  Him  '  King,'  shouting  '  Hosannas'  and  strewing  His 
path  with  flowers  and  branches  of  the  palm  ?  One  who  watched 
the  crowd  pass  by  said  unto  me — '  Why  do  ye  not  check  this 
folly?  Think  ye  the  priests  will  tamely  bear  the  entrance  of 
this  Galilean  Prophet  as  a  king?  Nay  verily  they  will  slay 
him  as  a  traitor  1'  And,  when  I  told  these  words  to  Judas,  he 
smiled  right  joyously,  saying,  '  What  need  we  care  for  priestly 
malice  ?  Truly  our  Master  is  a  King  ! — the  King  of  Heaven, 
the  King  of  earth  ! — and  all  the  powers  of  hell  itself  shall  not 
prevail  against  Him  !'  Seeing  his  faith  and  love  were  such,  I 
said  no  more,  though  truly  my  heart  misgave  me." 

His  eyes  dwelt  on  the  ground  with  an  unseeing  dreary  pain. 

"  That  night,  that  very  night  on  which  we  entered  Jerusalem, 
Judas  went  forth  to  see  his  sister.  Oft  had  he  spoken  of  her 
fairness, — of  the  wonder  of  her  beauty,  which,  he  would  swear, 
was  gorgeous  as  the  radiance  of  roses  in  the  sun.  He  meant 
to  bring  her  to  the  Master's  feet, — to  tell  her  of  His  teachings, 
His  miracles,  His  wondrous  tenderness  and  love  for  all  that 
were  in  sickness  or  in  sorrow.  Light-hearted  as  a  boy,  he  left 
us  on  this  errand, — but  when  he  returned  to  us  again,  he  was 
no  more  the  same.  Sitting  apart  from  us  gloomy  and  absorbed 
in  thought,  oft  times  I  saw  him  gazing  at  our  Lord  with  a 
strange  grief  and  yearning  in  his  eyes  as  though  he  sought  to 
pierce  the  depth  of  some  great  mystery.  The  days  went  on, 
till  two  evenings  before  we  shared  with  our  Master  the  supper 
of  the  Passover.  Then  Judas  came  to  me,  and  taking  me 
aside,  unburdened  all  his  secret  mind." 

Here  Peter  newly  smitten  by  remorse  and  despair  gave  an 
eloquent  gesture  half  of  wrath,  half  of  suffering. 

"Heaven  be  my  witness!"  he  cried — "  that  when  I  heard 
his  plan  I  thought  it  would  be  well !  I  thought  that  all  the 
world  would  see  we  had  not  worshipped  the  Divine  Man  in 
vaiu  1  Pride  in  His  glory,  love  for  His  Name,  and  ignorance 
of  destiny, — these  were  the  sins  of  Judas  Iscariot, — but  there 


142  BAR  ABB  AS 

was  no  malice  in  him,  that  I  swear  1  The  wretched  youth'* 
ambition  for  his  Master  was  his  ruin — but  of  us  separate  twain 
I  was  the  faithless  one ! — Judas,  even  in  his  fault,  was  never- 
theless faithful !  Dost  thou  hear  me,  thou  silent  dreamer  out 
of  Egypt  ?"  and  he  flashed  a  wild  glance  at  the  quiet  Melchior ; 
" Dost  thou  hear?  Write  it  if  thou  wilt  on  granite  tablets  in 
thy  mystic  land  of  the  moon, — for  I  will  have  it  known ! 
Judas  was  faithful,  I  say ! — and  he  loved  the  Lord  better  than 
any  one  of  us  all !" 

"  I  hear  thy  words,  Peter" — said  Melchior  gently — "  and  I 
shall  remember  their  purport." 

Calmed  by  the  soft  reply,  the  unhappy  disciple  recovered  in 
part  his  self-possession,  and  went  on  with  the  coherent  sequence 
of  his  narrative. 

"  Yea,  in  all  things,  Judas  was  faithful.  When  he  came 
first  to  confide  in  me,  he  told  me  that  the  chief  priests  and 
elders  of  the  city  were  full  of  wrath  and  fear  at  the  sway  our 
Master  had  obtained  over  the  minds  of  the  people,  and  that 
they  sought  some  excuse  to  kill  Him.  '  Then  let  us  away,' 
said  I.  '  Let  us  return  unto  the  mountains,  and  the  shores  of 
Galilee,  where  our  beloved  Lord  can  teach  His  followers,  un- 
molested, and  at  liberty.'  '  Nay !'  returned  Judas  in  a  voice 
of  triumph — '  Knowest  thou  not  that  if  His  words  be  true,  our 
Lord  can  never  die?  Wherefore,  why  should  we  be  driven 
from  the  city  as  though  we  were  affrighted  concerning  His 
safety  ?  Hear  first  what  my  sister  Judith  saith.'  And  I  did 
hear." 

Barabbas  looked  up,  his  eyes  gleaming  with  anxiety  and 
foreboding.  Peter  met  his  gaze  mournfully. 

"  She — Judith — so  I  learned, — had  welcomed  her  errant 
brother  with  such  tenderness  as  moved  his  heart.  She  re- 
proached him  not  at  all,  but  listened  with  a  patient  interest  to 
the  story  of  his  wanderings.  Then  she  most  gently  said  she 
doubted  not  the  truth  of  the  Divinity  dwelling  within  the 
famous  '  Nazarene,'  but  surely,  she  argued,  it  were  not  un- 
reasonable to  ask  that  such  Divinity  be  proved?  Whereat 
Judas,  troubled  in  spirit,  replied — '  Verily  it  hath  been  proved 
oftentimes  by  many  marvellous  miracles.1  •  Not  in  Jerusalem, 
• — not  to  the  priests  and  rulers' — answered  Judith.  '  For  they 
believe  nothing  of  thy  Prophet  of  Galilee,  save  that  He  is  a 
false  blasphemer,  a  malcontent  and  traitor.  Nevertheless  if  He 
be  of  supreme  omnipotence  as  thou  dost  say.  Judas,  'tis  thou 
oan'st  make  Him  seize  at  once  the  mastery  of  the  world, — and 


A  DREAM  OF  THE   WORLD'S   TRAGEDY      143 

thus  how  grandly  thou  wilt  prove  thy  love !'  Judas,  entranced 
at  the  boldness  of  this  thought,  bade  her  tell  him  how  such 
glory  for  his  Lord  might  speedily  be  won.  '  Never  was  task 
more  easy' — she  replied — '  Resign  Him  to  the  law, — betray 
Him  to  the  priests !  Then  will  He  avow  His  godhead  with  all 
the  majesty  of  Heaven!  We  shall  acclaim  Him  as  the  true 
Messiah, — and  not  we  alone,  but  every  nation  of  the  earth 
must  worship  Him  !  For  bethink  thee,  dearest  brother,  if  Ha 
be  indeed  Divine,  He  cannot  be  slain  by  any  earthly  foe/ 
[This,"  continued  Peter,  "  is  what  Judas  told  me  of  his  sister 'a 
word.  And,  at  the  time,  it  seemed  both  wise  and  just.  For 
why  should  our  great  Lord  suffer  poverty  and  pain  when  em- 
pires could  be  His  ?  Why  should  He  wander  homeless  through 
the  world,  when  all  the  palaces  of  earth  should  open  to  His 
coming?  So  Judas  thought, — and  I  thought  with  him, — for 
the  Master  being  in  all  things  glorious,  we  saw  no  wrong  in 
striving  to  make  His  glory  manifest." 

"  Nature's  symbols  are  hard  to  read,  Peter,"  said  Melchior 
suddenly — "  And  of  a  truth  thou  can'st  not  comprehend  their 
mystic  lettering!  What  glory  has  ever  yet  been  rendered 
'  manifest'  except  through  suffering  ?  How  could'st  thou  think 
to  fit  the  tawdry  splendours  of  earthly  kingdoms  to  the  em- 
bodied Spirit  of  the  Divine?  What  throned  and  jewelled 
potentate  hath  ever  lifted  from  the  world  a  portion  of  its  weight 
of  sin  ?  What  name  applauded  by  the  people,  hath  ever  yet 
bestowed  salvation  on  a  living  soul  ?  Lo,  the  very  prophets  of 
thy  race  have  prophesied  to  thee  in  vain, — and  to  thy  scared 
wits  the  oldest  oracles  lack  meaning  !  Did  not  thy  Master  tell 
thee  of  His  fate,  and  could'st  thou  not  believe  even  Him?" 

Peter  grew  very  pale,  and  his  head  drooped  on  his  breast. 

"  Yea,  He  did  tell  me" — he  answered  sorrowfully — "  And  I 
rebuked  Him  !  I !  I  said — '  This  shall  not  be.'  And  with 
;all  the  wrath  of  a  wronged  King  He  turned  upon  me  saying 
'  Get  thee  behind  Me,  Satan  I— for  thou  savoiirest  not  the 
things  that  be  of  God,  but  the  things  that  be  of  men.'  And 
I  fell  back  from  Him  affrighted,  and  was  sore  at  heart  all 
day!" 

Melchior  left  his  position  by  the  palm-tree,  and  advancing, 
laid  one  hand  on  the  disciple's  arm. 

"  And  thou  could'st  not  realise,  weak  soul,  these  '  things  that 
be  of  God'  ?"  he  queried  gravely — "  Thou  could'st  not  detach 
thy  thoughts  from  earth?  earth's  paltry  power  and  foolish 
flaunting  ostentation  ?  Alas  for  thee  and  those  that  take  thee 


144  BARABBAS 

for  a  guide !  for  verily  this  fatal  clinging  of  thy  soul  to  things 
temporal  shall  warp  thy  way  for  ever  and  taiut  thy  mis- 
sion !" 

Peter  rose  from  his  seat  gazing  at  the  speaker  in  wonder  and 
dread.  The  moonlight  fell  on  both  their  faces ; — Melchior's 
was  calm,  stern  and  resolved, — Peter's  expressed  the  deepest 
agitation. 

"  In  God's  name  who  art  thou  ?"  he  asked  apprehensively^- 
*'  By  whose  authority  dost  thou  prophesy  concerning  me  ?" 

Melchior  answered  not. 

"  None  shall  take  me  for  guide !"  went  on  Peter  more  ex- 
citedly— "  For  do  I  not  confess  myself  a  faulty  man  and  spirit- 
less? Moreover  I  am  subject  to  temptations" — and  he  shud- 
dered— "temptations  many  and  grievous.  Lo,  the  Master 
knew  this  of  me, — for  last  night — only  last  night  He  said  unto 
me — '  Simon,  Simon,  Satan  hath  desired  to  have  thee  that  he 
may  sift  thee  even  as  wheat.  But  1  have  prayed  for  thee  that 
thy  faith  fail  not1  " 

"  And  neither  shall  it  fail !"  interrupted  Melchior  solemnly 
— "  By  faith  alone  the  fabric  raised  upon  thy  name  shall  live  1 
Nevertheless  thy  cowardice  and  fears  shall  live  on  also,  and  thy 
lie  shall  be  the  seed  from  whence  shall  grow  harvests  of  error ! 
The  law  of  compensation  weighs  on  thee  even  as  on  every  man, 
and  thy  one  negation,  Petrus,  shall  be  the  cause  of  many !" 

Peter  looked  at  the  dark  inscrutable  countenance  that  con- 
fronted him,  and  lifted  his  hands  as  though  to  ward  off  some 
menacing  destiny.  He  trembled  violently. 

"  Strange  prophet,  thou  dost  fill  my  soul  with  terrors !"  he 
faltered — "  What  have  I  to  do  with  those  that  shall  come  after 
me  ?  Surely  when  these  days  are  remembered,  so  will  my  sin 
be  known  and  evermore  accursed, — and  who  would  raise  a 
fabric,  as  thou  sayest,  on  the  memory  of  a  lie  ?  Nay,  nay  ! — 
prophesy  if  thou  wilt,  good  or  evil,  an'  thou  must  needs  pro-j 
phesy — but  not  here — not  in  this  place  where  the  Master  sat- 
BO  lately.  It  is  as  though  He  heard  us — there  is  something  of 
His  presence  in  the  air !" 

He  cast  a  timorous  glance  up  and  down,  and  then  began  to 
walk  forward  feebly  yet  hurriedly.  They  all  three  paced  along 
the  moonlit  road,  Barabbas  casting  many  a  dubious  side-look 
at  the  worn  and  troubled  face  of  the  disciple. 

"Strange  that  this  man  could  have  denied  his  Master!"  he 
thought  with  passionate  scorn — "  And  I, — base  sinner  as  I  am. 
having  but  seen  that  Master  once,  would  willingly  have  died 


A  DREAM  OF  THE    WORLD'S  TRAGEDY       145 

for  Him  had  it  been  possible  !  If  all  His  followers  are  of  such 
coward  stuff  as  this,  surely  the  history  of  this  day,  if  left  to 
them,  will  be  but  a  perverted  chronicle  !" 

Meanwhile,  after  a  heavy  pause,  Peter  resumed  his  inter- 
rupted narrative. 

"  When  Judas  told  me  of  his  sister's  words,  methought  I 
saw  new  light  break  in  upon  our  lives.  The  world  would  be  a 
paradise, — all  men  would  be  united  in  love  and  brotherhood  if 
once  the  God  on  earth  were  openly  revealed.  Yet  out  of  fear 
I  hesitated  to  pronounce  a  judgment;  and  seeing  this,  Judas 
persuaded  me  to  go  with  him  to  Judith  and  hear  her  speak 
upon  the  matter.  So,  ho  said,  I  should  be  better  skilled  to 
reason  without  haste  or  prejudice." 

Here  he  threw  up  his  hands  with  a  wild  gesture. 

"  Would  I  had  never  seen  her  !"  he  cried — "  In  what  a  fair 
disguise  the  fiend  did  come  to  tempt  my  soul !  I  took  her  for 
an  angel  of  good  counsel ! — her  beauty,  her  mild  voice,  her  sweet 
persuasions,  her  seeming-wise  suggestions,  oh,  they  made  havoc 
of  my  better  thoughts  !  She  stood  before  us  in  her  father's 
garden,  clothed  softly  in  pure  white,  a  very  spirit  of  gentleness 
and  quietude,  speaking  full  soberly  and  with  most  excellent 
justice  as  I  deemed.  '  Truly  I  doubt  not  that  this  Lord  of 
thine  is  very  God,'  she  said — '  Nevertheless  as  the  rulers  of  the 
city  believe  Him  naught  but  human  perjurer  and  traitor,  ye 
who  love  Him  should  compel  Him  to  declare  His  glory.  For 
if  He  be  not,  as  He  saith,  Divine,  ye  do  wrong  to  follow  a 
deceiver.  Surely  this  thing  is  plain  ?  If  He  be  God,  we  all 
will  worship  Him ;  if  He  be  man  only,  why  then  ye  are  but 
blindly  led  astray  and  made  as  fools  by  trickery.'  Thus  did 
she  speak,  and  I  believed  her, — her  words  seemed  full  of  truth 
and  justice, — she  was  right,  I  said, — our  Master  was  Divine, 
and  He  should  prove  it  1  Smiling,  she  bowed  her  head  and 
left  us, — and  Judas,  turning  on  me  cried — '  Now,  Simon 
Peter,  what  thinkest  thou  ?'  And  I,  answering  said,  '  Do  as 
it  seemeth  well  unto  thee,  Judas  !  Our  Lord  is  Lord  of  the 
whole  heaven  and  earth,  and  none  can  injure  Him  or  take  away 
His  glory !'  " 

Pausing  again  he  looked  upward  with  a  sad  wild  anguish, 
the  pale  moonbeams  falling  coldly  on  his  tear-worn  rugged 
countenance. 

"  What  counsel  could  I  give  !"  he  exclaimed,  as  though  he 
were  defending  himself  to  some  unseen  listener  in  the  starry 
ekies — "  What  did  I  know  ?  I  had  no  key  to  heaven's  mys- 
a  k  13 


146  BARABBAS 

teries !  A  poor  unlearned  fisherman,  casting  my  nets  by  Gal. 
ilee  was  I,  when  He,  the  Marvellous  One,  came  suddenly  upon 
me,  and  with  a  lightning-glance  of  power  said  'Follow  Me  /' 
Andrew,  my  brother,  was  with  me,  and  he  will  testify  of  this, 
— that  we  were  ignorant  and  stricken  by  poverty,  and  all  we 
knew  and  felt  was,  that  this  Jesus  of  Nazareth  must  be  obeyed, 
— that  we  were  bound  by  some  mysterious  influence  to  follow 
where  He  led, — that  home  and  kindred  were  as  nought  to  us, 
compared  with  one  smile,  one  searching  look  from  Him !  In 
beauty,  in  majesty,  in  high  command  a  very  King  He  seemed ; 
why,  why  should  not  the  world  have  known  it  1  It  seemed 
but  natural, — it  seemed  but  just, — and  last  night,  when  Judas 
rose  from  supper  and  went  out,  I  knew  whither  he  had  gone ! 
I  knew — I  knew!"  He  shuddered  and  groaned, — then  with 
a  savage  gesture  cried — "  A  curse  on  woman  !  Through  her 
came  sin  and  death  ! — through  her  is  hell  created ! — through 
her  is  now  betrayed  the  Holy  One  of  God !  Accursed  may 
she  be  for  ever ! — and  cursed  be  all  men  who  love  her  perish- 
able beauty,  and  trust  her  treacherous  soul  I" 

His  white  face  became  contorted  with  fury ; — Melchior  sur- 
veyed him  with  calm  compassion. 

"  Thy  curses  are  in  vain,  Petrus," — he  said — "  They  do  but 
sound  on  deaf  and  empty  air.  He  who  curses  woman  or  de- 
spises her,  must  henceforth  be  himself  despised  and  accursed. 
For  now  by  woman's  purity  is  the  whole  world  redeemed, — • 
by  woman's  tenderness  and  patience  the  cords  of  everlasting 
love  are  tied  between  this  earth  and  highest  heaven  !  Truly 
the  language  of  symbols  is  hid  from  thee,  if  thou  can'st  curse 
woman,  remembering  that  of  woman  thy  Master  was  born  into 
the  world !  Were  there  a  million  treacherous  women  meriting 
thy  curse,  it  matters  little, — for  from  henceforward  Womanhood 
is  rendered  sacred  in  the  sight  of  the  Eternal,  through  Her 
whom  now  we  call  the  Mother  of  the  '  Nazarene' !" 

He  paused, — then  added,  "  Moreover  thou  can'st  not  fasten 
the  betrayal  of  thy  Lord  on  Judith  Iscariot.  Partly  she  was 
to  blame, — yet  she  was  but  a  tool  in  the  hands  of  the  true 
arch-traitor.  If  ye  would  track  treachery  home  to  its  very 
source,  search  for  it  where  it  hath  its  chief  abiding-place, — in 
the  dens  of  priestcraft  and  tyranny, — among  the  seeming  holy, 
the  seeming  sanctified, — they  with  whom  lies  are  part  of  sacred 
office!" 

Barabbas  started. 

"'Twaa  Caiaphas!"  he  cried  excitedly— "  Tell   me— such 


A  DREAM  OF  THE    WORLD'S  TRAGEDY       147 

news  will  be  some  comfort  to  my  soul — 'twas  Caiaphas  who 
first  did  scheme  this  murder  of  the  Christ  ?" 

Melchior  looked  at  him  steadily. 

"Even  so" — he  said — "  'Twas  Caiaphas.  What  would'st 
thou  ?  'Tis  ever  and  'twill  ever  be  a  self-professing  Priest  of 
the  Divine  who  crucifies  Divinity  1" 


CHAPTER  XXIIL^. 

As  he  spoko  a  faint  wind  stirred  the  shrubs  and  trees  on 
either  side  of  the  road  like  an  assenting  sigh  from  some  wan- 
dering spirit.  The  disciple  Peter  stared  upon  him  in  troubled 
and  vague  amazement. 

"  How  could  it  be  Caiaphas  ?"  he  asked — "  True  it  is  that 
Judas  went  to  Caiaphas,  but  not  till  he  had  himself  resolved 
upon  the  deed  he  meant  to  do." 

"  Thou  knowest  not  each  private  detail  of  this  history, 
Petrus" — answered  Melchior, — "  And  as  thou  knowest  not  all, 
neither  will  they  who  come  after  thee  ever  know.  Hast  thou 
not  heard  of  love  existing  between  man  and  woman, — or  if  not 
love,  a  passion  passing  by  that  name,  which  hath  made  many 
strange  annals  in  history  ?  Even  such  passion  has  there  been 
'twixt  haughty  Caiaphas  and  wanton  Judith, — nay,  thou  mis- 
guided Barabbas,  wince  not  nor  groan — 'tis  true  !  To  her  the 
sensual  priest  confided  all  his  plan ;  he  trained  her  in  the  part 
she  had  to  play, — by  his  command  and  in  his  very  words  she 
did  persuade  and  tempt  her  credulous  brother, — yea,  even  with 
a  seeming  excellent  purpose  in  the  work,  to  bring  back  Judas 
to  his  home  and  the  religion  of  his  fathers.  Moreover  for  her 
ready  help  and  willingness  she  did  receive  much  gold  from 
Caiaphas,  and  jewels  and  soft  raiment,  things  that  such  women 
love  far  more  than  virtue.  '  Trap  me  the  Nazarene,  fair 
Judith,'  he  said,  '  with  such  discretion  and  wise  subtilty  that 
it  shall  seem  not  my  work,  but  thy  brother's  act  of  conscience 
and  repentance  to  his  faith  and  people,  and  I  will  give  thee 
whatsoever  most  thy  heart  desires.'  And  well  did  she  obey 
him,  as  why  should  she  not  ? — seeing  he  long  hath  been  her 
lover." 

Barabbas  shrank  back  trembling.      Every  instinct  in  him 


143  B  ARABS  AS 

told  him  it  was  the  truth  he  heard,  yet  he  could  not  bear  to 
have  it  thus  pitilessly  thrust  upon  him.  Meanwhile  the  un- 
happy Simon  Peter  wrung  his  hands  together  in  despera- 
tion. 

"  Nay,  who  could  guess  so  deep  and  dastardly  a  plot  1"  he 
cried — "  And  if  thou  knewest  it,  thou  fateful  stranger,  and 
wert  in  Jerusalem,  why  not  have  given  us  warning?" 

"Of  what  profit  would  have  been  my  words?"  demanded 
Melchior  with  sudden  scorn — "  Ye  would  not  believe  the  say- 
ings of  your  Master, — how  then  should  yc  believe  me  ?  Ye 
were  and  are,  the  very  emblems  of  mankind,  self-seeking,  doubt- 
ing and  timorous, — and  gloze  it  over  as  ye  will,  ye  were  all  un- 
faithful and  afraid !  As  for  me,  'tis  not  my  creed  to  strive 
and  turn  the  course  of  destiny.  I  say  the  priests  have  killed 
the  Christ,  and  the  great  murder  is  not  yet  finished.  For  they 
will  kill  him  spiritually  a  million  times  again  ere  earth  shall 
fully  comprehend  the  glory  of  His  message  !  Ay  ! — through 
the  vista  of  a  thousand  coming  years  and  more  I  see  His  silent 
patient  Figure  stretched  upon  the  Cross,  and  ever  the  priests 
surround  Him,  driving  in  the  nails  !"  He  paused,  and  his 
dark  eyes  flashed  with  a  strange  fierce  passion, — then  he  con- 
tinued quietly — "  'Tis  so  ordained.  Lo,  yonder  are  the  shad- 
ows of  Gethsemane, — if  thou  hast  aught  of  import  more  to 
say  of  Judas, — it  were  well  to  speak  it  here — and  now — ere 
we  go  further." 

Instinctively  he  lowered  his  voice, — and  with  equal  instinct- 
iveness,  all  three  men  drew  closer  together,  the  moonlight 
casting  lengthened  reflections  of  their  draped  figures  on  a 
smooth  piece  of  sun-dried  turf  which  sloped  in  undulating 
lines  down  towards  a  thicket  of  olive-trees  glimmering  silver- 
grey  in  the  near  distance.  Peter  trembled  as  with  icy  cold 
and  looked  timorously  backward  over  his  shoulder  with  the 
manner  of  one  who  expects  to  see  some  awful  presence  close 
behind  him. 

"  Yea, — out  of  justice  to  the  dead, — out  of  pure  justice" — 
he  muttered  faintly — "  ye  should  know  all  of  Judas  that  my 
faltering  tongue  can  tell.  For  of  a  truth  his  end  is  horrible  ! 
'Twas  a  brave  youth,  comely  and  bold,  and  warm  and  passion- 
ate,— and  to  die  thus  alone — down  there  in  the  darkness  I"  ... 
Clenching  his  fists  hard,  he  tried  to  control  his  nervous  shud- 
dering, and  went  on,  speaking  in  low  troubled  tones, — "  I  said 
he  went  to  Caiaphas.  This  was  two  nights  before  our  last 
supper  with  the  Lord.  He  told  me  all.  Caiaphas  feigned  both 


A  DREAM  OF  THE   WORLD'S  TRAGEDY      149 

anger  and  indifference.  '  We  have  no  fear  of  thy  mad  fanatic 
out  of  Galilee' — he  said — '  but  if  thy  conscience  do  reproach 
thee,  Judas,  as  well  it  may,  for  thy  desertion  of  the  law  and 
*,he  faith  of  thine  own  people,  we  will  not  discourage  or  reject 
thy  service.  Yet  think  not  thou  can'st  arrogantly  place  the 
Sanhedrim  under  any  personal  obligation  for  thine  offered  aid, 
— the  priests  elect  may  take  no  favours  from  one  who  hath 
perversely  deserted  the  holy  rites  of  God,  and  hath  forsaken 
'the  following  of  his  fathers.  Understand  well,  we  cannot  owe 
thee  gratitude,  for  thou  hast  severed  thyself  wilfully  from  us 
and  hast  despised  our  high  authority.  Wherefore  if  now  thou 
art  prepared  to  render  up  the  Man  of  Galilee,  name  thine  own 
payment.'  Now  Judas  had  no  thought  of  this,  and  being 
sorely  grieved,  refused,  and  went  away,  stricken  at  heart.  And 
to  his  sister  he  declared  all,  and  said — '  I  will  not  sell  the  Lord 
into  His  glory  for  base  coin.'  But  she  made  light  of  the  mat- 
ter and  mocked  at  his  scruples.  '  Thou  silly  soul,  thou  dost  not 
sell  thy  Lord  !'  she  said — '  Thou  dost  merely  enter  into  a  legal 
form  of  contract,  which  concerns  thee  little.  'Tis  the  Phari- 
saical rule  of  honour  not  to  accept  unpaid  service  from  one 
who  doth  openly  reject  the  faith.  Take  what  they  offer  thee, 
can'st  thou  not  use  it  for  the  sick  and  poor?  Remember  thou 
art  serving  thy  Master, — thou  dost  not  'sell'  or  otherwise 
betray  Him.  Thy  work  prepares  Him  to  avow  His  glory  ! — 
think  what  a  marvel  thou  wilt  thus  reveal  to  all  the  world  ! 
Hesitate  not  therefore  for  a  mere  scribe's  formula.'  Then 
Judas,  thus  persuaded,  went  again  to  Caiaphas  saying  '  Truly 
ye  have  your  laws  with  which  I  have  naught  in  common,  yet  if 
it  must  be  so,  what  will  ye  give  me  if  I  betray  Him  unto  you  f 
And  straightway  they  counted  from  the  treasury  thirty  pieces 
of  silver,  which  Judas  took  unwillingly.  Alas,  alas  1  If  he 
had  only  known  !  Surely  this  very  money  was  as  a  blind  for 
Caiaphas, — a  seeming  legal  proof  that  he  was  innocent  of 
treachery, — but  that  in  custom  of  the  law,  he  paid  the  volun- 
tary, selt'-convicted  traitor.  Who  could  excuse  Caiaphas  of 
cruelty  ? — of  malice  ? — of  iutent  to  murder  ?  Caiaphas  was 
not  paid !  All  things  conspired  to  fix  the  blame  on  Judas, — 
to  make  him  bear  alone  that  awful  weight  of  crime,  which 
heavier  than  all  burdens  of  despair  hath  sunk  him  now  within 
the  depths  of  hell." 

He  pressed  his  hands  upon  his  forehead  for  a  moment  and 
was  silent.     Barabbas  watched  him  gloomily,  absorbed  in  his 
every  gesture,  his  every  word, — Melchior's  eyes  were  cast  down, 
13* 


150  BARABBAS 

and  a  stern  expression  shadowed  his  features,  notwithstanding 
that  every  incident  of  the  story  seemed  known  to  him. 

"The  end  came  quickly" — proceeded  the  disciple,  after  a 
sorrowful  pause — "All  the  misery  and  fury  and  despair  fell 
upon  us  in  one  blow.  The  haste  and  anger  of  the  law  swept 
down  upon  us  like  a  storm  which  we  had  neither  force  nor 
valour  to  resist.  At  the  entrance  to  the  garden  of  Gethsemane, 
Judas  waited,  with  glare  of  torches  and  armed  men, — and  as  / 
the  Lord  came  forth  from  out  of  the  shadows  of  the  trees,  he 
went  to  meet  Him.  Pale  with  expected  triumph,  love  and 
fear,  he  cried  '  Hail,  Master  /'  and  kissed  Him.  And  such  a 
silence  fell  upon  us  all,  that  methought  the  very  earth  had 
stopped  its  course,  and  that  all  the  stars  were  listening.  Now, 
thought  I,  will  the  glory  of  the  God  expand  ! — and  even  as  we 
saw  Him  transfigured  on  the  mountain,  so  will  He  shine  in 
splendour,  mighty  and  terrible,  and  overwhelm  His  enemies  as 
with  fire  I  But  He,  the  Master,  changed  not  in  aught  nor 
spoke ;  in  stillness  and  in  patience  He  fixed  His  eyes  on  Judas 
for  a  while — then  in  low  tones  He  said — '  Friend,  wherefore 
art  thou  come  ?  Betrayest  thou  the  Son  of  Man  with  a  ki'ss  ?' 
And  Judas  with  a  cry  of  anguish,  fell  back  from  Him 
affrighted,  and  clutched  at  my  garments,  whispering — '  Surely 
I  have  sinned ! — or  else  He  hath  deceived  us  !'  Meanwhile 
the  armed  guards  stood  mute  as  slaves,  not  offering  to  touch 
the  Lord,  till  He  addressing  them,  said — '  Whom  seek  ye  ?' 
Then  they,  abashed,  did  answer — '  Jesus  of  Nazareth.' 
Whereupon  the  Master  looked  upon  them  straightly,  saying 
*  /  am  He.1  Then,  as  though  smitten  by  thunder  at  these 
words,  they  went  backward  and  fell  to  the  ground.  And  I, 
foolishly,  thought  the  hour  we  waited  for  had  come, — for  never 
did  such  splendour,  such  dignity  and  power  appear  in  mortal 
frame  as  at  that  moment  glorified  our  Lord  !  Again  He  spoke 
unto  the  guard,  saying  '  Whom  seek  ye  T  And  again  they 
answered  trembling  'Jesus  of  Nazareth.1  Then  said  He 
tranquilly — '  /  have  told  ye  that  I  am  He.  If  therefore  ye 
teek  Me,  let  these  go  their  way?  And  turning  upon  us  slowly 
He  waved  His  hand  in  parting, — a  kingly  sign  of  proud  and 
calm  dismissal.  Staring  upon  Him,  as  though  He  were  a 
vision,  we  retreated  from  His  path,  while  He  did  royally 
advance  and  render  Himself  up  to  those  who  sought  Him. 
And  these,  in  part  recovered  from  their  fear,  laid  hold  on  Him 
and  led  Him  away.  We, — we,  His  disciples  gazed  after  Him 
a  while,  then  gazing  on  each  other,  raved  and  wept.  « De- 


A  DREAM  OF  THE   WORLD'S   TRAGEDF       151 

eeived !  Deceived  !'  we  cried — '  He  is  not  God  but  man !' 
And  then  we  fled,  each  on  our  separate  ways, — and  only  I, 
moved  by  desire  to  see  the  end,  followed  the  Master  afar  off, 
even  unto  the  very  house  of  Caiaphas." 

Here  Peter  stopped,  overcome  by  agitation.  Tears  sprung 
to  his  eyes  and  choked  his  voice,  but  presently  mastering  him- 
self with  an  effort  he  said  hoarsely,  and  in  ashamed  accents, — 

"  There  I  did  deny  him !  I  confess  it, — I  denied  Him. 
When  the  chattering  slaves  and  servants  of  the  high-priest 
declared  I  was  His  disciple,  I  swore,  and  said  '  I  know  not  the 
man  !'  And  after  all  'twas  true, — 'twas  true  !  I  knew  not 
the  'man,' — for  I  had  known,  or  thought  that  I  had  known, 
the  God !" 

Melchior  raised  his  piercing  dark  eyes  and  studied  him 
closely. 

"  Thus  dost  thou  play  the  sophist  I"  he  said  with  chill  dis- 
dain— "  Thus  wilt  thou  bandy  reasons  and  excuses  for  thine 
own  sins  and  follies  I  Weak,  cowardly,  and  moved  by  the 
desire  of  temporal  shows,  thou  wilt  invent  pardon  for  thine 
own  blindness  thus  for  ever !  Thou  art  the  perfect  emblem 
of  thy  future  fame !  If  thou  had'st  truly  known  the  God, 
thou  could' st  not  have  denied  Him, — but  if  thou  wilt  speak 
truth,  Petrus,  thou  never  hast  believed  in  Him,  save  as  a 
possible  earthly  King,  who  might  in  time  possess  Jerusalem. 
To  that  hope  thou  did'st  cling, — and  of  things  heavenly  thou 
had'st  no  comprehension.  To  possess  the  earth  has  ever  been 
thy  dream, — maybe  thou  wilt  possess  it,  thou  and  thy  followers 
after  thee, — but  Heaven  is  far  distant  from  thy  ken  !"  Peter's 
face  flushed,  and  his  eyes  glittered  with  something  like  anger. 

"  Thou  dost  judge  me  harshly,  stranger" — he  said.  "  Never- 
theless perchance  thou  hast  some  justice  in  thy  words.  Yet 
surely  'tis  not  unnatural  to  look  for  glory  from  what  is  glori- 
ous? If  God  be  God,  why  should  He  not  declare  Himself? — 
if  He  be  ruler  of  the  earth  why  should  not  His  way  be  abso- 
lute and  visible?" 

"  Ha  doth  declare  Himself — His  way  is  absolute  and  visi- 
ble !"  said  Melchior, — u  But  thou  art  not  His  medium,  Petrus ! 
— nor  doth  He  stoop  from  highest  Heaven  to  learn  earth's  laws 
from  thee." 

Peter  was  silent.  Barabbaa  now  looked  at  him  with  renewed 
curiosity, — he  was  beginning  to  find  out  the  singular  and  com- 
plex character  of  the  man.  Cowardice  and  dignity,  terror  and 
anger,  remorse  and  pride  all  struggled  together  in  his  nature, 


152  BARABBAS 

and  even  the  untutored  Barabbas  could  see  that  from  thig 
timorous  disciple  anything  in  the  way  of  shiftiness  or  subter- 
fuge might  be  expected,  since  he  was  capable  of  accusing  and 
excusing  himself  of  sin  at  one  and  the  same  time. 

"  Say  what  thou  wilt"  he  resumed,  with  a  touch  of  defiance 
in  his  manner — "  'twas  the  chagrin  and  the  bitter  disappoint- 
ment of  my  soul  that  caused  me  to  deny  the  '  Man.'  I  was 
aflame  with  eagerness  to  hail  the  God ! — 'twould  have  been 
easy  for  Him  to  declare  His  majesty,  and  yet,  before  the  min- 
ions of  the  law  He  held  His  peace !  His  silence  and  His 
patience  maddened  me ! — and  when  He  passed  out  with  the 
guard  and  looked  at  me,  I  wept, — not  only  for  my  own  base- 
ness, but  for  sheer  wretchedness  at  His  refusal  to  reveal  Him- 
self to  men.  Meanwhile,  as  He  was  led  away  to  Pontius 
Pilate,  Judas,  furious  with  despair,  rushed  into  the  presence 
of  Caiaphas,  and  there  before  him  and  other  of  the  priests  and 
elders  cried  aloud — '  /  have  sinned,  in  that  I  have  betrayed 
the  innocent  blood!1  And  they,  jeering  at  him,  laughed 
among  themselves,  and  answered  him  saying  '  What  is  that 
to  us  ?  See  thou  to  that  /'  Whereat  he  flung  down  all  the 
silver  they  had  given  him  on  the  floor  before  them  and  de- 
parted,— and  as  he  ran  from  out  the  palace  like  a  man  dis- 
traught, I  met  and  stopped  him.  'Judas,  Judas,  whither 
goest  thou  ?'  I  cried.  He  beat  me  off.  '  Home !  Home  !' 
he  shrieked  at  me — '  Home — to  her  ! — to  the  one  sister  whom 
I  loved,  who  did  persuade  my  soul  to  this  night's  treachery  1 
Let  me  pass ! — for  I  must  curse  her  ere  I  die ! — her  spirit 
needs  must  follow  mine  to  yonder  beckoning  Doom !'  And 
with  a  frightful  force  he  tore  himself  from  out  my  grasp,  and 
like  a  drifting  phantom  on  the  wind,  was  gone !" 

Here  Peter  raised  his  hands  with  an  eloquent  gesture,  as 
though  he  again  saw  the  vanishing  form  of  the  despairing 
man. 

"  All  through  last  night,"  he  continued  in  hushed  accents — 
"  I  sought  for  him  in  vain.  Round  and  about  Iscariot's  house 
I  wandered  aimlessly, — I  saw  none  of  whom  I  dared  ask  news 
of  him, — the  fatal  garden  where  together  we  had  speech  with 
Judith,  was  silent  and  deserted.  Through  many  streets  of  the 
city,  and  along  the  road  to  Bethany  I  paced  wearily,  until  at 
last,  some  fateful  spirit  turned  my  steps  towards  Gethsemane. 
And  there, — there  at  last — I  found  him  1" 

He  paused, — then  suddenly  began  to  walk  rapidly. 

"  Come !"  he  said  looking  backward  at  Melchior  and  Barab- 


A  DREAM  OF  THE    WORLD'S  TRAGEDY       153 

bas — "  Come !  The  night  advances, — and  he  hath  passed 
already  many  lonely  hours  !  And  not  long  since  the  Master 
said — '  Greater  love  hath  no  man  than  this, — that  a  man  lay 
down  his  life  for  his  friends.'  Verily  Judas  hath  laid  down 
his  life — and  look  you,  to  die  thus  in  the  full  prime  of  youth, 
strangled  even  as  a  dog  that  hath  run  wild,  is  horrible ! — will't 
not  suffice  ?  'Twere  hard  that  Judas  should  be  evermore  ac- 
cursed, seeing  that  for  his  folly  he  hath  paid  the  utmost  penalty, 
and  is,  by  his  own  hand,  dead  !" 

"  And  thou  livest !"  said  Melchior  with  a  cold  smile — "  Thou 
sayest  well,  Petrus ;  'twere  hard  that  Judas  should  be  ever- 
more accursed  and  thou  adjudged  a  true  apostle !  Yet  such 
things  happen — for  the  world  loves  contraries  and  falsifications 
of  history, — and  while  perchance  it  takes  a  month  to  spread  a 
lie,  it  takes  a  hundred  centuries  to  prove  a  truth  !" 

Peter  answered  not — he  was  pressing  on  with  increasing 
speed  and  agitation.  All  at  once  he  halted, — the  road  made 
an  abrupt  slope  towards  a  mass  of  dense  foliage  faintly  grey  in 
the  light  of  the  moon. 

"  Hush  !— hush  !"  he  whispered — "  He  is  dead, — but  there 
is  a  strange  expression  in  his  eyes, — he  looks  as  if  he  heard. 
One  cannot  tell, — the  dead  my  hear  for  all  we  know !  Tread 
gently, — yonder  is  the  garden  of  Gethsernane,  but  he  is  not 
within  it.  He  stays  outside, — almost  upon  the  very  spot 
where  he  did  give  the  Master  up  to  death,  meaning  to  give 
Him  glory  !  Come  ! — we  will  persuade  him  to  depart  with  us, 
— betwixt  us  three  he  shall  be  gently  carried  home, — perchance 
his  sister  Judith  marvels  at  his  absence,  and  waits  for  his 
return  1  How  she  will  smile  upon  him  when  she  sees  the 
manner  of  his  coming  I" 

And  he  began  to  walk  forward  on  tiptoe.  Barabbas  grew 
deadly  .pale  and  caught  Melchior  by  the  arm.  The  rugged 
figure  of  the  disciple  went  on  before  them  like  a  dark  flutter- 
ing shadow,  and  presently  turned  aside  from  the  road  towards 
a  turfy  hollow  where  a  group  of  ancient  olive-trees  stretched 
out  their  gaunt  black  branches  like  spectral  arms  uplifted  to 
warn  intruders  back.  Pausing  at  this  gloomily  frondaged 
portal,  Peter  beckoned  his  companions  with  a  solemn  gesture, 
— then,  stooping  under  the  boughs  he  passed  and  disappeared. 
Hushing  their  footsteps  and  rendered  silent  by  the  sense  of 
awe,  Melchior  and  Barabbas  followed.  The  hanging  foliage 
drooped  over  them  heavily,  and  seemed  to  draw  them  in  and 
close  them  out  of  sight, — and  although  there  was  scarcely  any 


154  BARABBAS 

wind  to  move  the  air,  the  thick  leaves  rustled  mysteriously 
like  ghostly  voices  whispering  of  some  awful  secret  known  to 
them  alone — the  secret  of  a  tortured  soul's  remorse, — the  in- 
describable horror  of  a  sinner's  death,  self-sought  iu  the  deeper 
silence  of  their  sylvan  shadows. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

MEANWHILE,  the  city  of  Jerusalem  was  pleasantly  astir. 
Lights  twinkled  from  the  windows  of  every  house,  and  from 
many  an  open  door  and  flower-filled  garden  came  the  sounds 
of  music  and  dancing.  Those  who  had  been  well-nigh  dead 
with  fear  at  the  earthquake  and  the  unnatural  darkness  of  the 
day,  were  now  rejoicing  at  the  safety  of  themselves  and  their 
relations.  No  more  cause  for  apprehension  remained ;  the 
night  was  cloudlessly  beautiful,  and  brilliant  with  the  tranquil 
glory  of  the  nearly  full  moon, — and  joyous  parties  of  friends 
assembled  together  without  ceremony  to  join  in  merriment  and 
mutual  congratulation.  The  scene  on  Calvary  was  the  one 
chief  topic  of  conversation, — every  tongue  discoursed  eloquently 
upon  the  heroic  death  of  the  "  Nazarene."  All  agreed  that 
never  was  so  beautiful  a  Being  seen  in  mortal  mould,  or  one 
more  brave,  or  royal  of  aspect, — nevertheless  it  was  also  the 
^  general  opinion  that  it  was  well  He  was  dead.  There  was  no 
doubt  but  that  He  would  have  been  dangerous, — He  advanced 
Himself  as  a  reformer,  and  His  teachings  were  decidedly  set 
against  both  the  realm's  priestcraft  and  policy.  Moreover  it 
was  evident  that  He  possessed  some  strange  interior  power, — 
He  had  genius  too,  that  strong  and  rare  quality  which  draws 
after  it  all  the  lesser  and  weaker  spirits  of  men, — it  was  well 
and  wise  that  He  was  crucified  1  People  who  had  travelled  as 
far  as  Greece  and  Rome  shook  their  heads  and  spoke  pro- 
foundly of  "  troublesome  philosophers,"  they  who  insisted  on 
truth  as  a  leading  principle  of  life,  and  objected  to  shams. 

"  This  Galilean  was  one  of  their  kind" — said  a  meditative 
old  scribe,  standing  at  his  house-door  to  chat  with  a  passing 
acquaintance, — "  Save  that  He  spoke  of  a  future  life  and  an 
eternal  world,  He  could  say  no  better  and  no  more  than  they. 
Surely  there  are  stories  enough  of  Socrates  to  fill  one's  mouth, 


A  DREAM  OF  THE    WORLD'S  TRAGEDY       155 

— he  was  a  man  for  truth  also,  and  was  forever  thus  upsetting 
laws,  wherefore  they  killed  him.  But  he  was  old,  and  the 
'  Nazarene'  was  young, — and  death  in  youth  is  somewhat 
piteous.  All  the  same  'tis  better  so, — for  look  you,  He  ran 
wild  with  prophecy  on  life  eternal.  Heaven  defend  us  all  say 
1,  from  any  other  world  save  this  one ! — this  is  enough  for  any 
man — and  were  there  yet  another  to  inherit,  'tis  certain  we  are 
not  fitted  for  it,  we  die,  and  there's  an  end, — no  man  ever  rose 
from  the  dead." 

"  Hast  thou  heard  it  said" — suggested  his  friend  hesita- 
tingly, "  that  this  same  '  Nazarene'  declared  that  He  would  rise 
again  ?" 

The  old  scribe  smiled  contemptuously. 

"  I  have  heard  many  things" — he  answered, — "  but  because 
1  hear,  I  am  not  compelled  to  believe.  And  of  all  the  follies 
ever  spoken  this  is  the  greatest.  No  doubt  the  Galilean's  fol- 
lowers would  steal  His  body  if  they  could,  and  swear  He  had 
arisen  from  the  dead, — but  the  high-priest  Caiaphas  has  had 
a  warning,  and  he  will  guard  against  deception.  Trouble  not 
thyself  with  such  rumours, — a  dead  man,  even  a  prophet  of 
God,  is  dead  for  ever." 

And  he  went  in  and  shut  his  door,  leaving  his  acquaintance 
to  go  his  way  homeward,  which  that  personage  did  somewhat 
slowly  and  thoughtfully. 

All  the  streets  of  the  city  were  bathed  in  a  silver-clear 
shower  of  moonbeams, — the  air  was  balmy  and  scented  with 
the  fragrance  of  roses  and  orange-boughs, — groups  of  youths 
and  maidens  sauntered  here  and  there  in  the  cool  of  the  vari- 
ous gardens,  laughing,  chatting,  and  now  and  then  lifting  up 
their  well-attuned  voices  in  strophes  of  choral  song.  Jerusa- 
lem basked  in  the  soft  radiance  of  the  Eastern  night  like  a 
fairy  city  of  pleasure,  and  there  was  no  sign  among  her  joyous 
people  to  show  that  the  Redeemer  of  the  world  had  died  for 
the  world's  sake  that  day. 

In  marked  contrast  to  the  animation  prevailing  in  other 
streets  and  courts,  a  great  stillness  surrounded  the  house  of 
Pontius  Pilate,  the  Roman  governor.  The  fountain  in  the 
outer  colonnade  alone  made  music  to  itself  as  it  tossed  up  its 
delicate  dust-like  spray  that  fell  tinkling  back  again  into  the 
marble  basin, — no  wandering  breeze  ruffled  the  petals  of  the 
white  roses  that  clung  like  little  bunches  of  crumpled  silk  to 
the  dark  walls, — even  the  thirsty  and  monotonous  chirp-chirp- 
iug  of  the  locusts  had  ceased.  Now  and  then  a  servant 


156  BARABBAS 

crossed  the  court  on  some  errand,  with  noiseless  feet, — and  one 
Roman  soldier  on  guard  paced  slowly  to  and  fro,  his  sandals 
making  scarcely  any  sound  as  he  measured  his  stately  march 
forward  a  dozen  lengths  or  so,  then  backward,  then  forward 
again,  the  drooping  pennon  on  his  lifted  lance  throwing  a  float- 
ing snake-like  shadow  behind  him  as  he  moved.  Pilate,  since 
the  morning,  had  been  seriously  indisposed,  and  all  his  retinue 
were  more  or  less  uneasy.  Quiet  had  been  enforced  upon  the 
household  by  its  haughty  and  resolute  mistress, — and  now  that 
night  had  fallen  the  deep  hush  seemed  likely  to  be  unbroken 
till  a  new  day  should  dawn.  So  that  when  a  loud  and  urgent 
knocking  was  heard  at  the  outmost  gate,  the  porter  who  opened 
it  was  almost  speechless  with  indignation  and  amazement. 

"  I  prithee  cease  thy  rude  clamour" — he  said,  after  he  had 
looked  out  of  his  loophole  of  observation  and  seen  that  the 
would-be  intruder  was  a  man  of  distinguished  appearance  and 
attire — "  Thou  can'st  not  enter  here  with  all  thy  knocking, — 
the  governor  is  ill  and  sees  no  man." 

"  Nevertheless  I  must  have  speech  with  him,"  responded  the 
visitor — "  I  do  beseech  thee,  friend,  delay  me  not — my  matter 


"  I  tell  thee  'tis  not  possible" — said  the  porter — "  Would'st 
have  us  lose  our  heads  for  disobeying  orders  ?  Or  crucified 
even  as  the  '  Nazarene'  ?" 

"  My  business  doth  concern  the  '  Nazarene'  " — was  the 
reply,  given  hurriedly  and  with  evident  emotion — "  Tell  this 
to  one  in  authority  ;  and  say  that  'tis  Joseph  of  Arimathea  who 
waits  without." 

At  these  words  the  porter  ceased  arguing,  and  disappeared 
across  the  court  into  the  house.  Presently  he  returned,  accom- 
panied by  a  tall  slave,  wearing  a  silver  chain  of  office. 

"Worthy  Counsellor" — said  the  retainer,  respectfully  sa- 
luting the  Ariraathean, — "  Thou  can'st  not  at  this  late  hour 
have  speech  with  Pilate,  who  hath  been  sorely  overwrought  by 
the  harassments  of  the  day, — but  I  am  commanded  by  the  lady 
Justitia  to  say  that  she  will  receive  thee  willingly  if  indeed  thy 
matter  is  of  the  Man  of  Nazareth." 

"  It  is — it  is" — answered  Joseph  eagerly — "  I  do  entreat 
thee,  bring  me  to  thy  lady  straight,  for  every  moment  lost  doth 
hinder  the  fulfilment  of  mine  errand." 

The  slave  said  no  more,  but  signed  to  the  porter  to  unbar  the 
gate  with  as  little  noise  as  possible.  Then  he  led  the  way  across 
the  court,  gave  a  word  of  explanation  to  the  soldier  on  guard, 


A  DREAM  OF  THE    WORLD'S  TRAGEDF      157 

and  finally  escorted  the  visitor  into  an  arched  vestibule  adorned 
with  flowering  plants,  and  cooled  by  sparkling  jets  of  water 
that  ran  from  carved  lions'  mouths  into  a  deep  basin  of  yellow 
marble.  Here  the  slave  disappeared  leaving  the  Arimathean 
alone.  He  paced  up  and  down  with  some  impatience,  full  of 
his  own  burning  thoughts  that  chafed  at  every  fresh  delay,  and 
he  was  violently  startled,  when  a  grave  mellow  voice  said  '\>se 
to  him, 

"  What  of  the  Christ  ?     Have  ye  indeed  slain  Him  ?" 

"  Lady  !"  .  .  .  he  stammered,  and  turned  to  confront  the 
wife  of  Pilate,  who  had  silently  entered  the  vestibule  behind 
him.  For  a  moment  he  could  find  no  words  wherewith  to 
answer  her, — the  stedfastness  of  her  dark  eyes  troubled  him. 
She  was  beautiful  in  a  grand  and  stately  way, — her  resolute 
features  and  brooding  brows  expressed  more  fierceness  than 
tenderness,  and  yet  her  lips  quivered  with  some  deeply  sup- 
pressed emotion  as  she  spoke  again  and  said — 

"  Surely  thou  art  a  Jew,  and  hast  had  thy  share  in  this 
murder  ?" 

With  the  shock  of  this  bitterly  pronounced  accusation  he 
recovered  his  self-possession. 

"  Noble  Justitia,  I  beseech  thee  in  the  name  of  God  number 
me  not  with  the  evil  ones  of  this  misguided  nation !"  he  an- 
swered passionately — "  Could  I  have  saved  the  heaven-born 
'  Nazarene,'  surely  I  would  have  given  my  own  life  willingly  1 
For  I  have  gathered  profit  from  His  holy  doctrine,  and  am  His 
sworn  disciple,  though  secretly,  for  fear  of  the  harshness  of 
mine  own  people,  who  would  cast  me  out  from  their  midst,  if 
they  knew  the  change  wrought  within  my  soul.  Moreover  I 
am  a  man  who  hath  studied  the  sayings  of  the  prophets,  not 
lightly  but  with  sober  judgment,  and  do  accept  all  the  things 
that  now  have  chanced  to  us  as  fulfilment  of  the  word  of  God. 
And  most  heartily  do  I  render  thanks  unto  the  Most  High  that 
He  hath  in  His  great  mercy,  permitted  me  to  see  with  mortal 
eyes  His  chosen  true  Messiah  !" 

"  Thou  dost  then  freely  acknowledge  Him  as  One  Divine  ?" 
said  Justitia  fixing  a  searching  look  upon  him. 

"  Most  surely,  lady !  If  ever  any  god  did  dwell  on  earth,  'twas 
He." 

"Then  He  lives  yet?" 

Joseph  looked  perplexed  and  troubled. 

"  Nay  !     He  is  dead.     Hath  He  not  been  crucified  ?" 

"  Doth  a  god  die  ?"  asked  Justitia,  her  sombre  eyes  glittet- 
H 


158  BARABBAS 

ing  strangely — "  What  power  have  mortal  tortures  on  immor- 
tal spirit?  Summon  thy  reason  and  think  calmly — art  sure 
that  He  is  dead  ?" 

Her  words  and  manner  were  so  solemn  and  impressive  that 
the  Arimathean  counsellor  was  for  a  moment  bewildered  and 
amazed,  and  knew  not  what  to  say.  Then,  after  a  doubtful 
pause  he  answered, 

"  Lady,  as  far  as  human  eye  and  sense  can  judge,  life  hath 
verily  departed  from  Him.  Hia  body  hath  been  taken  down 
from  off  the  Cross,  and  for  the  reason  that  they  found  Him 
dead,  they  have  spared  the  breaking  of  His  limbs.  Whereas 
the  malefactors  that  were  crucified  with  Him  have  had  their 
joints  twisted  and  snapt  asunder  lest  haply  any  spark  of  pained 
existence  should  linger  in  them  yet.  But  He  of  Nazareth 
having  perished  utterly,  and  no  faint  pulse  of  blood  being 
feebly  astir  in  any  portion  of  His  matchless  frame,  the  men  of 
the  law  have  judged  it  politic  and  merciful  to  give  His  mortal 
pure  remains  to  her  who  bore  Him, — Mary,  His  sorrowing 
Mother,  who  weeps  beside  Him  now." 

Justitia  heard,  and  her  pale  resolute  face  grew  paler. 

"  Is't  possible  Divinity  can  perish  !' '  she  murmured.  Again 
she  looked  steadily,  eearchingly  at  the  thoughtful  and  earnest 
countenance  of  the  Arimathean,  and  added  with  a  touch  of  the 
domineering  haughtiness  which  made  her  name  a  terror  to  her 
household, — "  Then,  Counsellor  Joseph,  if  thy  words  be  true, 
and  the  Galilean  Prophet  be  no  longer  living,  what  can  thiue 
errand  be  concerning  Him  ?" 

"  'Tis  naught  but  one  of  simple  duty  to  the  noble  dead" — 
he  replied  quickly,  and  with  anxiety — "  I  fain  would  bury  the 
body  of  the  Lord  where  it  may  be  most  reverently  shrined  and 
undisturbed.  There  is  a  sepulchre  newly  hewn  among  the 
rocks  outside  the  city,  not  far  from  Calvary,  but  going  down- 
wards towards  Gethsemane, — 'twas  meant  for  mine  own  tomb, 
for  well  I  know  the  years  advance  with  me,  and  only  God 
knoweth  how  soon  I  may  be  called  upon  to  die, — nevertheless 
if  I  may  lay  the  body  of  the  Master  therein,  I  shall  be  well 
content  to  be  interred  in  baser  ground  below  Him.  We  would 
not  have  Him  sepulchred  with  common  malefactors, — where- 
fore, noble  lady,  I  seek  thy  lord  the  governor's  permission  to 
place  within  this  unused  burial  cave  of  mine  own  choosing  and 
purchase,  the  sacred  corpse  of  One,  who  to  my  thinking,  was 
indeed  the  Christ,  albeit  He  hath  been  crucified.  This  is  my 
errand, — and  I  have  sped  hither  in  haste  to  ask  from  Pilate 


A  DREAM  OF  THE   WORLD'S  TRAGEDY       159 

his  free  and  favourable  consent,  which,  if  it  be  granted  will 
make  of  me  a  grateful  debtor  to  the  gentleness  of  Rome." 

Justitia  smiled  darkly  at  the  courteous  phrase  "  the  gentle- 
ness of  Rome," — then  her  fierce  brows  contracted  ia  a  puzzled 
line. 

"  Truly  I  know  not  how  to  aid  thee,  friend," — she  said  after 
a  pause — "  I  have  no  power  to  grant  thee  this  permit, — and 
my  lord  is  sorely  wearied  and  distempered  by  strange  fancies 
and — dreams, — unhappy  and  confusing  dreams," — she  repeated 
slowly  and  with  a  slight  shudder — "  Yet — stay  I  Wait  but 
one  moment, — I  will  inquire  of  him  his  mood, — perchance  it 
may  relieve  him  to  have  speech  with  thee." 

Gliding  away  on  her  noiseless  sandalled  feet,  her  majestio 
figure  in  its  trailing  robes  of  white  glimmered  in  and  out 
the  marble  columns  of  the  corridor  and  rapidly  disappeared. 
Joseph  of  Arimathea  sighed  heavily,  and  stood  looking  vaguely 
at  the  trickling  water  running  from  the  mouths  of  the  stone 
lions  into  the  marble-lined  hollow  in  the  centre  of  the  vesti- 
bule, wondering  to  himself  why  his  heart  had  beat  so  violently, 
and  why  his  thoughts  had  been  so  suddenly  troubled  when  he 
had  been  asked  the  question,  "  Art  sure  that  He  is  dead  ?"  He 
was  not  left  long  alone  to  indulge  in  his  reflections, — Justitia 
returned  almost  as  quickly  as  she  had  vanished,  and  pausing  at 
a  little  distance  beckoned  to  him. 

"  Pilate  will  see  thee" — she  said,  as  he  eagerly  obeyed  her 
gesture — "  But  should'st  thou  find  him  wild  and  wandering  ia 
discourse,  I  pray  thee  heed  him  not.  And  beware  how  thou 
dost  speak  of  his  distemper  to  the  curious  gossips  of  the  city, 
— I  would  not  have  it  noised  abroad  that  he  hath  been  all  day 
so  far  distracted  from  his  usual  self" — here  her  steady  voice 
trembled  and  her  proud  eyes  filled  with  sudden  tears — "  He 
hath  been  ill — very  ill — and  only  I  have  tended  him  ;  and  not- 
withstanding he  is  calmer  now,  thou  must  in  converse  use  dis- 
cretion." 

"  Trust  me,  noble  lady" — replied  the  Arimathean  with  pro- 
found feeling,  "  I  will  most  faithfully  endeavour  that  I  shall  not 
err  in  aught,  or  chafe  thy  lord  with  any  new  displeasure." 

She  bent  her  haughty  head,  partly  in  acknowledgment  of  his 
words,  partly  to  hide  the  tears  that  glittered  on  her  lashes,  and, 
without  further  parley,  led  the  way  to  her  husband's  private 
room.  In  deep  silence,  hushing  his  footsteps  needfully  as  he 
moved,  the  Arimathean  counsellor  followed  her. 


1GO  BARABBAS 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

PASSING  through  a  narrow  passage  curtained  off  from  the 
rest  of  the  house,  they  entered  a  long  low  vaulted  apartment 
brilliantly  ablaze  with  lights.  Roman  lamps  set  on  iron  brackets 
illuminated  every  corner  that  would  otherwise  have  been  dark, 
• — waxen  torches  flamed  in  every  fixed  sconce.  There  was  so 
much  flare,  and  faint  smoke  from  burnt  perfumes,  that  for  a 
moment  it  was  impossible  to  discern  anything  clearly,  although 
the  wide  casement  window  was  set  open  to  the  night  and  steps 
led  down  from  it  to  a  closely-walled  garden  on  which  the  moon 
poured  refreshing  showers  of  silver  radiance  eclipsing  all  the 
artificial  glamour  and  glare  within.  And  at  this  casement,  ex- 
tended on  a  couch,  lay  Pilate,  pallid  and  inert,  with  half-closed 
eyes  and  limp  hands  falling  on  either  side  of  the  silken  coverlet 
spread  over  him — he  had  the  supine  and  passive  air  of  a  long- 
ailing  dying  man  to  whom  death  would  be  release  and  blessed- 
ness. Joseph  of  Arimathea  could  scarcely  restrain  an  excla- 
mation of  amazed  compassion  as  he  saw  him, — but  a  warning 
glance  from  Justitia  silenced  him,  and  he  repressed  his  feeling. 
She  meanwhile  went  up  to  her  husband's  couch  and  knelt 
beside  it. 

"  The  counsellor  is  here,  Pontius"— she  said  softly — "  Hast 
thou  strength  to  give  him  audience  ?" 

Pilate  opened  his  eyes  widely  and  stared  vaguely  at  his  visitor, 
— then  lifting  one  hand  that  trembled  in  the  air  with  weakness 
beckoned  him  to  approach. 

"  Come  nearer,  nearer  el  ill" — he  murmured  with  a  kind  of 
feeble  pettishness, — "  Thou  hast  the  look  of  a  shadow  yonder, 
—the  room  is  full  of  shadows.  Thou  art  Joseph  ?  From  that 
ttty  of  the  Jews  called  Arimathea?" 

"  Even  so,  my  lord" — answered  Joseph  in  subdued  accents, 
noting  with  pained  concern  the  Roman  governor's  prostrate  and 
evidently  suffering  condition. 

"  And  being  a  Jew,  what  dost  thou  seek  of  me  ?"  went  on 
Pilate,  his  heavy  lids  again  half  closing  over  his  eyes — "  Surely 
I  have  this  day  fully  satisfied  the  Israelitish  thirst  for  blood  1" 

"  Most  noble  governor,"  said  Joseph,  with  as  careful  gentle- 
ness and  humility  as  he  could  command — "  Believe  me  that  I 


A   DREAM  OF  THE    WORLD'S  TRAGEDY       161 

am  not  one  of  those  -who  forced  thee  to  the  deed  'twas  evident 
thy  spirit  did  repudiate  and  abhor.  And  albeit  thou  hast  been 
named  a  tyrant  and  a  cruel  man  by  the  unthinking  of  my 
nation,  I  know  thy  gentleness,  having  discovered  much  of  thy 
good  work  in  deeds  of  charity  among  the  poor, — therefore  I 
come  to  beg  of  thee  the  Body  of  the  Christ" 

With  a  sudden  excited  movement,  Pilate  dashed  aside  the 
silken  draperies  that  covered  him  and  sat  up,  nervously  clutching 
his  wife's  arm. 

"The  Body  of  the  Christ!"  he  echoed  wildly— " Hearest 
thou  that,  Justitia !  The  Body  of  the  Christ  1" 

His  purple  garments  fell  about  him  in  disordered  folds, — his 
vest  half  open  showed  his  chest  heaving  agitatedly  with  his 
unquiet  and  irregular  breathing, — his  eyes  grew  feverishly 
luminous,  and  gleamed  with  a  strange  restless  light  from  under 
the  shadow  of  his  tossed  and  tumbled  hair.  Joseph,  alarmed 
at  his  aspect,  stood  hesitating, — Justitia  looked  at  him  and 
made  him  a  mute  sign  to  go  on  and  make  his  appeal  quickly. 

"  Yea,  'tis  the  Body  of  the  Christ  I  ask  from  thee" — he 
proceeded  then,  anxiously  yet  resolvedly — "  And  verily  I  would 
not  have  troubled  thee  at  this  hour,  Pilate,  but  that  thou  art 
governor  and  ruler  of  the  civil  laws  within  Judaea,  therefore 
thou  alone  can'st  give  me  that  which  hath  been  slain  by  law. 
I  fain  would  lay  the  sacred  corpse  within  mine  own  new  sepul- 
chre, with  all  the  tears  and  prayers  befitting  a  great  hero 
dead." 

"  Dead  ?"  cried  Pilate  fixing  a  wild  stare  upon  him — 
"  Already  dead  ?  Nay — art  thou  sure  ?" 

A  chill  tremor  shook  the  strong  nerves  of  the  Arimathean. 
Here  was  the  same  question  Justitia  had  asked  him  a  few 
'minutes  since, — and  it  aroused  the  same  strange  trouble  in  his 
mind.  And  while  he  stood  amazed,  unable  to  find  words  for 
an  immediate  response,  Pilate  sprang  erect,  tossing  his  arms 
up  like  a  man  distraught. 

"  Dead  !"  he  cried  again.  "  0  fools,  fools  whose  sight  is  so 
deceived  !  No  mortal  power  can  slay  the  '  Nazarene,' — He 
lives  and  He  hath  always  lived !  yea,  from  the  beginning  even 
Unto  the  end  if  any  end  there  be  !  What  ? — ye  have  crucified 
Him  ? — ye  have  seen  His  flesh  pierced,  and  His  blood  flow  ? 
Ye  have  touched  Him  ? — ye  have  seen  Him  share  in  mortal 
labours,  mortal  woes,  and  mortal  needs, — ye  have  proved  Him 
made  of  perishable  fleshy  stuff  that  ye  can  torture  and  destroy  ? 
— O  poor  dim-sighted  fools !  Lo,  ye  have  done  the  brarcsfc 
I  14* 


162  BARABBAS 

and  most  wondrous  deed  that  ever  was  inscribed  in  history,— 
ye  have  crucified  a  Divine  Appearance  — ye  have  gloated  over 
the  seeming  death  of  the  Deathless !  A  God  was  with  us, — • 
wearing  apparent  mortal  vesture,  but  those  who  saw  the  suffer- 
ing Man  and  Man  alone,  did  only  think  they  saw !  I  looked 
beyond, —  I,  Pilate, — I  beheld" —  Here  he  broke  off  with  a 
smothered  exclamation,  his  eyes  fixing  themselves  alarmedly 
upon  the  outer  garden  bathed  in  the  full  glory  of  the  moon. 
"  Justitia !  Justitia!"  he  cried. 

She  sprang  to  him, — and  he  caught  her  convulsively  in  his 
arms,  drawing  her  head  down  against  his  bosom  and  straining 
her  to  his  heart  with  passionate  violence. 

"  Hush  I — hush  1"  he  murmured, — "  Let  us  not  weep, — the 
thing  is  done, — remorse  will  not  avail.  Accursed  Jews  ! — they 
forced  my  hand, — they,  with  their  devilish  priest,  did  slay  the 
Man,  not  I.  '  Ecce  Homo  /'  I  cried  to  them, — I  sought  to 
make  them  see  even  as  I  saw, — the  glory,  the  terror,  and  the 
wonder, — the  radiance  of  that  seeming-human  Form,  so  fine 
and  marvellous,  that  methought  it  would  have  vanished  into 
ether  1  Even  as  the  lightning  did  He  shine !  His  flesh  was 
but  a  garment,  transparent  as  a  mist  through  which  one  sees 
the  sun !  Nevertheless,  let  us  not  weep  despairingly, — tears 
are  but  foolish — for  He  is  not  dead — He  could  not  die,  although 
He  hath  been  crucified.  He  hath  the  secret  clue  of  death ; — - 
'tis  a  mystery  unfathomable, — for  what  the  gods  may  mean 
by  this  we  know  not, — and  what  the  world  hath  done  we 
know  not, — howbeit  let  the  world  look  to  it  for  we  are  not  to 
blame !"  He  paused,  caressing  with  a  sort  of  fierce  tenderness 
the  dark  ripples  of  his  wife's  luxuriant  hair.  "  My  love  !"  he 
said  pityingly — "  My  poor  tired  anxious  heart  1  No  more 
tears,  Justitia,  I  pray  thee, — we  will  forget  this  day,  for  truly 
it  concerns  us  not, — 'tis  the  Jews'  work, — let  the  Jews  answer 
for  it — for  I  will  not,  neither  to  Caxsar  nor  to  God !  I  have 
said  and  still  will  say — I  am  innocent  of  the  blood  of  this  Just 
Man  !" 

Here,  loosening  his  arms  suddenly  from  around  his  wife,  he 
raised  them  with  a  proud  and  dignified  gesture  of  protest, — • 
then  turning  suddenly,  and  perceiving  Joseph  of  Arimathea 
where  he  stood  apart,  a  silent  and  troubled  spectator  of  tha 
scene,  he  advanced  towards  him,  and  said  gently — 

"  Friend,  what  seekest  thou  of  me?" 

The  Arimathean  cast  a  despairing  glance  of  appeal  at 
Justitia,  who,  hastily  dashing  away  the  tears  on  her  cheeks  and 


A  DREAM  OF  THE    WORLD'S  TRAGEDY       163 

mastering  the  emotion  that  betrayed  itself  in  her  pale  and 
sorrowful  countenance,  came  to  his  rescue. 

"  Dear  lord,  hast  thou  forgotten  ?"  she  said  gently,  as  with 
a  guiding  movement  of  her  hand  she  persuaded  Pilate  to  resume 
his  seat  upon  the  couch  near  the  open  window — "  Thou  art  not 
well,  and  the  harassments  of  thy  work  have  over-wearied  thee. 
This  man  doth  seek  the  body  of  the  '  Nazarene'  for  burial, — 
himself  he  charges  with  the  duties  of  this  office  if  thou  wilt 
give  him  thy  permit, — grant  him  his  boon  I  do  beseech  thee, 
and  let  him  go  his  way,  for  thou  must  rest  again  and  sleep — • 
thou  hast  been  sorely  tried." 

Pilate  sank  heavily  among  his  cushions,  looking  blankly 
into  nothingness. 

"  Thou  would'st  bury  the  Christ  ?"  he  asked  at  last,  speak, 
ing  with  difficulty  as  though  his  tongue  were  stiff  and  refused 
utterance. 

"  Such  is  my  one  desire,  my  lord" — answered  Joseph,  hope- 
fully now,  for  Pilate  seemed  more  capable  of  reason. 

"  In  thine  own  sepulchre?" 

"Even  there." 

<;  'Tis  large  ?  Will't  hold  embodied  Light  and  Life  and  yet 
not  rive  asunder?" 

"  My  lord  !" — faltered  the  Arimathean  in  dismay  and  fear. 

Justitia  slipped  one  arm  around  her  husband's  neck  and  said 
something  to  him  in  a  soothing  whisper.  Pilate  smiled  some- 
what piteously,  and  drawing  her  hand  down  to  his  lips  kissed  it. 

"  This  gentle  lady, — my  wife,  good  sir, — tells  me  that  my 
thoughts  wander  and  that  I  fail  to  give  thee  fitting  answer.  I 
crave  thy  pardon,  counsellor, — thou  art  a  counsellor  it  seems, 
and  therefore  no  doubt  hast  patience  with  the  erring  and  wisdom 
for  the  weak.  Thou  would'st  ensepulchre  the  '  Nazarene  ?' — • 
the  body  of  the  Crucified  thou  would'st  number  with  dead 
men  ? — why  then,  even  so  let  it  be  ! — take  thou  possession  of 
That  which  thou  dost  deem  a  corpse  of  common  clay, — thou 
hast  my  leave  to  honourably  inter  the  same.  My  leave !" — 
and  he  laughed  wildly — "  My  leave  to  shut  within  the  tomb 
That  which  no  tomb  can  hold,  no  closebarred  cave  can  keep, 
no  time  destroy  !  Go  ! — do  as  thou  wilt, — do  all  thou  wilt ! — • 
thou  hast  thy  boon  !" 

Believed  from  his  suspense,  and  full  of  gratitude,  the  Ari- 
mathean bowed  profoundly  to  the  ground,  and  was  about  to 
retire,  when  a  great  noise  of  disputation  was  heard  in  the  outer 
vestibule.  Justitia  started  up  from  her  husband's  side  in 


164  BARABBAS 

wondering  indignation  and  was  on  the  point  of  going  forth  to 
inquire  the  cause  of  such  unseemly  disturbance  when  the  door 
of  the  apartment  was  furiously  flung  open,  and  the  high-priest 
Caiaphas  burst  in,  his  glistening  sacerdotal  garments  disordered 
and  trailing  behind  him,  and  his  face  livid  with  passion. 

"  Thou  art  a  traitor,  Pilate  I"  he  exclaimed — "  Already  dost 
thou  scheme  with  tricksters  for  the  pretended  resurrection 
of  the  '  Nazarene'  1" 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

PILATE  rose  slowly  up  and  confronted  him,  Justitia  at  his 
side.  He  was  now  perfectly  calm,  and  his  pale  features  assumed 
a  cold  and  repellent  dignity. 

"  Whom  callest  thou  traitor,  thou  subject  of  Rome  ?"  he 
gald — "  K  newest  thou  not  that  though  thou  art  high-priest  of 
the  Jewish  faith,  thou  art  answerable  to  Caesar  for  insult  to  his 
officer?" 

Caiaphas  stood  breathless  and  trembling  with  rage. 

"  Thou  also  art  answerable  to  Csesar  if  thou  dost  lend  thy- 
self to  low  imposture !"  he  said — "  Dost  thou  not  remember 
that  this  vile  deceiver  out  of  Galilee  who  hath  been  crucified, 
did  say  '  After  three  days  I  will  rise  again  f  And  do  I 
not  find  thee  giving  audience  to  one  of  His  known  followers 
who  oft  hath  entertained  Him  and  listened  to  His  doctrines? 
This  counsellor" — and  he  emphasised  the  term  sarcastically, 
eyeing  the  unmoved  and  stately  figure  of  Joseph  of  Arimathea 
up  and  down  angrily — "  now  seeks  His  body  to  bury  it  in  a 
sepulchre,  whereof  he  only  hath  the  seal  and  secret.  And 
why  doth  he  offer  this  free  service  ?  That  he  may  steal  the 
corpse  in  the  silence  of  the  second  night,  and  make  away  with 
it,  and  then  give  out  a  rumour  that  the  Christ  is  risen  1  So 
shall  the  last  error  be  worse  than  the  Jirst  with  the  silly  multi- 
tude, if  his  scheme  be  not  prevented." 

Joseph  lifted  his  clear  grave  eyes  and  looked  full  at  the 
speaker. 

"  I  heed  not  thy  wicked  accusation,  Caiaphas," — he  said 
tranquilly — "Thou  knowest  it  is  false,  and  born  from  out  the 
fury  and  suspicion  of  thy  mind.  Thy  fears  do  make  a  coward 
of  thee, — perchance  when  thou  didst  find  the  veil  of  the 
Temple  rent  in  the  midst  this  day,  and  knewest'by  inquiry 


A  DREAM  OF  THE    WORLD'S   TRAGEDY       165 

that  so  it  had  been  torn  at  the  very  moment  of  the  passing  of 
the  soul  of  the  '  Nazarene,'  thou  wert  shaken  with  strange 
terrors  that  still  do  haunt  and  trouble  tb.be.  Rally  thyself 
and  be  ashamed, — for  none  shall  steal  the  body  I  have  claimed 
from  Pilate. — rest  for  the  dead  is  granted  even  by  the  most 
unmerciful,  and  this  rest  is  mine  to  give  to  one  who  whether 
human  or  divine,  was  innocent  of  sin  and  died  through  treach- 
ery undeservedly." 

The  blood  rushed  to  the  high-priest's  brows,  and  he  clenched 
his  hands  in  an  effort  to  keep  down  his  vising  wrath. 

"Hearest  thou  that,  Pilate?"  he  exclaimed — "Sufferest 
thou  this  insolence?" 

"  What  insolence  ?"  asked  Justitia  suddenly — "  'Tis  true  the 
Man  of  Nazareth  had  no  fault  in  Him  at  all  and  that  ye  slew 
Him  out  of  fear !" 

Caiaphas  glared  at  her,  his  cold  eyes  sparkling  with  rage. 

"  I  argue  not  with  women !"  he  said  through  his  set  teeth 
— "  They  are  not  in  our  counsels,  nor  have  they  any  right  to 
judgment." 

Justitia  smiled.  Her  full  black  eyes  met  his  piercing  shal- 
low ones  with  such  immeasurable  scorn  as  made  him  for  the 
moment  tremble.  Avoiding  her  glance,  he  addressed  himself 
once  more  to  Pilate — 

"  Hear  me,  thou  governor  of  Judasa  under  Caesar" — he 
said — "  And  weigh  thou  this  matter  well  lest  thou  unheedfully 
fall  beneath  the  weight  of  the  Imperial  displeasure.  Thy 
Iloman  soldiery  are  stricken  with  some  strange  disease  and 
speak  as  with  the  milky  mouths  of  babes,  concerning  mercy  1 
— 'tis  marvellous  to  note  yon  bearded  men  seized  with  effemi- 
nate virtue  1  Wherefore,  out  of  this  sudden  craze  of  mercy 
they  have  spared  to  break  the  limbs  of  the  blasphemous  '  Naza- 
rene,' proffering  for  excuse  that  He  is  dead  already.  What 
matter!  I  would  have  had  every  joint  within  His  body 
wrenched  apart ! — yea,  I  would  have  had  His  very  flesh  hewn 
into  pieces  after  death,  if  I  had  had  my  way  1"  He  paused, 
quivering  with  passion  and  breathing  heavily.  Pilate  looked 
at  him  with  immovable  intentness.  "  Thy  centurion  is  at 
fault" — he  continued — "  for  he  it  is  who  hath,  upon  his  own 
authority,  given  the  corpse  unto  the  women  who  besought  it 
of  him,  and  they  make  such  a  weeping  and  a  lamentation  as 
might  rouse  the  multitude  an'  'twere  not  that  the  hour  is 
late,  and  night  has  fully  fallen.  And  with  them  is  that  evil 
woman  of  the  town,  the  Magdalen,  who  doth  defy  us  to  remove 


166  BARABBAS 

the  body  and  place  it  as  it  should  be,  with  the  other  malefac- 
tors, saying  that  this  man" — and  he  indicated  by  a  disdainful 
gesture  the  Arimathean  counsellor, — "  hath  sought  thy  leave 
to  lay  it  in  his  own  new  tomb  with  honour.  Honour  for  a 
trickster  and  blasphemer ! — If  thou  dost  grant  him  this  permit, 
I  swear  unto  thee,  Pilate,  thou  dost  lend  thyself  unto  a  scheme 
of  deep-laid  cunning  treachery!" 

Still  Pilate  eyed  him  with  the  same  fixed  stedfastness. 

"  My  centurion,  thou  sayest,  is  at  fault" — he  observed  pres 
ently  in  cold  meditative  accents — "  What  centurion  ?" 

"Petronius, — even  he  who  was  in  charge.  I  made  him 
accompany  me  hither.  He  waits  without." 

"  Call  him,  Justitia," — said  Pilate,  seating  himself  upon  his 
couch  and  assuming  an  attitude  of  ceremonious  dignity  and 
reserve. 

Justitia  obeyed,  and  in  answer  to  her  summons,  the  centu- 
rion entered,  saluted  and  stood  silent. 

"The  'Nazarene'  is  dead?"  said  Pilate  addressing  him  in 
the  measured  tones  of  judicial  inquiry. 

"  Sir,  He  hath  been  dead  these  two  hours  and  more." 

"Thou  art  not  herein  deceived?" — and  Pikte  smiled 
strangely  as  he  put  the  question. 

Petronius  stared  in  respectful  amazement. 

"  My  lord,  we  all  beheld  him  die, — and  one  of  us  did  pierce 
His  side  to  hasten  dissolution." 

"  Why  did'st  thou  practise  mercy  thus  ?" 

A  troubled  look  clouded  the  soldier's  honest  face. 

"  Sir,  there  have  been  many  terrors  both  in  earth  aud  air 
this  day, — and — He  seemed  a  sinless  man  and  of  a  marvellous 
courage." 

Pilate  turned  towards  Caiaphas.  "  Seest  thou  the  reason  of 
this  matter?"  he  said — "This  Petronius  is  a  Roman, — and  'tis 
in  Roman  blood  to  give  some  reverence  to  courage.  Your  Jew 
is  no  respecter  of  heroic  virtues, — an'  he  were,  he  would  not 
need  to  pay  tribute  unto  Caesar  I" 

The  high-priest  gave  a  scornful,  half-derisive  gesture. 

"The  very  man  now  crucified,  whose  heroism  thy  soldier 
doth  admire,  was  a  Jew," — he  said. 

"  Not  altogether,"  interposed  Joseph  of  Arimathea  suddenly 

-r-"  Mary,  His  mother,  was  of  Egypt." 
n  •     u  j 

Laiapnas  sneered. 

"  And  Joseph  his  father  was  of  Nazareth," — he  said—"  And 
V  the  father  is,  so  i=  the  son." 


A  DREAM  OF  THE    WORLD'S  TRAGEDY       167 

At  these  words  a  singular  silence  fell  upon  the  group.  Jus- 
titia  grew  deadly  pale,  and  leaned  on  the  corner  of  her  hus- 
band's couch  for  support, — her  breath  came  and  went  hur- 
riedly and  she  laid  one  hand  upon  her  bosom  as  though  to  still 
some  teasing  pain.  Pilate  half  rose, — there  was  a  strange  light 
in  his  eyes  and  he  seemed  about  to  speak, — but  apparently  on 
consideration  altering  his  intention  he  sat  down  again,  turning 
so  wild  a  gaze  upon  Petronius  that  that  officer  was  both  dis- 
mayed and  startled. 

"  Thou  hast  done  well" — he  said  at  last,  breaking  the  op- 
pressive stillness  by  an  evident  effort, — "Mercy  doth  well  be- 
come a  stalwart  Roman,  strong  in  brute  strength  as  thou  art. 
I  blame  thee  not  in  aught.  And  thou,  great  Caiaphas" — here 
he  fixed  his  eyes  full  on  the  high-priest,  "  dost  nobly  practise 
sentiments  which  best  befit  thy  calling, — revenge,  bloodthirsti- 
ness  and  fear  !  Peace  ! — snatch  not  the  words  from  out  my 
mouth  by  thy  unseemly  rage  of  interruption, — I  know  the 
terror  that  thou  hast  of  even  the  dead  body  of  Him  that  thou 
hast  slain, — but  thou  art  too  late  in  thy  desire  to  carry  cruelty 
beyond  the  grave.  The  Arimathean  counsellor  hath  my  per- 
mit to  bury  the  '  Nazarene'  in  honour  even  as  he  doth  desire, 
in  his  own  sepulchre  newly  hewn.  But  if  thou  dost  suspect 
his  good  intent,  and  thinkest  there  is  treachery  in  his  honest 
service,  seal  thou  the  tomb  thyself  with  thine  own  mark,  and 
set  a  watch  of  as  many  as  thou  wilt,  picked  men  and  cautious, 
to  guard  the  sepulchre  till  the  third  day  be  past.  Thus  shall 
all  sides  have  justice, — thou,  Joseph,  and  thou,  Caiaphas, — 
and  inasmuch  as  this  Petronius  showeth  too  much  mercy,  thou 
can'st  choose  another  centurion  than  he  to  head  thy  band. 
More  I  cannot  do  to  satisfy  demand" — here  he  broke  off  with 
a  shuddering  sigh  of  weariness. 

" 'Tis  enough" — said  Caiaphas  sullenly — "Nevertheless, 
Pilate,  had'st  thou  been  wise,  thou  would'st  have  refused  the 
malefactor's  body  to  this  counsellor." 

And  he  darted  an  angry  and  suspicious  glance  at  the  Ari- 
mathean who  returned  his  look  steadily. 

"Hast  urged  enough  against  me,  Caiaphas?"  he  said — • 
"  Verily,  were  it  not  for  my  race  and  lineage,  I  would  take 
shame  unto  myself  this  day  that  I  am  born  a  Jew,  hearing 
thee  vent  such  paltry  rage  and  puny  fear,  and  thou  the  high- 
priest  of  the  Temple  !  But  I  will  not  bandy  words  with  thee ; 
— I  do  most  readily  accept  the  judgment  of  our  excellent  lord 
the  governor,  and  herewith  invite  thee  to  be  witness  of  the 


168  BARABBAS 

burial  of  the  '  Nazarene.'  Thou  can'st  examine  the  sepulchre 
within  and  without  to  make  thyself  sure  there  is  no  secret  pas- 
sage to  serve  for  thy  suspected  robbers  of  the  dead.  Bring 
thou  thy  seals  of  office,  and  set  a  watch  both  night  and  day, — 
I  give  thee  promise  that  I  will  not  hinder  thee." 

Caiaphas  bent  his  head  in  stiff  and  haughty  acknowledgment, 
and  turned  on  his  heel  to  leave  the  apartment,  then  glancing 
over  his  shoulder  at  the  pensive  and  drooping  figure  of  Pilate 
he  said  with  forced  pleasantness 

"  I  wish  thee  better  health,  Pilate  !" 

"  I  thank  thee,  priest" — responded  Pilate  without  looking  up 
— "  I  wish  thee  better  courage !" 

With  an  indifferent  nod,  Caiaphas  was  about  to  leave  the 
room,  when  seeing  that  Petronius  the  centurion  had  just  saluted 
the  governor  and  was  also  departing  he  stopped  him  by  a 
gesture. 

"Did'st  thou  inquire  as  I  bade  thee,  concerning  young 
Iscariot?" 

"  Sir,"  answered  Petronius  gravely — "  'tis  rumoured  in  the 
city  that  Iscariot  is  dead." 

"  Dead  !"  Caiaphas  clutched  at  him  to  steady  himself,  for 
everything  seemed  suddenly  reeling, — then  he  repeated  again 
in  a  hoarse  whisper — "  Dead  !' ' 

For  a  moment  the  air  around  him  grew  black,  and  when  he 
recovered  his  sickening  senses,  he  saw  that  Pilate  had  risen  and 
had  come  forward  with  his  wife  clinging  to  him,  and  that  both 
were  looking  at  him  in  undisguised  astonishment,  while  Joseph 
of  Arimathea  was  shaking  him  by  the  arm. 

"What  ails  thee,  Caiaphas?"  asked  the  counsellor,— "  Why 
art  thou  thus  stricken  suddenly?" 

"  'Tis  naught — 'tis  naught !"  and  the  proud  priest  drew  him- 
self up  erect,  the  while  his  eyes  wandered  to  the  face  of  the 
centurion  once  more, — "  Thou  did'st  say" — and  he  spoke  with 
hesitation  and  difficulty — "  that  'tis  rumoured  Judas  is  dead  ? 
Surely  'tis  false, — how  could  he  die  ?" 

"  Sir,  he  hath  slain  himself, — so  runs  the  people's  whisper." 

Caiaphas  pressed  one  hand  over  bis  eyes  to  shut  out  the 
specks  of  red  that  swam  before  his  sight  like  drops  of  blood. 
Then  he  looked  round  him  with  feigned  composure — his  coun- 
tenance was  very  pale. 

"See  you"  he  said  unsteadily — "It  can  but  move  me  to 
think  that  yesterday  Judas  was  well  and  full  of  life,  and  that 
to-day  he  should  be  dead  1  A  foolish  youth, — of  wild  and 


A  DREAM  OF  THE    WORLD'S  TRAGEDY       169 

erring  impulse,  but  nevertheless  much  beloved  by  his  father 
and — his  sister  Judith" — Here  he  broke  off  with  a  fierce  ex- 
clamation of  mingled  wrath  and  pain  and  seizing  the  Arima- 
thean  by  the  arm,  he  cried  boisterously — 

"  Come,  thou  subtle  and  righteous  counsellor  !  On  with  me, 
and  open  thou  thy  rocky  cave  of  death  that  we  may  thrust 
within  it  the  cause  of  all  this  mischief!  Farewell,  Pilate! 
— take  health  upon  thee  speedily  and  my  blessing ! — for  thou 
hast  done  justice  in  this  matter,  albeit  late  and  forced  from 
thee  1  And  by  thy  legal  sanction,  I  will  set  such  a  watch 
around  the  dead  blasphemer's  sepulchre  as  hath  not  been  ex- 
celled in  vigilance  or  guardianship  for  any  treasure  of  the 
world ! — his  prophecy  shall  prove  a  lie  !  '  After  three  days'  ! 
.  .  .  nay ! — not  after  a  thousand  and  three !  Let  thunders 
crash,  earth  yawn  and  mountains  split  asunder,  the  '  Nazarene' 
shall  never  rise  again  !" 

And  with  a  wild  gesture  of  defiance  he  rushed  from  the 
room,  dragging  the  Arimathean  with  him  and  followed  by 
Petrouius  in  a  state  of  wonderment  and  fear. 


CHAPTER    XXVII. 

PILATE  and  his  wife  remained  standing  where  they  were  for 
a  moment,  looking  at  each  other  in  silence.  The  mingled  light 
of  the  flickering  lamps  around  them,  and  the  moonbeams  pour- 
ing in  through  the  open  window  gave  a  spectral  pallor  to  their 
faces,  which  in  absorbed  expression  reflected  the  same  trouble, 
the  same  perplexed  unquiet  thought.  After  a  pause,  Pilate 
turned  and  moved  feebly  back  to  his  couch, — Justitia  following 
him. 

"  Oh,  to  escape  this  terror !"  he  murmured,  as  he  sank 
among  his  pillows  once  more  and  closed  his  eyes — "  'Tis  every- 
where,— 'tis  upon  Caiaphas  even  as  it  is  upon  us  all  !  A  terror 
of  the  unknown,  the  undeclared,  the  invisible,  the  deathless  ! 
What  hath  been  done  this  day  we  cannot  comprehend, — we  can 
but  feel  a  mystery  in  the  air, — and  we  grope  blindly,  seeing 
nothing — touching  nothing — and  therefore  doubting  every- 
thing, but  nevertheless  afraid  !  Afraid  of  what  ?  Of  our- 
pelves  ?  Nay,  for  we  have  killed  the  Man  who  did  so  much 
H  15 


170  BARABBAS 

amaze  us.  What  more  then  ?  Why,  no  more,  since  He  is 
dead.  And  being  dead,  what  cause  is  there  for  fear?" 

He  sighed  heavily.     Justitia  knelt  beside  him. 

"  Dear,  my  lord" — she  began  softly,  her  voice  trembling  a 
little.  He  turned  his  head  towards  her. 

"  What  would'st  thou  say,  Justitia  ?"  he  asked  gently — 
"  Methinks  my  moods  do  trouble  thee,  thou  most  beloved  of 
women, — I  fain  would  be  more  cheerful  for  thy  sake.  But 
there  is  a  darkness  on  my  spirit  that  not  even  thy  love  can  lift, 
— thou  hast  wept  also,  for  I  see  the  tears  within  thine  eyes. 
Why  art  thou  moved  to  weakness,  thou  strong  heart  ? — what 
would  they  say  of  thee  in  Rome,  thou  who  art  adjudged  a 
very  queen  of  pride,  if  they  beheld  thee  now  ?" 

Justitia  answered  not,  for  all  at  once  her  head  drooped 
upon  her  husband's  breast,  and  clinging  to  him  close,  she  gave 
way  to  a  sudden  paroxysm  of  passionate  weeping.  Pilate  held 
her  to  him,  soothing  her  with  trembling  touch  and  whispered 
words,  now  and  again  lifting  his  eyes  to  look  with  a  kind  of 
apprehension  and  expectancy  round  the  silent  room  as  though 
he  thought  some  one  besides  themselves  witnessed  their  actions. 
After  a  while  when  the  violence  of  her  sobbing  ceased,  he  said — 

"  Tell  me,  Justitia — tell  me  all  that  troubles  thee.  Some 
secret  grief  thou  hast  kept  pent  up  within  thee  through  the 
day, — aud  what  with  storm  and  earthquake  and  darkness  and 
thy  fears  for  me,  thou  hast  brooded  on  sorrow  dumbly,  as  women 
often  do  when  they  have  none  to  love  them.  But  I  who 
love  thee  more  than  life,  Justitia,  have  the  right  to  share  thy 
heaviness, — I  am  strong  enough  or  should  be  strong, — look 
up!"  and  he  raised  her  tearful  face  between  his  hands  and 
gazed  at  her  tenderly — "Unburden  thy  soul,  Justitia!  .  .  . 
tell  me  thy  dream  !" 

With  a  cry  she  sprang  erect,  pushing  back  her  ruffled  hair 
from  her  brows  aud  gazing  out  into  the  moonlit  garden  with 
a  strange  expression  of  alarm  and  awe. 

"  No,  no !"  she  whispered — "  I  cannot, — I  dare  not !  'Tis 
dark  with  the  terror  thou  hast  spoken  of, — a  portent  and  a 
mystery  ;  it  brings  no  comfort, — and  thou  can'et  not  bear  to 
hear  more  evil  omens  of  disaster" 

She  broke  off,  adding  presently  in  the  same  hushed  accents, 

"  Did'st  thou  understand,  Pontius,  when  Petronius  spoke, 
that  Iscariot  was  dead  ?" 

'I  Surely  I  understood"— responded  Pilate—"  What  marvel 
in  it?  'Twas  he  that  did  betray  his  Master  to  the  priests. 


A  DREAM  OF  THE    WORLDS  TRAGEDY       171 

He  dared  not  testify  of  this  his  treachery, — and  when  I  asked 
for  him  at  this  morning's  trial,  he  could  not  be  found.  Out 
of  remorse  he  slew  himself,  or  so  I  judge — a  fitting  death 
for  such  a  traitor.  Thou  dost  not  grieve  for  him  ?" 

"I  knew  him  not" — said  Justitia  thoughtfully — "else — 
perchance  if  I  had  known — I  might  have  pitied  b'm.  But 
Judith  loved  him." 

Pilate  moved  impatiently  among  his  cushions. 

"  Much  do  I  marvel  at  thy  interest  in  that  most  haughty 
and  most  forward  maiden" — he  said — "  That  she  is  beautiful 
I  grant, — but  vanity  doth  make  her  beauty  valueless.  How 
earnest  thou  to  choose  her  as  a  friend  ?" 

"  She  is  no  friend  of  mine,"  Justitia  answered  slowly,  still 
looking  out  at  the  clear  night — li  Save  that  she  has  been  long 
left  motherless,  and  is  unguided  and  undisciplined,  wherefore 
I  have  counselled  her  at  times, — though  truly  my  counsels 
are  but  wasted  words,  and  she  hath  evil  rooted  in  her  soul. 
Nevertheless  believe  me,  Pontius,  now  will  her  vanity  have 
end, — for  if  she  hath  a  heart,  that  heart  will  break  to-night  1" 

Her  husband  made  no  reply,  and  a  long  silence  fell  between 
them.  During  this  pause,  a  sound  of  joyous  singing  reached 
them, — a  party  of  young  men  and  maidens  were  strolling 
homeward  from  some  festive  meeting,  thrumming  on  stringed 
instruments  and  carolling  as  they  went.  Over  the  wall  of 
Pilate's  enclosed  garden  their  figures  could  be  seen  passing 
along  the  open  street  beyond  and  occasional  scraps  of  their 
conversation  echoed  distinctly  through  the  air. 

"  Ephra,  dost  thou  remember  last  week,"  said  a  man's  voice 
— "  when  the  crowd  went  out  to  meet  the  '  Nazarene*  who  died 
to-day  ?  Can'st  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  chorussed 
all  together 

"Hosanna  ! — Hosanna  '. 

Hosanna  in  the  Highest  I 

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 


172  BARABBAS 

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  1" 

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  hid,  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 
did'st  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  had'st  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.  Never- 
theless 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 


A  DREAM  OF  THE    WORLD'S   TRAGEDY       173 

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  un- 
seen 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  1  Awake  and  pass  from  hence  to  Life  1'  And 
they  awoke  ! — yea,  they  awoke  in  all  the  plenitude  of  strength 
and  wondrous  beauty,  those  millions  upon  millions  of  long-per- 
ished  mortals, — they  uprose  in  radiant  ranks  like  flowers  break- 
ing 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  sinsl  Thou  Giver  of  Eternal  Life!  Glory  to  Thee, 
Redeemer  of  the  world !  we  praise  and  worship  Thee  for  ever  1' 
Then  was  my  dreaming  spirit  seized  with  shuddering  and  fear, 
— I  turned  away  mine  eyes  unable  to  endure  the  dazzling  lumi- 
nance 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  1" 

Pilate  met  her  eyes  with  a  wistful  woe  and  sympathy  in  hia 
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  per- 
chance there  is  no  forgetfulness, — there  may  be  an  eternal 
part  within  us," — he  stopped,  gazing  around  him  nervously— 
18  Hast  thou  no  more  to  tell  ? — this  was  not  all  thy  dream  ?" 
15* 


174  B  ARABS AS 

"  All  no !"  cried  Justitia  rising  from  her  seat  with  an  un- 
conscious 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  1" 

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  I  Rally  thy  usual  courage ! — surely  I  shall  not 
die  of  hearing  of  disaster  in  a  dream  1  Speak  on ! — what  else 
did'st  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  pin- 
nacle a  jewelled  Cross  did  shine.  And  in  my  dream  I  under- 
stood 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'  1" 

"  To  the  memory  and  the  worship  of  the  '  Nazarene' !" 
repeated  Pilate  slowly — "  A  temple  floating  on  a  sea  of  blood  J 
— 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  1  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 
BO  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, 


A   DREAM  OF  THE    WORLD'S  TRAGEDY      175 

—an  'altar  splashed  with  blood  and  strewn  with  dead  men's 
boaes  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  ex- 
citement— then  continued, 

"  Now,  as  I  watched  the  sundered  halves  of  the  smitten 
temple,  drifting  to  right  and  left  and  circling  round  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  A  nd  I  will  say 
unto  them — Depart  from  Me,  I  never  knew  ye,  ye  worJcers  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  ex- 
pression 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,  steer- 
ing boldly  onward,  sat  a  woman  alone.  And  as  her  vessel 
sped  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  1'  she  cried — '  Through  thy  great  Love  we  claim  eternal 
Glory !'  And  with  the  swiftness  of  lightning  she  was  an- 
swered ! — 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 


170  BARABBAS 

fts  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 
eun  behind  Him,  again,  again  I  saw — the  '  Nazarene'  I  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  '  Naza- 
rene' whom  thou,  Pontius,  wert  asked  to  judge  and  to  con- 
demn !  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  could'st  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  did'st  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  1" 

She  held  his  hands  in  both  her  own  and  pressed  them  con- 
vulsively. 

"  Ay,  full  well  I  know  thou  hast  force  enough  for  anything" 
— she  said — "  else  thou  would'st  not  be  Roman.  But  to  perish 
even  as  Iscariot" 

He  started  away  from  her. 

"  As  Iscariot  1"  he  cried  indignantly — "  Nay,  I  am  no 
traitor !" 

She  looked  at  him,  her  face  growing  very  white  and  her  lipa 


A  DREAM  OF  TEE    WORLD'S   TRAGEDY       177 

trembling.  She  was  evidently  nerving  herself  to  utter  some- 
thing 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  did'st  thou  say,  Justitia  ?"  he  demanded  fiercely — 
"  Surely  I  have  not  heard  thee  aright  ? — thou  did'st  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  did'st  see  supernal  glory  in  the  '  Nazarene'  " — she 
faltered  slowly,  and  then  paused,  leaving  her  sentence  un- 
finished. 

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  would'st  say." 

"  If  thou  did'st  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'st  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  had'st  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  could'st  thou  ever  persuade  a  callous  crowd  of  the  exist- 
ence 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  1  Why  should  the 
supernatural  seem  less  to  be  believed  in  one  phase  of  existence 
than  another?" 


178  BARABBAS 

tl  I  know  not !" — answered  Pilate  still  walking  to  and  fro 
distressfully, — "Make  me  not  answerable  for  the  inconsist- 
encies of  man !  I  did  my  belt  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  Caesar  would  have  stripped  me  of  author- 
ity." 

"Thou  could'st  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  had'st  the  livid 
paleness  of  approaching  death.  I  called  thee,  but  thou  would'st 
not  answer, — onward  thou  did'st  tread,  and  cam'st  so  near  to 
me  I  could  have  touched  thee  !  but  ever  thou  did'st  elude  my 
grasp.  All  suddenly" — and  here  she  turned  towards  her  hus- 
band, 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  did'st  pause,  and  with  a  cry  that  pierced  my  soul, 
thou  did'st  exclaim  '  Jesus  of  Nazareth,  thou  Son  of  God, 
have  mercy  on  me !'  Then, — ere  I  could  bid  thee  turn 
and  wait  for  me,  thou  did'st  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  did'st  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 


A  DREAM  OF  THE    WORLD'S  TRAGEDY      179 

from  thee,  I  heard  the  people  shout  '•Not  this  man,  but  Barak* 
bas.'  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,  G-abrias,  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  concern- 
ing thee,  when  I  beheld  thee  perish  in  the  gloom  and  solitude, 
self-slain,  even  as  Iscariot?" 

He  shuddered  a  little  and  forced  a  faint  smile. 

"  If  I  am  troubled,  Justitia,  'tis  because  thou  art, — and  be- 
cause 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'  1" 

She  looked  at  him  with  wondering,  dilating  eyes. 

"  Speakest  thou  in  sober  reason,  Pontius  ?"  she  said — "  Wilt 
thou  insist  upon  thy  fancy  that  He  is  not  dead,  and  that  He 
cannot  die  ?  Thinkest  thou  Ho  only  sleeps  ?" 

Pilate  drew  her  closer  to  him. 

"  Hush, — hush  !"  he  said  in  a  low  trembling  tone — "  What- 
ever I  may  think  I  must  say  nothing.  Let  us  hold  our  peace, 
— let  us  live  as  the  world  would  have  us  live,  in  the  proud 
assumption  that  there  is  nothing  in  the  universe  more  powerful 
or  more  wonderful  than  ourselves !  So  shall  we  fit  ourselves 
for  the  material  side  of  nature, — and  if  there  be  in  truth, 


180  BARABBAS 

another  side,— a  spiritual,  we  can  shut  our  eyes  and  Bwear  we 
know  naught  of  it.  So  shall  we  be  deemed  wise, — and  sane ! 
— and  we  shall  give  offence  to  no  one — save  to  God, — if  a  God 
perchance  there  be !" 

His  voice  grew  faint — his  eyes  had  a  vacant  stare, — he  was 
looking  out  and  upward  to  the  brilliant  sky.  Suddenly  he 
brought  his  gaze  down  from  the  heavens  to  earth  and  fixed  it 
on  the  open  road  beyond  his  garden  where  a  small  dark  group 
of  slowly  moving  figures  just  then  appeared. 

"  Who  goes  yonder  ?"  he  said  inquiringly — "  Seest  thou, 
Justitia,  they  take  the  private  path  towards  the  house  of 
Iscariot  ?  Surely  they  carry  some  heavy  burden?" 

Justitia  leaned  forward  to  look, — then  drew  back  with  a  faint 
cry. 

"  Come  away, — come  away  1"  she  whispered,  shivering  and 
drawing  her  flowing  robes  closer  about  her — "  Do  not  wait  here 
— do  not  watch  them, — they  are  bearing  home  the  dead !" 

"The  dead!"  echoed  Pilate — "Then  'tis  the  body  of 
Judas !" 

Justitia  laid  her  hand  entreatingly  against  his  lips. 

"  Hush — hush  !  If  it  be,  as  indeed  I  feel  it  is,  do  not  speak 
of  it — do  not  look !" — And  with  agitated  impatience  she  drew 
the  curtain  across  the  window  and  shut  out  the  solemn  beauty 
of  the  night — "  I  am  chilled  with  horror,  Pontius, — I  can  bear 
no  more !  I  would  not  see  dead  Judas  in  my  dreams  !  Let  us 
go  hence  and  rest  and  try  to  sleep,  and,  if  we  can,  forget  1" 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

THAT  same  night,  before  a  richly-chased  mirror  of  purely 
polished  silver,  and  gazing  at  her  own  fair  face  reflected  in  it 
by  the  brilliant  lustre  of  the  moon,  Judith  Iscariot  sat,  lost  m 
a  pleasant  reverie.  She  was  alone, — she  had  dismissed  her 
attendant  women, — the  picture  of  her  perfect  loveliness  ren- 
dered lovelier  by  the  softness  of  the  lunar  beams  charmed  her, 
and  she  would  not  have  so  much  as  a  small  hand-lamp  kindled 
lest  its  wavering  flicker  should  destroy  the  magical  effect  of  her 
beauty  mirrored  thus  and  set  about  with  glory  by  the  argent 
light  of  heaven.  Leaning  back  in  a  low  carved  chair  she 


A  DREAM.   OF  THE    WORLD'S  TRAGEDY       181 

clasped  her  round  arms  idly  behind  her  head  and  contemplated 
herself  critically  with  a  smile.  She  had  cast  aside  the  bright 
flame-tinted  mantle  she  had  worn  all  day,  and  was  now  arrayed 
in  white, — a  straight  plain  robe  of  thin  and  silky  texture  that 
clung  about  her  figure  closely,  betraying  every  exquisite  curve 
and  graceful  line, — her  fiery  golden  hair  unbound  to  its  lull 
length  fell  to  the  very  floor  in  glistening  showers,  and  from 
underneath  the  thick  bright  ripples  of  it  clustering  on  her 
brow,  her  dark  jewel-like  eyes  flashed  with  a  mingling  of  joy 
and  scorn. 

"  What  cowards,  after  all,  are  men !"  she  murmured  half 
aloud, — "Even  the  strongest!  Yon  base  Barabbas  was  nigh 
to  weeping  for  the  death  of  the  accursed  '  Nazarene,' — me- 
thinks  'twas  terror  for  himself  rather  than  pity  for  the  dying. 
And  Caiaphas ! — who  would  have  thought  that  he  would  be 
paralysed  with  fear  when  they  told  him  of  the  rending  of  the 
Temple  veil !" 

She  laughed  softly, — and  her  lips  laughing  back  at  her  from 
the  silver  surface  into  which  she  gazed,  had  so  bewitching  a 
sweetness  in  their  smile  that  she  leaned  forward  to  observe 
them  more  intently. 

"  Verily  'tis  no  marvel  that  they  dote  upon  me  one  and  all" 
— she  said,  studying  her  delicate  features  and  dazzling  com- 
plexion with  complacent  vanity, — "  Even  smiling  so,  I  draw 
the  subtle  Caiaphas  my  way, — he  passeth  for  a  wise  priest,  yet 
if  I  do  but  set  my  eyes  upon  him  thus" — and  she  half  closed 
them  and  peered  langorously  through  their  sweeping  lashes — 
"  he  pales  and  trembles, — or  thus" — and  she  flashed  them  fully 
open  in  all  their  fatal  brilliancy — "  he  loses  breath  for  very 
love,  and  gapes  upon  me,  flushed  and  foolish  like  one  stricken 
with  the  burning  of  the  sun.  And  Barabbas, — I  must  rid  me 
of  Barabbas,  though  there  is  something  fierce  about  him  that 
I  love,  albeit  he  showed  but  little  love  for  me  to-day,  shaken 
and  palsied  as  he  was  by  cowardice." 

She  took  up  a  comb  and  began  to  pass  it  slowly  through  the 
shining  splendour  of  her  hair.  Gradually  her  face  became 
more  meditative  and  a  slight  frown  contracted  her  brows. 

"  Nevertheless  there  was  a  horror  in  that  storm  I" — she  con- 
tinued in  whispered  accents — "  And  even  now  my  heart  mis- 
gives me  strangely, — I  would  that  Judas  were  at  home." 

She  rose  up,  slim  and  stately,  and  stood  before  her  mirror, 
the  golden  weight  of  half  her  tresses  in  one  hand.  Round 
about  her  the  moonlight  fell  in  a  glistening  halo,  touching  here 
16 


182  BARABBAS 

and  there  a  jewel  on  her  arm  or  bosom  to  a  sudden  glimmer 
of  white  fire. 

"Caiaphas  should  have  told  the  people  what  I  bade  him" — 
she  murmured,  "  that  the  tempest  was  awakened  by  the  evil 
sorceries  of  the  '  Nazarene.'  He  was  possessed  of  devils,  and 
they  did  cause  the  pitchy  darkness  and  the  tremor  of  the  earth 
that  rent  the  rocks  asunder.  'Twas  even  so, — and  Caiaphas 
should  have  spoken  thus, — but  he,  too,  for  the  moment,  lost 
judgment  through  his  fears." 

Pausing,  she  twisted  her  hair  mechanically  round  and  round 
her  fingers. 

"What  was  the  magic  of  the  Man  of  Nazareth?"  she 
queried,  as  though  making  the  inquiry  of  her  own  reflection 
that  gazed  earnestly  back  at  her  from  the  silver  oval  surface 
she  confronted — "I  could  see  none  save  beauty.  Beauty  He 
had  undoubtedly, — but  not  such  beauty  as  a  woman  loves. 
'Twas  too  austere  and  perfect, — too  grave  and  passionless, — 
albeit  He  had  strange  light  within  His  eyes  that  for  a  passing 
second  moved  me,  even  me,  to  terror !  And  then  the  thunder 
came, — and  then  the  darkness" 

She  shivered  slightly,  then  laughed,  and  glanced  up  at 
the  moon  that  shone,  round  and  full,  in  at  her  open  case- 
ment. 

"  'Twas  a  malignant  spell  He  cast,"  she  said — "  But  now  'tis 
ended, — and  all  alarms  have  ceased.  And  truly  it  is  well  for 
us  that  rle  is  dead,  for  such  fanatics  are  dangerous.  And  now 
is  Judas  undeceived, — he  knows  this  prophet  whom  he  called 
his  Master  is  no  god  after  all  but  simply  man, — and  he  will 
repent  him  of  his  wanderings  and  return  to  us  again.  When 
his  first  rage  is  past,  he  will  come  back  ashamed  and  sorrowful, 
and  seeking  pardon  for  his  fury  of  last  night, — and  we  will 
welcome  him  with  joy  and  feasting  and  forgiveness,  and  once 
more  we  shall  be  happy.  Yea,  surely  Caiaphas  did  advise  mo 
well,  and  in  the  death  of  the  blasphemous '  Nazarene'  Judas  id 
saved  from  further  harm." 

She  threw  back  her  hair  over  her  shoulders  and  smiled. 
Then  opening  a  massive  brass-bound  casket  near  her,  she  drew 
forth  a  handful  of  various  jewels,  and  looked  at  them  care- 
lessly one  by  one,  selecting  at  last  a  star-shaped  ornament  of 
magnificent  rubies. 

"  'Tis  a  fair  gift" — she  murmured,  holding  it  up  in  the 
moonlight  and  watching  it  flash  a  dull  red  in  the  silver  rays 
—"I  know  not  that  I  have  ever  seen  a  fairer  I  'Twas  wise 


A  DREAM  OF  THE   WORLD'S  TRAGEDY       183 

of  Caiaphas  not  to  bestow  this  on  his  sickly  spouse, — 'twould 
ill  become  the  pallid  skin  of  the  daughter  of  Annas." 

She  studied  the  gems  carefully, — then  diving  anew  into  the 
casket  brought  out  a  chain  of  exquisite  pearls,  each  pearl  as 
large  as  the  ripe  seed  of  Indian  maize. 

"  How  well  they  go  together  thus  !"  she  said,  setting  them 
with  the  ruby  star  against  the  whiteness  of  her  bare  arm — 
"  They  should  be  worn  in  company, — the  high-priest's  rubies 
and  the  stolen  pearls  of  Barabbas !" 

Her  lips  parted  in  a  little  mocking  smile,  and  for  a  moment 
or  two  she  held  the  gems  in  her  hand,  absorbed  in  thought. 
Then,  slowly  fastening  the  pearls  round  her  throat,  she  put 
back  the  ruby  pendant  into  the  jewel-coffer,  and  again  peered 
at  herself  in  the  silver  mirror.  And  as  she  silently  absorbed 
the  glowing  radiance  of  her  own  matchless  beauty,  she  raised 
her  arms  with  a  gesture  of  irrepressible  triumph. 

"  For  such  as  I  am  the  world  is  made  !"  she  exclaimed — 
"  For  such  as  I  am,  emperors  and  kings  madden  theni;>elves 
and  die !  For  such  as  I  am  proud  heroes  abase  themselves  as 
slaves.  No  woman  lives  who  can  be  fairer  than  I, — and  what 
shall  I  do  with  my  fairness  when  I  am  weary  of  sporting 
with  lovers  and  fools? — I  will  wed  some  mighty  conqueror 
and  be  the  queen  and  mistress  of  many  nations !" 

In  her  superb  vanity,  she  lifted  her  head  higher  as  though 
she  felt  the  imagined  crown  already  on  her  brows,  and  stepped 
slowly  backward  from  the  mirror,  still  steadfastly  regarding 
her  own  image,  when  all  at  once  the  sound  of  a  hurried  foot- 
fall in  the  corridor  startled  her.  She  turned  in  a  listening 
attitude,  her  hair  falling  about  her,  and  the  pearls  gleaming  on 
her  throat, — the  hasty  footstep  came  nearer, — then  paused. 

"  Madam  !  Madam  !"  cried  a  voice  outside. 

Moved  by  some  swift  instinct  of  alarm,  she  sprang  forward 
and  flung  the  door  of  her  chamber  wide  open,  thus  confronting 
one  of  her  father's  servants  who  stared  at  her  wildly,  making 
dumb  signs  of  despair. 

"  What  is  it  ?"  she  gasped, — her  lips  had  grown  suddenly 
BtifF  and  dry  and  she  could  barely  articulate, — her  heart  beat 
violently,  and  the  pearls  about  her  neck  seemed  strangling 
her. 

The  man  opened  his  mouth  to  answer,  then  stopped, — 
Judith  clutched  him  by  the  arm. 

"  Speak  !" — she  whispered — "  What  evil  news  hast  thou?" 

"  Madam,"   faltered  the   servant   trembling — "  I  dare  not 


184  BARABBAS 

utter  it, — prithee  come — thy  father  sends — have  patience  ,  .  . 
take  comfort" 

He  turned  from  her,  hiding  his  face. 

"  'Tis  Judas  I"  she  exclaimed — "  He  is  wounded  ? — ill  ?  He 
hath  returned?" 

"  Ay,  madam,  he  hath  returned !"  replied  the  messenger 
hoarsely,  and  then,  as  if  fearing  to  trust  himself  to  the  utter- 
ance of  another  word,  he  hastened  away,  mutely  entreating 
her  to  follow. 

She  paused  a  moment, — a  ghastly  pallor  stole  away  all  the 
light  and  brilliancy  of  her  features,  and  she  pressed  one  hand 
upon  her  bosom  to  control  its  rising  fear. 

"He  hath  returned  I"  she  murmured  vaguely — "Judas  is 
at  home  1  My  father  sends  for  me  ? — then  all  is  well, — surely 
'tis  well, — it  cannot  be  otherwise  than  well." 

Giving  one  glance  backward  into  her  moonlit  room  where 
the  silver  mirror  shone  like  a  glistening  shield,  she  began  to 
move  with  hesitating  step  through  the  corridor, — then,  all  at 
once  seized  by  an  irresistible  panic,  she  gathered  up  her  trailing 
white  robes  in  her  hand  and  ran  precipitately  towards  the  great 
vestibule  of  the  house,  which  her  father  had  had  built  in  the 
fashion  of  an  Egyptian  court,  and  where  he  was  accustomed  to 
Bit  in  the  cool  of  the  evening  with  his  intimates  and  friends. 
It  was  surrounded  with  square  columns  and  was  open  to  the 
night,  and  as  Judith  came  rushing  along,  her  gold  hair  flying 
about  her  like  flame  and  her  dark  eyes  wild  with  uncertain 
terror  and  expectancy,  she  was  confronted  by  the  tall  figure  of 
a  man  who,  with  extended  arms,  strove  to  intercept  himself 
between  her  and  some  passive  object  that  lay,  covered  with  a 
cloth,  on  the  ground  a  few  steps  beyond.  She  gazed  at  him 
amazedly, — it  was  Barabbas. 

"Judith!"  he  faltered  —  " Judith,  —  wait !  —  Have  pa- 
tience"  

But  she  pushed  him  aside  and  ran  towards  her  father  whom 
she  perceived  leaning  against  one  of  the  carven  columns,  his 
face  hidden  upon  his  arm. 

"Father  !"  she  cried. 

He  raised  his  head  and  looked  at  her, — his  austere  fine 
features  were  convulsed  by  a  speechless  agony  of  grief,  and 
with  one  trembling  hand  he  pointed  silently  to  the  stirless 
covered  shape  that  reposed  at  a  little  distance  from  him.  Her 
eyes  followed  his  gesture,  and,  staggering  forward  feebly  step 
by  step,  she  pushed  back  her  hair  from  her  brows  and  stared 


A  DREAM  OF  THE   WORLD'S  TRAGEDF      185 

fixedly  at  the  outline  of  the  thing  that  was  so  solemnly  inert. 
Then  the  full  comprehension  of  what  she  saw  seemed  to  burst 
in  upon  her  brain,  and  falling  upon  her  knees  she  clutched 
desperately  at  the  rough  cloth  which  concealed  that  which  she 
craved,  yet  feared  to  see. 

"  Judas !"  she  cried — "  Judas !" 

Her  voice  broke  in  a  sharp  shriek,  and  she  suddenly  with- 
drew her  hands  and  looked  at  them  in  horror,  shuddering,  as 
though  they  had  come  in  contact  with  some  nameless  abomina- 
tion. Lifting  her  eyes  she  became  dimly  conscious  that  others 
were  around  her, — that  her  father  had  approached, — that  Ba- 
rabbas  was  gazing  at  her, — and  with  a  bewildered  vacant  smile 
she  pointed  to  the  hidden  dead. 

"  Why  have  ye  brought  him  home  thus  wrapped  from  light 
and  air  ?"  she  demanded  in  quick  jarring  accents — "  It  may  be 
that  he  sleeps, — or  hath  swooned.  Uncover  his  face  !" 

No  one  moved  to  obey  her.  The  veiled  corpse  lying  black 
and  stirless  in  the  full  light  of  the  moon  had  something  solemnly 
forbidding  in  its  aspect.  And  for  one  or  two  minutes  a  pro- 
found and  awful  stillness  reigned,  unbroken  save  by  the  slow 
chime  of  a  bell  striking  the  midnight  hour. 

Suddenly  Judith's  voice  began  again,  murmuring  in  rapid 
whispers. 

" Judas,— Judas !"  she  said,  "waken!  'Tis  folly  to  lie 
there  and  fill  me  with  such  terrors, — thou  art  not  dead, — it  is 
not  possible, — thou  could'st  not  die  thus  suddenly.  Only  last 
night  thou  earnest  here  full  of  a  foolish  rage  against  me,  and 
in  thy  thoughtless  frenzy  thou  did'st  curse  me, — lo,  now  thou 
must  unsay  that  curse, — thou  can'st  not  leave  me  unforgiven 
and  unblessed.  What  have  I  ever  done  of  harm  to  thee  ?  I 
did  but  bid  thee  prove  the  treachery  of  the  '  Nazarene.'  And 
thou  hast  proved  it ;  wherefore  should'st  thou  grieve  to  find 
deception  at  an  end  ?  Rise  up,  rise  up  ! — if  thou  art  ill  'tis  I 
will  tend  thee, — waken  ! — why  should'st  thou  rest  sullen  thus 
and  angry  still?  Surely  'tis  I  who  should  be  angry  at  thy 
churlishness,  for  well  I  know  thou  hear'st  my  voice,  though 
out  of  some  sick  humour,  as  it  seems,  thou  wilt  not  answer 
me!" 

And  once  more  her  hands  hovered  hesitatingly  in  the  air,  till 
apparently  nerving  herself  to  a  supreme  effort,  she  took  trem- 
bling hold  of  the  upper  part  of  the  pall-like  drapery  that  hid 
the  corpse  from  view.  Lifting  it  fearfully,  she  turned  it  back, 
slowly,  slowly, — then  stared  in  horrid  woudermeut, — was  that 
16* 


186  BARABBAS 

her  brother's  face  she  looked  upon  ? — that  fair,  strange,  pallid 
marble  mask  with  those  protruding  desperate  eyes?  Such 
fixed  impenetrable  eyes ! — they  gave  her  wondering  stare  for 
stare, — and  as  she  stooped  down  close,  and  closer  yet,  her  warm 
red  lips  went  nigh  to  touch  those  livid  purple  ones  which  were 
drawn  back  tightly  just  above  the  teeth  in  the  ghastly  sem- 
blance of  a  smile.  She  stroked  the  damp  and  ice-cold  brow, — 
she  thrust  her  fingers  in  the  wild  hair, — it  was  most  truly  Judas 
or  some  dreadful  likeness  of  him  that  lay  there  in  waxen  effigy, 
— a  white  and  frozen  figure  of  dead  youth  and  beauty, — and 
yet  she  could  not  realise  the  awful  truth  of  what  she  saw. 
Suddenly  her  wandering  and  distrustful  gaze  fell  on  his  throat, 
— a  rope  was  round  it,  twisted  in  such  a  knot  that  where  it 
pressed  the  flesh  the  skin  was  broken,  and  the  bruised  blood, 
oozing  through,  had  dried  and  made  a  clotted  crimson  mark  as 
though  some  jagged  knife  had  hacked  it.  Beholding  this,  she 
leapt  erect,  and  tossing  her  arms  distractedly  above  her  head, 
gave  vent  to  a  piercing  scream  that  drove  sharp  discord  through 
the  air,  and  brought  the  servants  of  the  household  running  in 
with  torches  in  the  wildest  confusion  and  alarm.  Her  lather 
caught  her  in  his  arms,  endeavouring  to  hold  and  pacify  her, — 
in  vain  ! — he  might  as  well  have  striven  to  repress  a  whirlwind. 
She  was  transformed  into  a  living  breathing  fury,  and  writhed 
and  twisted  in  his  grasp,  a  convulsed  figure  of  heart-rending 
despair. 

"  Look  you,  they  have  murdered  him !"  she  shrieked — 
"  They  have  murdered  Judas ! — he  hath  been  violently  slain 
by  the  followers  of  the  *  Nazareue'  1  0  cruel  deed  ! — There 
shall  be  vengeance  for  it, — vengeance  deep  and  bitter, — for 
Judas  had  no  fault  at  all  save  that  of  honesty.  Caiaphas ! 
Caiaphas !  Where  is  Caiaphas  ?  Bid  him  come  hither  and 
behold  this  work  ! — bid  him  pursue  and  crucify  the  murderers ! 
• — let  us  go  seek  the  Roman  governor, — justice  I  say  ! — I  will 
have  justice" —  Here  her  shrill  voice  suddenly  sank,  and 
flinging  herself  desperately  across  her  brother's  body,  she  tried 
with  shaking  fingers  to  loosen  the  terrible  death-noose  of  the 
strangling  cord. 

"  Undo  this  knot" — she  cried  sobbingly — "  0  God  !  will 
none  of  ye  remove  this  pressure  that  doth  stop  his  breath  ? 
Maybe  he  lives  yet ! — his  eyes  have  sense  and  memory  in  them. 
• — untie  this  twisted  torture, — prithee  help  me,  friends, — father, 
help  me" 

Even  as  she  spoke,  with  her  fingers  plucking  at  the  cord,  an 


A  DREAM  OF  THE   WORLD'S  TRAGEDY      187 

awful  change  passed  over  her  face,  and  snatching  her  hands 
away  she  looked  at  them  aghast, — they  were  wet  with  blood. 
A  strange  light  kindled  in  her  eyes, — a  wan  smile  hovered  on 
her  lips.  She  held  up  her  stained  fingers. 

"  Lo,  he  bleeds  1"  she  said — "  The  life  within  him  rises  to 
my  touch, — he  is  not  dead  1" 

"  He  bleeds  as  dead  men  oft  are  wont  to  bleed  at  the  touch 
of  their  murderers  !" — said  a  harsh  voice  suddenly, — "  Thou, 
Judith,  hast  brought  thy  brother  to  his  death,— wherefore  his 
very  blood  accuses  thee  1" 

And  the  rugged  figure  of  Peter  advancing,  stood  out  clear  in 
the  moonbeams  that  fell  showering  on  the  open  court. 

Iscariot,  tall  and  stately,  confronted  him  in  wrath  and 
astonishment. 

"  Man,  how  darest  thou  at  such  a  time  thus  rave  upon  my 
daughter" — he  began,  then  stopped,  checked  in  his  speech  by 
the  austere  dignity  of  the  disciple's  attitude  and  his  regal  half- 
menacing  gesture. 

"  Back,  Jew  !"  he  said — "  Thou  who  art  not  born  again  of 
water  or  of  spirit,  but  art  ever  of  the  tainted  blood  of  Israel 
unregenerate,  contest  no  words  with  me  !  Remorse  hath  made 
me  strong !  I  am  that  Peter  who  denied  his  Master,  and  out 
of  sin  repented  of  I  snatch  authority  !  Dispute  me  not, — I 
speak  not  unto  thee,  but  unto  her ; — she  who  doth  clamour  for 
swift  justice  on  the  murderers  of  her  brother  there.  Even  so 
do  /  cry  out  for  justice  ! — even  so  do  1  demand  vengeance  ! — 
vengeance  upon  her  who  drove  him  to  his  doom.  For  Judas 
was  my  friend, — and  by  his  own  hand  was  he  slain, — but  in 
that  desperate  deed  no  soul  took  part  save  she  who  now  be- 
moans the  end  that  hath  been  wrought  through  the  tempting 
of  her  serpent  subtilty  !" 

"  Hast  thou  no  mercy  ?"  cried  Barabbas  in  an  agony,  "  Not 
even  at  this  hour?" 

"  Not  at  this  hour  nor  at  any  hour !"  responded  Peter  with 
fierce  triumph  lighting  up  his  features, — '•  God  forbid  that  I 
should  show  any  mercy  to  the  wicked !" 

"  There  spoke  tbe  first  purely  human  Christian  !"  murmured 
a  low  satirical  voice,  and  the  picturesque  form  of  Melchior 
shadowed  itself  against  a  marble  column  whitened  by  the 
moon — "Verily,  Petrus,  thou  shalt  convey  to  men  in  a  new 
form  the  message  of  Love  Divine !" 

But  the  disciple  heeded  not  these  words.  He  strode  forward 
to  where  Judith  lay  half  prone  across  her  brother's  corpse,  stiH 


188  BARABBA9 

busying  herself  with  efforts  to  untie  the  suicidal  noose  at  the 
throat,  that  was  now  darkly  moist  with  blood. 

"What  doest  thou  there,  Judith  Iscariot?"  he  demanded — 
"  Thou  can'st  never  unfasten  that  hempen  necklet, — 'tis  not 
of  pearls  or  sparkling  gems  such  as  thy  soul  loveth, — and 
Judas  himself  hath  knotted  it  too  closely  for  easy  severance. 
Let  be,  let  be, — weep  and  lament  for  thine  own  treachery, — 
for  behold  a  curse  shall  fall  upon  thee,  never  to  be  lifted  from 
thy  life  again!" 

She  heard, — and  raising  her  eyes  which  were  dry  and  glit- 
tering with  fever,  smiled  at  him.  So  wildly  beautiful  did  she 
look,  that  Peter  though  wrought  up  to  an  exaltation  of  wrath, 
was  for  a  moment  staggered  by  the  bewildering  loveliness  of 
her  perfect  face  showered  round  by  its  wealth  of  red-gold  hair, 
and  hesitated  to  pronounce  the  malediction  that  hovered  on 
his  lips. 

"Never  again, — never  again" — she  murmured  vaguely — 
"  See  !"  And  she  showed  him  her  blood-stained  fingers — "  Life 
lingers  in  him  yet ! — ah,  prithee,  friend" — and  she  gazed  up 
at  him  appealingly — "  Undo  the  cruel  cord  ! — if  Judas  tied 
it,  ...  did' st  thou  not  tell  me  Judas  tied  it?  .  .  .  how  could 
that  be  ?" —  She  paused, — a  puzzled  look  knitting  her  brows, 
— then  a  sudden  terror  began  to  shake  her  limbs. 

"  Father !"  she  exclaimed. 

He  hastened  to  her,  and  lifting  her  up,  pressed  her  against 
his  breast,  the  tears  raining  down  his  face. 

"  What  does  it  mean  ?"  she  faltered,  gazing  at  him  alarm- 
edly — "  Tell  me, — it  is  not  true,  ...  it  cannot  be  true, — 
Judas  was  ever  brave  and  bold, — he  did  not  wreak  this  vio- 
lence upon  himself?" 

Iscariot  strove  to  answer  her,  but  words  failed  him, — the 
wonted  calmness  of  his  austerely  handsome  features  was  com- 
pletely broken  up  by  misery  and  agitation.  She,  however, 
gazing  fully  at  him,  understood  at  last, — and,  wrenching  her- 
self out  of  his  arms,  stood  for  a  moment  immovable  and 
ghastly  pale,  as  though  suddenly  turned  to  stone.  Then, 
lifting  her  incardined  hands  in  the  bright  moon-rays,  she 
broke  into  a  discordant  peal  of  delirious  laughter. 

"  0  terrible  Nazarene  !"  she  cried — "  This  is  thy  work  !  Thy 
sorceries  have  triumphed  ! — thou  hast  thy  victory  !  Thou  art 
avenged  in  full,  thou  pitiless  treacherous  Nazarene  1" 

And  with  a  sharp  shriek  that  seemed  to  stab  the  stillness 
with  a  wound,  she  fell  forward  on  the  pavement  in  a  swoon,  as 


A  DREAM  OF  THE    WORLD'S   TRAGEDY       189 

lost  to  sense  and  sight  as  the  body  of  Judas,  that  with  its  fixed 
wide-open  eyes  stared  blindly  outward  into  nothingness  and 
smiled. 


CHAPTER   XXIX. 

THEY  carried  her  to  her  own  chamber  and  left  her  to  the 
ministrations  of  her  women,  who  wept  for  her  as  women  will 
often  weep  when  startled  by  the  news  of  some  tragic  event 
which  does  not  personally  concern  them,  without  feeling  any 
real  sympathy  with  the  actual  cause  of  sorrow.  Her  haughty 
and  arrogant  disposition  had  made  her  but  few  friends  among 
her  own  sex,  and  her  peerless  beauty  had  ever  been  a  source  of 
ill-will  and  envy  to  others  less  dazzlingly  fair.  So  that  the  very 
maidens  who  tended  her  in  her  fallen  pride  and  bitter  heart- 
break, though  they  shed  tears  for  pure  nervousness,  had  little 
love  in  their  enforced  care,  and  watched  her  in  her  deep  swoon 
with  but  casual  interest,  only  whispering  vague  guesses  one  to 
another  as  to  what  would  be  her  possible  condition  when  she 
again  awoke  to  consciousness. 

Meanwhile  her  brother's  corpse  was  reverently  placed  on  two 
carved  and  gilded  trestles  set  in  an  arched  recess  of  the  open 
court,  and  draped  with  broideries  of  violet  and  gold.  In  stern 
silence  and  constrained  composure,  the  unhappy  father  of  the 
dead  man  gave  his  formal  instructions,  and  fulfilled  in  every 
trifling  particular  the  duties  that  devolved  upon  him, — and 
when  all  had  been  done  that  was  demanded  of  him  for  the  im- 
mediate moment,  he  turned  towards  those  three  who  had  brought 
home  the  body  of  his  son  between  them, — Barabbas,  Melchior, 
and  the  disciple  Peter. 

"  Sirs,"  he  said  in  a  low  voice  broken  by  emotion — "  I  have 
to  thank  ye  for  the  sorrowful  service  ye  have  rendered  me, — • 
albeit  it  hath  broken  my  heart  and  hath  visited  upon  our  house 
such  mourning  as  shall  never  cease.  Only  one  of  ye  am  I  in 
any  sort  acquainted  with, — and  that  is  Barabbas,  lately  the 
prisoner  of  the  law.  In  former  days  he  hath  been  welcomed 
here  and  deemed  a  worthy  man  and  true,  and  now,  despite  his 
well-proved  crimes  and  shame  of  punishment,  I  can  but  bear 
in  mind  that  once  he  was  my  son's  companion  in  the  house  of 
El-Shadeen."  Here  his  accents  faltered,  but  he  controlled  him- 
self and  went  on — "  Wherefore,  excusing  not  his  faults,  I  yet 


190  BAR  ABB  AS 

would  say  that  even  as  the  people  have  released  him,  I  cannot 
visit  him  with  censure,  inasmuch  as  he  hath  evident  pity  for 
my  grief  and  did  appeal  for  my  beloved  child  against  the 
mercilessness  of  this  stranger." 

Pausing,  he  turned  his  eyes  upon  Peter,  who  met  his  gaze 
boldly. 

"  Stranger  I  truly  am  from  henceforth  to  the  Jews" — said 
the  disciple, — "  Naught  have  I  in  common  with  their  lives, 
spent  in  the  filthy  worship  of  Mammon  and  the  ways  of  usury. 
Nevertheless  I  compassionate  thy  fate,  Iscariot,  as  I  compas- 
sionate the  fate  of  any  wretched  man  stricken  with  woes  in- 
numerable through  his  own  blindness  and  unbelief; — and  as 
for  mercilessness  whereof  thou  dost  accuse  me,  thou  shalt  find 
the  Truth  ever  as  a  sword  inclement,  sharp  to  cut  away  all 
pleasingly  delusive  forms.  When  thou  dost  speak  of  thy  be- 
loved child,  thou  dost  betray  the  weakness  of  thy  life,  for  from 
thy  nest  of  over-pampering  and  indulgent  love  hath  risen  a 
poison  snake  to  sting  and  slay  1  A  woman  left  unguarded  aud 
without  authority  upon  her  is  even  as  a  devil  that  destroys, — 
a  virgin  given  liberty  of  will  is  soon  deflowered.  Knowest 
thou  not  thy  Judith  is  a  wanton  ? — and  that  thy  ravening  high- 
priest  Caiaphas  hath  made  of  her  a  viler  thing  than  ever  was 
the  city's  Magdalen  ?  Ah,  strike  an'  thou  wilt,  Iscariot ! — the 
truth  is  on  my  lips ! — tear  out  my  tongue  and  thou  shalt  find 
the  truth  still  there !" 

Speechless  with  wrath,  Iscariot  made  one  fierce  stride  towards 
him  with  full  intent  to  smite  him  across  the  mouth  as  the  only 
fitting  answer  to  his  accusation,  but  as  he  raised  his  threatening 
hand,  the  straight  unquailing  look  of  the  now  almost  infuriate 
disciple,  struck  him  with  a  sudden  supernatural  awe  and  he 
paused,  inert. 

"  The  truth,  the  truth  !"  cried  Peter,  tossing  his  arms  about 
— "  Lo,  from  henceforth  I  will  clamour  for  it,  rage  for  it,  live 
for  it,  die  for  it !  Three  times  have  I  falsely  sworn,  and  thus 
have  I  taken  the  full  measure  of  a  Lie  1  Its  breadth,  its  depth, 
its  height,  its  worth,  its  meaning,  its  result, — its  crushing  suffo- 
cating weight  upon  the  soul  1  I  know  its  nature — 'tis  all  hell 
in  a  word ! — 'tis  a  '  yea'  or  '  nay'  on  which  is  balanced  all  eter- 
nity I  I  will  no  more  of  it, — I  will  have  truth, — the  truth  of 
men,  the  truth  of  women, — no  usurer  shall  be  called  honest, — 
fft  wanton  shall  be  called  chaste,  to  please  the  humour  of  the 
/tassing  hour!  No — no— I  will  have  none  of  this — but  only 
truth  1 — the  truth  that  is  even  as  a  shining  naked  scimitar  in 


A  DREAM  OF  THE   WORLD'S   TRAGEDY       19J 

the  hand  of  God,  glittering  horribly ! — I,  Peter,  will  declare 
it ! — I  who  did  swear  a  lie  three  times,  will  speak  the  truth 
three  thousand  times  in  reprisal  of  my  sin  !  Weep,  rave,  tear 
thy  reverend  hairs,  unreverent  Jew,  thou,  who  as  stiffnecked 
righteous  Pharisee  did'st  practise  cautious  virtue  and  self- 
seeking  sanctity,  and  now  through  unbelief,  art  left  most  deso- 
late I  Would'st  stake  a  world  upon  thy  daughter's  honour  ? — • 
Fie  I  'tis  dross  ! — 'tis  common  ware, — purchaseable  for  gold  and 
gewgaws  !  Lo,  through  this  dazzling  woman-snare  born  of  thy 
blood,  a  God  hath  perished  in  Judaea !  His  words  have  been 
rejected, — His  message  is  despised, — His  human  life  hath  been 
roughly  torn  from  Him  by  torture.  Therefore  upon  Judaea 
shall  the  curse  be  wrought  through  ages  following  endless  ages, 
and  as  the  children  of  the  house  of  Israel  do  worship  gold, 
even  so  shall  gold  be  their  damnation !  Like  base  slaves  shall 
they  toil,  for  kings  and  counsellors ;  even  as  brutish  beasts 
shall  they  be  harnessed  to  the  wheels  of  work,  and  drag  the 
heavier  burdens  of  the  State  beneath  the  whip  and  scourge, — • 
despised  and  loathed  they  shall  labour  for  others,  in  bondage. 
Scattered  through  many  lands  their  tribes  shall  be,  and  never- 
more shall  they  be  called  a  nation  1  For  ever  and  for  ever 
shall  the  sinless  blood  of  the  Messenger  of  God  rest  red  upon 
Judaea  ! — for  ever  and  for  ever  from  this  day,  shall  Israel  be  cast 
out  from  the  promises  of  life  eternal, — a  scorn  and  abomina- 
tion in  the  sight  of  Heaven  !" 

He  paused,  breathless,  his  hands  uplifted  as  though  invoking 
doom.  His  rough  cloak  fell  away  from  his  shoulders  in  almost 
regal  folds,  displaying  his  coarse  fisherman's  dress  beneath, — 
his  figure  seemed  to  grow  taller  and  statelier,  investing  itself 
with  a  kind  of  mystic  splendour  in  the  shining  radiance  of  the 
moon.  Lifting  his  eyes  to  the  stars  twinkling  like  so  many 
points  of  flame  above  him,  he  smiled,  a  wild  and  wondering  smile. 

"  But  the  end  is  not  yet !"  he  said — "  There  is  a  new  terror 
and  trembling,  that  doth  threaten  the  land.  For  ye  have 
murdered  the  Christ  without  slaying  Him ! — ye  have  forced 
Him  to  suffer  death,  but  He  is  not  dead !  To-night  He  is 
buried, — shut  down  in  the  gloom  of  the  grave, — what  will  ye 
do  if  the  great  stones  laid  above  Him  have  no  force  to  keep 
Him  down  ? — what  if  the  earth  will  not  hold  Him  ? — what  if, 
after  three  days,  as  He  said,  He  should  rise  to  life  again  ?  I 
will  aver  nothing, — I  will  not  again  swear  falsely, — I  will  shut 
my  doubts  and  terrors  in  mine  own  soul  and  say  no  more, — but 
think  of  it,  0  ye  unregenerate  of  Israel,  what  will  ye  do  in 


192  BARABBAS 

the  hour  of  trembling  if  He,  whom  ye  think  dead,  doth  in 
very  truth  arise  to  life  ?" 

His  voice  sank  to  a  whisper, — he  glanced  about  him  ner- 
vously,— then,  as  though  seized  by  some  sudden  panic,  he 
covered  himself  shudderingly  up  in  his  mantle  so  that  his  face 
could  hardly  be  seen,  and  began  to  steal  away  cautiously  on 
tip-toe. 

"  Think  of  it !"  he  repeated,  looking  back  once  at  Iscariot 
with  a  wild  stare — "  Perchance  He  may  pardon  Judas  !  Nay, 
I  know  nothing — I  will  swear  nothing, — nevertheless  'twill  be 
a  strange  world, — 'twill  be  an  altogether  different,  marvellous 
world  if  He  should  keep  His  word,  and  after  three  days — no 
more,  no  less,  He  should  arise  again !" 

And  still  moving  as  one  in  fear,  shrouded  in  his  cloak  and 
stepping  noiselessly,  he  turned  abruptly  and  disappeared. 

Iscariot  gazed  after  him  in  mingled  anger  and  perplexity. 

"  Is  it  some  madman  ye  have  brought  hither  ?"  he  demanded 
— "  What  manner  of  devil  doth  possess  him?" 

"  The  devil  of  a  late  remorse,"  answered  Melchior  slowly — 
"  It  doth  move  a  man  ofttimes  to  most  singular  raving,  and 
doth  frequently  inspire  him  to  singular  deeds.  The  devil  in 
this  fisherman  will  move  the  world  !" 

"Fisherman?"  echoed  Iscariot  wonderingly — "Is  he  no 
more  than  common  ?" 

"  No  more  than  common," — replied  Melchior,  his  eyes 
dilating  singularly — "  Common  as— clay  !  Herein  will  be  his 
failure  and  his  triumph.  The  scent  of  the  sea  was  round  him 
at  his  birth, — from  very  boyhood  he  hath  contended  with  the 
raging  winds  and  waters, — so  shall  he  yet  contend  with  similarly 
warring  elements.  No  kings  ever  travelled  from  afar  to  kneel 
before  him  in  his  cradle, — no  Eastern  sages  proffered  gifts  to 
honour  him, — no  angels  sang  anthems  for  him  in  the  sky, — 
these  things  were  for  the  '  Nazarene'  whom  lately  he  denied, 
but  whom  he  now  will  serve  most  marvellously  I  But,  for  the 
present,  as  the  time  now  goes,  he  is  but  Simon  Peter,  one  of 
the  fisher-folk  of  Galilee,  and  lately  a  companion  of  thy  dead 
son,  Judas." 

A  smothered  groan  escaped  Iscariot's  lips  as  his  eyes  wan- 
dered to  the  extemporised  bier  on  which  the  corpse  of  Judas 
lay. 

"  Unhappy  boy !"  he  murmured — "  No  wonder  thou  wert 
fanatic  and  wild,  consorting  with  such  friends  as  these !" 

He  went  and  stood  by  the  covered  body,  and  there,  looking 


A  DREAM  OF  THE    WORLD'S  TRAGEDY      193 

round  towards  his  visitors  with  an  air  of  sorrowful  and  re- 
signed dignity,  said, 

"  Ye  will  not  take  it  ill  of  me,  sirs,  that  I  entreat  ye  now  to 
leave  me.  The  grief  I  have  is  almost  too  great  to  grasp, — 
my  spirit  is  broken  with  mourning,  and  I  am  very  weary.  As 
for  my  daughter,  thou,  Barabbas,  needest  not  that  I  should 
tell  thee  of  the  falsity  of  the  slander  brought  against  her  by 
yon  mad  disciple  of  a  mad  reformer.  Thou  knowest  her, — 
her  innocence,  her  pride,  her  spotless  virtue, — and  to  the  friend 
thou  hast  with  thee,  thou  wilt  defend  her  honour  and  pure 
chastity.  Thou  nearest  me  ?" 

"  I  hear  thee" — answered  Barabbas  in  a  choked  voice — 
"  And  verily  my  whole  heart  aches  for  thee,  Iscariot  1" 

The  elder  man  looked  at  him  keenly  and  trembled. 

"  I  thank  thee,  friend  I"  he  then  said  quickly — "  Thou  hast 
been  guilty  of  heinous  crimes, — but  nevertheless  I  know  thou 
hast  manliness  enough,  and  wilt,  as  far  as  lies  within  thy 
power,  defend  my  child  from  scurrilous  talk,  such  as  this 
coarse-tongued  Galilean  fisherman  may  set  current  in  the 
town."  He  paused  as  though  he  were  thinking  deeply, — then 
beckoned  Barabbas  to  approach  him  more  closely.  As  his 
gesture  was  obeyed,  he  laid  one  hand  on  his  son's  veiled  corpse 
and  the  other  on  Barabbas's  arm. 

"  Understand  me  well  1"  he  said  in  a  fierce  hoarse  whisper — 
"  If  there  were  a  grain  of  truth  in  that  vile  slander,  I  would 
kill  Caiaphas ! — yea,  by  this  dead  body  of  mine  only  son  I 
swear  I  would  slay  him  before  all  the  people  in  the  very  pre- 
cincts of  the  Temple  1" 

In  that  one  moment  his  face  was  terrible, — and  the  sombre 
eyes  of  Barabbas  glittered  a  swift  response  to  his  thought. 
'For  a  brief  space  the  two  men  looked  at  each  other  steadily, 
and  to  Barabbas's  excited  fancy  it  seemed  as  if  at  the  utter- 
ance of  Iscariot's  oath,  the  body  of  Judas  trembled  slightly 
underneath  its  heavy  wrappings.  One  second,  and  the  sudden 
flash  of  furious  comprehension  that  had  lighted  their  dark 
features  as  with  fire,  passed,  and  the  bereaved  father  bent  his 
head  in  ceremonious  salutation. 

"  Farewell,  sirs," — he  said,  bidding  Barabbas  retreat  from 
him  by  a  slight  commanding  sign — "  What  poor  thanks  a 
broken-hearted  man  can  give  are  yours  for  bringing  home  my 
dead.  I  will  see  ye  both  again, — a  few  days  hence, — when 
the  bitterness  of  grief  is  somewhat  quelled, — when  I  am 

stronger, — better  fitted  for  reasonable  speech, — but  now" 

I  r  17 


194  BARABBAS 

He  waved  his  hand  in  dismissal,  and  drawing  his  mantle 
round  him,  sat  down  by  his  son's  corpse,  to  keep  an  hour's 
melancholy  vigil. 

Barabbas  at  once  retired  with  Melchior,  only  pausing  on  his 
way  out  to  inquire  of  a  passing  servant  if  Judith  had  recov- 
ered from  her  swoon.  He  received  an  answer  in  the  negative, 
given  with  tears  and  doleful  shaking  of  the  head,  and  with  a 
heavy  heart,  he  left  the  house  and  passed  into  the  moonlit 
street.  There,  after  walking  a  little  way,  Melchior  suddenly 
stopped,  fixing  his  jewel-like  contemplative  eyes  upon  the 
brooding  face  of  his  companion. 

"  Dreamest  thou,  good  ruffian,  of  the  beauty  of  thy  lost 
Judith  ?"  he  said — "  I  confess  to  thee  I  never  saw  a  fairer 
woman  !  Even  her  sorrow  doth  enhance  her  loveliness." 

Barabbas  shuddered. 

"  Why  speak  to  me  now  of  her  beauty  ?"  he  demanded  pas- 
sionately— "  Hath  it  not  wrought  sufficient  havoc  ?  Think  of 
the  dead  Judas !" 

"  Truly  I  do  think  of  him" — responded  Melchior  gravely — 
"  All  the  world  will  think  of  him, — he  will  never  be  forgotten. 
Unhappy  youth ! — for  history  will  make  him  answerable  for 
sins  that  are  not  all  his  own.  But  the  chronicles  of  men  are 
not  the  chronicles  of  God, — and  even  Judas  shall  have  justice 
in  the  end.  Meantime" — and  he  smiled  darkly — "  knowest 
thou,  good  Barabbas,  I  am  troubled  by  a  singular  presentiment  ? 
Poverty  doth  not  oppress  me, — nevertheless  I  swear  unto  thee, 
I  would  not  in  these  days  stake  a  penny  piece  upon  the  value 
of  the  life  of  Caiaphas.  What  thinkest  thou  ?" 

Barabbas  stared  at  him,  aghast  and  breathing  quickly.  And 
for  a  moment  they  remained  so,  gazing  full  at  one  another  in 
the  paling  radiance  of  the  sinking  moon, — then  walked  on 
together,  homeward,  in  silence. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

TOWARDS  three  o'clock  in  the  dawn  of  the  Jewish  Sabbath, 
Judith  Iscariot  awoke  from  her  heavy  stupor  of  merciful  un- 
consciousness. Opening  her  eyes,  she  gazed  about  her  bewil- 
deredly,  and  gradually  recognised  her  surroundings.  She  was 
in  her  own  room, — the  casement  was  closed  and  lamps  were  burn- 


A  DREAM  OF  THE   WORLD'S  TRAGEDY       195 

ing, — and  at  the  foot  of  her  couch  sat  two  of  her  •waiting- 
women  sunk  in  a  profound  slumber.  Lifting  herself  cautiously 
upon  her  pillows,  she  looked  at  them  wonderingly, — then 
peered  round  on  all  sides  to  see  if  any  others  were  near.  No, 
— there  was  no  one, — only  those  two  maids  fast  asleep. 
Gathering  together  her  disordered  garments,  and  twisting  up 
her  hair  in  a  loose  knot,  she  noiselessly  arose  and  stepping 
down  from  her  couch,  moved  across  the  room  till  she  faced 
her  mirror.  There  she  paused  and  smiled  wildly  at  herself, — 
how  strange  her  eyes  looked  1  ...  hut  how  bright,  how 
beautiful  1  The  pearls  Barabbas  had  given  her  long  ago, 
gleamed  on  her  throat, — she  fingered  them  mechanically,— 
poor  Barabbas ! — certainly  he  had  loved  her  in  days  gone  by. 
But  since  then  many  things  had  happened, — wonderful  and 
confusing  things, — and  now  there  was  only  one  thing  left  to 
remember, — that  after  long  absence  and  unkind  estrangement 
Judas  was  once  more  at  home !  Yes ! — Judas  was  at  home, 
— and  she  would  go  and  see  him  and  talk  to  him,  and  clear 
up  whatever  foolish  misunderstanding  there  had  been  between 
them.  Her  head  swam  giddily,  and  she  felt  a  feebleness  in 
all  her  limbs, — shudders  of  icy  cold  ran  through  her,  followed 
by  waves  of  heat  that  sickened  and  suffocated  her, — but  she 
paid  little  heed  to  these  sensations,  her  one  desire  to  see  Judas 
overpowering  all  physical  uneasiness.  She  fastened  her  white 
robe  more  securely  about  her  with  a  gold-embroidered  girdle, 
and  catching  sight  of  her  ornamental  dagger  where  it  lay  on 
a  table  close  by,  she  attached  it  to  her  waist.  Then  she 
glanced  anxiously  round  at  her  two  women, — they  still  slept. 
Stepping  needfully  on  tip-toe,  she  passed  easily  out  of  her 
room,  for  the  door  had  been  left  open  for  air,  and  there  was 
only  the  curtain  at  the  archway  to  quietly  lift  and  let  fall. 
Tottering  a  little  as  she  walked,  she  glided  along  the  corridor, 
a  white  figure  with  a  spectral  pale  face  and  shining  eyes, — 
she  felt  happy  and  light-hearted, — almost  she  could  have 
sung  a  merry  song,  so  singularly  possessed  by  singular  joy  was 
she.  Reaching  the  open-air  court  she  stopped,  gazing  eagerly 
from  side  to  side, — its  dim  quadrangle  was  full  of  flickering 
lights  and  shadows,  for  the  moon  had  disappeared  behind  the 
frowning  portico,  leaving  but  a  silvery  trail  upon  the  sky  to 
faintly  mark  her  recent  passage  among  the  stars.  Everything 
was  very  still, — no  living  creature  was  visible  save  a  little 
downy  owl  that  flew  with  a  plaintive  cry  in  and  out  among 
the  marble  columns  calling  to  its  mate  with  melancholy  per- 


196  BARABBAS 

sistence.  The  bereaved  Iscariot,  wearied  out  by  grief,  had 
but  just  retired  to  snatch  some  sorely-needed  rest,  and  the 
body  of  his  hapless  son  laid  out  beneath  its  violet  pall,  pos- 
sessed to  itself  the  pallid  hour  of  the  vanishing  night  and  the 
coming  morn.  Judith's  softly  sandalled  feet  made  a  delicate 
sound  like  the  pattering  of  falling  leaves,  as  she  moved  some- 
what unsteadily  over  the  pavement,  groping  in  the  air  now 
and  then  with  her  hands  as  though  she  were  blind.  Very 
soon  her  perplexed  and  wandering  gaze  found  what  she  sought, 
—the  suggestive  dark  mass  of  drapery  under  which  reposed 
all  that  was  mortal  of  her  brother,  the  elder  companion  and 
confidant  of  her  childhood  who  had  loved  her  with  a  tender- 
ness "  passing  that  of  women."  She  hurried  her  steps  and 
almost  ran, — and  without  any  hesitation  or  fear,  turned  back 
all  the  coverings  till  the  face  and  the  whole  form  of  the  dead 
Judas  lay  before  her,  stark  and  stiff,  the  rope  still  fastened  round 
the  neck  in  dreadful  witness  of  the  deed  that  had  been  done. 
Terribly  beautiful  he  seemed  in  that  pale  semi-radiance  of  the 
sky, — austerely  grand, — with  something  of  a  solemn  scorn 
upon  his  features,  and  an  amazing  world  of  passionate  appeal 
in  his  upward  gazing  eyes.  "Call  ye  me  a  traitor?"  he 
mutely  said  to  the  watchful  stars — "  Lo,  in  the  days  to  come, 
there  shall  be  among  professing  saints  many  a  worse  than  I !" 

His  sister  looked  at  him  curiously,  with  an  expression  of 
wild  inquisitiveness, — but  she  neither  wept  nor  trembled.  A 
fixed  idea  was  in  her  distracted  brain, — undefined  and  fantastic, 
— but  such  as  it  was  she  was  bent  upon  it.  With  a  strange 
triumph  lighting  up  her  eyes,  she  drew  her  jewelled  dagger 
from  its  sheath,  and  with  deft  care  cut  asunder  the  rope  round 
the  throat  of  the  corpse.  As  she  pulled  it  cautiously  away, 
the  blood  again  oozed  slowly  forth  from  beneath  the  bruised 
skin, — this  was  mysterious  and  horrible,  and  terrified  her  a 
little,  for  she  shuddered  from  head  to  foot.  Anon  she  smiled, 
— and  twisting  the  severed  cord,  stained  and  moist  as  it  was, 
in  and  out  the  embroidered  girdle  at  her  own  waist,  she  threw 
the  dagger  far  from  her  into  a  corner  of  the  quadrangle,  and 
clapped  her  hands  delightedly. 

"  Judas !"  she  exclaimed — "  Lo !  I  have  cut  the  cruel  rope 
wherewith  thou  wast  wounded, — now  thou  can'st  breathe  1 
Come  I — rise  up  and  speak  to  me  !  Tell  me  all — I  will  believe 
all  thy  marvellous  histories  1  I  will  not  say  that  thou  art  wrongly 
led, — if  thou  wilt  only  smile  again  and  speak,  I  will  pardon 
all  thy  foolish  fancy  for  the  teachings  of  the  '  Nazarene.' 


A  DREAM  OF  THE    WORLD'S   TRAGEDF       197 

Thou  knowest  I  would  not  drive  thee  to  despair, — I  would  noi 
even  willingly  offend  thee, — I  am  thy  little  sister  always  who 
is  dear  to  thee.  Judas — listen  ! — 'Twas  Caiaphas, — 'twas  the 
high-priest  himself  who  bade  me  to  tell  thee  to  betray  thy 
Master, — and  very  rightly — for  thy  mad  prophet  came  in  arms 
against  our  creed.  Why  should'st  thou  turn  rebellious  and 
forsake  the  faith  of  all  our  fathers? — Come, — rise  and  hear 
reason  1" — and  with  the  unnatural  force  of  a  deepening  frenzy, 
she  bent  down  and  partly  raised  the  corpse,  staring  at  its 
fearful  countenance  with  mingled  love  and  horror — "  Why, — 
how  thou  lookest  at  me ! — with  what  cold  unpiteous  eyes  ? 
What  have  I  done  to  thee  ?  Naught,  save  advise  thee  wisely. 
As  for  Caiaphas, — thou  knowest  not  Caiaphas — how  much  he 
can  do  for  thee  if  thou  wilt  show  some  fitting  penitence"-— 
here  she  broke  off  with  a  kind  of  half-shriek, — the  weight  of 
the  dead  body  was  too  much  for  her  and  lurched  backward, 
dragging  her  with  it, — she  loosened  her  arms  from  about  it, 
and  it  straightway  fell  heavily  prone  in  its  former  position. 
She  began  to  sob  childishly. 

"  Judas,  Judas  1  Speak  tome!  Kiss  me!  I  know  thou 
nearest  me  and  wilt  not  answer  me  for  anger,  because  this 
stranger  out  of  Nazareth  is  dearer  unto  thee  than  I !" 

She  waited  in  evident  expectation  of  some  response, — then, 
as  the  silence  remained  unbroken,  she  began  to  play  with  the 
blood-stained  rope  at  her  girdle. 

"  Ah  well !"  she  sighed — "  I  am  sorry  thou  art  sullen. 
Caiaphas  would  do  great  things  for  thee  if  thou  wert  wise. 
Why  should'st  thou  thus  grow  desperate  because  of  a  traitor's 
death?  What  manner  of  man  was  this  much-marvelled-at 
'  Nazarene'  ?  Naught  but  a  workman's  son,  possessed  of  strange 
fanaticism  !  And  shall  so  small  a  thing  sow  rancour  'twixt  us 
twain  ?  Yet  surely  I  will  humour  thee  if  still  to  humour  Him 
should  be  thy  fancy, — thou  shalt  have  cross  and  crown  made 
sacred  an'  thou  wilt, — I  can  do  no  more  in  veriest  kindness  to 
appease  thy  wrath, — moreover  thou  dost  maintain  a  useless 
churlishness,  since  thy  '  Nazarene'  ia  dead,  and  cannot,  even  to 
please  thee  and  amend  thy  sickness,  rise  again." 

Again  she  paused, — then  commenced  pacing  to  and  fro  in 
the  shadowy  court  looking  about  her  vaguely.  Presently  spying 
her  dagger  where  she  had  lately  flung  it  in  a  corner,  she  picked 
it  up  and  returned  it  to  its  sheath  which  still  hung  at  her  waist, 
— then  she  pulled  down  a  long  trail  of  climbing  roses  from  the 
wall,  and  came  to  lay  them  on  the  breast  of  the  irrespousivo 
17* 


198  BARABBAS 

dead.  As  she  approached,  a  sudden  brilliant  luminance  af- 
frighted her, — she  started  back,  one  hand  involuntarily  uplifted 
to  shade  her  eyes.  A  Cross  of  light,  deep  red  and  dazzling  as 
fire,  hovered  horizontally  in  the  air  immediately  above  the 
body  of  Judas,  spreading  its  glowing  rays  outward  on  every 
side.  She  beheld  it  with  amazement, — it  glittered  before  her 
more  brightly  than  the  brightest  sunbeams, — her  fevered  and 
wandering  wits,  not  yet  quite  gone,  recognised  it  as  some 
miracle  beyond  human  comprehension,  and  on  the  merest  im- 
pulse she  stretched  forth  her  hands  full  of  the  just  gathered 
rose- clusters  in  an  effort  to  touch  that  lustrous,  living  flame. 
As  she  did  so,  a  blood-like  hue  fell  on  her, — she  seemed  to  be 
enveloped  in  a  crimson  mist  that  stained  the  whiteness  of  her 
garments  and  the  fairness  of  her  skin,  and  cast  a  ruddier  tint 
than  nature  placed  among  the  loosened  tresses  of  her  hair. 
The  very  roses  that  she  held  blushed  into  scarlet,  while  the 
wazen  pallid  features  of  the  dead,  had  for  a  little  space  a  glow 
as  of  returning  life.  For  one  or  two  minutes  the  mystic  glory 
blazed, — then  vanished, — leaving  the  air  dull  and  heavy  with  a 
sense  of  loss.  And  Judith  standing  paralysed  with  wonder, 
watched  it  disappear,  and  saw  at  the  same  time  that  a  change 
had  taken  place  in  the  aspect  of  her  self-slain  brother.  The 
lips  that  had  been  drawn  apart  in  the  last  choking  agony  of 
death  were  pressed  together  in  a  solemn  smile, — the  eyes  that 
had  stared  aloft  so  fearfully  were  closed.  Seeing  this,  she 
began  to  weep  and  laugh  hysterically,  and  flinging  her  rose- 
garland  across  the  still  figure,  she  stooped  and  kissed  that  ice- 
cold  smiling  mouth. 

"  Judas,  Judas !"  she  said  in  smothered  sobbing  accents — 
"Now  thou  art  gone  to  sleep,  without  a  word, — without  a 
blessing,- — thou  wilt  not  even  look  at  me  1  Ah  cruel !  never- 
theless I  do  forgive  thee,  for  surely  thou  art  very  weary,  else 
thou  would'st  not  lie  here  so  quietly  beneath  the  stars.  I  will 
let  thee  sleep  on, — I  will  not  wake  thee  till  the  morning  dawns. 
At  full  daybreak  I  will  come  again  and  see  that  all  is  well  with 
thee,  thou  churlish  one  ! — good-night  1"  and  she  waved  kisses 
to  the  dead  man  smilingly  with  the  tears  blinding  her  eyes — 
"  Good-night,  my  brother !  I  will  return  soon  and  bring  thee 
news — yea,  I  will  bring  thee  pleasing  news  of  Caiaphas,  .  .  . 
good- night  I  ...  sleep  well !" 

And  still  waving  fond  and  fantastic  salutations,  she  moved 
backward  lightly  on  tip-toe  step  by  step,  her  gaze  fixed  to  tho 
last  on  the  now  composed  and  beauteous  face  of  the  corpse, — • 


A  DREAM  OF  THE   WORLD'S  TRAGEDY       199 

then  passing  under  the  great  portico,  she  noiselessly  unfastened 
the  gate,  and  wandered  out  in  all  her  distracted  and  dishevelled 
beauty  into  the  silent  streets  of  the  city  alone. 


CHAPTER  XXXL 

THE  full  Sabbath  morning  broke  in  unclouded  loveliness, 
and  all  the  people  of  Jerusalem  flocked  to  the  gorgeous  Temple 
on  Mount  Moriah  to  see  and  to  be  seen,  and  to  render  their 
formal  thanks  to  the  most  High  Jehovah  for  their  escape  from 
all  the  threatening  horrors  of  the  previous  day.  Some  there 
were  who  added  to  their  prayers  the  unconscious  blasphemy  of 
asking  God  to  pardon  them  for  having  allowed  the  "  Nazarene" 
to  live  even  so  long  as  He  had  done  seeing  that  His  doctrines 
were  entirely  opposed  to  the  spirit  and  the  faith  of  the  nation. 
Yet,  all  the  same,  a  singular  lack  of  fervour  marked  the  solemn 
service,  notwithstanding  that  in  the  popular  opinion  there  was 
everything  to  be  thankful  for.  The  veil  of  the  "Holy  of 
Holies,"  rent  in  the  midst,  hung  before  the  congregation  as  a 
sinister  reminder  of  the  terrors  of  the  past  thunder-storm, 
earthquake  and  deep  darkness ;  and  the  voice  of  the  high-priest 
Caiaphas  grew  wearily  monotonous  and  indistinct  long  before 
the  interminable  morning  ritual  was  ended.  Something  seemed 
missing, — there  appeared  to  be  no  longer  any  meaning  in  the 
usually  imposing  "  reading  of  the  law," — there  was  a  vacancy 
and  dulness  in  the  whole  ceremonial  which  left  a  cold  and 
cheerless  impression  upon  the  minds  of  all.  When  the  crowd 
poured  itself  forth  again  from  the  different  gates,  many  groups 
wended  their  way  out  of  sheer  curiosity  to  the  place  where 
the  "Prophet  of  Nazareth"  was  now  ensepulchred,  for  the 
story  of  Joseph  of  Arimathea's  "boldly"  going  to  claim  the 
body  from  Pilate,  and  the  instant  vigilance  of  Caiaphas  in 
demanding  that  a  watch  should  be  set  round  the  tomb,  had 
already  been  widely  rumoured  thoughout  the  city. 

"  We  never  h^ad  a  more  discreet  and  shrewd  high-priest," — 
said  one  man,  pausing  in  the  stately  King's  Portico  to  readjust 
the  white  linen  covering  on  his  head  more  carefully  before 
stepping  out  into  the  unshaded  heat  and  glare  of  the  open 


200  BARABBAS 

road, — "  He  hath  conducted  this  matter  with  rare  wisdom,  for 
surely  the  '  Nazarene's'  disciples  would  have  stolen  His  body, 
rather  than  have  Him  proved  a  false  blasphemer  for  the  second 
time." 

"  Ay,  thou  sayest  truly  I"  answered  his  companion — "  And 
the  whole  crew  of  them  are  in  Jerusalem  at  this  time, — an 
ill-assorted  dangerous  rabble  of  the  common  folk  of  Galilee. 
Were  I  Caiaphas,  I  would  find  means  of  banishing  these 
rascals  from  the  city  under  pain  of  death." 

"  One  hath  banished  himself" — said  the  first  speaker, — 
"  Thou  hast  doubtless  heard  of  the  end  of  young  Judas 
Iscariot  ?" 

The  other  man  nodded. 

"  Judas  was  mad," — he  said,  "  Nothing  in  life  could  satisfy 
him, — he  was  ever  prating  of  reforms  and  clamouring  for  truth. 
Such  fellows  are  not  fitted  for  the  world." 

"  Verily  he  must  himself  have  come  to  that  conclusion" — 
remarked  his  friend  with  a  grave  smile,  as  he  slowly  descended 
the  Temple  steps, — "  and  so  thinking,  left  the  world  with  most 
determined  will.  He  was  found  hanging  to  the  branch  of  a 
tree  close  by  the  garden  of  Gethsemane,  and  last  night  his  body 
was  borne  home  to  his  father's  house." 

"  But  have  ye  heard  no  later  news?"  chimed  in  another  man 
who  had  listened  to  the  little  conversation, — "  Iscariot  hath 
had  another  grief  which  hath  driven  him  well-nigh  distracted. 
He  hath  lost  his  chiefest  treasure, — his  pampered  and  too-much 
beloved  daughter,  and  hath  been  to  every  neighbour  seeking 
news  of  her  and  finding  none.  She  hath  left  him  in  the  night 
suddenly,  and  whither  she  hath  gone  no  one  can  tell." 

By  this  time  the  group  of  gossips  had  multiplied,  and  startled 
wondering  looks  were  exchanged  among  them  all. 

"  His  daughter  1"  echoed  a  bystander — "  Surely  'tis  not 
possible!  The  proud  Judith?  Wherefore  should  she  have 
fled  ?" 

"  Who  can  say !  She  swooned  last  night  at  seeing  her  dead 
brother,  and  was  carried  unconscious  to  her  bed.  There  her 
maidens  watched  her, — but  in  their  watching,  slept, — and  when 
at  last  they  wakened,  she  was  gone." 

The  listeners  shook  their  heads  dubiously  as  not  knowing 
what  to  make  of  it;  and  murmuring  vague  expressions  of 
compassion  for  Iscariot,  "  a  worthy  man  and  wealthy,  who 
deserved  not  this  affliction,"  as  they  said,  went  slowly,  talking 
aa  they  went,  homeward  on  their  various  ways. 


A  DREAM  OF  THE   WORLD'S  TRAGEDY      201 

Meanwhile,  a  considerable  number  of  people  had  gathered 
together  in  morbid  inquisitiveness  round  the  guarded  burial- 
place  of  the  "  Nazarene."  It  was  situate  in  a  wild  and  pictur- 
esque spot  between  two  low  hills,  covered  with  burnt  brown 
turf  and  bare  of  any  foliage,  and  in  itself  presented  the 
appearance  of  a  cave  deeply  hollowed  out  in  the  natural  rock. 
Rough  attempts  at  outward  adornment  had  been  made  in  the 
piling-up  of  a  few  sparkling  blocks  of  white  granite  in  pyra- 
midal form  on  the  summit, — and  these  glittered  just  now  like 
fine  crystals  in  the  light  of  the  noonday  sun.  The  square  cut- 
ting that  served  as  entrance  to  the  tomb  was  entirely  closed  by 
a  huge  stone  fitting  exactly  into  the  aperture, — and  between 
this  stone  and  the  rock  itself  was  twisted  a  perfect  network  of 
cords,  sealed  in  about  a  hundred  places  with  the  great  seal  of 
the  Sanhedrim  council.  Round  the  sepulchre,  on  every  side 
were  posted  the  watch,  consisting  of  about  fifteen  soldiers  picked 
out  from  a  special  band  of  one  hundred,  and  headed  by  a 
formidable-looking  centurion  of  muscular  build  and  grim 
visage,  who,  as  the  various  groups  of  idle  spectators  approached 
to  look  at  the  scene,  eyed  them  with  fierce  disfavour. 

"  By  the  gods !"  he  growled  to  one  of  his  men — "  What  a 
filthy  and  suspicious  race  are  these  cursed  Jews !  Lo  you,  how 
they  sneak  hither  staring  and  whispering !  Who  knows  but 
they  think  we  ourselves  may  make  away  with  the  body  of  the 
man  they  crucified  yesterday !  Worthily  do  they  match  their 
high-priest  in  cautious  cowardice !  Never  was  such  a  panic 
about  a  corpse  before  1" 

And  he  tramped  to  and  fro  sullenly  in  front  of  the  tomb, 
his  lance  and  helmet  gleaming  like  silver  in  the  light,  the  while 
he  kept  his  eyes  obstinately  fixed  on  the  ground  determined  not 
to  honour  by  so  much  as  a  glance  the  scattered  sightseers  who 
loitered  aimlessly  about,  staring  without  knowing  what  they 
stared  at,  but  satisfied  at  any  rate  in  their  own  minds,  that 
here  assuredly  there  was  no  pretence  at  keeping  a  watch, — 
these  were  real  soldiers, — unimaginative  callous  men  for  whom 
the  "  Nazarene"  was  no  more  than  a  Jew  reformer  who  had 
met  his  death  by  the  ordinance  of  the  law. 

By  and  by  as  the  sun  grew  hotter,  the  little  knots  of  people 
dispersed,  repeating  to  one  another  as  they  sauntered  along, 
the  various  wonderful  stories  told  of  the  miracles  worked  by 
the  dead  "  Prophet  out  of  Nazareth  I" 

"  How  boldly  he  faced  Pilate  I"  said  one. 

"  Ay !— and  how  grandly  he  died  1" 


202  BARABBAS 

"  'Tis  ever  the  way  with  such  fellows  as  he" — declared 
another — "  They  run  uiad  with  much  thinking,  and  death  is 
nothing  to  them,  for  they  believe  that  they  will  live  again." 

So  conversing,  and  alluding  occasionally  to  the  tragic  inci- 
dents that  had  attended  the  sublime  death-scene  on  Calvary, 
they  strolled  citywards,  and  only  one  of  all  the  straggling  spec- 
tators was  left  behind, — a  man  in  the  extreme  of  age,  bent  and 
feeble  and  wretchedly  clad,  who  supported  himself  on  a  crutch 
and  lingered  near  the  sepulchre,  casting  timorous  and  appealing 
glances  at  the  men  on  guard.  Galbus,  the  centurion,  observed 
him  and  frowned  angrily. 

"  What  doest  thou  here,  thou  Jew  skeleton  ?"  he  demanded 
roughly — "  Off  with  thee  1  Bring  not  thy  sores  and  beggary 
into  quarters  with  the  soldiers  of  Home." 

"  Sir,  sir" — faltered  the  old  man  anxiously — "  I  ask  no 
alms.  I  do  but  seek  thy  merciful  favour  to  let  me  lay  my 
hands  upon  the  stone  of  yonder  tomb,  .  .  .  once,  only  once, 
good  sir ! — the  little  maid  is  sorely  ailing,  and  methinks  to 
touch  the  stone  and  pray  there  would  surely  heal  her  sick- 
ness"—  He  broke  off,  trembling  all  over  and  stretching  out 
his  wrinkled  hands  wistfully. 

Galbus  stared  contemptuously. 

«  What  dost  thou  jabber  of?"  ho  asked—"  The  little  maid  ? 
—what  little  maid  ?  And  what  avail  this  touching  of  a  stone  ? 
Thou'rt  in  thy  dotage,  man ;  get  hence  and  cure  thy  wits, — 
'tis  they  that  should  be  healed  right  speedily !" 

"  Sir  1"  cried  the  old  man  almost  weeping — "  The  little  maid 
trill  die  1  Look  you,  good  soldier,  'tis  but  a  week  agone  that 
He  who  lies  within  that  tomb,  did  take  her  in  His  arms  and 
bless  her ;  she  is  but  three  years  old  and  passing  fair.  And 
now  she  hath  been  stricken  with  the  fever,  and  methought 
could  I  but  touch  the  stone  of  yonder  sepulchre  and  say 
'  Master,  I  pray  thee  heal  the  child,'  He,  though  He  be  dead, 
would  hear  and  answer  me.  For  He  was  ever  pitiful  for  sor- 
row, and  He  was  gentle  with  the  little  maid." 

Galbus  flushed  red, — there  was  a  strange  contraction  in  his 
throat  of  which  he  did  not  approve,  and  there  was  also  a  burning 
moisture  in  his  eyes  which  was  equally  undesired.  Something 
in  this  piteous  old  man's  aspect,  as  well  as  the  confiding  sim- 
plicity of  his  faith  touched  the  fierce  soldier  to  an  emotion  of 
which  he  was  ashamed.  Raising  his  lance  he  beckoned  him 
nearer. 

"  Come  hither,  thou  aged  madman,"  he  said  with  affected 


A  DREAM  OF  THE    WORLD'S  TRAGEDY      203 

roughness — "  Keep  close  to  me, — under  my  lifted  lance,  thou 
mayest  lay  hands  upon  the  stone  for  one  brief  minute, — take 
heed  thou  break  not  the  Sanhedrim  seals  ! — And  let  thy  prayer 
for  thy  little  maid  be  of  most  short  duration, — though  take  my 
word  for  it  thou  art  a  fool  to  think  that  a  dead  man  hath  ears 
to  hearken  thy  petition.  Nevertheless,  come." 

Stumbling  along  and  breathless  with  eagerness  the  old  man 
obeyed.  Close  to  the  sacred  sepulchre  he  came,  Galbus  guarding 
his  every  movement  with  vigilant  eye, — and  humbly  kneel- 
ing down  before  the  sealed  stone  he  laid  his  aged  hands 
upon  it. 

"Lord,  if  thou  wilt"  he  said — "Thou  canst  save  the  little 
maid  1  Say  but  the  word  and  she  is  healed." 

One  minute  he  knelt  thus, — then  he  rose  with  a  glad  light 
in  his  dim  old  eyes. 

"  Most  humbly  do  I  thank  thee,  sir  !"  he  said  to  the  cen- 
turion, uncovering  his  white  locks  and  bowing  meekly — "  May 
God  reward  thee  for  thy  mercy  unto  me  !" 

Galbus  gazed  at  him  curiously  from  under  his  thick  black 
eyebrows. 

"  Of  what  province  art  thou?" 

"  Sir,  of  Samaria." 

"  And  thinkest  thou  in  very  truth  thou  hast  obtained  a 
miracle  from  that  tomb  ?" 

"  Sir,  I  know  nothing  of  the  secret  ways  divine.  But  sure 
I  am  the  little  maid  is  saved.  God  be  with  thee,  soldier  1  ... 
God  guide  thy  lance  and  evermore  defend  thee !" 

And  with  many  expressive  salutations  of  gratitude  he  tot- 
tered  away. 

Galbus  looked  after  him  meditatively,  till  his  thin  raggedly- 
clothed  figure  had  fluttered  out  of  sight  like  a  fluttering  with- 
ered leaf, — then  the  grim  Roman  shook  his  head  profoundly, 
pulled  his  beard,  laughed,  frowned,  passed  his  hand  across  his 
eyes,  and  finally,  having  conquered  whatever  momentary  soft 
emotion  had  possessed  him,  glanced  about  him  severely  and  sus- 
piciously to  see  that  all  his  men  were  in  their  several  places. 
The  noonday  heat  and  glare  had  compelled  them  to  move  into 
their  tents  which  were  ranged  all  round  the  sepulchre  in  an 
even  snowy  ring, — and  Galbus,  seeing  this,  quickly  followed 
their  example,  and  himself  retired  within  the  shelter  of  his 
own  particular  pavilion.  This  was  pitched  directly  opposite  the 
stone  which  closed  the  mystic  tomb, — and  as  the  burly  cen- 
turion sat  down  and  lifted  his  helmet  to  wipe  his  hot  face,  ho 


204  BARABBAS 

muttered  an  involuntary  curse  on  the  sultriness  and  barren  soil 
of  Judaea,  and  wished  himself  heartily  back  in  Rome. 

"  For  this  is  a  country  of  fools" — he  soliloquised — "  And 
worse  still  'tis  a  country  of  cowards.  These  Jews  were  afraid 
of  the  '  Nazarene'  as  they  call  Him,  while  He  lived ;  and  now 
it  seems  they  are  more  afraid  of  Him  still  when  He  is  dead. 
Well,  well !  'tis  a  thing  to  laugh  at, — a  Roman  will  kill  his 
enemy,  true  enough,  but  being  killed  he  will  salute  the  corpse 
and  leave  it  to  the  gods  without  further  fear  or  passion." 

At  that  moment  an  approaching  stealthy  step  startled  him. 
He  sprang  up,  shouldered  his  lance  and  stood  in  the  doorway  of 
his  tent  expectant ;  a  tall  man  muffled  in  a  purple  cloak  con- 
fronted him, — it  was  Caiaphas  who  surveyed  him  austerely. 

"  Dost  thou  keep  good  watch,  centurion  ?"  he  demanded. 

"  My  vigilance  hath  never  been  questioned,  sir,"  responded 
Galbus  stiffly. 

Caiaphas  waved  his  hand  deprecatingly. 

"  I  meant  not  to  offend  thee,  soldier, — but  there  are  knaves 
about,  and  I  would  have  thee  wary." 

He  dropped  his  mantle,  disclosing  a  face  that  was  worn  and 
haggard  with  suffering  and  want  of  sleep, — then,  stepping  close 
up  to  the  sepulchre  he  narrowly  examined  all  the  seals  upon 
the  stone.  They  were  as  he  had  left  them  on  the  previous 
evening,  untouched,  unbroken. 

"  Hast  thou  heard  any  sound  ?"  he  asked  in  a  whisper. 

Galbus  stared. 

"  From  within  yonder  ?"  he  said,  pointing  with  his  lance  at 
the  tomb — "  Nay  ! — never  have  I  heard  voice  proceed  from  any 
dead  man  yet." 

Caiaphas  forced  a  smile, — nevertheless  he  bent  his  ear 
against  the  stone  and  listened. 

"  What  of  the  night  ?"  he  queried  anxiously — "  Were  ye 
interrupted  in  your  first  watch  ?" 

"By  the  baying  of  dogs  at  the  moon,  and  the  hooting  of 
owls  only" — replied  Galbus  disdainfully, — "  And  such  inter- 
ruptions, albeit  distasteful,  are  not  to  be  controlled." 

"  I  meant  not  these  things" — said  Caiaphas,  turning  upon 
him  vexedly — "  I  thought  the  women  might  have  lingered, 
making  lamentation" 

"  Women  have  little  chance  where  I  am,"  growled  Galbus, 
— "  True,  they  did  linger,  till  I  sent  them  off.  Yet  I  treated 
them  with  kindness  for  they  were  weeping  sorely,  foolish  souls, 
—the  sight  of  death  doth  ever  move  them  strangely, — and 


A  DREAM   OF  THE   WORLD'S  TRAGEDY      205 

'twas  a  passing  beauteous  corpse  o'er  which  they  made  their 
useless  outcry.  Nevertheless  I  am  not  a  man  to  find  console  - 
ments  for  such  grief, — I  bade  them  mourn  at  home ; — the  tears 
of  women  do  provoke  me  more  than  blows." 

Caiaphas  stood  lost  in  thought, — anon  he  stooped  again  to 
listen  at  the  sealed-up  door  of  the  sepulchre.  Galbus,  watch- 
ing him,  laughed. 

"  By  the  gods,  sir,"  he  said — "  One  would  think  thou  wert 
the  chief  believer  in  the  dead  man's  boast  that  he  would  rise 
again  !  What  hearest  thou  ?  Prithee  say  ! — a  message  from 
the  grave  would  be  rare  news !" 

Caiaphas  deigned  no  reply.  Muffling  himself  again  iu  his 
mantle,  he  asked — 

"  When  does  the  watch  change?" 

"  In  an  hour's  time,"  replied  Galbus — "  Then  I,  together 
with  my  men,  rest  for  a  space, — in  such  heat  as  this,  rest  is 
deserved." 

"  And  when  dost  thou  return  again  ?" 

"  To-night  at  moonrise." 

"To-night  at  moonrise  1"  echoed  Caiaphas  thoughtfully. 
"  Mark  my  words,  Galbus,  watch  thy  men  and  guard  thyself 
from  sleeping.  To-night  use  double  vigilance  ! — for  when  to- 
night is  past,  then  fears  are  past, — and  when  to-morrow's  sun 
doth  shine,  and  he,  the  'Nazarene,'  is  proved  again  a  false 
blasphemer  to  the  people,  then  will  all  watching  end.  Thou 
wilt  be  well  rewarded, — watch,  I  say,  to-night ! — far  more  to- 
night than  any  hour  of  to-day.  Thou  hearest  me  ?" 

Galbus  nodded. 

"  I  have  heard  much  of  the  truth  and  circumspectness  of 
the  soldiery  of  Rome" — proceeded  Caiaphas  smiling  darkly — 
"  And  specially  of  warriors  like  thee,  who  have  the  mastery 
of  a  hundred  men,  from  which  this  present  watch  is  chosen. 
Take  heed  therefore  to  do  thy  calling  and  thy  country  justice, 
— so  shall  thy  name  be  carried  on  the  wings  of  praise  to  Caesar. 
Fare-thee-well  1" 

He  moved  away — then  paused,  listening  doubtfully, — with 
head  turned  back  over  his  shoulder  towards  the  tomb. 

"  Art  thou  sure  thou  hast  heard  nothing  ?"  he  asked 
again. 

Galbus  lost  patience. 

"  By  the  great  name  of  the  Emperor  I  serve  and  by  the 
lance  I  carry,"  he  exclaimed,  striking  his  heel  on  the  groundj 
"  I  swear  to  thee,  priest,  nothing — nothing  !" 
18 


206  BARABBAS 

*"  Thou  hast  hot  blood,  soldier" — returned  Caiaphas  sedately 
•—•''  Beware  lest  it  lead  thee  into  error  1" 

And  he  paced  slowly  down  the  dusty  road  and  disappeared. 
Galbus  watched  his  retreating  form  with  an  irrepressible  disgust 
written  on  every  feature  of  his  face.  One  of  his  men  ap- 
proached him. 

"  'Twas  the  Jewish  high-priest  that  spoke  with  thee  ?" 

"Ay,  'twas  even  he" — he  responded  briefly — "Either  I 
choke  in  his  presence,  or  the  dust  kicked  up  by  his  holy  sandals 
hath  filled  me  with  a  surpassing  thirst.  Fetch  me  a  cup  of 
wine." 

The  man  obeyed,  getting  the  required  beverage  out  of  the 
provision  tent. 

"Ah,  that  washes  the  foul  taste  of  the  Jew  out  of  my 
mouth" — said  Galbus,  drinking  heartily, — "  Methinks  our 
Emperor  hath  got  a  beggarly  province  here  in  Judaea.  Why, 
if  history  have  any  truth  in  it,  'tis  the  custom  of  this  people 
to  be  conquered  and  sold  into  slavery.  I  believe  of  all  my 
hundred,  thou  dost  know  thy  lessons  best,  Vorsinius, — have 
not  these  Jews  been  always  slaves  ?" 

Vorsinius,  a  young  soldier  with  a  fair  intelligent  countenance, 
smiled. 

"  I  would  not  say  so  much  as  that,  good  Galbus,"  he  replied 
modestly — "  but  methinks  they  have  never  been  heroes." 

"  No, — nor  will  they  ever  be,"  said  Galbus,  draining  his  cup 
and  shaking  the  dregs  out  on  the  ground — "  Such  names  as 
hero  and  Jew  consort  not  well  together.  What  other  nation 
in  the  world  than  this  one  would  insist  on  having  a  watch  set 
round  a  tomb  lest  perchance  a  dead  man  should  rise  1" 

He  laughed,  and  the  good-humoured  Vorsinius  laughed  with 
him.  Then  they  resumed  their  respective  posts,  and  moved  no 
more  till  in  an  hour's  time  the  watch  was  changed.  But  save 
for  the  clanking  of  armour  as  one  party  of  soldiers  marched 
away  into  the  city,  and  the  other  detachment  took  its  place,  the 
deep  and  solemn  silence  round  the  sealed  sepulchre  remained 
nnbrokeu. 


A  DREAM  OF  THE   WORLD'S  TRAGEDF      207 


CHAPTEK  XXXII. 

MEANWHILE  Barabbas  sitting  with  his  friend  Melchior  in 
the  best  room  of  the  inn  where  that  mysterious  personage  had 
his  lodging,  was  endeavouring  to  express  his  thanks  for  the 
free  and  ungrudging  hospitality  that  had  been  afforded  him. 
He  had  supped  well,  slept  well,  and  breakfasted  well,  and  all 
at  the  cost  and  care  of  this  new  acquaintance  with  whom,  as 
might  be  said,  he  was  barely  acquainted, — moreover  the  very 
garments  he  wore  were  Melchior's  and  not  his  own. 

"  If  thou  seekest  a  man  to  work,  I  will  work  for  thee" — he 
said  now,  fixing  his  large  bold  black  eyes  anxiously  on  the 
dark  enigmatical  face  of  his  voluntary  patron, — "  But  unless 
thou  can'st  make  use  of  my  strength  in  service,  I  can  never 
repay  thee.  I  have  no  kinsfolk  in  the  world, — mother  and 
father  are  dead  long  since,  and  well  for  them  that  it  is  so,  for 
I  should  have  doubtless  been  their  chief  affliction.  Once  I 
could  make  a  boast  of  honesty, — I  worked  for  the  merchant 
Shadeen,  and  though  I  weighed  out  priceless  gems  and  golden 
ingots  I  never  robbed  him  by  so  much  as  a  diamond  chip  until 
— until  the  last  temptation.  If  thou  wilt  ask  him,  he  will  I 
know  say  this  of  me — for  he  was  sorrier  for  my  sin  than  I 
had  heart  to  be.  I  have  some  little  knowledge  of  books  and 
old  philosophies, — and  formerly  I  had  the  gift  of  fluent  speech, 
— but  whatsoever  I  might  have  been  I  am  not  now, — my 
hands  are  stained  with  blood  and  theft, — and  though  the  peo- 
ple set  me  free,  full  well  I  know  I  am  an  outcast  from  true 
liberty.  Nevertheless  thou  hast  fed  me,  housed  me,  clothed 
me,  and  told  me  many  wise  and  wondrous  things, — wherefore 
out  of  gratefulness,  which  I  lack  not,  and  bounden  duty,  I  am 
fain  to  serve  thee  and  repay  thee,  if  thou  wilt  only  teach  me 
how." 

Melchior,  leaning  back  on  a  low  window-seat,  surveyed  him 
placidly  from  under  his  half-closed  eyelids,  a  faint  smile  on  his 
handsome  mouth. 

"Friend  Barabbas,"  he  responded  lazily,  "thou  owest  me 
nothing — on  the  contrary,  'tis  I  that  owe  thee  much.  Thou 
art  a  type  of  man, — even  as  I  also  am  a  type  of  man, — and  I 
have  derived  much  benefit  from  a  study  of  thy  complex  parts, 
—more  benefit  perchance  than  is  discovered  in  the  '  old  philos- 


208  BARABBAS 

ophies'  wherewith  thou  fanciest  thou  art  familiar.  Mark  thou 
the  difference  betwixt  us  ! — though  seemingly  our  composition 
is  the  same  dull  mortal  clay.  Thou  art  poor, — thou  hast  but 
yester  morn  left  prison,  naked  and  ashamed, — I  am  rich,  not 
by  the  gifts  of  men,  which  things  I  spurn,  or  by  the  leavings 
of  the  dead ;  but  by  the  work  of  mine  own  brain,  man's  only 
honest  breadwinner.  I  have  never  found  my  way  to  prison, 
as  I  despise  all  roads  that  lead  one  thither.  They  are  foul, — 
therefore,  loving  cleanness,  I  tread  not  in  them.  Thou,  made 
animal  man,  and  ignorant  of  the  motive  power  of  brain  that 
masters  matter,  did'st  at  the  bidding  of  mere  fleshly  lust  re- 
sign thine  honour  for  a  woman's  sake, — I,  made  intelligent 
man,  do  keep  my  honour  for  my  own  sake,  and  for  the  carry- 
ing out  of  higher  laws  which  I  perceive  exist.  Nevertheless 
thou  art  truer  man  than  I.  Thou  art  the  type  of  sheer  brute 
manhood,  against  which  Divine  Spirit  for  ever  contends." 

He  paused ; — and  lifting  his  head  from  its  recumbent  posi- 
tion, smiled  again. 

"  What  wilt  thou  do  for  me,  Barabbas  ?"  he  continued  lightly 
. — "  Draw  water,  till  the  soil,  shake  my  garments  free  from 
dust,  or  other  such  slavish  service?  Go  to!  I  would  not 
have  thee  spoil  thy  future  !  Take  my  advice  and  journey  thou 
to  Rome, — I'll  fill  thy  pouch  with  coin, — settle  thyself  as 
usurer  there  and  lend  out  gold  to  Caesar!  Lend  it  freely, 
with  monstrous  interest  accumulating,  for  the  use  of  the  Im- 
perial whims,  battles,  buildings,  and  wantons !  So  get  thee 
rich  and  live  honourably, — none  will  ask  of  thee — '  wert  thou 
thief?' — '  wert  thou  murderer  ?'  No ! — for  the  Emperor  will 
kiss  thy  sandal  and  put  on  thee  his  choicest  robe, — and  all 
thou  hast  to  do  ia  to  keep  his  name  upon  thy  books  and  never 
let  it  go.  'Ave  Caesar  Imperator'  is  the  keynote  of  the 
Roman  shouting — but  Caesar's  whisper  in  thine  ear  will  have 
more  meaning — '  Hail,  Barabbas,  King  of  the  Jews !  rich, 
Barabbas,  who  doth  lend  me  money, — noble  Barabbas,  whoi 
willingly  reneweth  bills, — powerful  Barabbas,  who  doth  hold 
the  throne  and  dynasty  by  a  signature !'  " 

He  laughed,  the  while  his  companion  stared  at  him  fas- 
cinated and  half  afraid. 

"  Or,"  pursued  Melchior,  "  wilt  thou  by  preference  make 
friends  with  frenzied  Peter,  and  join  the  disciples  of  the 
'Nazarene'?" 

"  Not  with  Peter — no !"  exclaimed  Barabbas  in  haste, — "  I 
ike  him  not, — he  is  not  certain  of  his  faith.  And  of  the 


H, 


A  DREAM  OF  THE    WORLD'S  TRAGEDY       209 

other  men  who  came  from  Galilee  I  knew  naught,  save  that 
they  all  forsook  their  Master.  JLwould  have  followed  the 
'  Nazarene'  Himself  into  the  blackest  hell ! — but  His  followers 
are  coward  mortals  and  He" 

"  Was  Divine,  thiukest  thou  ?"  asked  Melchior,  fixing  upon 
him  a  look  of  searching  gravity. 

Barabbas  met  his  gaze  steadily  for  a  moment,  then  his  own 
eyes  fell  and  he  sighed  deeply. 

"  I  know  not  what  to  think,"  he  confessed  at  last.  "  When 
I  first  beheld  Him,  He  did  in  very  truth  seem  all  Divine ! — 
then. — the  glory  vanished,  and  only  a  poor  patient  suffering 
Man  stood  there,  where  I,  faint  from  the  prison  famine  and 
distraught  of  fancy,  imagined  I  had  seen  an  Angel !  Then 
when  He  died — ah  then,  my  soul  was  shaken  ! — for  to  the 
very  last  I  hoped  against  all  hope, — surely,  I  said,  a  God  can 
never  die.  And  now,  if  thou  wilt  have  the  truth,  I  judge 
Him  as  a  martyred  Man, — of  glorious  beauty,  of  heroic  char- 
acter,— one  worthy  to  follow,  to  love,  to  serve ;  .  .  .  but  .  .  . 
if  He  had  been  indeed  a  God,  He  could  not  thus  hava 
died  !" 

Melchior  leaned  forward,  resting  his  chin  on  one  hand  and 
studying  him  curiously. 

-JV  Knowest  thou,  excellent  Barabbas,  what  is  this  death?" 
he  asked — "  Among  the  '  old  philosophies'  thou  readest,  hast 
mastered  aught  concerning  its  true  nature  ?" 

"  All  men  know  what  it  is" — replied  Barabbas  drearily — 
u  A  choking  of  the  breath, — a  blindness  of  the  eyes, — dark- 
ness, silence,  and  an  end  !" 

"Nay,  not  an  end,  but  a  beginning!"  said  Melchior  rising 
and  confronting  him,  his  eyes  flashing  with  enthusiasm — 
"  That  choking  of  the  breath,  that  blindness  of  the  eyes — 
these  are  the  throes  of  birth,  not  death !  Even  as  the  new- 
born child  struggles  for  air,  and  cannot  too  suddenly  endure 
the  full  unshaded  light  of  day, — so  does  the  new-born  soul 
that  struggles  forth  from  out  its  fleshly  womb,  fight  gaspingly 
for  strength  to  take  its  first  deep  breathings-in  of  living  glorv. 
A  darkness  and  a  silence,  sayest  thou  ?  Not  so  ! — a  radiance 
and  a  music  ! — a  wondrous  clamour  of  the  angels'  voices  ringing 
out  melodies  aloft  like  harps  in  tune !  And  of  the  spirit  lately 
parted  from  the  earth,  they  ask — '  What  bringest  thou  ? 
What  message  dost  thou  bear?  Hast  thou  made  the  sad 
world  happier,  wiser,  fairer?' — and  over  all,  the  deathless 
Voice  of  Marvel  thunders — '  Soul  of  a  man !  What  hast 


210  BARABBAS 

thou  done?'     And  that  great  question  must  be  met  and  an- 
swered,— and  no  Lie  will  serve  !" 

Barabbas  gazed  at  him,  awed,  but  incredulous. 

"  This  is  the  faith  of  Egypt  ?"  he  asked. 

Melchior  eyed  him  with  a  touch  of  scorn. 

"The  faith  of  Egypt  1"  he  echoed — "'Tis  not  faith,  'tis 
knowledge  ! — Knowledge  gained  through  faith.  'Tis  no  more 
of  Egypt  than  of  any  land, — 'tis  a  truth,  and  as  a  truth  is 
universal, — a  truth  the  '  Nazarene'  was  born  to  make  most 
manifest.  The  world  is  never  ripe  for  truth, — how  should  it 
be,  so  long  as  it  is  well  content  to  build  its  business  and  its 
social  life  on  lies !" 

He  paused,  and  recovering  from  his  momentary  excitement, 
went  on  in  his  coldest  and  most  satirical  tone — 
I  "  Worthy  Barabbas,  thou,  like  the  world,  art  most  unfitted 
for  the  simplest  learning,  despite  thine  'old  philosophies.'  Such 
common  facts  as  that  there  are  millions  upon  millions  of  eternal 
worlds,  and  millions  upon  millions  of  eternal  forms  of  life,  would 
but  confuse  thy  brain  and  puzzle  it.  Thou  art  a  mass  of  matter, 
unpermeated  by  the  fires  of  the  spirit, — and  were  I  to  tell  thee 
that  the  '  Nazarene'  has  '  died"  according  to  the  common  word, 
only  to  prove  there  is  no  death  at  all,  thy  barbarous  mind  would 
be  most  sore  perplexed  and  troubled.  Thou  hast  not  yet  obtained 
the  mastery  of  this  planet's  laws, — thou'rt  brute  man  merely, — 
though  now,  methinks  thou'rt  more  like  some  fierce  tiger  disap- 
pointed of  its  mate,  for  thou  can'st  not  wed  thy  Judith"-fr — 

Barabbas  interrupted  him  with  a  fierce  gesture. 

"  I  would  not  wed  her — now  !" 

"  No  ?     Thou  would'st  rather  murder  Caiaphas  ?" 

Barabbas  shuddered.  His  black  brows  met  in  a  close  frown, 
—•his  lips  were  pressed  together  hard,  and  his  eyes  were  almost 
hidden  under  their  brooding  lids. 

"  I  have  already  blood  upon  my  hands,"  he  muttered — "  And 
the  man  I  killed — Gabrias — was  innocent, — my  God  ! — inno- 
cent as  a  dove  compared  to  this  wolfish  priest  who  works  hia 
evil  will  by  treachery  and  cunning.  Nevertheless  since  I  be- 
held the  '  Nazarene'' " 

"  Why  should  the  '  Nazarene'  affect  thee  ?"  asked  Melchior 
placidly — "  A  martyred  Man,  thou  sayest — no  more, — thou 
can'st  be  sorry  for  Him  as  for  many  another — and  forget." 

Barabbas  lifted  his  eyes. 

"  I  cannot  take  a  human  life  again,"  he  said  solemnly,  his 
voice  trembling  a  little — "  since  I  have  looked  upon  His  face  1" 


A   DREAM  OF  THE    WORLD'S  TRAGEDY      211 

Molchior  was  silent. 

A  long  pause  ensued, — then  Barabbas  resumed  in  calmer 
tones — 

"  If  thou  wilt  give  me  leave,  I  will  go  forth  and  ask  for  news 
of  old  Iscariot, — and  of  his  daughter, — for  though  I  may  not, 
would  not  wed  her,  because  my  own  great  sins — and  hers — • 
have  set  up  an  everlasting  barrier  between  us,  I  love  her, 
Heaven  help  me,  still.  I  have  slept  late  and  heard  nothing, — 
wherefore  to  ease  my  mind  concerning  her,  I  will  inquire  how 
atie  fares.  I  would  I  could  forget  the  face  of  the  dead  Judas !" 

A  tremor  ran  through  him,  and  he  moved  restlessly. 

"'Twas  a  face  to  be  remembered" — said  Melchior  medita- 
tively— "  Set  in  the  solemn  shadows  of  the  trees,  'twas  a  pale 
warning  to  the  world  !  Nevertheless,  despite  its  frozen  tragedy, 
it  was  not  all  despair.  Remorse  was  written  in  its  staring  eyes, 
— remorse, — repentance ;  and  for  true  repentance,  God  hath 
but  one  reply — pity,  and  pardon  1" 

"  Thinkest  thou  in  very  truth  his  sin  will  be  forgiven  ?"  ex- 
claimed  Barabbas  eagerly. 

"  Not  by  the  world  that  drove  him  to  that  sin's  committal"/ 
— answered  Melchior  bitterly — "  The  world  that  hunts  men 
down  to  desperation,  hath  no  pity  for  the  desperate.  But 
God's  love  never  falters. — even  the  trembling  soul  of  Judas 
may  find  shelter  in  that  hjvej'* 

His  voice  grew  very  sweet  and  grave, — and  a  sudden  moisture 
dimmed  Barabbas's  eyes. 

"  Thy  words  do  comfort  me,"  he  murmured  huskily,  ashamed 
of  his  emotion — "  albeit  I  have  been  told  that  God  is  ever  a 
God  of  vengeance.  But  Judas  was  so  young,  .  .  .  and  Ju- 
dith"— •  He  broke  off — then  added  whisperingly — "  I  forgot — • 
he  bled  at  her  touch  ! — 'twas  horrible — horrible, — that  stain  of 
blood  on  her  white  fingers  !" 

Melchior  said  nothing,  and  Barabbas,  after  a  minute  or  two, 
rose  up  to  go  out. 

"  I  must  breathe  the  air" — he  said  abruptly — "  The  heat 
within  the  house  doth  choke  me.  I  will  ask  where  the  '  Naza- 
rene'  is  buried,  and  go  thither." 

"  Why  ?"  inquired  Melchior — "  Since  thou  believest  not  in 
Him,  what  is  He  to  thee  ?" 

"  I  cannot  tell" — answered  Barabbas  slowly — <l  Something 
there  is  that  draws  me  to  the  thought  of  Him,  but  what  it  is 
I  cannot  yet  discover.  If  I  believe  not  in  Him  as  a  God,  'tis 
because  what  I  hear  of  Him  doth  pass  all  human  understand- 


212  BARABBAS 

ing.  Even  what  thou  hast  briefly  told  me  doth  utterly  COD- 
found  all  reason, — the  miracle  of  His  birth  when  His  mother 
Mary  was  a  virgin, — how  can  I  credit  this?  'Tis  madness j 
and  my  soul  rejects  that  which  I  cannot  comprehend." 

"  Did  I  not  tell  thee  what  a  type  thou  wert  and  art  ?"  said 
Melchior — "  A  type  of  man  unspiritualised,  and  therefore  only 
half  instructed.  If  thou  rejectest  what  thou  can'st  not  com- 
prehend, thou  must  reject  the  whole  wide  working  of  the  uni- 
verse !  '  Where  wast  thou,1  God  said  unto  His  servant  Job, 
'  when  I  laid  the  foundations  of  the  earth  f  Declare  if  thou 
hast  understanding  ?  .  .  .  Hast  thou  commanded  the  morning 
since  thy  days  T  Alas,  most  profound  and  reasonable  Barab- 
bas  ! — if  thou  dost  wait  till  thou  can'st  '  comprehend'  the  mys- 
teries of  the  Divine  Will,  thou  wilt  need  to  grope  through 
aeons  upon  aeons  of  eternal  wonder,  living  a  thinking  life  through 
all,  and  even  then  not  reach  the  inner  secret.  (jComprehendest 
thou  how  the  light  finds  its  sure  way  to  the  dry  seed  in  the 
depths  of  earth  and  causes  it  to  fructify  ? — or  how,  imprisoning 
itself  within  drops  of  water  and  grains  of  dust,  it  doth  change 
these  things  of  ordinary  matter  into  diamonds  which  queens 
covet  ?  Thou  art  not  able  to  '  comprehend'  these  simplest  facts 
of  simple  nature, — and  nature  being  but  the  outward  reflex  of 
God's  thought,  how  should'st  thou  understand  the  workings 
of  His  interior  Spirit  which  is  Himself  in  all  ?  Whether  He 
create  a  world,  or  breathe  the  living  Essence  of  His  own  Di- 
vinity into  aerial  atoms  to  be  absorbed  in  flesh  and  blood,  and 
born  as  Man  of  virginal  Woman,  He  hath  the  power  supreme 
to  do  such  things,  if  such  be  His  great  pleasure.  Talkest  thou 
of  miracles? — thou  art  thyself  a  miracle, — thou  livest  in  a 
miracle, — the  whole  world  is  a  miracle,  and  exists  in  spite  of 
thee  1  Go  thy  ways,  man;  search  out  truth  in  thine  own 
fashion  ;  but  if  it  should  elude  thee,  blame  not  the  truth  which 
ever  is,  but  thine  own  witlessness  which  cannot  grasp  it  !^ 

Barabbas  stood  silent, — strangely  moved  and  startled  by  the 
broadness  of  his  new  friend's  theories. 

"  I  would  I  could  believe  in  such  a  God  as  thou  dost  picture  !" 
he  said  softly — "  One  who  doth  indeed  love  us,  and  whom  we 
could  love !" 

He  paused  and  sighed ; — then  on  a  sudden  impulse,  ap- 
proached Melchior  and  taking  his  hand,  kissed  it. 

"  I  know  not  who  thou  art,"  he  said — "  but  thy  words  are 
brave  and  bold,  and  to  me  thou  hast  been  more  than  generous. 
Thou  must  consider  me  thy  servant, — for  as  I  told  thee  I  have 


A  DREAM  OF  THE    WORLD'S   TRAGEDY      213 

no  other  means  of  paying  back  the  debt  I  owe  thee.  Suffer 
me  therefore  to  attend  thee, — at  least  till  I  find  ways  of  work, 
—shall  this  be  so  ?" 

Melchior  smiled. 

44  Thou  shah  do  even  as  thou  wilt,  Barabbas,  albeit  I  do  not 
need  attendance.  Myself  hath  been  my  bodyguard  for  years, 
— and  I  have  never  found  a  more  discreet  and  faithful  confi- 
dant !  Nevertheless,  to  satisfy  thy  sudden-tender  conscience,  I 
will  accept  thy  service." 

A  look  of  relief  that  was  almost  happiness  lightened  Barab- 
bas'c  dark  features,  giving  them  a  certain  nobleness  and  beauty. 

"  I  thank  thee !"  he  said  simply — "  Can  I  do  aught  now  for 
thee  within  the  city  ?" 

"  Thou  cau'st  bring  me  _news !" — returned  Melchior,  fixing 
his  eyes  upon  him  steadily — "  There  may  be  some  of  highest 
import.  And  mark  me ! — if  thou  dost  visit  the  tomb  of  the 
'  Nazarene,'  take  heed, — thou  wilt  find  it  strongly  guarded. 
Quarrel  not  with  those  who  watch,  lest  thou  should'st  be  ac- 
cused of  some  conspiracy  to  steal  the  corpse, — the  Jewish 
priests  are  yet  in  terror,  for  the  '  Nazarene'  did  swear  that  on 
the  '  third  day,'  that  is,  to-morrow, — remember,  to-morrow ! — 
He  would  riso  again." 

Barabbas  stopped  in  the  very  act  of  leaving  the  room,  and 
turning  on  the  threshold  exclaimed  ; 

"  Impossible !  Thou  dost  echo  the  last  night's  frenzy  of 
Peter !  Rise,  living,  from  the  grave  ?  Impossible  I  He  can- 
not !" 

Melchior  looked  full  at  him. 

"  If  Death  be  death,  why  truly  He  cannot," — he  responded, 
— "  But  if  Death  be  Life,  why  then  He  can !" 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

WITH  these  last  strange  words  ringing  in  his  ears  Barabbas 
went  out,  wandering  almost  unseeingly  in  the  open  street,  and 
trying  to  concentrate  his  thoughts  upon  the  things  immediately 
around  him.  Somehow  he  found  this  difficult.  His  mind  was 
in  a  dreamy  whirl,  and  he  could  hardly  realise  the  full  extent 
of  all  that  had  occurred  to  him  within  the  short  space  of  a 


214  BARABBAS 

little  more  than  twenty-four  hours.  Whole  ages  seemed  to 
have  passed  since  the  early  morning  of  the  previous  day  when 
he  had  been  released  from  prison  and  when  the  "  Nazarene" 
had  been  condemned  to  die.  He  had  come  out  of  his  dungeon, 
half  delirious  with  joy  at  the  prospect  of  freedom,  believing 
in  Judith  Iscariot  and  loving  her  as  a  man  only  loves  once  in 
a  lifetime.  Now  he  knew  her  worthlessness, — the  unrepenting 
vileness,  treachery  and  corruption  of  her  life, — and  though  he 
loved  her  still,  he  was  perfectly  aware  that  it  was  only  because 
he  could  not  yet  detach  his  soul  from  the  clinging  memory  of 
her  bewitching  bodily  beauty,  and  this  was  a  love,  or  rather  a 
passion,  of  which  he  was  vaguely  ashamed.  Ashamed  ? — he, 
a  thief,  a  murderer,  ashamed  of  anything  ?  Since  when  ? 
Why, — only — since  he  had  looked  upon  the  "  Nazarene."  It 
was  strange !  with  all  the  force  of  his  strong  though  untutored 
will,  he  tried  to  understand  what  singularly  miraculous  power 
this  "  Man  of  Nazareth"  possessed,  that  even  now, — now  when 
He  was  crucified  and  dead,  he,  Barabbas,  should  yet  be  curiously 
conscious  of  His  presence,  and  conscious  too  that  this  mystic 
nearness  of  Him  made  all  sin  appear  inexpressibly  hateful  and 
humiliating.  Sighing  uneasily,  and  angry  with  himself  for 
being  unable  to  comprehend  his  own  feelings,  he  rambled  about 
the  streets  aimlessly  at  first,  but  afterwards,  recollecting  part 
of  his  intention,  he  visited  the  house  of  Iscariot.  There  for 
the  first  time  he  learned  from  the  servants  of  the  mysterious 
disappearance  of  Judith.  Sick  at  heart,  he  listened  while  the 
man  who  had  opened  the  gate  told  him  that  search  had  been 
made  everywhere  throughout  the  city  in  vain, — and  that  even 
now,  Iscariot  himself  was  with  Pilate  the  governor,  seeking 
for  the  help  of  the  law  to  aid  in  the  discovery  of  the  missing 
girl.  The  servant  added  in  awestricken  tones  that  they  had 
found  the  corpse  of  Judas  uncovered,  with  a  branch  of  roses 
laid  across  it, — and  that  the  rope  which  had  been  round  his 
throat  was  gone.  "  'Tis  likely  she  hath  taken  it" — he  con- 
cluded— "  Much  grief  perchance  hath  driven  her  distraught. 
But  wheresoever  she  hath  wandered  we  can  hear  no  tidings  of 
her." 

"  I  will  find  her" — said  Barabbas—"  Tell  her  father  when 
he  comes  that  I  will  never  rest  till  I  discover  her.  I  will 
f  eek  for  her  high  and  low, — living  or  dead  I  will  bring  her 
Lome." 

He  shuddered  a  little  ao  the  word  "  dead"  escaped  his  lips, 
•—and  the  man  who  received  his  message  was  startled  at  the 


A  r>REA\I  OF  THE    WORLD'S  TRAGEDY      215 

fierce  expression  of  his  hazard  face,  but  nevertheless  re- 
sponded dismally  that  "  these  \\ure  sore  times  of  trouble,"  anu 
also  that  the  self-slain  heir  of  the  house,  Judas,  would  bo 
"  buried  to-morrow." 

"  To-morrow  !"  echoed  Barabbas  with  a  wild  stare,  scarcely 
knowing  what  he  said — "  Why,  to-morrow  they  say  the 
'  Nazarene'  will  rise  again  !  Why  bury  Judas  ?  If  one  dead 
man  can  come  to  life  so  can  another !" 

The  servant  really  alarmed  this  time,  shut  to  the  gate  with 
*ut  further  parley,  privately  considering  that  everybody  excep 
himself  was  going  mad,  Barabbas  in  particular, — while  Barab- 
bas on  his  part,  perfectly  reckless  as  to  his  appearance  or  man- 
ner, stumbled  blindly  and  giddily  down  the  sunny  street,  seeing 
nothing  but  the  face  of  Judith  as  she  had  looked  last  night, 
lifting  up  her  burning  eyes  from  the  body  of  her  dead  brother, 
and  smiling  distractedly  on  the  stern  disciple  Peter  from  out 
the  golden  shower  of  her  hair. 

"  Gone — gone ! — and  whither  ?"  he  muttered  as  he  went — 
"  To  Caiaphas  ?  Would  she  have  sought  out  Caiaphas  ?" 

He  checked  his  pace  abruptly.  The  high-priest's  palace  was 
not  far  off, — he  could  see  the  lofty  palms  and  thick-fbliaged 
fig-trees  of  its  private  garden  to  which  none  had  the  entry 
save  the  high-priest  himself, — but  to  obtain  admittance  even 
to  the  outer  court  of  the  house  without  the  excuse  of  somo 
business  of  high  sacerdotal  importance,  would,  he  knew,  be 
impossible.  Moreover  his  very  name,  Barabbas,  was  sufficient 
to  exclude  him  hopelessly.  He  sat  down  on  a  bench  by  the 
roadway  and  tried  to  think  it  out.  There  were  no  people 
passing, — the  stillness  of  the  Sabbath  reigned  throughout  the 
city.  Resting  his  head  between  his  two  hands  he  pondered  all 
ways  and  means  of  obtaining  access  to  Caiaphas,  in  vain, — no 
fortress  was  more  impregnable  than  the  high-priest's  abode, — 
no  one  more  haughtily  unapproachable  in  his  private  capacity 
than  the  high-priest  in  person. 

"  Nevertheless,  he  knows  !"  said  Barabbas  aloud, — "  He  is 
her  lover,  curse  him  ! — and  he  knows  where  she  hath  fled.  It 
may  be  she  is  with  him  even  now." 

As  he  spoke  he  lifted  his  head,  and  saw  that  a  woman  had 
paused  near  him  and  was  looking  at  him  wistfully.  He  recog- 
nised her  instantly, — by  her  fair  hair,  her  dreamy  face, — her 
coarse  grey  linen  gown  knotted  beneath  her  bosom  by  a  hempen 
girdle ; — it  was  Mary  of  Magdala.  Instinctively  he  rose  up, 
gazing  at  her  as  steadily  as  she  gazed  at  him. 


216  BARABBAS 

"  Thou  art  Barabbas  ?"  she  said  in  tremulous  accents— 
"  Thou  art  he  who  should  have  died  yesterday  iustead  of  our 
Beloved  1" 

Her  voice  moved  him  deeply.  It  was  penetratingly  sweet 
and  pathetic, — there  was  a  tremor  in  it  that  unnerved  him. 
He  tried  to  remind  himself  that  she  was  an  evil  woman, — a 
thing  polluted, — yet  while  he  thought  of  this  he  grew  in  a 
manner  amazed  at  the  limpid  purity  and  beauty  of  her  eyes. 
They  were  of  a  singularly  clear  blue, — but  their  wonderful 
lustre  seemed  to  be  a  brightness  exhaled  from  inward  tears. 

"  Thou  should'st  have  died !"  she  repeated,  and  faintly 
smiled — "  Sorrowful  Barabbas  !" 

He  looked  at  her  in  vague  wonderment. 

"  Sorrowful  I  am  in  truth,"  he  said — "  But  what  knowest 
thou  of  my  sorrow  ?  Surely  I  have  good  reason  to  be  glad, 
seing  that  I  am  free  once  more, — at  liberty  to  live  my  life  out 
to  its  end." 

"And  dost  thou  love  thy  life  and  liberty?"  asked  Mary 
softly — "Dost  thou  find  the  world  so  fair?  Thou  wert  not 
overburdened  with  rejoicing  yesterday,  when  in  the  darkness 
of  the  death  of  love,  thou  did'st  kneel  and  weep  with  me !" 

He  did  not  answer  her  at  once,^but  stood  regarding  her  with 
a  stern  intentness.  Suddenly  he  gave  a  gesture  of  pain  and  pity. 

"  0  woman  1"  he  exclaimed  passionately — "  Beautiful  as 
thou  art,  why  dost  thou  make  of  thy  beauty  degradation  ?  I 
know  thee  ! — who  does  not  know  thee  ! — accurst  and  outcast ! 
• — go  thy  ways — die  even  as  Judas  died,  rather  than  live  as 
thou  dost  live  1" 

She  smiled, — a  strange  sad  smile,  that  like  the  pureness  of 
her  eyes  seemed  born  of  weeping. 

/*  Friend,  I  have  died  !" — she  said — "  At  my  Lord's  feet  I 
law  down  all  my  life.  Men  made  me  what  I  was  ;  God  makes 
me  what^I  am." 

"  THou  art  the  Magdalen  ;" — responded  Barabbas  harshly — 
"  And  neither  God  nor  man  shall  alter  thee !" 

She  crossed  her  small  hands  on  her  bosom  and  bent  her  head. 

"  I  was  the  Magdalen !"  and  she  raised  her  eyes,  full  of 
bright  tears,  to  the  quiet  sky — "  Or,  rather,  of  thy  charity,  say 
I  was  that  poor  affrighted  thing,  hunted  by  devils,  whom  men 
did  torture  into  being  Magdalen." 

"  Whom  men  did  torture  !"  repeated  Barabbas  half  angrily 
— "  Woman,  for  all  thy  sins  thou  hast  thyself  to  blame  !" 

Her  lips  quivered. 


A   DREAM  OF  THE    WORLD'S  TRAGEDY      217 

<'  Thou'rt  man  ;" — she  answered — "  Therefore  as  man  thon 
speakest.  Lay  all  the  burden  upon  woman, — the  burden  of 
sin,  of  misery,  of  shame,  of  tears  ;  teach  her  to  dream  of  perfect 
love,  and  then  devour  her  by  selfish  lust, — slay  her  by  slow 
tortures  innumerable, — cast  her  away  and  trample  on  her  even 
as  a  worm  in  the  dust,  and  then  when  she  hath  perished,  stand 
on  her  grave  and  curse  her,  saying — '  Thou  wert  to  blame  ! — 
thou  fond,  foolish,  credulous  trusting  soul ! — thou  wert  to  blame  1 
—not  I  r) 

Something  in  her  vibrating  accents  struck  to  the  heart  of 
Barabbas  with  a  sense  of  reproach.  He  drooped  his  head 
ashamed,  and  was  silent. 

"Hast  thou  a  right  to  judge  me?"  she  queried  mildly; 
"  Art  thou  without  sin  ?  Nevertheless,  let  us  not  idly  re- 
proach one  another, — I  tell  thee  Magdalen,  as  Magdalen,  is 
dead;  LJMary^ .live." 

"  What  difference  dost  thou  make  in  such  wise  'twixt  dead 
and  living!"  murmured  Barabbas  with  a  troubled  sigh. 

"What  difference?"  echoed  Mary— "  What  difference  is 
there  'twixt  the  darkness  and  the  light?  The  Mag-Jalen  was 
wilder  than  all  furies, — mad  with  the  fires  of  hell, — pursued 
of  devils,  bereft  of  hope, — and  ignorant  of  God — poor  soul, 
poor  soul ! — she  died  most  piteously  and  painlessly,  slain  by  a 
word  of  pardon  from  the  AJl-Forgiving  1  Oh,  I  cannot  choose 
but  weep  to  think  of  it !  And  Mary  lives, — Mary,  who  hath 
discovered  heaven  in  a  broken  heart, — Mary,  who  builds  up 
aerial  hopes  from  tears  of  patience, — Mary,  whose  ears  have 
listened  to  the  music  of  the  Master's  voice — such  music ! — 
sweeter  than  the  sweetest  song !  '  Go  thy  way,'  He  said — 
'  Sin  no  more !'  0  high  command  ! — 'Twas  as  a  crown  of 
glory  set  upon  me !  '  Sin  no  more  !'  How  could  I  sin,  re- 
membering Him  !  Who  could  look  once  upon  Him,  and  return 
from  that  fair  light  to  darkness?  Lo,  I  am  newly  born,  and 
trembling  in  the  throes  of  life, — half  weeping,  half  afraid,  but 
full  of  love ! — love  for  my  Master  and  my  king  who  hath  for- 
given me  and  blessed  me  !" 

Her  sweet  voice  had  a  rhythmic  chime  of  mingled  melan- 
choly and  triumph,  and  Barabbas  listened,  fascinated  and  won- 
dering. Presently  she  came  nearer  to  him. 

"  Thou  dost  not  hate  me,  Barabbas?     Or  fear  me?" 

He  looked  at  her  fixedly. 

"  What  the  '  Nazarene'  hath  blessed,  that  I  can  neither  hate 
nor  fear !" 


218  BARABBAS 

A  lovely  smile  irradiated  her  face,  and  her  watchful  regard 
of  him  was  like  that  of  some  meditative  angel. 

"  Thou  callest  Him  the  '  Nazarene'  as  others  do,"  she  said 
• — "  because  He  came  from  Nazareth.  Nevertheless  He  was 
a  God — He  is  a  God !  Knowest  thou  they  say  that  He  will 
rise  again  ? — but  I  believe  not  this.  Truly  His  spirit  may 
arise ;  but  we  shall  never  see  Him  more  as  we  have  seen  Him. 
And  that  is  why  last  night  I  wept  when  they  laid  His  fair  body 
in  the  tomb, — the  body  cannot  rise,  I  said,  and  though  as  pod- 
like  Spirit  He  will  pass  to  Heaven,  as  Man  He  will  appear  no 
more  to  us.  This  is  the  bitterness  of  death ; — we  never  see 
our  loved  ones  as  we  knew  them, — in  Hea^n  theinfaces  will  be 
strange !" 

She  paused, — then  went  on — 

"  Tell  me,  Barabbas,  of  thy  grief, — for  grief  thou  hast  most 
visibly.  I  know  of  Judas  and  his  death, — is  it  for  him  thou 
sorrowest?" 

He  met  her  earnest  gaze  for  a  moment  in  silence, — then 
moved  by  an  impulse  of  confidence,  told  her  of  Judith's  sudden 
disappearance. 

Mary  listened  attentively. 

"  1  know  her  well  by  sight" — she  said — "  A  fair  proud  girl, 
beauteous  and  scornful ;  once  she  did  gather  up  her  robes  in 
haste  lest  I  should  brush  against  them  passing  her.  Thou 
lovost  her,  Barabbas?" 

He  flushed  and  turned  his  head  aside. 

"  I  have  loved  her !"  he  answered. 

"  Doubtless  she  is  all  that  is  most  perfect  in  a  woman  ?" 
murmured  Mary,  half  questioningly,  half  sadly, — "  Chaste, 
holy,  innocent  and  true?" 

Her  words  stung  him  with  keen  agony. 

"  Would  that  she  were !"  he  exclaimed  wildly — "  But  I  will 
not  lie  to  thee.  She  is — nothing!  She  hath  been  seized  by 
devils, — such  devils  as  did  once  move  .  .  .  Magdalen  1" 

She  started,  turning  very  pale. 

"  Alas,  Barabbas  !"  she  said — "  Then  is  she  most  unhappy 
and  in  far  worse  plight  than  thou !  I  will  aid  thec  in  thy 
search, — it  may  be  she  hath  wandered  far  beyond  the  city  pre- 
cincts. Hast  thou  been  to  Gethsemane,  where  her  brother 
died?" 

"  Not  yet" — he  responded  wearily — "  I  will  go  thither  now. 
Where  have  they  buried  the  '  Nazarene'  ?" 

She  pointed  towards  the  west. 


A   DREAM  Of  THE    WORLD'S  TRAGEDY      219 

"  Yonder,  near  Calvary" — sbo  said — "  In  the  sepulchre  of 
Joseph  of  Ariiuathea,  between  two  barren  hills.  If  thou 
goest,  thou  wilt  fiud  it  guarded.  Caiaphas  hath  set  a  watch." 

Barabbas  shuddered  at  the  name. 

"  Caiaphas  !" — he  muttered  between  his  set  teeth — "  Always 
Caiaphas !"  And  yet  he  could  not  bring  himself  to  speak 
of  Judith  in  connection  with  the  high-priest,  and  forbore  to 
give  expression  to  his  fear  that  the  lost  girl  might  even  now 
be  with  the  haughty  dignitary  who  was  in  secret  her  lover. 

"  I  will  go  to  Gethsemane" — he  repeated  mechanically — 
"  But  the  body  of  Judas  was  not  found  within  the  garden,  but 
outside, — and  his  sister  knoweth  naught  of  the  secret  place  of 
shadows  where  he  perished.  Nevertheless  I  will  make  search 
there, — and  I  will  visit  the  burial-place  of  the  '  Nazarene'  ere 
sunset.  If  thou  hearest  any  news,  thou  wilt  bring  it  to  me  ?" 

"  Where  shall  I  find  thee?"  asked  Mary. 

He  gave  her  the  name  of  the  inn  where  he  at  present  stayed 
with  his  acquaintance,  Melchior. 

"  I  shall  remember" — she  said — "  And  if  I  see  the  strayed 
girl  anywhere  I  will  follow  her, — and  if  I  hear  of  her  I  will 
track  the  rumour  to  its  source.  Meantime  fare-thee-well !  If 
thou  dost  truly  visit  my  Lord's  resting-place  ere  sunset,  pray 
for  me, — for  the  guard  doth  forbid  me  to  approach — I  may  not 
now  go  thither  until  to-morrow." 

"Until  to-morrow!"  echoed  Barabbas,  and  looked  at  her 
strangely. 

"  Even  so, — to-morrow," — she  repeated — "  "When  the  morn- 
ing breaks,  I  shall  take  flowers  and  sweet  fragrances  to  strew 
upon  the  dead, — they  say  the  guard  will  be  removed  at  dawn. 
Farewell !  God  comfort  thee  !" 

And  with  a  gentle  inclination  of  her  head,  she  wrapped  her 
mantle  round  her  and  glided  softly  and  rapidly  away. 

Barabbas  stood  looking  after  her  for  a  moment,  lost  in 
thought ;  and  his  lips  unconsciously  murmured  over  and  over 
again  the  word, 

"  To-morrow !" 

Then,  drawing  his  linen  hood  well  over  his  brows  that  he 
might  not  be  recognised  and  detained  by  any  of  his  former 
acquaintances,  he  passed  through  the  Sabbath-quieted  streets 
of  the  city,  and  out  on  the  road  that  led  towards  Gethsemane. 


220  BARABBAS 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

COOL  shadows  greeted  him  as  he  approached  the  quaint 
secluded  garden  which  was  now  destined  to  be  evermore  re- 
nowned in  the  world's  history.  A  faint  wind  swung  the  heavy 
foliage  of  the  fig-trees  with  a  solemn  sound,  and  the  clear  brook 
that  ran  between  two  low  banks  of  moss  and  turf  from  which 
some  ancient  olives  grew,  made  subdued  and  soothing  music. 
Down  here  last  night, — here  where  the  shelving  ground  dipped 
towards  the  water, — here  where  the  fig-trees  were  dark  with 
their  darkest  bunches  of  thick  leaves,  Judas  had  been  found 
dead ;  and  it  was  with  a  dreary  sense  of  ominous  foreboding 
that  Barabbas  came  to  the  same  place  now,  in  gloomy  expecta- 
tion of  some  new  disaster.  Uneasily  he  lifted  the  overhanging 
branches  and  peered  among  the  flickering  tints  of  dense  and 
luminous  green, — not  a  living  creature  was  visible.  He  moved 
to  and  fro  softly,  looking  about  him  everywhere  in  vague  search 
for  Judith, — yet  doubting  all  the  while  the  possibility  of  find- 
ing her  in  such  a  spot.  Up  and  down  he  gazed  wistfully, — 
now  towards  the  winding  path  ascending  to  the  Mount  of 
Olives, — anon,  backward  to  the  shadowy  depths  of  the  Valley 
of  Kedron, — and  having  reconnoitred  all  the  visible  landscape 
immediately  outside  Gethsemane,  he  resolved  to  enter  the  gar- 
den itself.  He  lifted  the  latch  of  the  small  wooden  gate  that 
separated  it  from  the  road,  and  went  in  among  the  towering 
palm-trees  and  climbing  roses  that  there  were  made  particular 
objects  of  cultivation  and  grew  in  rich  profusion  in  every  avail- 
able corner.  As  he  wandered  slowly  along  one  of  the  moss- 
grown  paths,  he  paused  to  listen.  Never,  surely,  was  there  such 
a  silence  anywhere  as  here !  The  murmur  of  the  brook  was  lost, 
— the  wind  failed  to  stir  so  much  as  a  small  flutter  among  the 
leaves, — and  the  impressive  stillness  of  the  place  was  such,  that 
it  seemed  as  if  the  voice  of  God  had  spoken,  saying :  "  Here, 
where  My  Beloved  cried  to  Me  in  His  agony,  let  there  no  more 
be  any  earthly  sound  !" 

Barabbas  hesitated.  Seized  with  a  solemn  fear,  his  presence 
in  the  garden  appeared  to  himself  a  strange  intrusion,  and  after 
a  moment  or  two,  he  turned  back,  finding  it  impossible  to  pro- 
ceed. He  looked  dreamily  at  the  flowers  around  him  ;  roses, 
red  and  pale,  turned  their  faces  upon  him  in  apparent  wonder- 


A  DREAM  OF  THE    WORLD'S  TRAGEDY       221 

ment, — a  glowing  cactus-tree  confronted  him,  all  in  a  seeming 
angry  blaze  of  bloom, — the  nodding  ferns  trembled  as  with 
interior  agitation,  and  every  separate  leaf  and  blade  of  grass, 
he  fancied,  questioned  him  silently  upon  the  nature  of  his 
errand  in  tha  sacred  haunt,  made  wonderful  by  a  God's  un- 
selfish sorrow.  Word  by  word,  all  that  the  disciple  Peter  had 
related  concerning  the  last  night  spent  by  the  "  Nazarene" 
within  this  same  Gethsemane  returned  to  his  mind. 

"  Will  He  possess  all  things?"  he  murmured  half  aloud — • 
"  A  Man  of  Nazareth,  crucified  and  dead  ? — shall  we  not  eveu 
wander  in  this  garden  without  His  memory  haunting  us  ?" 

And  he  hastened  his  steps,  anxious  to  leave  the  spot,  although 
he  knew  not  why.  A  little  way  beyond  where  he  stood, — be- 
yond the  roses  and  the  sentinel  cactus-flowers,  the  dewy  turf 
still  reverently  bore  the  impress  of  a  Form  Divine  that  there 
had  fallen  prone  and  wept  for  all  the  world, — wept  with  such 
tears  as  never  yet  had  rained  from  mortal  eyes, — there  too  had 
lighted  for  a  little  space,  a  great  consoling  Angel, — and  there 
no  human  step  had  passed  since  the  fair  King  of  perfect  Love 
had  gone  forth  patiently  to  die. 

"  Judith  would  not  be  here" — Barabbas  muttered,  as  he 
left  the  garden,  closing  the  gate  noiselessly  after  him, — "  'Twas 
never  a  resort  of  hers, — she  would  not  think  of  coming  hither." 

He  paused,  his  heart  beating  with  an  undefinable  anxiety. 

"  No — no, — she  would  not  dream  of  it" — he  repeated — "  If 
sorrow  hath  distracted  her,  she  might  more  likely  have  gone 
towards  Calvary,  the  scene  of  yesterday.  I  will  visit  the 
tomb  of  the  '  Nazarene'  and  inquire  of  the  guard  whether 
she  hath  passed  them  by." 

Thus  resolved  he  walked  on  his  way  slowly,  full  of  the  most 
bewildering  thoughts.  The  question  that  reigned  uppermost 
in  his  mind,  was,  strange  to  say,  not  what  had  become  of 
Judith  Iscariot,  but  what  and  who  was  the  "  Nazarene"  ? 
Why  did  His  presence  seem  to  permeate  the  very  air?  How 
was  He  different  to  others,  that  one  should  not  be  able  to 
forget  Him  ?  He  was  a  Teacher  of  new  doctrine, — well,  there 
had  been  other  teachers  of  new  doctrine  and  would  be  many 
more.  He  was  brave  and  beautiful ;  there  were  others  brave 
and  beautiful  likewise.  He  was  not  a  hero  as  the  world 
accepts  heroes, — He  had  fought  no  battles,  made  no  conquests, 
and  owned  neither  throne  nor  province.  He  was  simply,  or 
appeared  to  be  a  very  poor  Man,  who  had  been  kind  and  sym- 
pathetic to  the  sorrowful ;  He  had  healed  a  few  sick  persons, 
19* 


222  BAR  ABB  AS 

and  given  the  comforting  hope  of  Heaven  to  those  who  had 
no  consolation  upon  earth.  Where  was  the  particular  marvel 
of  these  things  ?  A  life  so  simple,  so  common, — where  was 
its  Divinity?  Barabbas  pondered  the  problem  vainly, — he 
was  not  wise  enough  to  comprehend  that  perhaps  the  greatest 
miracle  of  the  world  is  this  same  sort  of  "simple"  and 
"common"  life,  which  is  after  all  neither  simple  nor  common, 
but  most  truly  complex  and  phenomenal.  For  nothing  upon 
earth  is  so  singular  as  kindness, — nothing  so  rare  as  sympathy, 
— nothing  so  absolutely  unique,  wonderful  and  purely  Divine, 
as  ungrudging,  unboastful,  devoted,  changeless  Love  that  seeks 
nothing  for  itself,  but  freely  gives  everything.  What  men  call 
love  is  often  selfishness ;  w'hat  God  accepts  as  love  is  the  entire 
and  voluntary  resignation  of  self  for  love's  own  sake.  "  In 
losing  thyself  " — He  says — "  thou  shalt  find  Me, — and  in  find- 
ing Me, — thou  wilt  find  all !" 

But  Barabbas  had  not  the  eyes  to  discern  the  spiritual  side 
of  nature.  He  could  only  see  what  appeared  on  the  surface 
of  life, — of  interior  meanings  he  knew  nothing.  It  puzzled 
him  to  consider  that  the  mysterious  man  Melchior,  whether 
he  were  Egyptian,  Greek,  or  any  other  nationality,  actually 
accepted  this  Jesus  of  Nazareth  as  a  God, — without  question. 
Why  ?  Because  if  a  God,  how  would  it  have  been  possible 
for  Him  to  die? 

"  I  must  know  everything  concerning  Him" — sighed  Barab- 
bas perplexedly — "  I  must  not  accept  mere  rumour.  When 
Judith  is  found,  and  when  all  these  present  troubles  are  past,  I 
will  go  down  to  Nazareth,  and  obtain  a  true  report.  It  shall 
be  my  business  j  for  if  He  were  Messiah,  then  are  our  people 
cursed  for  ever  with  the  curse  of  God  that  passeth  not  away. 
I  will  not  take  mere  hearsay, — I  will  prove  things.  As  for 
His  rising  from  the  dead,  that  cannot  be" 

Here,  interrupting  his  meditations,  he  lifted  his  eyes  to  look 
at  the  low  hills  in  front  of  him.  At  the  distance  he  now  was, 
he  could  plainly  see  the  ring  of  white  tents  that  circled  the 
tomb  of  the  "  Nazarene." 

"  Truly  the  watch  is  set" — he  murmured, — "  And  'tis  an 
ample  guard.  There  can  be  no  feigning  in  this  fear, — the 
terror  of  the  priests  is  real.  Cowards  and  sceptics  as  they  are, 
they  surely  deem  this  Man  will  rise  again  1" 

The  sight  of  all  those  soldiers'  tents  amazed  him, — he  had 
•,hought  to  find  one  or  two  sentinels  perhaps  on  guard, — but 
that  a  regular  military  "  watch"  should  be  encamped  round  the 


A  DREAM  OF  THE    WORLD'S  TRAQEDT      223 

burial-place  of  one,  who  after  all,  according  to  the  law's  esti- 
mate, was  no  more  than  a  crucified  criminal,  seemed  to  him 
positively  astounding.  The  hours  of  the  afternoon  were  wear- 
ing on  rapidly  and  he  hurried  his  pace,  anxious  to  reach  and 
examine  the  tomb  itself,  but  as  he  came  within  a  few  yards  of 
it,  a  guard  confronted  him,  and  with  a  gruff  word,  forbade  him 
to  proceed  further.  Barabbas  answered  the  man  gently,  ex- 
plaining the  errand  on  which  he  was  bound,  and  asking  whether 
any  one  resembling  the  beautiful  Judith  had  been  seen  wander- 
ing about  in  the  neighbourhood.  The  soldier  looked  at  him 
scrutinisingly, — then  began  to  laugh. 

"  Why,  as  I  live !"  he  said — "  Thou  art  Barabbas !  I  am 
one  of  those  who  came  to  fetch  thee  out  of  prison  the  other 
morn, — thou  wert  drunk  with  the  air  and  light,  as  with  new 
wine,  and  little  did'st  thou  deem  that  thou  wert  going  to  thy 
freedom  !  Thou  lookest  altogther  a  different  man,  thus  cleansed 
and  fitly  clothed ;  dost  find  the  world  altered  since  thy  former 
days  ?" 

"  Nay,  'tis  much  the  same," — responded  Barabbas  somewhat 
bitterly — "  Evil  succeeds,  and  good  perishes ;  am  I  not  myself 
a  living  witness  of  this,  seeing  'tis  I  who  should  have  been 
crucified  instead  of  the  '  Nazarene'  ?  " 

"  I  warrant  thou  dost  not  regret  His  end  or  thine  own  es- 
cape !"  returned  the  soldier  with  a  grim  smile — "  Thou  hast  not 
yet  been  two  whole  days  out  of  prison,  and  already  thou  art 
searching  for  a  woman  !  'Tis  ever  the  way  with  fierce  rascals 
such  as  thou,  nevertheless  however  much  I  may  sympathise 
with  thee,  I  cannot  let  thee  pass  me, — the  orders  that  we  have 
are  stringent." 

"  I  well  believe  it !"  said  Barabbas  looking  wistfully  at  the 
sealed-up  door  of  the  rocky  sepulchre, — "  And  I  do  not  urge 
thee  unto  disobedience.  And  concerning  the  woman  I  have 
spoken  of,  I  seek  her  not  for  mine  own  sake, — 'tis  the  daughter 
of  Iscariot  that  hath  strayed  from  home, — the  same  Iscariot 
whose  son  Judas  hung  himself  for  shame  that  he  betrayed  the 
Man  of  Nazareth.  'Tis  thought  she  is  distracted  at  her  brother' s 
death,  and  that  she  roams  wildly,  unknowing  whither." 

"  By  my  faith  'tis  a  sad  history  !"  said  the  Eoman,  not  with- 
out a  touch  of  sympathy, — "  This  old  Iscariot  is  truly  in  a 
piteous  case.  But  no  woman,  fair  or  foul,  hath  been  near  these 
precincts  all  the  day  so  far  as  I  can  tell  thee.  Nevertheless 
when  the  watch  doth  change  at  moonrise,  and  Galbus  the  cen- 
turion takes  chief  command,  I  will  inform  him  what  thou 


224  BARABBAS 

gayest, — he  hath  two  children  of  his  own,  young  maidens  both, 
— and  should  he  chance  on  this  strayed  lamb  he  may  be  trusted 
to  persuade  her  home.  But  for  thyself,  I  do  advise  thee  not 
to  linger, — for  here  all  idlers  are  suspected  thieves, — and  if  I 
do  mistake  not  thou  hast  some  past  reputation  for  skilled 
robbery !  Perchance  thou  would'st  not  steal  a  corpse, — for 
truly  'tis  not  valuable, — yet  all  things  counted,  thou'rt  safer  at 
a  distance  from  this  place.  Frown  not !  I  mean  thee  well." 

"  I  thank  thee  I"  said  Barabbas  briefly,  and  then  stood  for  a 
moment,  lost  in  thought  and  uncertain  what  to  do.  It  was 
growing  late, — the  sun  was  verging  towards  its  setting.  Flecks 
of  crimson,  like  floating  rose-leaves,  drifted  in  the  sky  imme- 
diately above  the  hill  of  Calvary,  and  below  these  delicate 
flushes,  spread  a  watery  band  of  green,  a  translucent  sky-lagoon 
into  which,  ere  long,  the  glorious  orb  of  day  would  plunge  and 
sink  like  a  ship  on  fire.  The  landscape,  though  nearly  barren 
of  verdure,  had  a  wild  beauty  of  its  own  seen  thus  in  the 
afternoon  glow  of  the  warm  Eastern  light, — and  so  Barabbas 
thought  as  his  tired  eyes  roved  from  point  to  point  unrestfully 
and  with  a  strained  expression  of  regret  and  sorrow.  The 
centre  of  all  visible  things  seemed  to  be  that  sealed  and  guarded 
sepulchre ;  and  presently,  bringing  back  his  gaze  to  the  bold 
and  martial  form  of  the  Roman  soldier  who  still  watched  him 
half  suspiciously,  half  curiously,  he  waved  his  hand  with  an 
expressive  gesture  towards  the  tents  that  were  clustered  round 
the  mystic  tomb. 

"  Surely  all  this  is  needless  waste  of  trouble  and  of  time  ?" 
he  said  with  forced  lightness — "  Who  that  is  sane  would  fear 
that  a  dead  man  can  rise?" 

"  Thou  mistakest  the  nature  of  the  fear" — returned  the 
soldier, — "  No  one,  not  even  Caiaphas,  is  such  a  fool  as  to  be- 
lieve in  a  resurrection  of  the  dead.  No,  no  ! — we  guard  against 
the  living; — this  'Nazarene's'  disciples  are  all  within  the 
neighbourhood,  and  they  would  steal  the  body  of  their  former 
Master  willingly,  if  by  this  deed,  they  could  assume  His 
prophecies  were  true.  But  now  are  they  baffled  ;  they  cannot 
break  our  ring  or  pass  our  ground  ;  and  if  the  dead  Man  comes 
to  life  again  He  must  Himself  find  force  to  rend  the  rocks 
asunder,  for  no  human  hand  will  aid  the  miracle !" 

"  'Twould  be  a  miracle  indeed !"  murmured  Barabbas 
dreamily. 

"  Ay  ! — and  'twill  not  happen," — laughed  the  Roman — 
"  We  all  know  that.  And  to-morrow,  praise  be  to  the  gods, 


A  DREAM  OF  THE    WORLD'S   TRAGEDY      225 

the  test  will  have  been  made  and  the  watch  ended,  for  'tis  the 
third  day, — and  if  He  rise  not  in  keeping  with  His  own  saying, 
'tis  a  finished  matter,  and  we  shall  no  more  be  teased  with 
follies.  To-morrow  thou  can'st  wander  here  at  will  unmolested 
— to-day  I  bid  thee  get  hence  and  home." 

"And  I  obey  thee" — rejoined  Barabbas  turning  away — 
"  Thou  wilt  speak  to  thy  centurion  of  Iscariot's  daughter?" 

"  Most  faithfully." 

"  Again  I  thank  thee.     Farewell  1" 

"  Farewell !" 

The  soldier  resumed  his  slow  pacing  to  and  fro,  and  Barabbas 
with  a  last  lingering  look  at  the  sepulchre,  went  on  his  reluctant 
way  back  towards  the  city.  He  noticed  as  he  passed  the 
further  one  of  the  little  hills  between  which  the  tomb  was 
situated,  that  there  was  a  deep  hollow  in  the  eround  such  as 
might  have  been  burrowed  out  by  some  wild  animal  for  its 
sleeping-place.  It  was  large  enough  to  hold  a  man  unseen  in 
its  sandy  depths, — and  as  he  measured  it  with  a  glance,  the 
bold  idea  struck  him  that  he  would  come  there  that  very  night 
and  hide,  as  it  were,  in  ambush  to  watch  the  sepulchre  also. 

"  For  if  aught  should  chance  that  is  in  any  wise  miraculous, 
then  I  shall  witness  it" — he  soliloquised — "  Or  if  the  disciples 
of  the  '  Nazarene'  should  strive  to  steal  His  corpse,  why  then  I 
shall  behold  the  fight  'twixt  them  and  the  Roman  guard.  Most 
surely  I  will  return  hither, — for  whatsoever  happens  it  will  not 
be  a  night  for  sleep,  but  vigilance.  I  can  watch, — I  too,  as 
well  as  any  other  man, — moreover  if  marvellous  things  are  to 
be  seen,  'twere  well  that  I  should  see  them.  If  the  dead  Man 
rise  again  then  shall  I  know  He  is  not  man  but  God  ;  but  unless 
I  see  Him  living  with  my  own  eyes  I  never  will  believe. 
Wherefore  to  prove  this  thing  I  will  return  hither  this  night, 
and  nothing  shall  prevent  me.  The  judgment  and  the  heart 
may  be  deceived, — the  reason  and  the  sight,  never.  'Twill 
please  me  well  to  play  the  secret  sentinel ! — and,  as  I  live,  no 
force  shall  move  me  from  my  post  till  dawn  1" 


226  BARABBAS 


CHAPTER    XXXV. 

As  he  resolved  on  this  plan,  he  stopped  to  take  a  careful 
survey  of  the  exact  situation  of  the  sheltering  hollow  in  which 
he  meant  to  pass  the  night.  The  dust  of  the  road  was  grey 
and  thick  about  his  feet, — above  him  the  heavens  were  red- 
dening into  sunset-glory.  The  landscape  had  no  touch  of 
human  life  about  it,  save  his  own  solitary  figure, — Jerusalem 
lay  before  him,  a  dream  of  white  roofs  rather  than  a  reality, 
and  not  a  sound  stirred  the  heated  air.  Therefore,  in  the  great 
hush  that  prevailed,  he  was  unaccountably  startled  to  see  the 
form  of  a  woman,  walking,  or  rather  gliding  slowly  towards 
him  ;  she  was  coming  up  from  the  city  carrying  a  sheaf  of  large 
white  lilies.  She  was  herself,  like  the  blossoms  she  bore,  clad 
in  white,  and  as  she  approached  with  perfectly  noiseless  foot- 
steps, Barabbas,  moved  by  a  sudden  instinct,  placed  himself 
directly  in  her  path,  fully  confronting  her  and  staring  at  her 
with  burning,  eager,  wistful  eyes.  Her  face,  pale  and  mar- 
vellously beautiful,  was  the  same  he  had  seen  so  strangely  illu- 
mined on  Calvary  when  the  bells  had  begun  to  ring,  and  the 
darkness  had  slowly  dispersed, — a  face  expressing  neither  youth 
nor  age,  nor  any  mark  of  earthly  time,  but  reflecting  on  its 
pure  and  perfect  features  both  maidenhood  and  motherhood  in 
one,  combined  with  such  angelic  sweetness,  wisdom,  sorrow, 
purity  and  love  as  never  had  before  adorned  the  fairness  of 
any  woman  born.  Barabbas  held  his  breath  for  very  wonder- 
ment at  sight  of  her, — something  supreme  and  queenly  in  her 
aspect  disposed  him  to  fall  upon  his  knees  before  her  in  rever- 
ence,— yet  he  refrained  from  this  and  stood  erect,  trembling 
greatly,  but  resolved  to  keep  the  position  he  had  taken  up  in 
the  centre  of  the  narrow  road,  so  that  she  might  not  pass  him 
without  at  least  a  look,  a  word  or  a  gesture. 

"Tis  the  Mother  of  the  Crucified!"  he  murmured — "I 
will  speak  to  her,  and  ask  of  her  the  truth  concerning  all  the 
marvellous  history  of  her  Son, — surely  she  will  answer ! — 
surely  she  must  answer,  seeing  it  may  become  a  matter  of  life 
and  death,  not  only  with  me,  but  with  the  world." 

He  waited,  and  she  came  on,  holding  her  lilies  with  both 
hands  against  her  breast.  Within  two  or  three  yards  of  him 
however,  she  paused,  and  stood  still.  So  still  indeed  was  sh« 


A  DREAM  OF  THE    WORLD'S   TRAGEDY      227 

that  she  might  have  been  a  figure  of  ivory  or  marble ;  not  a 
fold  of  her  garments  stirred, — not  a  petal  of  the  lilies  she 
carried  quivered, — her  calm  eyes,  clear  as  heaven,  regarded 
him  steadily, — one  tress  of  her  fair  hair  escaping  from  the 
white  linen  head-covering  she  wore,  glittered  against  her 
throat, — and  on  her  lips  rested  the  tender  shadow  of  a  smile. 
Behind  her  flamed  the  sunset, — round  her  the  very  air  grew 
dense  and  brilliant,  as  though  powdered  through  with  the  fine 
dust  of  finest  amber, — and  at  her  feet  one  fallen  lily-bud 
opened  its  satin  petals  to  the  light,  disclosing  its  interior  heart 
of  gold.  Vaguely  awed  by  her  very  quiescence,  Barabbas 
gazed  upon  her  enthralled  and  for  the  moment  stricken  speech- 
less,— a  wondering,  doubting  and  bewildered  sinner,  face  to 
face  with  the  Angel- Virgin  of  the  world !  The  red  light  of 
the  sinking  sun  playing  on  the  whiteness  of  her  garments 
dazzled  him, — she  seemed  to  grow  in  stature  and  in  majesty 
even  while  he  looked,  and  with  a  sigh  of  mingled  pain,  dread 
and  desire,  he  extended  his  hands  appealingly. 

"  Mary  of  Nazareth  !" 

The  shadow  of  the  smile  upon  her  lips  deepened  and  softened 
with  an  infinite  compassion.  But  she  neither  answered  nor 
moved. 

"Mary,  Mother  of  the  'Nazarene'  I"  he  faltered,  trembling 
more  and  more,  for  there  was  something  supernatural  in  her 
beauty,  something  almost  terrifying  in  the  mingled  meekness 
and  majesty  of  her  regard — "  Hear  me,  I  beseech  thee  !  Thou 
knowest  who  I  am, — Barabbas, — an  evil  man  of  many  sins, — 
and,  had  the  people's  voice  been  just,  'tis  I  who  should  have 
perished  yesterday  instead  of  thy  beloved  Son.  I  swear  I 
would  have  died  most  willingly, — not  at  the  first — no ! — for  I 
did  long  for  liberty  and  all  the  joys  of  free  existence ;  but  after 
I  had  seen  His  face,  my  life  seemed  to  mine  own  self  worth- 
less, and  I  would  have  given  it  gladly  to  save  His !" 

Still  not  a  word  from  her ! — only  that  same  mild  tenderness 
of  look  and  smile. 

"  They  say  thy  Son  blasphemed" — pursued  Barabbas  with 
increasing  agitation,  "  Because  He  spoke  familiarly  of  God 
and  called  Him  '  Father' !  'Twas  a  wild  utterance, — for  now 
a  foolish  rumour  floats  upon  the  people's  lips, — a  rumour  most 
incredible, — alleging  that  He  was  in  very  truth  the  only  Son 
of  God.  Why  did'st  not  thou,  Mary,  disprove  this  idle  tale? 
— for  thou,  of  nil  the  world,  dost  know  the  manner  of  Hia 
birth !  Thou  should'st  have  warned  Him  of  the  danger  of 


228  BARABBAS 

His  words, — and  so  might  He  have  saved  Himself  from  the 
penalty  of  the  law.  For  were  He  the  holiest  man  that  ever 
breathed,  still  in  this  way  of  speech  He  was  guilty  of  a  vast 
presumption, — the  great  God,  the  terrible  Almighty  hath  never 
vested  His  Divinity  in  human  guise  !  Knowest  thou  not,  Mary, 
that  this  false  impression  of  Him  still  abides  ? — and  that  the 
whisper  of  it,  passing  from  mouth  to  mouth  doth  waken  the 
strangest  fears  and  doubts  within  the  souls  of  men  ? — and  even 
I,  Barabbas,  ignorant,  guilty,  and  all  unbelieving  as  I  am,  grow 
troubled  and  perplexed,  seeking  the  truth  and  finding  none ! 
With  thee  this  matter  rests, — thou  art  the  Mother  of  this 
'  Nazarene,' — 'tis  not  too  late  to  speak — thou  can'st  unravel  all 
the  mystery,  wherefore  I  do  beseech  thee  answer  me !" 

His  entreating  eyes  studied  her  tranquil  face  eagerly,  but 
not  a  sound  escaped  her  lips,  not  even  a  faint  responsive  sigh. 

"  Why  wilt  thou  thus  keep  silence?"  he  exclaimed  passion- 
ately— il  Hast  thou  thought,  Mary,  what  the  result  will  be  if 
thou  dost  suffer  this  mad  and  strange  report  to  travel  on 
uncontradicted  ?  For  if  thy  dead  Son  be  declared  a  God,  of 
birth  miraculous  and  Divine,  then  must  a  curse  rest  on  the 
people  of  Judaea  for  having  slain  Him,  and  all  the  world  will 
make  a  scorn  of  Israel  for  endless  time  !  On  us  will  fall  the 
blame  and  punishment  for  our  rejection  of  the  God-Messiah, — 
and  the  nations  of  the  earth  will  loathe  us  for  our  cruelty,  our 
wickedness,  perversity  and  unbelief.  Mary,  thou  knowest ! 
Speak  ! — wilt  thou  let  the  whole  world  worship  a  Legend  and 
a  Lie?" 

As  he  uttered  the  last  word,  a  sudden  cold  shudder  ran 
through  him, — he  grew  dizzy  and  faint,  but  with  an  effort  held 
his  ground,  gazing  full  at  her  to  whom  he  made  his  bold  and 
desperate  appeal.  She  had  not  moved, — but  there  was  an 
indefinable  change  in  her  that  startled  him.  Some  mystic 
light  that  was  not  of  the  sunset  seemed  cast  upon  her  face,  and 
in  her  stedfast  eyes  there  shone  a  radiance  more  softly  brilliant 
than  the  glittering  of  moonbeams  on  the  sea.  Half  swooning 
with  the  force  of  his  own  emotions,  Barabbas  suddenly  fell  on 
his  knees,  grasping  the  edge  of  her  white  robe  in  one  hand. 

"  Mary  of  Nazareth  !"  he  whispered  hoarsely — "  In  pity  to 
me  a  sinner, — in  mercy  to  the  world — declare  the  truth  !  Who 
was  the  Father  of  thy  Son  ?" 

Deep  silence  followed  his  daring  question.  Above  the  fra- 
grant lilies,  her  radiant  face  grew  warm  with  speechless  elo- 
quence,— and  lifting  her  eyes  she  gazed  upward — upward,— 


A   DREAM  OF  THE    WORLD'S  TRAGEDY      229 

far  into  the  vistas  of  ethereal  blue; — transfigured  by  some 
inward  glorious  thought  she  seemed  about  to  float  away  upon 
the  air  in  answer  to  a  voice  calling  her  heavenward.  The  sun 
dropped  below  the  horizon  and  disappeared, — the  skies  began 
to  pale  into  that  rapid  Eastern  twilight  which  paves  the  passage 
of  the  stars. 

"Not  a  word! — not  a  word  !"  cried  Barabbas  then,  spring- 
ing to  his  feet,  and  carried  out  of  himself  by  mingled  fervour 
and  ferocity — :'  0  Woman  ! — wilt  thou  deceive  Man  unto  the 
bitter  end?  Shall  our  very  God  be  of  thy  making?  Shall 
our  very  creeds  be  of  thy  teaching?  Must  thou  command 
our  souls  even  to  the  very  hope  of  heaven  ?  If  thou  art  human, 
if  thou  art  holy,  if  thou  desirest  truth  made  manifest,  speak, 
Mary,  thou  who  did'st  bring  into  the  world  this  '  King'  to 
whom  hath  now  been  given  a  Cross  for  throne  and  thorns  for 
Crown !  Dost  thou  meditate  eternal  vengeance  on  us  all  ? 
Hast  thou  sworn  within  thy  soul  that  men  shall  worship  what 
they  once  despised,  and  pray  to  Him  they  slew  ?  If  so,  such 
monstrous  compensation  ne'er  was  dreamed  of — 'tis  a  revenge 
more  subtle  than  the  fiercest  tortures !  Is  it  for  wrath  or  love, 
Mary,  that  thou  dost  hold  thy  peace  ?" 

Her  sweet  mouth  trembled  a  little,  but  she  did  not  speak, — 
her  eyes  were  still  uplifted  as  in  prayer. 

"How  can  silence  in  aught  avail  thee?"  pursued  Barabbas 
impetuously — "  Lo,  if  the  great  God  Invisible  hath  filled  thee 
with  His  mystic  Spirit,  art  thou  not  thereby  made  a  creature 
marvellous  ? — a  very  queen  of  wonders  ? — and  by  thy  very  life 
dost  thou  not  glorify  thy  sex  and  make  it  sacred  and  revered 
for  evermore?  Wherefore  then  hesitate  to  take  full  majesty 
and  power  upon  thee  ?  But  if  thou  hast  no  miracle  to  tell, 
surely  thou  art  a  cruelty  incarnate,  for  by  thy  dumb  refusal  to 
be  true,  thou  mayest  weave  around  the  hapless  world  a  web  of 
error  such  as  the  ages  never  yet  have  seen.  Think  for  a  mo- 
ineut, — picture  it ! — shall  wise  men  of  the  earth  and  conquer- 
ors and  kings  bow  their  proud  heads  before  mere  Woman  and 
Child  ?  The  symbol  of  all  Nature,  in  which  there  is  no  touch 
Divine  but  everything  of  common  ! — wilt  thou  make  fools  of 
tribes  and  nations,  thou  Mother  of  the  so-called  Christ,  who 
art  accredited  with  being  Virgin  still  ?  No  man  hath  touched 
thee,  say  the  people, — yet  thou  hast  a  husband,  and  thou  had'st 
a  Son  1 — art  thou  thyself  a  Miracle  ? — or  dost  thou  out  of 
pleasure  in  an  undeserved  fame,  suffer  these  wild  things  to  ba 
said  of  thee  ?" 

20 


230  BARABBAS 

Still  she  answered  nothing.  But  bringing  her  eyes  down 
from  their  rapturous  survey  of  heaven,  she  fixed  them  on  him 
with  a  grave  regard  in  which  there  was  something  of  mild 
rebuke  as  well  as  compassion. 

"  I  would  not  wilfully  offend,  or  seem  to  offer  thee  reproach," 
-^he  went  on,  vaguely  troubled  by  her  look — "  I  know  thou  art 
a  sorrowing  Mother,  at  this  present  time,  though  to  me  thou 
hast  an  air  of  gladness  rather  than  of  grief.  But  I  am  only 
one  of  many  who  will  clamour,  ay,  with  tears  and  prayers,  for 
an  answer  from  thee, — I  am  a  lonely,  wretched  sinner  with  a 
broken  heart, — life  is  nothing  to  me,  forms  are  nothing,  the 
opinions  of  the  world  less  than  nothing, — I  seek  the  truth, 
that  I  may  rest  thereon  and  find  some  comfort, — there  are  and 
will  be  thousands  such  as  I.  Could  I  believe,  I  would  believe  ; 
but  an'  thou  wilt  not  speak,  thou  leavest  me  in  ignorance.  If 
thy  Son  be  born  of  the  Spirit  of  God,  then  will  I  worship  Him 
and  thee, — but  if  He  be  no  more  than  Man,  then  will  I  think 
of  Him  with  pity  as  one  noble  and  heroic  who  was  foully  slain, 
and  of  thee  as  patient  woman  sore  afflicted,  and  there  an  end. 
On  thy  word  do  I  rely, — oh,  thou  must  have  a  heart  of  steel 
or  adamant,  if  still  thou  wilt  not  answer  me  1" 

This  time  she  stirred  slightly,  but  she  did  not  speak.  Bend- 
ing her  head  a  little  forward  over  the  lilies  she  held,  she  gazed 
at  him  with  an  earnest  and  tender  thoughtfuluess, — and  then 
— Barabbas  started  back  amazed  and  terror-stricken.  For 
behind  her  and  around  her  a  sudden  great  light  shone, — a  fiery 
halo,  radiating  to  right  and  left  like  two  glittering  wings  between 
which  her  tranquil  and  majestic  figure  held  its  place  in  queenly 
and  serene  unconsciousness.  The  unearthly  glory  palpitated 
with  a  thousand  hues  of  delicate  and  changeful  colour, — and 
Barabbas  with  a  faint  cry  of  wonderment,  dropped  again  upon 
his  knees. 

/**  God  have  mercy  on  me !"  he  muttered,  staring  with 
dazzled  eyes  at  the  pulsating  splendour  and  the  gentle  figure/ 
that  in  the  midst  of  those  unearthly  fires  stood  half  framed  in 
flowering  lilies — "  God  have  mercy  on  me !  Meth ought  'twas 
to  a  woman  that  I  spoke, — this  is  an  Angel !"  J 

A  soft  surprise  flitted  over  her  face,— it  was  evident  that  she 
herself  was  unaware  of  the  mystic  light  that  circled  her  as 
with  a  ring.  It  vanished  even  while  Barabbas  spoke,  and  he, 
kneeling  in  the  dust  and  gazing  upward,  fancied  his  sight  had 
surely  been  deceived.  But  now  she  moved, — and  coming 
quite  close  up  to  him,  looked  him  full  and  stedfastly  in  the 


A  DREAM  OF  THE    WORLD'S  TRAGEDY      231 

eyes.     A  whisper  light  as  the  flutter  of  a  leaf  fell  on  his 
ears, 

"  To-morrow !" 

And  with  noiseless  footsteps  she  passed  him  by,  seeming  to 
float  aerially,  like  a  spirit,  upward  on  her  way  towards  the 
sepulchre  between  the  hills.  Barabbas,  springing  erect,  ran 
recklessly  a  few  steps  after  her,  crying  aloud — 

"  Mary  !  Mary  of  Nazareth  !  Woman  or  angel,  whatever 
thou  art,  judge  me  not  wrongfully !  I  have  but  sought  the 
truth,  even  as  the  world  will  seek  it  1 — the  truth  of  Him  who 
was  thy  Son !" 

She  turued  her  head  gently  back  towards  him  with  an  air 
of  queenly  patience. 

"  To-morrow  !"  she  repeated,  and  her  voice  sounding  like  a 
soft  chime,  seemed  carried  through  the  air,  over  the  quiet  land- 
scape into  every  nook  and  corner  of  rock  and  field,  bearing  as  a 
message  to  all  creation  the  one  word  "  To-morrow  1" 

Then,  gliding  on,  she  disappeared. 

Breathless  and  overcome  with  excitement,  Barabbas  flung 
himself  down  on  the  arid  turf  that  edged  the  road,  his  senses 
all  aswoon  and  trembling. 

"  To-morrow!"  he  said — "  "Why — what  shall  to-morrow  bring? 
"Will  her  dead  Son  live  again  ?  Doth  she  also  cherish  this  mad 
delusion  ?  If  He  in  truth  doth  rend  the  rocks  asunder  and 
arise,  'twill  be  sufficient  proof  of  God  for  all ;  but  such  a 
miracle  can  never  be, — '  tis  out  of  very  Nature,  yet  I  cannot 
but  believe  that  some  strange  mystery  doth  invest  the  world, 
— some  thought  of  God  is  working  in  its  depths.  For  long 
long  ages  God  hath  well-nigh  forgotten  us, — doth  He  now  re- 
member at  the  very  time  when  we  forget  ?  Hath  He  visited 
us  in  very  truth,  to  be  rejected?  And  if  this  should  be  so, 
what  will  be  the  purport  of  our  doom  ?  Ah  me,  we  men  are 
ever  fools  and  blind, — and  I  the  wretchedest  fool  of  all,  for 
methought  I  saw  a  heavenly  radiance  round  yon  woman  of 
Nazareth,  even  as  I  deemed  I  saw  the  same  in  Pilate's  hall 
around  the  figure  of  her  Son — 'twas  but  a  dazzlemenb  of  sight 
and  sense, — a  weariness  and  faintness  which  quickly  passed, 
and  then  the  light  had  fled.  How  soon  our  fancies  are  de- 
ceived ! — a  sick  man  seeth  visions,  and  fancies  they  are  real, — 
and  I,  weak  with  Ions  imprisonment  and  fasting,  fretted  with 
griefs,  and  poisoned  with  despairs,  am  made  the  dupe  of  mine 
own  feebleness.  How  full  was  I  of  strength  once ! — and  now, 
— why  t!:e  very  look  of  this  Mary  of  Nazareth  doth  easily  unman 


232  B ARABS AS 

me.  To-morrow  1  I  would  that  it  were  here  I  'Tis  growing 
late  and  dark — I  will  return  to  Melchior  and  tell  him  whither 
I  am  bound  to-night, — then  will  I  come  back  hither  and  take 
up  my  secret  vigil  till  the  marvellously-expected  day  shall 
dawn." 

He  started  running  down  the  road  towards  Jerusalem,  and 
as  he  entered  the  city  gates,  he  met  a  detachment  of  soldiers, 
headed  by  Galbus,  marching  out.  They  were  going  to  relieve 
the  watch  at  the  sepulchre,  and  encamp  themselves  there  for 
the  night.  He  drew  aside  to  let  them  pass,  and  as  their  bur- 
nished helmets  and  pikes  went  in  a  narrow  glittering  line  up 
the;  road,  the  moon,  large  as  a  golden  shield,  suddenly  lifted 
herself  above  the  city,  gazing,  as  it  were,  over  the  hills  in 
open  wonderment  at  the  Divine  Mystery  hidden  in  the  earth 
below. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

"  THY  command  must  be  obeyed, — nevertheless,  Caiaphas, 
'tis  strange  and  unusual." 

The  speaker  was  an  elderly  scribe, — a  man  with  a  pale  lean 
intellectual  face,  and  a  high  forehead,  which  just  now  was 
puckered  in  a  puzzled  frown.  He  was  seated  in  the  private 
audience-room  of  the  high-priest,  and  the  high-priest  himself 
was  majestically  throned  in  a  gilded  chair  opposite  to  him. 
Lamps  were  kindled, — the  table  was  strewn  with  slips  of  parch- 
ment,— through  the  open  casement  the  gardens  of  the  palace 
could  be  seen  richly  illumined  by  the  moon, — it  was  the  even- 
ing of  the  Sabbath-day. 

"  Strange  and  unusual  as  it  may  be,"  returned  Caiaphas 
coldly,  "  it  is  my  order.  Thy  business  is  not  to  question  or 
dispute,  but  to  perform  the  will  of  those  that  are  set  over  thee. 
Wherefore  should'st  thou  and  thy  fellows  chronicle  the  brief 
career  and  ignominious  death  of  a  mad  blasphemer?" 

"  There  is  no  answer  to  thy  '  wherefore,'  save  the  one,"  re- 
plied the  scribe,  with  a  little  smile, — "  It  is  the  custom,  and 
hath  been  so  for  many  ages,  to  faithfully  set  down  all  things 
within  our  records, — even  to  small  items,  whether  concerning 
our  evil  men  or  good.  The  story  of  this  fanatic  of  Nazareth 
is  worthy  to  be  written,  if  only  to  disprove  all  supernatural 
le<reuds  that  are  in  rumour  and  connection  with  Him.  Some 


A  DREAM  OF  THE    WORLD'S  TRAGEDY      233 

things  He  taught  were  wise,  and  some  were  foolish  because 
impracticable, — and  possibly  His  best  suggestions  may  be  traced 
to  Egypt,  and  He  be  proved  the  merest  echo  of  some  ancient 
perished  creed.  I  do  confess  unto  thee,  Caiaphas,  I  see  no 
reason  for  the  absolute  omission  of  His  name  in  circumstantial 
history." 

Caiaphas  flushed  a  dark  red,  then  grew  pale,  and  grasped  the 
projecting  edges  of  his  chair  with  both  hands  convulsively. 

'•  Thou  art  a  narrow  pedant !" — he  said  angrily — "  Thou 
can'st  not  see  what  I  see.  Knowest  thou  not  there  is  a  change 
of  feeling  even  now  among  the  people  ? — that  they  bemoan 
their  '  Prophet's'  death,  and  weep,  saying  He  wrought  much 
good  among  them  ?  Moreover  that  the  end  of  Judas  Iscariot 
hath  moved  them  most  profoundly,  knowing  that  the  unhappy 
youth  did  slay  himself  for  pure  remorse  at  having  given  the 
'  Nazarene'  over  to  the  law  ?  All  this  will  grow  upon  report, 
— we,  the  Sanhedrim,  shall  be  branded  perchance,  as  murderers, 
and  this  crucified  criminal  be  made  a  martyr.  Wherefore  I 
will  not  have  him  mentioned  in  our  records,  Shebna, — let  His 
name  perish  aud  His  teachings  be  forgotten  ! — lest  in  the 
future,  men  should  ask — :  Who  was  this  Man  of  Nazareth  and 
wherefore  was  He  slain  ?'  " 

"  They  will  ask  that  the  more,  maybe,  if  thou  leave  it  unto 
rumour" — said  Shebna  drily,  collecting  his  parchments  to- 
gether— "  If  thou  would'st  make  a  man  immortally  renowned, 
let  him  be  spoken  of  from  mouth  to  mouth,  and  nothing  of 
any  written  fact  be  found  concerning  him  !  Gossip  hath  whis- 
pered a  man  into  a  god  ere  now,  when  whole  volumes  of  his- 
tory would  have  failed  to  make  him  one.  I  tell  thee  I  would 
rather  be  talked  of  than  written  of, — 'tis  the  more  lasting  fame. 
If,  in  impassive  language,  I  should  coldly  pen  the  story  of  this 
Jesus  of  Nazareth,  and  classify  Him  as  a  poor  crazed  creature 
who  Rave  Himself  out  to  be  the  Son  of  God,  and  was  crucified 
for  His  blasphemy,  no  one,  either  in  the  present  or  the  future 
would  trouble  their  heads  further  concerning  Him." 

"  If  thou  write  one  thing  thou  must  write  all,"  declared 
Caiaphas  with  irritation — "  Thou  must  relate  the  terrors  of  the 
darkness  and  the  earthquake  ;  and  what  could'st  thou  make  of 
the  rending  of  the  Temple  veil?" 

Shebna  looked  meditative. 

"  True, — these  things  were  strange  and  terrifying" — he 
murmured — "  But  after  all — the  heat  of  these  late  days  has 
been  intense, — au  earthquake  and  a  storm  are  natural  disturb- 
20* 


234  BAR  A  SB  AS 

ances  which  might  occur  at  any  time, — and  the  Temple  veil 
was  probably  rent  by  an  oblique  flash  of  lightning.  Thou  art 
moved  from  thy  wonted  calmness,  Caiaphas,  else  thou  would'et 
see  naught  so  particular  in  such  events  that  they  should  not  be 
written." 

The  high-priest  rose,  trembling  with  the  interior  force  of  an 
inexplicable  fury. 

"  Thou  obstinate  slave,  thou  shalt  not  write  them  !"  he  cried 
vehemently — "  'Tis  I  who  scan  thy  leaves, — 'tis  I  who  set  my 
sign  upon  thy  chronicle  to  warrant  and  approve  its  truth.  Now 
if  thou  darest  so  much  as  write  the  name  of  Jesus  of  Nazareth 
in  these  present  annals,  I  will  cut  thy  parchment  into  shreds 
before  thy  face  and  depose  thee  from  thine  office !" 

Shebna  rose  also,  and  stood  staring  at  his  irate  superior  in 
blank  astonishment. 

"  Anger  not  thyself  thus  needlessly,  Caiaphas" — he  said 
quietly — "  I  argue  not  against  thy  order,  which  shall  be  fulfilled, 
— I  simply  seek  to  show  thee  'tis  in  a  manner  unnecessary,  as 
no  fear  can  now  be  had  of  this  troublous  '  Nazarene,'  seeing 
He  is  dead.  Nevertheless  thou  shalt  have  complete  obedience  ; 
no  word  shall  be  inscribed  upon  our  documents  pertaining  to 
this  so-called  '  King  of  the  Jews ;'  we  will  consign  Him  to 
oblivion." 

"  Ay — so  best !"  returned  Caiaphas,  recovering  composure, 
and  re-seating  himself — "  For  what  the  pen  does  not  write,  the 
eye  cannot  read.  Ye  scribes  are  after  all  the  only  powers  of  a 
land, — ye  are  more  than  kings, — for  if  ye  chronicle  not  a 
victory,  the  world  will  never  know  'twas  gained, — and  if  ye 
speak  not  of  a  Man,  who  shall  ever  know  that  he  existed  ?  I 
believe  not  in  the  force  of  rumour  as  thou  dost, — who  dost 
credit  mere  garrulity  ?" 

u  Why — every  one !"  responded  Shebna  satirically — "  A 
man  will  doubt  and  seek  to  disprove  the  written  facts  of  his- 
tory,— but  he  will  oft  believe  the  first  thing  told  him  by  his 
neighbour!  And,  touching  this  matter,  Caiaphas,  thou  must 
not  forget  that  there  are  others  who  have  known  the  '  Naza- 
rene' who  may  write  some  memorial  of  Him ;  His  followers 
were  many" 

"  Ignorant  fools  all  and  common  folk" — retorted  the  high- 
priest — "  none  of  whom  know  the  use  of  letters.  A  good 
company  forsooth  ! — idle  Galilean  fishermen,  hill-thieves,  pub- 
licans, lepers  and  street-outcasts;  such  as  these  shall  never 
write  a  line  that  can  bo  read  hereafter.  Moreover,  even  if 


A  DREAM  OF  THE    WORLD'S  TRAGEDY      235 

they  did,  what  would  their  report  be  worth,  if  we,  who  make 
the  Jewish  annals,  are  silent?" 

Shebna  found  no  answer  to  this  trenchant  question,  which 
indeed  seemed  to  settle  the  matter.  He  had  his  own  ideas 
upon  the  point, — every  man  has  his  own  ideas  upon  every 
point, — but  he  was  afraid  to  give  them  any  further  utterance. 
So  he  merely  made  a  little  deprecatory  gesture  of  submission 
and  assent,  and,  after  a  few  more  general  remarks  on  ordinary 
subjects,  he  gathered  up  his  parchments  and  humbly  bowed 
himself  out  of  his  sacerdotal  ruler's  presence. 

Left  alone,  Caiaphas  sat  for  some  moments  in  his  chair 
absorbed  in  thought.  His  face  was  careworn, — his  eyelids 
heavy  with  want  of  sleep. 

"  How  is  it  I  am  thus  unmanned?''  he  murmured  wearily — • 
"  Moved  for  the  merest  fancies ! — troubled  by  the  wandering 
humours  of  a  tired  brain  !  I  cannot  rid  me  of  the  memory 
of  the  Man  of  Nazareth, — there  was  a  triumph  in  His  dying 
eyes  mingled  with  lightning-wrath  that  did  appal  my  soul  1 
But  I  have  baffled  Him! — there  shall  be  no  new  creeds  to 
conquer  time ;  the  one  Jehovah  shall  suffice, — the  one  re- 
vengeful, blood-demanding,  jealous  God  whose  very  name  doth 
terrify  the  world !  If  God  were  Love  then  would  man  grow 
too  proud ; — shall  a  worm  assume  that  the  Divine  hath  care 
for  it  ?  An'  such  folly  were  believed  in,  we  could  not  hold 
our  mastery  upon  the  people, — each  wretched  unit  would  ap- 
peal from  us  to  God,  and  deem  himself  our  independent  equals. 
Ah,  what  a  Sabbath  this  hath  been  ! — how  desolate  in  every 
moment,  from  the  anguish  and  amazement  of  the  morning 
when  old  Iscariot  did  seek  me  out  with  furious  upbraidings, 
and  frenzied  clamour  for  his  lost  daughter,  as  if  I  knew 
whither  she  hath  strayed  !  Would  that  I  did  know  !  "Who 
is  it  that  hath  mouthed  a  scandal  round  her  name  and  mine, 
and  turned  Iscariot's  heart  against  me  ?  The  released  Barab- 
bas?  Nay,  he  could  guess  nothing.  I  have  been  ever  cau- 
tious,— and  yet, — a  whisper  and  a  slander  fly  on  swifter  wings 
than  light  or  wind,  and  who  shall  stay  them  ?  I  must  be  on  my 
guard, — and  though  I  love  Judith,  I  will  not  look  upon  her  face 
for  many  days  even  when  she  is  found,  lest  harm  come  of  it." 

He  rose,  and  moved  to  the  open  casement,  from  which  a  light 
wooden  stairway  led  down  into  the  shaded  precincts  of  hia 
luxurious  private  garden.  Leaning  against  the  intertwisted 
trellis-work  he  looked  out  at  the  placid,  star-strewn  heavens 
with  troubled  and  indifferent  eyes. 


236  BARABBAS 

"  'Tis  the  last  night  of  the  watch" — he  said — "  And  to- 
morrow all  suspense  will  cease.  Tlie  counsellor  of  Ariuiathea 
hath  kept  his  word, — he  hath  not  visited  the  tomb  since  the 
burial, — likewise  the  followers  of  the  '  Nazarene'  are  scared, 
and  refc  of  settled  plan  or  purpose,  wherefore,  so  fur  all  is  well. 
To-morrow  we  shall  attest  unto  the  people  the  lalseness  of  the 
Prophet  they  believed  in, — then,  there  will  be-  no  more  cause 
for  fear.  So  will  the  matter  be  forgotten ;  these  fanatics  for 
truth  are  more  troublous  than  seditious  rebels ;  open  truth  is 
most  impolitic, — one  cannot  rule  the  world  except  by  lies  1" 

He  smiled  a  little  at  his  own  cynicism, — then  started  ner- 
vously, hearing  a  slight  rustling  in  the  thick  foliage  below  his 
balcony.  Moving  from  his  indolent  posture  he  bent  forward 
to  listen,  and  as  he  did  so,  two  brilliant  wild  eyes  peered  up  at 
him  from  the  dusky  shadows. 

"  Caiaphas  I"  and  the  whisper  thrilled  like  the  hiss  of  a 
snake  through  the  silence, — "  Caiaphas  1" 

Seized  with  a  chill  terror,  he  stepped  swiftly  and  noiselessly 
down  the  stairway,  and  bending  back  the  bushes,  gazed  eagerly 
into  what  seemed  a  nest  of  leaves, — and  there  perceived  the 
form  of  a  woman  crouched  down  on  the  ground  as  though 
seeking  to  hide  herself, — a  woman  in  draggled  white  garments 
with  a  fair,  strangely  agonized  face  that  smiled  at  him  in  a  sort 
of  forlorn  joy  as  lie  discerned  it  among  the  sheltering  shrubs 
and  flowers.  He  uttered  a  smothered  cry — 

"  Judith !" 

And  half  in  rage,  half  in  love,  he  dragged  her  from  her 
hiding-place,  and  caught  her  up  in  his  arms,  looking  about 
him  in  dread  lest  any  one  should  see  them,  and  trying  to  cover 
her  with  his  own  flowing  mantle. 

"  Judith  ! — Judith  !"  he  muttered,  his  heart  beating  heavily, 
the  while  he  sought  to  put  back  from  her  brows  all  the  tangled 
gold  of  her  dishevelled  hair—"  What  doest  thou  here  ?  Where 
hast  thou  been  ?  Knowest  thou  not  that  thy  father  hath  sought 
thee  all  throughout  the  day  with  tears  and  heart-break  ?  And 
why  hast  thou  ventured  hither  thus  alone  ?  Eememberest  thou 
not  the  scandal  of  tongues — the  gossip  of  the  city  ?  Consider 
the  folly  of  it ! — if  my  wife  saw  thee, — if  my  servants  spied 
thee ! — oh,  thou  must  not  linger  here  one  moment,  Judith, — 
thou  must  go  home ; — come, — I  myself  will  take  thee  through 
the  private  way,  and  naught  will  be  suspected — come  1 — there 
is  no  time  to  be  lost  if  thou  would'st  silence  slander." 

With  unnatural  violence  she  wrenched  herself  from  his  grasp 


A   DREAM  OF  THE    WORLD'S   TRAGEDY      237 

and  retreated  step  by  step  looking  full  at  him.  Leaves  and 
brambles  clung  about  her, — a  spray  of  the  scarlet  cactus-blossom 
was  twisted  in  her  girdle,  and  against  her  breast  she  held  some 
dark  object  which  she  appeared  to  cherish  with  a  jealous  care. 

"  Thou  art  Caiaphaa  !"  she  said  dreamily  surveying  him — • 
"Thou  art  God's  great  high-priest  who  hath  become  a  slave 
for  love  of  me.  I  have  watched  for  thee  all  day  and  have  not 
found  thee,  though,  up  at  a  casement  yonder  I  saw  thy  wedded 
spouse,  the  pale  daughter  of  Annas,  weeping.  Did  she  weep 
for  thee,  thinkest  thou? — if  so  'twas  strange.  Who  that  is 
wise  would  shed  tears  for  any  man  !  Listen,  Caiaphas, — thou 
who 'dost  exact  obedience  from  all  the  people  of  Jerusalem, — 
the  hour  is  come  when  thou  must  obey  me !" 

Alarmed  at  her  wild  look  and  manner,  Caiaphas  went 
towards  her,  trying  again  to  take  her  in  his  arms, — but  she 
still  retreated,  her  eyes  flashing  with  a  fierceness  that  startled 
him. 

"  What  can  I  do  for  thee,  Judith  ?"  he  murmured,  speaking 
as  gently  as  he  could,  and  hoping  to  soothe  her  by  soft  words 
— "  Thou  knowest  how  willing  I  always  am  to  give  thee  pleas- 
ure. Only  I  beseech  thee,  come  with  me  out  of  this  place, 
lest  we  be  seen  and  spoken  of  " 

"  All  the  world  may  see," — responded  Judith  with  an  air  of 
triumph — "  All  the  world  may  hear!  I  care  naught.  What 
is  the  world  to  me,  so  long  as  Judas  still  is  angry  ?  Judas 
will  not  speak  to  me  for  wrath, — he  deems  'tis  I  did  bring  the 
'  Nazarene'  to  death, — whereas  'tis  thou  ! — thou  only.  And 
thou  must  tell  him  so, — thou  must  declare  thy  full  part  in  the 
matter,  for  neither  he  nor  I  will  bear  the  undeserved  blame. 
He  is  at  home  sleeping ;  I  told  him  thou  had'st  sworn  to  make 
him  great  and  famous  in  the  land, — but  he  answered  nothing. 
I  promised  I  would  bring  him  news. — come  thou  now  and 
wake  him — thou  knowest  not  how  fast  he  sleeps  ! — and  tell  him 
all, — tell  him  how  thou  did'st  teach  me  to  persuade  him  to  be- 
tray his  friend  the  '  Nazarene.'  For  though  the  '  Nazarene'  is 
dead,  it  seems  He  was  not  altogether  evil, — and  methinks  'tis 
pity  He  is  dead,  since  Judas  loved  Him.  I  kr/ew  not  that  his 
love  was  such,  or  of  so  great  a  tenderness, — and  now  I  puffer 
for  my  ignorance,  for  Judas  will  not  pardon  me,  or  look  at  me, 
or  say  as  he  was  wont  to  say — '  Fair  sister,  morning  is  fairer 
for  thy  presence  !' — yea,  he  would  oft  speak  so,  smilingly,  for 
I  was  beautiful, — the  fairest  woman  in  Judaea  was  I  till  I  grew 
old  !"  Here  she  paused  with  a  puzzled  expression, — her  own 


238  BARABBAS 

words  seemed  to  frighten  her, — but  presently  she  went  on, 
muttering  to  herself — 

"  Till  I  grew  old, — ay  ! — cruel  age  creeps  on  apace  with  us 
all, — we  should  not  stint  love  lest  those  we  love  be  taken  from 
us, — we  must  not  wait  too  long,  Judas  and  I,  or  we  shall  be 
buried  in  our  graves  ere  we  be  friends.  And  once  shut  in  that 
darkness  we  shall  never  rise,  not  even  on  the  waves  of  many 
tears !" 

Her  voice  sank  tremulously, — then  suddenly  it  rang  out  clear 
and  shrill. 

"  See  !"  she  exclaimed  wildly. — "  Thus  died  the  King !" 

And  unclasping  her  hands  from  the  object  she  had  hugged 
so  closely  to  her  bosom,  she  held  up  a  Cross,  made  of  two 
small  olive  branches  tied  together  with  a  strand  of  silk  drawn 
out  of  her  own  girdle. 

Caiaphas  staggered  back,  struck  speechless  by  her  words  and 
the  swiftness  of  her  action,  and  involuntarily  he  made  a  gesture 
of  repugnance  and  offence.  She  saw  it  and  sprang  up  to  him, 
still  brandishing  the  Cross  before  his  eyes. 

"  Thus  died  the  King  !"  she  repeated  with  a  kind  of  exulta- 
tion— "  Slain  by  His  own  high-priest  on  the  altar  of  the 
world  !" 

And  with  all  the  madness  of  her  tortured  brain  lighting  her 
looks  as  with  fire,  she  stood  transfigured  into  an  unearthly  love- 
liness that  appalled  while  it  fascinated  her  quondam  lover, — 
and  for  one  absorbing  moment  the  twain  confronted  each 
other  as  though  they  were  restless  ghosts  met  by  moonlight, — • 
the  Cross  between  them  uplifted  like  a  sign  of  parting, — a 
mystic  barrier  dividing  them  for  ever. 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

IT  was  but  an  instant  that  they  remained  thus  inert, — then, 
shaking  off  the  amazement  and  fear  that  had  held  him  motion- 
less and  dumb,  Caiaphas  seized  the  crazed  girl  in  his  arms  and 
strove  to  snatch  the  Cross  from  her  grasp.  But  she  clung  to  it 
fiercely  in  an  access  of  fever  and  frenzy  ;  and  with  a  swift  lithe 
spring  like  that  of  a  young  leopardess  she  again  escaped  from 
him  and  stood  apart,  eyeing  him  vengeiully  yet  with  a  wan 


A  DREAV  OF  THE    WORLD'S  TRAGEDY      239 

smile.  Never  had  the  proud  priest  been  brought  to  such  a 
verge  of  despair  as  now, — for  what  was  he  to  do  with  this  dis- 
tracted creature,  whose  very  presence  in  his  private  garden  if 
discovered,  would  bring  scandal  on  his  name,  ruin  his  charac- 
ter and  degrade  him  from  his  lofty  post !  Even  the  words  she 
uttered  in  her  madness  would  betray  the  secret  of  their  illicit 
loves, — the  position  was  wholly  intolerable, — yet  how  was  he 
to  extricate  himself  from  it !  And  why  did  she  threaten  him 
with  the  Cross  ? — she  who  had  openly  declared  the  intensity 
of  her  hate  for  the  "  Nazarene"  ?  It  might  be  merely  the 
working  of  a  delirious  brain  toying  with  chaotic  contradictions, 
yet  it  troubled  Caiaphas  strangely.  He  advanced  a  step  or  two 
extending  his  hands  in  appeal. 

"  Judith,  come  to  me  " — he  said  in  a  low  tone  of  mingled 
coaxing  and  command, — "  Thou  art  ill, — distraught, — and  per- 
chance weary  with  wandering, — thou  knowest  not  what  thou 
sayest.  Thy  father  waits  for  thee  at  home, — let  me  take  thee 
to  him  now, — surely  thou  would'st  not  break  his  heart  and 
mine?  Come  !" — and  he  ventured  still  nearer  to  her—"  Do  I 
not  love  thee,  Judith  ? — and  wilt  thou  not  trust  thyself  unto 
my  tenderness  ?" 

She  looked  at  him  strangely,  her  large  eyes  dilating  with 
vague  wonder. 

"  Thy  tenderness  ?"  she  echoed.  "  What  tenderness  can'st 
thou  boast  of,  Caiaphas,  unless  it  be  that  of  the  wolf  for  its 
prey  ?  Speakest  thou  of  love  ?  Thou  hast  not  loved  me, — 
nor  I  thee, — moreover  there  is  no  love  left  in  all  the  world, — 
'tis  dead,  and  thou,  methinks,  hast  slain  it."  Here  she  paused, 
passing  one  hand  over  her  brow  with  a  puzzled  expression,— 
"  I  know  not  how  the  message  came  to  me" — she  continued 
murmuringly — "  for  Judas  said  nothing  !V 

"  What  message  ?"  asked  Caiaphas  softly,  drawing  nearer  to 
her,  and  resolving  in  his  own  mind  that  he  would  coax  her 
away  from  the  garden  by  degrees — "  Tell  me  what  it  is  *hat 
troubles  thee  ?" 

A  faint  smile  crossed  her  lips. 

"  Nay,  naught  troubles  me  !"  she  said — "  1  have  lived  too 
long  to  grieve  for  bygone  things.  Look  you,  since  my  time  the 
world  is  changed, — old  days  are  passed  for  ever, — and  Judaea 
is  no  more  what  it  hath  been.  And  of  the  message, — why, 
that  was  strange, — it  told  me  that  God  lived  and  that  Death 
was  dead !  Listen  !"  and  with  a  swift  capriciousness  that 
startled  him  she  flung  herself  into  his  arms  and  leaned  her 


240  BAH ABB AS 

head  against  his  breast,  looking  upwards  into  his  face — "  I  have 
heard  that  now  there  is  some  curse  upon  us  and  that  we  shall 
never  die !  'Tis  hitter, — for  I  am  tired  of  life,  and  so,  surely 
art  thou.  We  have  lived  long  enough ;  'tis  centuries  since  I 
was  young  and  since  thou  did'st  slay  the  '  Nazarene.'  llemem- 
berest  thou  His  shining  face  in  death  ? — methought  He  woro 
the  lightning  as  a  crown  !  But  darkness  came,  and  then  I  lost 
my  brother  Judas ;  Barabbas  found  him  afterwards,  and  brought 
him  home." 

"  Barabbas !"  muttered  Caiaphas,  the  while  he  held  Judith 
half  roughly,  half  caressingly  in  his  embrace  and  sought  to 
guide  her  steps  imperceptibly  towards  the  private  gate  leading 
out  from  the  garden — "  Barabbas  is  a  murderer  I" 

("Then  should'st  thou  be  his  friend'',— said  Judith— "  for 
thou  art  murderer  likewise  !  Hast  thou  not  subtly  slain  the 
'  Nazarene'  ?  'Twas  aptly  planned.  Caiaphas, — men  are  as 
blind  fools  without  reason,  and  none  will  think  of  blaming  thee. 
And  as  for  Judas, — Judas  is  not  dead  ;  he  sleeps ;  if  he  indeed 
•were  dead  the  world  should  know  that  thou  had'st  killed  him  !" 

Caiaphas  frowned,  and  a  sudden  rage  began  to  kindle  itself 
in  his  blood  against  this  woman  he  had  once  recklessly  adored. 

"  Hold  thy  peace,  Judith  !"  he  said  fiercely — ;(  Thou  ravest ! 
— thou  art  unlike  thyself,  else  should  I  be  wroth  with  thee. 
Talk  not  so  wildly  of  the  accursed  '  Nazarene,'  or  it  may  be  I 
shall  hate  thee  even  as  ardently  as  I  have  loved.  Thou  thy- 
self did'st  loathe  this  Prophet  and  desire  His  death  ;  thou  thy- 
self did'st  mock  Him  ere  He  died  ;  now,  out  of  mere  woman's 
wantonness  thou  pratest  of  Him  almost  as  if  His  memory  were 
dear  to  thee !  Such  folly  passeth  patience, — but  thou'rt  ill  and 
can'st  not  comprehend  thine  own  distraction, — why  now ! — 
what  new  fancy  doth  torment  thee  ?" 

For  she  suddenly  withdrew  herself  from  his  arms,  and,  sigh- 
ing piteously,  began  to  play  idly  with  a  piece  of  coarse  rope 
that  dangled  loosely  from  her  girdle.  Presently  untying  it,  she 
held  it  out  to  him. 

"  Prithee  take  this,  Caiaphas" — she  murmured  plaintively — 
"Place  it  among  the  holy  treasures  of  the  Temple, — 'twill 
eerve  !  'Twas  round  the  throat  of  Judas, — see  !  his  blood  doth 
stain  it  here!" 

He  started  back  with  a  cry  of  horror.  She  came  nearer, 
still  with  mute  gestures  praying  him  to  accept  the  hideous  gift 
ehe  proffered. 

"  Wilt  thou  not  receive  it  ?"  she  asked,  fixing  her  wild  eyes 


A  DREAM  OF  THE    WORLD'S  TRAGEDY      241 

on  his  alarmed  and  pallid  countenance — "  Then  art  thou  no 
true  priest,  for  on  the  altar  thou  dost  serve,  there  are  the  things 
of  blood  and  sacrifice,  and  this  should  be  amongst  them.  Lo ! 
— it  doth  express  the  penitence  of  Judas, — he  hath  done  wrong 
and  his  remorse  is  great ;  he  prays  for  pardon.  And  I  have 
told  him  for  his  comfort,  that  he  hath  not  been  in  all  to  blame, 
for  that  it  was  thou, — thou  and  the  creatures  of  thy  craft,  of 
whom  I  was  one,  that  did  destroy  the  '  Nazarene."  And  he  is 
glad,  I  think, — for  when  I  told  him  this,  a  light  fell  on  him 
and  he  smiled, — for  ever  did  he  hate  the  priests,  and  that  they 
should  outrage  innocence  and  crucify  a  god  is  no  great  won- 
der !" 

Speechless  with  inward  fury  and  despair,  Caiaphas  stood 
helplessly  staring  at  her,  while  she  in  a  kind  of  sad  resignation, 
re-fastened  the  blood-stained  cord  at  her  own  waist.  Then  she 
drew  the  roughly-made  Cross  from  her  bosom  and  smiled. 

"  This  is  a  strange  charm  !"  she  said  softly — "  It  makes  the 
old  world  new.  In  rays  of  light  this  same  sign  fell  on  Judas 
as  he  slept  and  seemed  to  give  him  peace.  I  found  these  olive- 
branches  in  Gethsemane,  and  tied  them  thus  together, — if  it 
could  comfort  Judas,  so  shall  it  comfort  me !" 

And  raising  it  to  her  lips  she  kissed  it. 

"Judith — Judith  !"  cried  the  high-priest  desperately — "  Wilt 
thou  kiss  the  symbol  of  ignoble  death  ?" 

"  Why  not  ?"  said  she — "  if  Death  thereby  is  dead  ?  I  told 
thee  of  the  message, — 'twas  that  God  lived  and  Death  was 
dead.  We  wept  for  Judas,  believing  he  was  gone  from  us  into 
the  grave  for  ever, — but  now  we  know  he  lives  we  shall  be 
comforted.  ;Tis  a  new  wisdom  we  have  learned,  albeit  there 
was  something  sweet  in  the  old  ignorance.  For  when  we  were 
sure  that  we  should  die, — it  mattered  little  whether  we  lived 
well  or  ill, — a  few  years  and  all  was  at  an  end, — sins  were  not 
counted  then, — but  now,  we  dare  not  sin  lest  we  be  burdened 
with  the  memory  of  wrong  through  everlasting  time.  Methinks 
there  is  a  misery  in  this  joy  of  endless  life  ! — what  will  become 
of  thee,  Caiaphas  ? — of  me  ? — «hall  we  forget  our  sins,  thinkest 
thou  ? — or  must  we  evermore  remember  ?" 

He  met  her  large  appealing  eyes, — then  gently  advancing, 
encircled  her  with  one  arm. 

"Judith, — beloved  Judith" — he  whispered — "As  thou  art 

dear  to  me,  do  not  torment  thyself  and  me  with  these  wild 

fancies.     Come, — I  will  not  force  thee  homeward  against  thy 

will, — come  within  the  palace,  and  I  will  hide  thee  where  thou 

L       q  21 


242  BARABBAS 

knowest  of, — the  secret  nook  where  we  have  passed  so  many 
hours  of  love" 

"  Flatter  not  thyself  I  ever  loved  thee!"  she  said  with  a  re- 
turning flash  of  her  former  pride  and  scorn — "  Men  were  my 
slaves,  and  thou  the  most  abased  of  all !"  She  paused,  shud- 
dering violently, — then  went  on  in  feeble  tones, — "  But  that 
was  long  ago, — when  I  was  young ;  rememberest  thou  how  fair 
I  was  ? — with  eyes  like  jewels  and  hair  like  gold  ?" 

"  Thou  art  not  changed,  Judith" — murmured  Caiaphas, 
pressing  her  to  his  heart  with  involuntary  force  and  passion — • 
"  Thou  art  as  thou  wert  ever,  the  most  beautiful  of  women  1" 

"Thou  dost  mock  me,"  she  sighed,  leaning  against  him 
languidly — "  But  I  heed  not  what  thou  sayest,  as  I  never  loved 
thee.  No  man  did  ever  move  me  to  a  sorrow  for  his  sake — not 
even  poor  Barabbas  who  in  very  truth  did  worship  me.  Out 
of  his  love  he  slew  Gabrias  who  had  grown  too  boastful  of  my 
favour, — and  for  his  crime  he  suffered  Jong  imprisonment, — 
yet  I  cared  naught !  If  men  are  fools  they  needs  must  pay 
the  price  for  folly." 

She  roused  herself  and  shook  back  her  long  hair  over  her 
shoulders. 

"  Come  !"  she  said — "  Come  and  wake  Judas.  He  has  slept 
a  long  long  while,  and  it  will  soon  be  morning." 

She  moved  swiftly  and  with  an  air  of  resolve  over  the  grass, 
and  Caiaphas,  relieved  that  she  seemed  bent  on  departure, 
made  an  elaborate  pretence  of  accompanying  her.  Her  exqui- 
site form,  light,  supple  and  stately,  glided  along  before  his  eyes 
like  some  fair  spectre,  and  the  fascination  of  her  beauty  was 
such  that  he  had  much  ado  to  keep  himself  from  snatching 
her  in  his  arms,  all  distraught  as  she  was,  and  covering  her 
with  the  last  kisses  of  despairing  love  and  farewell.  But  the 
fear  of  discovery  held  his  passions  in  check, — and  he  was  care- 
ful to  walk  beside  her  with  an  assumption  of  protecting  dignity 
and  compassion,  so  that  if  any  chance  beholder  should  spy  him, 
he  would  be  able  to  explain  that  he  had  found  her  wandering 
through  his  gardens  in  a  state  of  fever  and  distraction,  and  that 
he  was  merely  fulfilling  his  duty  as  a  priest  in  taking  her  back 
to  her  father's  house. 

Suddenly  she  stopped  and  surveyed  him  with  frowning  sus- 
picion. 

"  Thou  wilt  make  full  confession  to  Judas  ?"  she  demanded 
• — "  Thou  wilt  declare  how  it  was  thy  scheme  and  thine  alone 
ihat  bought  to  death  the  '  Nazarene'  ?  Thou  wilt  absolve  him 


A  DREAM  OF  THE   WORLD'S  TRAGEDY      243 

from  the  sin  that  troubles  him  ? — the  sin  whereunto  we  both 
persuaded  him  ?" 

He  looked  away  from  her. 

"  Be  at  peace  I  pray  thee,  Judith," — he  murmured  evasively 
— "  I  will  say  what  I  can" 

"  Nay,  it  is  not  what  thou  can'st  say  but  what  thou  must 
say  !"  cried  Judith  excitedly — "  Thou  can'st  say  any  lie, — thou 
must  say  the  truth  I  Thou  cruel  priest !  Thou  shalt  not 
darken  my  brother's  name  and  fame  by  thy  treachery, — thou 
shalt  not  screen  thyself  behind  him  in  this  history.  Thou,  the 
priest,  did'st  hate  the  god,  if  any  god  there  was  within  thy 
Victim, — and  thou  did'st  slay  Him.  The  very  people  would 
have  set  Him  free  had'st  thou  not  bidden  me  cry  out '  Crucify 
Him'  to  keep  them  in  their  vengeful  humour.  I  tell  thee  thou 
shalt  confess  this  thing, — I  will  not  go  from  heuce  till  thou 
dost  promise  me, — Judas  waits  for  us  at  home, — swear  to  me 
thou  wilt  tell  him  all !" 

Driven  to  desperation,  and  bethinking  himself  that  after  all, 
Judas  was  dead,  thoush  his  distraught  sister  would  not  realise 
it,  Caiaphas  answered  hurriedly, 

"  Be  it  as  thou  wilt,  Judith.     I  swear  !" 

She  peered  at  him  distrustfully,  her  eyes  glittering  with  a 
sparkle  of  malevolence. 

"  I  do  not  believe  thee !"  she  said  deliberately — "  Thou 
can'st  so  aptly  play  the  spy  and  traitor  that  thou  art  not  to  be 
trusted.  If  thou  wilt  be  true  to  thy  word  for  once,  swear  to 
me  by  this !" 

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

"  Darest  thou  thus  taunt  me  1"  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. 
Staggering11  backward,  he  fell  senseless  on  the  ground,  the  blood 
gushing  freely  from  his  wound,  and  she,  stooping  over  him, 
Btared  at  her  own  work  in  a  dazed,  wild  wonder.  Then,  drop- 


2M  BARABBAS 

pins  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  vigi- 
lant 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  pre- 
vailed ;  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  in- 
genious 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 


A   DREAM  OF  THE    WORLD'S  TRAGEDY      245 

difficulty.  Well,  well !  The  night  will  soon  be  gone  and  this 
crazy  business  finished  ;  'twill  be  as  I  say,  matter  for  laughter 
ia  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 — "  yon  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  Home,  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  yon  aged  soul  who  prayed  here  in  the 
morning  for  his  '  little  maid  ' — the  feeble  fool !  he  met  me  in 
the  town  yonder,  a-sliaking  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  yon  sealed-up  tomb  !  Heaven  help  him  for  a  crazed 
frail  creature  I — 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 
should' st  listen." 

"  Listen?  To  what?"  demanded  Galbus  impatiently — "  There 
i»  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  !" 

21* 


246  S  ARABS  AS 

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  nest- 
ing tenderness.  The  amazement  on  the  centurion's  face  deep- 
ened 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  exclaim- 
ing* 

"  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 !  Can'st  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 


A  DREAM  OF  TEE   WORLD'S  TRAGEDT      24? 

immediately  retired.  His  post  was  not  more  than  three  or  foui 
yards  from  where  Galbus  stood,  and  feeling  somewhat  weary, 
he  sat  down  inside  one  of  the  tents  to  rest.  There,  leaning  hit 
head  on  his  hand,  he  still  listened  to  the  sweet  chirping  voices 
that  now  sounded  louder  and  clearer  than  ever.  The  othd 
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- widen 
ing  circles  of  delicious  harmony.  And  presently, — all  the  met. 
ou  guard,  rather  than  disturb  such  music  by  the  clank  of  theii- 
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  un- 
suspected 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  un- 
derstand 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  un- 
earthly. 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  bird-like,  full  of  nightin- 
gale-warbles and  luscious  trills.  And  by  and  by  the  same 
sense  of  peace  and  happiness  stole  on  the  tired  soul  of  Barab- 
bas as  had  come  to  the  war-worn  centurion  on  guard ,  gradually 


248  BARABBAS 

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  in- 
expressibly 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  ex- 
treme 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  sorrow- 
fully,— 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  tho 
dried  and  faintly  rustling  grass !  He  stretched  his  arms  out 
on  either  side  of  him  with  a  sigh  of  lazy  comfort, — and  pres- 
ently took  a  singular  pleasure  in  observing  that  he  had  un- 
consciously assumed  the  attitude  of  one  preparing  to  be  cruci- 
fiecT  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 


A  DREAM  OF  THE    WORLD'S  TRAGEDY      249 

"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  sepul- 
chre 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  spectral  exaggeration  of  him- 
self 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?  Drearnly  pondering  this  wholly  un- 
answerable question,  he  was  all  at  once  startled  out  of  his 
reverie  by  a  great  light  that  fell  in  one  keen,  dazzling  flash 
straight  i'rom  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  oft7  the  strange  stupor  that  numbed  his  senses  and 
held  him  for  a  moment  inert,  he  sprang  quickly  to  the  side  of 


250  BARABBAS 

Galbus  who,  seated  in  his  tent  and  leaning  against  his  spear 
was  all  but  fast  asleep. 

"  Gdbus !     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  1" 


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  light- 
ning! .  .  .  Maxinius, — 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  crim- 
son, there  rose  up  a  double,  fan-shaped,  diamond-shining  white- 
ness 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  aud  whirl  of  a 
mighty  wind  that  bent  the  trees  like  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  1 

"  Galbus,  Galbus !"  gasped  Maximus,  falling  down  and  cov- 
ering his  face  in  a  paroxysm  of  fear — "  Kneel — kneel ! — for 


A   DREAM  OF  THE   WORLD'S  TRAGEDY      251 

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  inevi- 
table 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  meteor-like  through  space,  and  to- 
gether silently  descended  at  the  closed  tomb  of  the  "  Naza- 
rene."  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. 

Quivering  to  its  deepest  underground  fibres,  the  earth  sup- 
ported the  glowing  forms  of  God's  ethereal  envoys  ; — together 
they  stood,  the  fire  of  their  white  transparent  wings  quenching 
the  silver  reflex  of  the  sinking  moon, — their  radiant  faces 
turned  towards  the  closed  sepulchre  wherein  their  Master  slept. 
Again  the  great  wind  rushed  in  resonant  harp-like  chords 
through  heaven, — again  the  ground  rocked  and  trembled,  and 
again  the  thunder  sounded  its  deep  trump  of  wakening  elo- 
quence. And  all  the  mystic  voices  of  the  air  seemed  whisper- 


252  B  ARABS  AS 

ing  the  great  Truths  about  to  be  made  manifest ; — "  Death  is 
dead  ;  Life  is  Eternal !  God  is  Love  !" 

Like  kindled  flames  upon  the  sombre  soil,  the  Angels  of  the 
Message  waited  side  by  side,  their  heavenly  eyes  luminous  with 
Divine  rapture,  and  the  light  upon  their  brows  flinging  glorious 
reflections  far  up  in  twinkling  points  of  radiance  to  the  van- 
ishing stars.  The  dawn  was  near, — the  strong  suspense  of 
Nature  was  at  its  keenest  pitch, — it  seemed  as  if  what  we  know 
of  Creation  could  endure  the  strain  no  more, — as  if  the  world, 
the  sun,  the  moon,  the  visible  planets,  must  melt  away  like 
drops  of  dew  in  the  burning  fervour  of  so  vast  an  ecstasy  of 
expectation.  The  dawn  was  near  ! — that  Dawn  which  would 
be  like  no  other  dawn  that  ever  heralded  a  day, — the  dawn  of 
all  the  hope,  the  joy,  the  faith,  the  love  that  waits  upon  the  prom- 
ised certainty  of  life  immortal ;  that  priceless  promise  given  to 
those  who  are  willing  to  accept  it  without  question  or  mistrust, 
and  who,  loving  their  fellow-men  better  than  themselves,  in 
God  and  for  God,  touch  heavenly  ecstasy  while  yet  on  earth. 

And  now  a  deep  silence  reigned.  All  the  soldiers  of  the 
watch  lay  stretched  on  the  ground  unconscious,  as  though 
struck  dead  by  lightning, — the  previous  mysterious  singing  of 
the  birds  had  ceased  ;  and  only  the  lambent  quivering  of  the 
wing-like  glory  surrounding  the  angelic  Messengers,  seemed  to 
make  an  expressed  though  unheard  sound  as  of  music.  Then, 
...  in  the  midst  of  the  solemn  hush,  .  .  .  the  great  stone 
that  closed  the  tomb  of  the  Crucified  trembled,  .  .  .  and  was 
suddenly  thrust  back  like  a  door  flung  open  in  haste  for  the 
exit  of  a  King,  .  .  .  and  lo  !  .  .  .  a  Third  great  Angel  joined 
the  other  two  !  .  .  .  Sublimely  beautiful  He  stood, — the  Risen 
from  the  Dead  1  ...  gazing  with  loving  eyes  on  all  the  swoon- 
ing sleeping  world  of  men  ;  the  same  grand  Countenance  that 
had  made  a  glory  of  the  Cross  of  Death,  now,  with  a  smile 
of  victory,  gave  poor  Humanity  the  gift  of  everlasting  Life  ! 
The  grateful  skies  brightened  above  Him, — earth  exhaled  its 
choicest  odours  through  every  little  pulsing  leaf  and  scented 
herb  and  tree  ;  Nature  exulted  in  the  touch  of  things  eternal, 
— and  the  dim  pearly  light  of  the  gradually  breaking  morn 
fell  on  all  things  with  a  greater  purity,  a  brighter  blessedness 
than  ever  had  invested  it  before.  The  Man  Crucified  and 
Risen,  now  manifested  in  Himself  the  mystic  mingling  of  God 
in  Humanity,  and  taught  that  for  the  powers  of  the  Soul  set 
free  from  sin,  there  is  no  limit,  no  vanquishment,  no  end.  No 
more  eternal  partings  for  those  who  on  the  earth  should  learn  to 


A  DREAM  OF  THE    WORLD'S  TRAGEDY      25S 

love  each  other, — no  more  the  withering  hopelessness  of  de- 
spair,— the  only  "  death"  now  possible  to  redeemed  mortality 
heing  "  the  bondage  of  sin"  voluntarily  entered  into  and  pre- 
ferred by  the  unbelieving.  And  from  this  self-wrought,  self- 
chosen  doom  not  even  a  God  can  save. 

Reverently  bent  were  the  radiant  heads  of  the  angelic 
Beings  that  had  descended  in  full  flight  from  Heaven  ;  but  He 
who  stood  erect  between  them,  tall  and  majestically  fair,  looked 
upward  once,  then  straight  across  the  silent  landscape  and, 
stretching  forth  His  hands,  seemed  by  the  tenderness  of  the  ges- 
ture to  place  His  benediction  on  the  world.  A  light  grey  mist  was 
rising  incense-like  from  the  eastern  edge  of  the  horizon, — the 
crimson  glory  lately  flaming  there  had  paled  into  the  faint  pink 
of  a  blush  rose-petal,  and  a  soothing  shadow  stole  impercepti- 
bly over  the  scene,  toning  down  into  silver  lines  the  departing 
rays  of  that  supernatural  splendour  which  had  been  like  the 
beginning  of  a  new  creation.  Slowly,  very  slowly,  the  tran- 
scendent brightness  round  the  form  of  the  Risen  Redeemer 
faded  into  air, — His  Human  Shape  became  more  and  more 
clearly  defined,  till  almost  He  looked  with  the  same  aspect  He 
had  worn  in  the  hall  of  Pilate,  when  man's  law  had  condemned 
Him  to  suffer  man's  death.  Only  there  rested  a  sublimer 
glory  on  His  countenance :  the  expression  of  a  power  omnipo- 
tent ;  a  beauiy  terrific ;  a  knowledge  supernal  that  made  Him 
wonderful  even  in  the  sight  of  His  serving-angels  of  Heaven. 
To  them  presently  His  high  command  was  silently  expressed, 
for  one  bright  Being  vanished  like  a  melting  cloud  within  the 
opened  sepulchre, — and  the  other,  moving  to  the  great  stone  of 
burial  that  had  been  rolled  away,  rested  upon  it,  a  shining 
Wonder,  clothed  in  white  wings. 

Meanwhile  He  who  had  proved  Death  to  be  but  another 
name  for  Life,  began  to  pace"  pensively  to  and  fro  among  the 
tangled  shrubs  and  vines  that  in  their  careless  and  untrained 
luxuriance  gave  to  the  otherwise  dreary  burial-spot,  something 
of  a  wild  beauty.  He  moved  as  though  He  loved  the  world, 
even  to  the  very  blades  of  grass  His  feet  passed  gently  over ; 
the  leaves  upon  their  branches  bent  towards  Him  as  taking 
health  and  joy  from  His  fair  Presence,  and  fearlessly  seeking 
His  blessing.  And  ever  as  He  moved,  His  aspect  grew  more 
human  ;  out  of  the  secret  depths  of  space  He  seemed  to  clothe 
Himself  anew  with  the  fleeting  semblance  of  mortality.  Now 
and  again  He  paused,  and  gazed  at  the  senseless  forms  around 
Him  of  all  those  who  had  been  set  to  guard  His  resting-place, 
22 


254  BAR  ABB  AS 

and  then  the  mystic  watchfulness  and  deep  compassion  of  His 
6yes  reflected  the  vast,  impersonal  and  changeless  love  which 
emanates  from  the  Divine  alone.  Passing  slowly  among  them 
with  noiseless  tread,  the  while  they  lay  inert,  unconscious  of 
His  nearness  (even  as  we,  at  this  time,  in  our  blind  and  selfish 
torpor  are  unconscious  or  indifferent  when  He  comes),  He 
presently  approached  the  spot  where  the  sinner  who  should,  in 
justice,  have  suffered  instead  of  Him  had  fallen  as  one  dead, 
— Barabbas.  Stretched  flat  upon  the  turf,  with  arms  extended 
on  either  side  of  him  as  though  the  earth  were  a  cross  and  he 
the  criminal  nailed  to  it,  his  dark  countenance  and  closed  eyes 
fronting  the  sky,  the  erring,  passion-haunted  man  was  ready  for 
some  punishment,  some  instant  withering  doom.  Stained  with 
the  crime  of  murder,  branded  as  a  thief,  and  full  of  a  thousand 
follies  and  germinating  sins,  what  had  he  done  that  he  should 
merit  all  the  pity  and  the  pardon  that  flashed  upon  him  like  a 
glory  from  the  tender  glance  of  the  risen  Christ  1  What  had 
he  done? — why,  nothing  in  truth, — he  could,  he  would  do 
nothing  worthy.  Only  a  thought  of  love  had  been  in  his  dark 
soul  for  the  sorrows  of  the  Man  Crucified, — and  he  had  shed 
tears  for  the  sufferings  of  the  holiest  Innocence  that  ever  was 
maligned  by  human  malice ;  he  had  longed  to  understand,  to 
know,  to  serve  this  splendid  Ideal  of  the  Ages, — and  this  was 
all.  Yet  this  sufficed  to  bring  the  glorious  Master  to  his  side ; 
though  as  that  Master  looked  upon  him,  a  shade  of  sorrow 
darkened  the  beautiful  Divine  brows, — the  shadow  and  pre- 
sentiment of  what  was  yet  to  be.  There,  made  visible  in  Barab- 
bas, was  the  symbol  of  the  animal  man,  blindly  conscious  of  the 
creative  Soul  of  the  Universe,  yet  doubting  all  manifestations 
of  that  Soul,  and  thrusting  his  own  narrow  fears  and  scepti- 
cisms forward  to  obstruct  and  bar  out  the  very  presence  of  the 
Eternal.  And  beside  him,  in  strange  contrast,  stood  the  jmre 
and  stately  embodiment  of  the  Spirit  of  God  made  human, — 
the  example  of  a  perfect  manhood  ;  the  emblem  of  life  and 
the  symbol  of  Genius,  which,  slandered  and  tortured,  and  slain 
and  buried,  rises  eternally  triumphant  over  evil  and  death. 

A  faint  sigh  stirred  the  air, — the  sigh  of  One  who  knew 
that  by  the  pitiless  will  of  Man,  He  should  be  wronged  and 
spiritually  re-crucified  for  ages  ;  and  then  the  risen  Light  of 
the  World  turned  away  and  glided  among  the  little  trembling 
trees,  His  figure  gradually  becoming  a  mere  misty  outline, 
vague  and  undefinable  as  though  it  were  the  floating  shadow  of 
a  dream.  Two  hours  had  yet  to  pass  ere  the  sun  would  rise, — • 


A  DREAM  OF  THE    WORLD'S  TRAGEDY      255 

meanwhile  a  fragrant  freshness  sweetened  the  breaking  dawn, 
and  all  Nature  remained  absorbed  in  a  sacred  silence  of  en- 
raptured worship,  conscious  that  the  Master  and  Lord  of  Life 
was  now,  as  once  before  in  oldest  time,  "  walking  in  His  garden 
in  the  cool  of  the  day." 


CHAPTER  XL. 

SHUDDERING  in  every  limb  with  pain  and  chilly  fear,  Barab- 
bas  presently  awoke  from  his  long  swoon.  Something  had  hap- 
pened,— but  what  ?  He  rubbed  his  aching  eyes  and  lifted 
himself  into  a  half-sitting  posture,  looking  uneasily  about  him. 
Dully  he  considered  his  position  ;  he  was  in  his  old  place  on  the 
hill  behind  the  sepulchre ;  the  place  where  he  had  watched, 
until — until,  as  it  seemed,  a  strange  thing  had  chanced  to  him 
which  now  he  could  not  quite  remember.  A  dream  had  daz- 
zled him,  he  thought,  and  scared  his  senses  from  him.  He 
imagined  he  had  seen  two  supernatural  Shapes,  formed  as  it 
were,  out  of  floating  pyramidal  fire,  descending  near  the  tomb 
of  the  "  Nazarene," — but  ere  he  had  had  time  to  look  upon 
them  straightly,  a  dizziness  had  seized  him,  and  he  saw  no 
more. 

"  Take  heed,  lest  when  the  Master  cometh,  He  find  you 
sleeping"  These  words,  spoken  to  him  by  the  man  Melchior, 
ere  he  had  started  to  take  up  his  self-imposed  vigil,  recurred  to 
him  unpleasantly  now  and  troubled  him ;  had  he  slept  after  all  ? 
And  had  the  "  Master"  come? 

Rising  slowly  to  his  feet,  he  gazed  from  left  to  right  of  him ; 
'  all  things  seemed  the  same.  The  tents  of  the  soldiers  on  guard 
gleamed  whitely  in  the  pallid  grey  of  dawn  ;  the  men  had  evi- 
dently not  yet  left  their  posts,  though  the  night  was  fully  past 
and  the  sense  of  sunrise  was  in  the  air.  There  was  something 
peculiarly  beautiful  in  the  clear  freshness  of  that  wondrous 
morning.  The  world  appeared  new ;  as  though  it  were  con- 
scious of  the  victory  of  the  Soul  over  Death,  and  Barabbas, 
pained  and  puzzled  though  he  was,  felt  the  comfort  of  the  deep 
tranquillity  and  restfulness  around  him.  Dismissing  his  fore- 
bodings, he  began  to  think  he  would  boldly  go  to  the  sepulchre, 
and  seek  out  Galbus  to  ask  him  how  he  had  fared  during  the 


256  BARABBAS 

night, — then,  on  further  reflection  he  hesitated,  for  if,  after  all, 
anything  unusual  should  have  occurred,  he,  Barabbas,  might  be 
suspected  of  having  had  some  share  in  it.  While  he  stood  thus 
irresolute,  soft  approaching  steps  startled  him,  and  he  quickly 
crouched  down  again  behind  a  bend  of  the  hill  where  he  could 
see  without  being  seen.  Three  women  were  coming  up  the 
road  from  the  city, — the  foremost  one  of  the  group  was  Mary 
Magdalene.  Her  head  was  bent  sorrowfully ;  she  moved  list- 
lessly and  with  an  air  of  deep  melancholy, — in  her  hands  she 
carried  flowers  and  sweet  herbs,  and  delicate  odours  seemed  to 
be  exhaled  from  her  garments  as  she  moved.  She  and  her 
companions  exchanged  no  words ;  they  all  seemed  stricken  by 
the  silence  of  an  absolute  despair.  As  they  passed  by  the  spot 
where  Barabbas  lay  concealed,  he  lifted  himself  cautiously  up 
to  look  after  them  and  wondered  whether  it  would  be  safe  or 
prudent  to  follow  in  their  track.  They  appeared  like  misty 
phantoms  floating  along  in  the  pearly  hues  of  dawn  ;  but  he 
could  see  the  golden  glint  of  the  Magdalen's  hair  flash  like  a 
eunbeam  as  she  turned  round  by  the  shelving  rocks  of  the 
sepulchre  and  disappeared.  Poor,  wistful,  woebegone  women, 
lie  thought ! — they  went  to  visit  the  dead, — the  dead  "  Man  of 
Nazareth"  whose  wondrous  smile  of  love  and  pardon  would 
never  lighten  their  lonely  lives  again  !  Alas,  for  them,  that  in 
their  clinging  faithfulness,  they  should  of  sud  and  morbid  choice 
renew  their  useless  anguish  by  gazing  once  more  upon  the 
cruelly  unflinching  stillness  and  rigidity  of  the  frozen  monster 
Death  which  never  yields  its  once-gained  prey  for  all  the  clamour 
of  tender  women's  tears  !  So  Barabbas  mused  compassionately, 
though  his  mind  was  swayed  between  doubt  and  fear  whenever 
the  recollection  of  his  last  night's  "  dream"  occurred  to  him, — 
that  dream  of  angels  which  had  blinded  him  with  its  excess  of 
light. 

Suddenly  a  piercing  cry  echoed  through  the  silence,  and  two 
of  the  women  came  rushing  back  along  the  road  in  a  panic  of 
haste  and  fear.  Throwing  personal  precaution  to  the  winds. 
Barabbas  sprang  out  from  his  hiding-place  and  confronted 
them. 

"What  now?"  he  demanded  excitedly — "Speak — speak! 
What  news?" 

"  He  is  risen  !  He  is  risen  !"  they  cried,  their  eager  voices 
struggling  together  for  quickest  utterance — "  The  seals  of  the 
tomb  are  broken, — the  stone  is  rolled  away, — and  an  Angel  of 
the  Lord  is  there !  He  is  risen  1" 


A  DREAM  OF  THE   WORLD'S  TRAGEDY      257 

Trembling  with  agitation,  Barabbas  thrust  himself  in  their 
path  as  they  strove  to  run  past  him. 

"  Ye  are  mad  1 — surely  ye  are  mad  I"  he  exclaimed — 
"  Whither  go  ye  ?" 

Impatiently  they  pointed  towards  the  city. 

"  Yonder ! — to  summon  His  disciples.  Go  !  see  the  place 
where  the  Lord  lay  !  None  shall  hinder  thee  ;  the  keepers  are 
as  dead  men.  He  is  risen  ! — He  is  risen  !" 

And  they  pursued  their  swift  course  down  the  road  as  though 
impelled  along  by  invisible  wings. 

Barabbas  waited  no  longer,  but  ran  impetuously  at  a  head- 
long pace  towards  the  sepulchre,  every  pulse  in  his  body  beating 
with  feverish  excitement.  As  he  approached  it  however,  he 
involuntarily  slackened  his  speed,  stricken  with  wonder  and 
affright  at  the  strange  scene.  It  was  true ! — the  "  keepers" 
were  "  as  dead  men  ;" — Galbus  and  his  band  of  soldiers  were 
all  prone  upon  the  ground  like  corpses  flung  there  after  a  battle, 
— and  what  had  seemed  the  impossible  had  been  effected,  in 
that  the  tomb  was  open,  and  the  huge  stone  rolled  away.  And 
the  Angel  of  whom  the  women  spoke?  Barabbas  could  see 
no  Angel, — though  he  fancied  that  on  the  displaced  stone  there 
glittered  a  singular  bright  light  that  made  it  shine  like  a  block 
of  polished  gold.  He  rubbed  his  eyes  dubiously  :  such  marvels 
made  him  distrust  the  evidence  of  his  own  senses,— yet,  there 
at  the  entrance  of  the  opened  tomb,  lay  something  human, — 
something  in  distress, — the  fallen  form  of  the  Magdalen  who 
seemed  to  have  swooned.  Barabbas  would  have  approached 
her, — but  an  invisible  force  held  him  to  the  spot  where  he 
stood,  smitten  with  strong  awe  and  fear,  and  he  dared  not 
advance  a  step.  And  while  he  yet  looked,  he  saw  her  move, 
'and  presently  she  rose  up  feebly,  and  with  tottering  steps 
stooped  towards  the  sepulchre  as  though  to  enter  in.  Then  all 
suddenly  a  calm  Voice  sounded  on  the  deep  silence, — a  Voice 
of  pure  unearthly  music  sweeter  than  all  we  know  of  sweetest 
sound. 

"  Woman,  why  weepest  thou  f" 

Thrilled  with  amazement  and  dread,  Barabbas  saw  her  sink 
upon  her  knees  and  raise  her  hands  in  passionate  supplication. 

"  Because"  .  .  .  and  her  trembling  accents  were  broken  by 
low  weeping — "  they  have  taken  away  my  Lord  and  I  know 
not  where  they  have  laid  Him  !" 

A  deep  silence  followed.  The  golden  glory  vanished  from 
the  stone  that  had  been  rolled  away. — and  another  light  began 
22* 


258  BARABBAS 

to  shine — the  first  heraldic  blazon  of  the  rising  sun.  Un- 
answered and  uncomforted,  the  Magdalen  hid  her  face  in  her 
clasped  hands, — she  had  seen  a  vision  of  angels ;  one  at  the 
head  and  one  at  the  foot  of  the  sepulchred  niche  where  her 
Master  had  reposed  in  temporary  death, — but  what  are  all  the 
angels  in  paradise  worth  to  Love,  if  the  Beloved  be  missing? 
And  stricken  to  the  heart  by  despair  and  loneliness,  she  wept 
on,  crouched  at  the  entrance  of  the  vacant  tomb,  her  slight 
frame  shaken  by  the  tempest  of  her  grief  for  the  loss  of  the 
dead  outward  Semblance  of  Him  whose  pardon  had  reclaimed 
her  life.  But  while  she  thus  gave  way  to  the  abandonment 
of  sorrow,  the  enchained  spectator  of  the  scene,  Barabbas, 
suddenly  became  conscious  of  a  majesty  and  a  terror  filling  the 
air;  some  great  Splendour  suggested  itself  vaguely  like  the 
thunderous  thrill  of  the  atmosphere  preceding  a  storm.  Faint 
and  trembling  he  felt  rather  than  saw  that  a  Figure  was  ad- 
vancing from  the  sheltering  shadow  of  the  few  trees  that  sur- 
rounded the  sepulchre,  .  .  .  and  slowly,  slowly,  in  a  mortal 
anguish  of  dread  and  expectation  he  turned, — and  beheld  in 
very  truth,  in  very  life,  .  .  .  the  "  Nazarene" !  He,  the 
Crucified,  the  Slain  and  Buried,  stood  there  living,  looking 
even  as  He  looked  before  He  had  been  nailed  upon  the  Cross 
to  die, — the  same,  the  same  in  every  feature,  as  human-seeming 
as  Humanity  itself,  save  that  His  vesture  appeared  woven  out 
of  glittering  mist  and  fire  1  Breathless,  giddy,  and  unable  to 
articulate  the  feeblest  cry,  Barabbas  stared  upon  Him,  fully 
recognising  the  fair  beauty  of  His  countenance,  the  lustrous 
love  and  wisdom  of  His  eyes,  yet  afraid  to  believe  this  Miracle 
a  Truth.  In  aerial  stateliness  He  passed  by  without  sound,  and 
glided,  a  Kingly  Spirit  in  mortal  aspect,  to  where  the  Magda- 
len wept  alone.  There,  pausing,  He  spoke,  His  dulcet  accents 
charming  the  stillness  to  responsive  pulsations  of  harmony 

"  Woman,  why  weepest  thouf      Whom  seekest  thou?" 

Moving  restlessly  she  half  turned  round  and  gazed  vaguely 
up  through  the  obscuring  cloud  of  her  tears  and  falling  hair, 
only  seeing  that  some  one,  she  knew  not  who,  stood  beside  her, 
questioning  her  as  to  her  cause  of  grief.  And  with  a  shudder- 
ing sigh  she  drooped  her  head  again  and  answered  wearily — 

"  Sir,  if  thou  hast  borne  Him  hence,  tell  me  where  thou 
hast  laid  Him,  and  I  will  take  Him  away" 

"Mary!" 

The  sweet  name,  set  among  holy  things  for  ever,  fell  softly 
on  the  silence  like' a  song. 


A  DREAM  OF  THE    WORLD'S  TRAQED7      259 

She  started, — sprang  up  to  her  full  height, — gazed  wildly, 
.  .  .  wonderingly,  .  .  .  incredulously,  .  .  .  then, — with  a 
shriek  of  joy  that  seemed  to  echo  to  the  very  skies,  she  fell  on 
her  knees. 

"Master!  Master!"  she  cried,  and  stretched  forth  her 
hands  towards  that  Risen  Saviour  whose  living  Presence  was 
the  sign  of  rescue  for  the  world. 

But  now  alight  celestial  environed  Him, — the  earth  trembled 
where  He  stood, — and  with  a  warning  yet  gentle  gesture  He 
motioned  her  away. 

"  Touch  Me  not,  for  I  am  but  newly  risen  /" 

And  as  He  said  these  words  a  splendour  flashed  about  Hia 
form  like  fire, — He  lifted1  His  eyes  to  the  brightening  heavens 
and  all  the  radiant  hues  of  morning  seemed  to  float  around  Him 
and  melt  above  Him  in  rings  upon  rings  of  ever-widening  lustre, 
while  the  arrowy  beams  of  the  sun,  shooting  upwards  through 
the  clear  ether,  formed  as  it  were  upon  the  edge  of  the  horizon 
a  great  Crown  of  the  Universe  for  the  glory  of  Him  alone. 
Divinity  invested  Him  with  an  unspeakable  grandeur  and 
majesty,  and  when  His  voice  again  sounded  through  space,  it 
rang  with  the  clarion  note  of  supreme  command  and  resistless 
power. 

"  Go  /" — and  extending  His  arms  He  appeared  to  indicate 
by  one  royal,  all-comprehensive  gesture  His  sovereignty  over 
things  visible  and  invisible — "  Go,  tell  My  brethren  that  / 
ascend  /  Unto  My  Father  and  your  father, — unto  My  God 
and  your  God  /" 

One  thrilling  instant  more  His  creatures  looked  upon  Him, 
— the  Magdalen  in  rapt  and  speechless  ecstasy, — Barabbas  in 
stupefied,  fascinated  amazement  mingled  with  a  strange  qualm 
of  unbelief  and  misgiving, — then,  all  at  once  there  came  a 
great  blankness  over  the  land, — an  emptiness  and  sense  of 
desolation, — the  Kingly  Conqueror  of  Death  no  longer  lent  the 
lustre  of  His  beauty  to  the  breaking  day.  He  was  gone ! — 
He  had  vanished  like  a  summer  cloud  absorbed  in  space ;  and 
only  a  fragrant  cluster  of  snow-white  flowers  marked  the  spot 
where  He  had  stood.  And  presently,,  across  the  deep  stillness 
that  followed  His  departure,  there  came  the  far  off  ringing  of 
bells  from  the  city, — then  the  faint  stir  and  hum  of  wakening 
life ; — the  mystic  marvels  of  the  night  were  ended, — the  first 
Easter  morn  spread  fully  forth  its  glorious  golden  blazon,  and 
all  aflame  with  wonder  at  the  scene,  the  sun  rose. 


2GO  BARABBAS 


CHAPTER   XLL 

LIKE  the  breaking  of  a  charm  woven  by  some  wizard  incan- 
tation, the  spell  which  had  held  Barabbas  dumb  with  awe  and 
fear  was  suddenly  dispersed.  Recklessly  springing  forward 
without  stopping  to  consider  what  he  did,  he  confronted  the 
Magdalen  who  still  knelt  where  her  Lord  had  left  her,  her  en- 
ravished  eyes  upturned  to  heaven  as  though  she  saw  some  mys- 
tic vision  of  eternal  joys.  With  hasty  ruthlessness,  born  of  a 
dark  suspicion  that  rankled  in  his  mind,  Barabbas  seized  her  by 
the  hands. 

"  Wherefore  dost  thou  pray  to  emptiness  ?"  he  cried  loudly 
— "  The  '  Nazarene'  was  here  a  moment  since !  Whither  hath 
he  fled?" 

Mary  started  from  her  trance  of  worship,  trembled,  and 
looked  at  her  fierce  questioner  in  vague  yet  sweet  bewilderment 
with  the  half-sad,  half-happy  smile  of  one  who  has  been 
brusquely  wakened  out  of  an  ecstatic  dream. 

"  Yea,  truly  He  was  here  !"  she  answered  in  soft  accents  that 
thrilled  with  rapture — "  Yea  truly,  though  my  faltering  soul 
could  not  at  first  believe  it,  He  hath  risen  from  the  dead  I 
From  henceforth  who  shall  fear  the  terrors  of  the  grave  1  He 
hath  risen  !  Verily  God  hath  manifested  Himself  unto  us, 
and  given  comfort  for  the  sorrow  of  the  world  !" 

She  seemed  yet  entranced, — her  eyes  were  luminous,  her  face 
glowingly  beautiful  as  that  of  some  inspired  angel.  Barabbas 
grew  more  and  more  impatient.  • 

"  Woman,  thou  art  dazed  or  in  a  vision  !"  he  exclaimed — 
"  Thy  Master  was  ever  a  worker  of  miracles,  and  surely  He 
hath  worked  them  in  the  night  that  now  is  past !  Prate  not 
thus  of  His  rising  from  the  dead, — for  of  a  truth  methinks 
thou  knowest  that  He  hath  never  died  !" 

Slowly  Mary  rose  from  her  knees  and  putting  back  the  fall- 
ing tresses  of  her  long  bright  hair  g»zed  at  him  amazedly. 

*"  Never  died  !"  she  echoed — "  What  meanest  thou  ?  Art 
thou  not  Barabbas,  and  did'st  thou  not  behold  Him  die? 
Did'st  thou  not  woep  with  me  for  His  long  agony  ?  And  hast 
thou  not  looked  upon  Him  here  alive  again  ?  Art  thou  dis- 


A  DREAM  OF  THE    WORLD'S   TRAGEDY      261 

traught  that  thou  believest  not  in  God  ?     How  earnest  thou 
hither  ?" 

Barabbas  made  no  answer.  His  dark  brows  were  knitted 
frowningly  ;  his  limbs  yet  trembled  from  the  agitation  through 
which  he  had  passed ;  but  there  was  a  lowering  doubt  within 
him  to  which  he  was  ashamed  to  give  utterance.  He  moved 
to  the  opening  of  the  vacant  tomb  and  peered  in  mistrustfully, 
— then  after  a  second's  hesitation,  stooped  down  and  entered. 
There  was  nothing  to  be  seen  save  the  empty  stone  niche  where 
the  "  Nazarene"  had  slept,  and  the  linen  grave-clothes  which 
had  euswathed  Him.  These  were  rolled  together  and  flung 
aside  in  one  corner.  Coming  out  of  the  dark  recess,  he  stood 
silent  and  dissatisfied  ;  he  longed  to  give  voice  to  the  suspicion 
that  like  a  mocking  devil  assailed  him  and  worked  mischief  in 
his  mind,  yet  he  remained  abashed  before  the  tender  ecstasy, 
deep  humility  and  adoring  faith  of  the  woman  who  in  the 
sublimity  of  perfect  love,  seemed  stronger  than  himself,  made 
weak  and  wavering  by  doubt.  Meanwhile,  as  he  waited  hesi- 
tatingly, watching  the  Magdalen,  the  broad  beams  of  the  sun 
pouring  over  the  landscape  appeared  to  cause  a  sudden  move- 
ment among  the  hitherto  inert  forms  of  the  soldiers  of  the 
watch, — and  presently  one  of  the  men  sprang  up  erect  with  an 
amazed  look  as  though  he  had  fallen  out  of  the  clouds. 

«  Ye  gods !"  he  cried  loudly—"  What !  All  asleep  ?  Gal- 
bus  !  Maximus !  Dion  1  Animus  !  What !  Broad  day  and 
not  a  man  waking  1" 

The  clamour  he  made,  and  his  fashion  of  prodding  his  still 
only  half-conscious  comrades  with  the  end  of  his  lance  began 
to  take  effect,  but  before  he  could  thoroughly  rouse  them  all, 
Barabbas  caught  the  Magdalen  by  the  arm,  and  dragging  her 
with  him  round  the  bend  of  the  rocks  in  which  the  sepulchre  i 
was  hewn,  escaped  from  sight  ere  he  could  be  discovered. 

"  Lo,  there  !"  he  muttered  breathlessly,  when  he  stood  safely 
on  the  highroad  beside  Mary,  who  in  her  dreamy  bewilderment 
had  scarcely  comprehended  the  hurry  and  alarm  of  his  action — 
"  If  yonder  Romans  had  seen  me  by  the  open  tomb  they  would 
have  sworn  I  had  stolen  the  body  of  the  '  Nazarene,' — for  I  am 
branded  already  as  a  robber.  And  thou,  even  thou  would'st 
not  have  gone  without  suspicion, — frail  woman  as  thou  art, 
thou  mightest  have  been  deemed  capable  of  treachery  !" 

His  sombre  black  eyes  rested  darkly  upon  her, — but  she 
was  quite  unconscious  of  any  latent  significance  hidden  in  his 
words.  Her  countenance  looked  singularly  fair  and  youthful, 


262  BARABBAS 

while  it  was  irradiated  by  a  holy  joy  that  made  its  natural  love- 
liness almost  unearthly. 

"  Wilt  thou  now  go  upon  thine  errand?"  he  continued,  re- 
garding her  stedfastly — "  Thy  Master  gave  thee  some  command, 
— wilt  thou  fulfil  it  ?  Two  of  thy  friends  have  sped  before  thee 
crying,  '  He  is  risen  /' — now,  do  but  add  thy  voice  in  all  its 
sweet  persuasiveness  to  theirs, — and  lo  I  perchance  the  world 
will  take  thy  word  for  truth  Divine !" 

She  looked  at  him,  first  iu  amazement,  then  in  sorrow  and 
compassion. 

"  Thou  poor  Barabbas  I"  she  said — "  Hast  thou  then  looked 
upon  the  Master's  face,  and  yet  can'st  not  believe  in  Him? 
What  aileth  thee,  thou  blind  and  suffering  soul  ?  In  such  a 
time  of  joy,  why  chainest  thou  thyself  to  misery  ?  Speak  *11 
thy  thought ! — what  hast  thou  in  thy  mind  against  me  ?" 

"  Naught  against  thee  in  very  truth" — answered  Barabbas 
slowly  and  reluctantly,  "  save  that  I  deem  thee  overwrought 
by  such  a  frenzy  of  strange  faith  that  thou  would' st  almost 
force  a  miracle  !  Truly  I  saw  thy  Master ;  and  that  He  lived 
and  walked  and  spoke  I  am  prepared  to  swear, — but  I  repeat 
to  thee  my  words — He  is  not  dead, — He  never  died  1  And 
thou,  Mary  of  Magdala,  knowest  this  1" 

Nothing  but  wonder  now  filled  her  clear  childlike  eyes. 

"What  meanest  thou?"  she  asked  anxiously — "I  cannot 
follow  thee, — surely  thou  wanderest  in  thy  speech  and 
reason" 

"  Nay,  not  so  !"  he  interrupted  her  harshly — "  I  am  no 
woman  that  I  should  be  duped  by  feverous  visions  and  the 
crazed  distemper  of  a  vain  imagining !  Last  night,  here  on 
these  hills,  I  too  kept  secret  vigil, — and  nothing  of  any  import 
chanced,  save  a  sudden  rising  of  the  wind  with  lightning  and 
thunder.  And  towards  the  middle  of  the  watch,  a  swooning 
came  upon  me, — my  senses  reeled,  and  in  the  dazzlement  of 
brain  and  sight,  methought  the  lightning  took  strange  shape 
and  walked  upon  the  land  arrayed  in  wings.  This  blinded  me, 
and  I  recall  no  more,  for  I  lost  hold  on  life  till  morning. 
Then,  waking,  I  saw  thee  and  thy  companions  coming  from 
the  city  stealthily, — and  afterwards  while  I  yet  waited,  the 
twain  who  were  thy  friends  came  running  back  possessed  by 
some  distraction,  and,  meeting  me,  they  swore  the  Crucified 
had  risen  from  the  dead  I  I  believed  it  not, — and  even  now  I 
still  believe  it  not,  though  with  mine  own  eyes  I  have  looked 
upon  Him  living !  I  say  that  He  hath  never  died, — upon  the 


A  DREAM  OF  THE   WORLD'S  TRAGEDY      263 

Cross  He  did  but  swoon  !  Ay ! — 'twas  a  seeming  death ! — 
and  thou,  Mary,  did'st  so  melt  the  hearts  of  those  who  cruci- 
fied Him  that  when  they  took  His  body  from  the  tree,  they 
gave  it  into  thy  charge,  and  to  His  Mother,  and  for  pure 
clemency,  did  forbear  to  break  His  limbs.  Doubtless  thou 
also  did'st  confer  with  the  Arimathean  counsellor,  to  the  end 
that  He  should  be  laid  within  yon  unused  quiet  cave,  where 
in  the  darkness  and  cool  silence  He  hath  recovered, — for  was 
He  not  a  master  of  the  secrets  of  all  healing?  Nay,  I  am 
sure  of  nothing, — as  man  I  can  but  reason ! — one  must  be 
even  as  a  bat  or  mole  not  to  see  through  this  scheme  wrought 
by  the  unwise  love  of  women  ! — Go  thy  ways,  Mary ! — perjure 
thyself  no  more, — 'tis  no  miracle  to  me  that  thus  thy  Master 
lives !" 

While  he  thus  spoke  in  mingled  resentment  and  scorn,  she 
never  moved.  Listening  patiently,  her  etedfast  gaze  fixed  upon 
him,  she  looked  the  very  incarnation  of  heavenly  pity.  Her 
lips  trembled  apart;  she  was  about  to  speak,  when  another 
voice,  clear  and  imperative,  unexpectedly  joined  in  the  conver- 
sation— 

"  Go  thy  ways,  Mary  !  Fulfil  thine  errand  and  delay  not ; 
for  'tis  the  erraud  of  all  true  women  henceforth  unto  the  end 
of  this  world's  time.  An  errand  of  love  and  mercy  l>— be  tHou 
the  first  one  to  perform  it,. — tell  the  '  brethren'  even  as  thy 
Master  bade  thee  that  He  hath  risen  ! — that  death  is  conquered 
by  immortality,  and  that  He  ascends  ! — unto  His  Father,  whom 
now  through  Him  we  know  as  Father  of  us  all." 

And  Melchior  stood  before  them,  his  eyes  flashing  a  mingled 
sorrow  and  satire.  Barabbas  stared  at  him  afraid  and  ashamed  ; 
how  had  he  managed  to  arrive  on  the  scene  so  silently,  that 
his  approach  had  not  even  been  observed  ?  Meeting  his  cold 
ironic  regard,  Barabbas  felt  suddenly  humiliated  though  he 
could  not  have  told  why  ;  Melchior  meanwhile  continued, — 

"  Well  hast  thou  kept  thy  vigil,  friend  Barabbas  ! — as  faith- 
fully and  observantly  in  very  truth  as  those  admirable  followers 
of  the  '  Nazarene,'  who  when  He  besought  them  to  watch  be- 
side Him  for  one  hour,  could  not  deprive  themselves  of  sleep 
for  all  their  boasted  love  and  faithfulness  !  Thou,  erring  and 
wilful  sinner  as  thou  art,  hast  been  privileged  to  see  the  Divine 
and  live, — and  yet  thou  dost  deem  a  very  God,  imposture, 
measured  by  the  ruling  of  thy  finite  reason !  Did  I  not  tell 
thee  thou  wert  man's  true  type  ? — and  a  perfect  representative 
of  thy  unbelieving  race  ?  Mary,7'"  and  he  turned  to  the  Mag- 


264  BARABBAS 

dalen  with  a  gentle  reverence — "  I  pray  thee  linger  here  n<? 
longer, — but  haste  to  bear  thy  news  to  those  who  are  bidden 
to  receive  it ;  though  verily  'tis  certain  that  not  one,  not  even 
the  repentant  Petrus  will  at  first  believe  thy  tidings.  Men 
will  work  bravely  to  support  their  own  lies,  but  scarce  a  soul 
shall  be  found  on  earth,  willing  to  bear  pure  witness  to  God's 
Truth.  But  keep  thou  thy  faith,  Mary ! — on  woman's  love 
and  patience  rests  the  world's  future." 

She  gave  one  fleeting  startled  glance  at  him  of  questioning 
surprise  and  fear, — then  instinctively  obeying  his  authoritative 
gesture  she  hastened  away,  her  grey  garments  and  gold  hair  float- 
ing together  like  mingled  sun  and  cloud  as  she  sped  citywards. 

"Thou  dark  distrustful  soul!"  then  said  Melchior  to  his 
moody  companion, — "  How  deservest  thou  any  kindness  of 
fate,  seeing  thou  hast  looked  upon  a  God  and  known  Him  not? 
Heavy  would  be  thy  punishment  wert  thou  alone  in  thy  per- 
versity and  sin, — but  take  good  comfort ! — all  thy  race  are  with 
thee  ! — thou  art,  despite  thyself  the  true  "  King  of  the  Jews  1" 
Behold  the  watch  where  they  come,  all  agape  with  wonder  and 
dismay  I — well  may  they  look  thus  wildly,  for  their  news  is  of 
that  strangeness  that  some  among  them  will  scarce  have  skill  to 
utter  it.  Stand  we  aside  a  space  while  they  pass  by." 

He  drew  Barabbas  apart,  and  they  both  observed  with  differ- 
ently mixed  feelings,  the  disorderly  and  scrambling  approach  of 
the  soldiers  who  were  coming  away  from  the  sepulchre  and 
hurrying  towards  the  town.  They  all  looked  only  half  awake 
and  dazed  with  bewilderment ;  the  centurion  Galbus  no  longer 
headed  the  band,  but  walked,  or  rather  stumbled  along  in  the 
midst,  supported  by  two  of  his  men  who  held  him  up  appa- 
rently despite  himself.  He  was  ghastly  pale, — his  eyes  had  a 
fixed  unseeing  stare, — he  seemed  like  one  stricken  by  paralysis 
and  rendered  suddenly  old.  Melchior  glanced  at  him,  and 
stepped  forward — 

"  Greeting  to  Home !"  he  said,  confronting  the  party— 
"  What  ails  your  leader  ?" 

The  soldiers  halted,  and  Maximus  who  was  in  command 
replied  curtly — 

"  We  answer  no  questions  from  strangers.  Stand  back 
and  let  us  pass  !" 

Quietly  Melchior  lifted  his  right  hand,  displaying  a  broad 
jewelled  ring  on  the  centre  finger. 

"  Be  civil,  good  Roman !"  he  said — "  Respect  the  Emperor's 
signet." 


A   DREAM  OF  THE    WORLD'S  TRAGEDY      265 

The  astonished  Maximus  hastily  saluted, — there  was  no  mis- 
take about  the  matter, — the  mysterious  stranger  did  indeed 
possess  the  Imperial  talisman ;  and  its  authority  was  immedi- 
ately recognised. 

"I  crave  pardon,  sir" — murmured  Maximus  apologetically 
— "  But  in  this  tributary  province  of  Judaea  each  man  of 
Rome  must  be  upon  his  guard  " 

u  Ay  1  and  keep  good  vigil  too,  as  no  doubt  ye  all  have  done 
throughout  the  night ;" — interrupted  Melchior — "  Nothing,  of 
course,  hath  chanced  of  any  import  ?  Ye  have  left  the  dead 
safely  entombed  ?" 

Silence  followed.  The  soldiers  looked  down  confusedly, — 
Maximus  shivered  as  though  the  warm  morning  sun  chilled 
him, — but  the  pallid-featured  Galbus  made  no  sign,  and  only 
stared  on  vaguely,  straight  ahead,  like  a  blind  man  dreaming 
of  light. 

"  Sir  " — replied  Maximus  after  a  pause — "  Of  the  past  night 
there  is  much  to  tell, — but  methinks  it  must  be  told  first  to 
those  who  have  the  ruling  of  the  law  among  the  Jews. 
Rome  did  not  slay  the  '  Nazarene,'  and  for  that  death  our  gov- 
ernor hath  publicly  refused  to  be  accountable.  Neither  can 
Rome  be  blamed  for  what  hath  now  so  strangely  chanced — for 
lo,  the(seals  of  the  Sanhedrim  council  are  broken;  the  stone 
that  closed  the  tomb  is  rolled  away ;  and  the  body  'of  the  cruci- . 
fied  Prophet  hath  been  taken  from  thence, — but  how  these 
things  were  done  I  know  not.  I  do  confess  we  slept  when  we 
should  have  watched, — but  truly  there  were  strange  sorceries 
all  about  us !  A  singing  of  birds  was  in  the  air ;  so  sweet 
that  we  were  fain  to  listen — and  towards  morning  we  beheld 
thr  heavens  on  fire. — that  is,  Galbus  and  myself  beheld  it,  for 
these  others  slept :" —  Here  he  lowered  his  voice  and  spoke 
almost  in  a  whisper — "  The  burden  of  the  telling  of  this  tale 
devolves  on  me,  for  Galbus  is  deprived  of  speech, — he  can  ex- 
press nothing  of  what  he  saw, — the  lightning  that  flashed 
across  the  land  hath  stricken  him  wholly  dumb !" 

"  So  shall  he  bear  no  garrulous  witness  to  the  wonders  of 
the  night" — said  Melchior  with  a  grave  and  kindly  glance  at 
the  bent  and  drooping  figure  of  the  lately  stalwart  centurion, 
— "Yet  be  consoled,  good  soldier.  'Tis  but  a  temporary 
silence  and  will  pass.  Whither  go  ye  now?  To  Pilate?" 

"  Yea,  to  Pilate  first  and  then  to  Caiaphas" — answered 
Maximus  —  "There  shall  I  plainly  speak  of  what  1  know. 
And  if  thou  be  the  Emperor's  friend,  good  sir,  I  do  beseech 


266  BARABBAS 

thee  to  mistake  us  not, — we  have  been  ever  honoured  in  the 
legion  for  prowess  and  vigilance  till  now,  and  truly  I  cannot 
tell  how  we  were  all  entranced  away  from  watchfulness. 
Nevertheless  I  will  assert  before  the  Tribunal,  yea,  and  before 
the  whole  Sanhedrim,  that  no  man's  force,  be  he  Jew  or 
Roman,  can  stand  against  the  powers  of  Heaven !"  And  he 
looked  round  at  the  dazed  and  helpless  Galbus,  marking  him 
out  by  an  impressive  gesture  as  the  living  proof  of  the  terrors 
of  the  past  vigil. 

Melchior  drew  back. 

"  Fear  not,  soldier !  Thou  shalt  not  lose  place  in  the  legion, 
nor  shalt  thou  lack  protection  from  Caesar.  On  to  the  city  ! 
— present  this  dumb  centurion  to  Caiaphas, — and  speak  thou 
the  truth  as  it  is  apparent  unto  thee,  but  doubt  not  that  a  lie 
will  be  quickly  substituted  for  it  1  The  lie  will  best  suit  the 
Jews, — 'twill  cost  little  trouble  to  keep  up,  being  prone  to 
propagate  itself  in  endless  forms, — but  the  Truth  will  need 
fighting  for  and  dying  for  through  ages  yet  to  come !  Fare- 
well 1  In  whatsoever  way  I  can,  I  will  commend  thee  to  the 
Emperor." 

Again  Maximus  saluted  profoundly,  and  the  men  resumed 
their  dusty  hurried  march.  As  they  went,  one  said  to  his 
fellow, 

"  Yonder  stranger  who  doth  wear  our  Emperor's  signet  is 
not  particular  in  choice  of  comrades,  for  with  him  was 
Barabbas." 

"  Barabbas !"  echoed  the  other, — "  He  that  was  released 
from  punishment  of  death  in  place  of  the  '  Nazarene1  ?" 

"  Even  he  I     'Tis  said  he  was  a  robber." 

They  trudged  on  through  the  thick  white  dust,  and  presently 
the  whole  company  arrived  at  the  gates  of  the  city,  where  they 
were  met  by  a  rabble  of  the  Jewish  populace  who  hailed  them 
with  shouts  of  derision.  The  rumour  had  already  gone 
abroad  that  the  crucified  Prophet  of  Nazareth  had  risen  from 
the  dead,  and  though  none  believed  in  the  miracle,  there  were 
a  few  superstitious  souls  in  the  crowd  who  imparted  to  others 
their  notion  that  He  had  not  really  died  and  moreover  could 
not  die.  But  the  general  impression  was  that  the  Body  had 
been  stolen  from  the  tomb  in  spite  of  all  precaution, — that  the 
soldiers  had  been  plied  with  wine,  and  in  all  probability  drugged 
into  a  lethargy,  and  that  while  they  slept  off  the  effects  of 
over-much  liquor,  the  disciples  of  the  "  Nazarene"  had  moved 
away  the  stone  from  the  sepulchre  and  carried  off  their  dead 


A  DREAM  OF  THE    WORLD'S  TRAGEDY      267 

Master.  la  any  case  Roman  vigilance  had  been  baffled,  and 
to  the  Jewish  mob  there  was  something  peculiarly  pleasing  in 
this  defeat.  They  yelled  and  hooted  round  the  discomfited 
"  watch," — pointing  out  the  tottering  Galbus  with  jeers  as 
"  one  that  hath  not  yet  recovered  from  his  winebibbing  1"  and 
formed  a  disorderly  cortege  up  to  the  house  of  Pilate.  There, 
when  the  great  portal  was  unbarred  to  admit  the  soldiers,  and 
these  passed  in,  the  malcontents  remained  for  a  little  time  out- 
side, shouting  ironical  applause  for  the  valour  of  Rome, — then, 
tired  of  their  own  clamour,  gradually  dispersed. 

Meanwhile,  Barabbas  once  more  in  the  shelter  of  the  inn 
where  Melchior  lodged,  turned  to  that  strange  personage  and 
asked  abruptly, 

"  How  earnest  thou  to  wear  the  Emperor's  signet  ?" 

"  That  is  my  business,  not  thine,  Barabbas !"  responded  Mel- 
chior tranquilly — "  Learn  thou  the  first  rule  of  civility,  which 
is,  to  ask  no  questions  on  matters  which  do  not  concern  thee. 
The  Emperor  is  my  friend, — and  for  a  service  I  have  done  him 
I  hold  Rome  itself  in  fee." 

Barabbas  opened  his  eyes  wide  in  astonishment,  and  would 
certainly  have  pressed  for  further  information  had  he  not  been 
interrupted  at  that  moment  by  a  soft  knocking  at  the  door, 
and  the  sound  of  a  voice  calling  eagerly — 

"  Open  !  Open  quickly  !  I  have  news  for  Barabbas.  It  is  I, 
—Mary  of  Magdala." 


CHAPTER    XLIL 

IN  answer  to  this  summons  they  unlatched  the  door,  and 
confronted  the  Magdalen  on  the  threshold.  She  was  breathless 
with  running,  and  her  eyes  expressed  a  great  and  compassionate 
anxiety. 

"  I  promised  thee,  Barabbas," — she  began  hurriedly, — "  I 
promised  thee  that  if  I  heard  aught  of  Judith  Iscariot  I  would 
tell  thee, — lo  now,  I  have  found  her !  She  is  in  the  wooded 
grove  of  Gethsemane, — alone,  strangely  distraught  and  ill, — 
dying  perchance  !  I  pray  thee  tarry  not,  but  come  with  me 
straightway, — thou  may'st  persuade  her  from  thence.  I  can- 
not. She  weeps  and  sings, — anon  she  clasps  her  hands,  and 


268  BARABBAS 

prays, — then  she  flies  from  me  as  one  in  fear, — 'twill  need  much 
tenderness  to  move  her, — but  thou  as  one  familiar  to  her  sight 
may  haply  entice  her  homeward — prithee  come  I" 

"  Yea,  go  quickly  now,  Barabbas,"  said  Melchior  gently — 
"  In  the  sorrow  of  a  broken  heart,  love  must  needs  pardon  sin, 
and  make  an  end  of  bitterness." 

He  turned  away,  and  Barabbas,  needing  no  second  bidding, 
hastened  out  of  the  house  with  the  Magdalen,  in  a  tremor  of 
excitement  and  apprehension.  The  way  to  Gethsemane  seemed 
interminably  long,  and  yet  they  lost  no  time,  not  even  in  con- 
verse, for  both  were  full  of  thoughts  that  baffled  words.  At 
last  they  reached  the  gate  of  the  garden,  and  as  she  lifted  the 
latch,  Mary  held  up  one  hand  warningly. 

"  Listen  !"  she  said. 

Faint  fragments  of  song  came  floating  towards  them, — broken 
scraps  of  melody,  sweet  and  solemn  and  wild, — and  presently 
Barabbas  recognised  the  sonorous  rhythm  of  the  stanzas  of 


"  Whither  is  thy  beloved  gone,  0  thou  fairest  among  women  ? 
Whither  is  thy  beloved  turned  aside  ? 
Tell  us,  that  we  may  seek  him  with  thee. 

My  beloved  is  gone  down  into  his  garden, 
To  the  beds  of  spices  and  to  gather  lilies; 
My  beloved  is  mine  and  I  am  his ! 

Awake,  0  north  wind,  and  come  thou  south ! 
Blow  upon  my  garden  and  on  the  spices  thereof, 
Let  my  beloved  come  into  his  garden" 

Here  the  voice  broke  with  a  sharp  discordant  cry — 

"  Judas  !  Judas  !  Judas  !" 

This  name  three  times  repeated,  sent  shuddering  echoes  of 
shrill  despair  through  the  solemn  tranquillity  of  Gethsemane, 
and  Barabbas  trembled  as  he  heard. 

"  Where  is  she?"  he  demanded,  in  a  hoarse  whisper. 

Mary  Magdalene  made  no  reply,  but  took  him  by  the  hand 
and  led  him  onward. 

They  followed  a  winding  path,  so  overgrown  with  moss  that 
their  footsteps  made  no  sound  upon  it,  and  presently  came  in 
view  of  a  grassy  knoll  tufted  with  palms,  and  furthermore 
adorned  by  the  broken  shell  of  a  disused  fountain.  Here  a 
white  figure  sat  droopingly,  all  alone ;  surrounded  by  a  fantastic 
tangle  of  creepers  and  flowers  that  lay  in  straggling  lengths 


A  DREAM  OF  THE    WORLD'S  TRAGEDY      269 

npon  the  turf,  apparently  just  gathered  and  thrown  idly  down 
to  perish.  Mary  and  Barabbas  moved  cautiously  on,  till  they 
were  within  a  few  steps  of  that  solitary  woman  shape,  upon 
whose  fiery- gold  hair  the  sunlight  shed  a  deeper  flame. 

"  Pause  here  a  while" — whispered  Mary  then — "  She  hath  a 
singular  suddenness  of  violence  in  her, — and  if  we  come  upon 
her  unpreparedly,  she  will  take  instant  flight.  Best  let  me  go 
before,  and  speak  with  her." 

But  some  instinctive  sense  of  being  watched,  already  moved 
the  distraught  girl.  Springing  to  her  feet,  she  shaded  her  eyes 
with  one  hand  and  looked  straight  down  upon  them.  Then 
lifting  up  her  voice  once  more  in  that  wailing  cry,  "  Judas  !" 
she  came  rushing  forward.  With  flying  hair  and  feverishly 
glittering  eyes  she  confronted  them,  and  as  her  wild  gaze  fell 
on  Barabbas,  she  uttered  an  exclamation  of  joy. 

"  Judas !"  and  she  ran  to  him,  flinging  her  arms  about  him 
in  delirious  ecstasy — "  Judas,  thou  art  here  at  last !  Why 
did'st  thou  not  come  sooner  ?  I  have  wandered  all  about  the 
city  seeking  thee, — yea!  I  have  even  killed  Caiaphas  for  thy 
sake !  Did'st  thou  not  know  of  this,  and  art  thou  not  glad  ? 
Of  a  truth  he  was  a  traitor ;  but  alas,  I  learned  his  treachery 
too  late  to  serve  thee  in  the  saving  of  thy  friend  the  '  Naza- 
rene.'  And  willingly  do  I  confess  my  share  of  blame, — not 
thou,  poor  Judas,  wert  in  fault;  'twas  all  my  doing,  and  Caia- 
phas persuaded  me, — therefore  grieve  thou  no  more  for  others' 
crimes.  And  now  I  have  done  all  I  could  to  make  amends, 
thou  wilt  forgive  me  ?  Is  it  not  so  ?  Thou  wilt  forgive  thy 
little  sister  ?  Thou  wilt  love  her  still  ?" 

While  thus  she  moaned  and  murmured,  with  mingled  sobs 
and  smiles,  pressing  her  soft  face  against  his  breast  and  lifting 
up  her  beautiful  dark  anguished  eyes  entreatingly,  Barabbas 
felt  as  if  his  heart  must  break, — tears  rose  in  his  throat  and 
choked  his  power  of  speech, — he  pressed  her  convulsively  in 
his  arms  but  could  say  nothing, — and  she  whose  madness  was 
capable  of  endless  fluctuations,  from  tenderness  to  ferocity, 
grew  irritated  at  his  silence.  Tearing  herself  away  from  him 
she  stood  apart,  eyeing  him  at  first  with  wonder, — then  with 
complete  repugnance  and  scorn. 

"  Thou  art  not  Judas  after  all !"  she  said — "  How  darest 
thou  break  in  upon  my  solitude  ?  Knowest  thou  not  that  this 
is  my  garden  of  dreams  ?  I  dwell  here  always, — and  I  will 
have  none  but  Judas  with  me.  I  saw  him_jast  night, — he 
came  to  me  and  said  that  all  was  well  with  him, — that  he  would 


270  BARABBAS 

meet  me  here, — and  for  a  moment  I  did  fancy  thou  wert  he. 
But  no,  thou  art  some  insolent  intruder ! — get  thee  hence  and 
trouble  me  not, — I  have  many  flowers  to  gather  yet,  wherewith 
to  strew  my  grave.  For  I  am  dead,  and  this  is  the  borderland 
of  vision, — Judas  is  dead  also, — and  we  both  wander  yet 
apart,— but  we  shall  meet, — I  know  not  when  or  how, — but 
sure  I  am  'twill  not  be  long !" 

She  paused  in  her  incoherent  speech,  and  Mary  Magdalene 
ventured  to  approach  her. 

"  Judith ! — poor  Judith  !"  she  murmured  gently  and  took 
her  hand.  Judith  looked  at  her  dubiously  and  somewhat 
resentfully, — then  smiled,  a  piteous  wan  smile. 

"  Thou  art  very  kind  !"  she  sighed, — "  I  do  remember, — •• 
thou  wert  here  before,  not  long  since,  and  did'st  whisper  words 
of  comfort  passing  sweetly.  Albeit  I  know  thee  not, — still, 
thou  art  woman, — thou  can'st  understand  my  grief.  I  cannot 
go  from  hence, — for  I  have  promised  to  abide  here  until  Judas 
comes,  therefore  I  pray  thee  do  not  vex  me  by  entreaty. 
Moreover  I  must  hide  me  for  a  while,  for  I  have  slain  the 
high-priest  Caiaphas, — do  they  know  it  yet  in  the  city  ? — and 
will  they  search  for  me  ?  I  have  sworn  they  shall  not  find  me, 
— Judas  will  come  at  sunset  and  bear  me  hence  with  him, — 
'tis  very  lonely  waiting,  and  if  thou  dost  desire  it  thou  can'st 
stay  with  me  a  while, — but  send  away  yon  stranger." 

And  she  pointed  to  Barabbas,  who  drew  back  sorrowfully, 
stricken  to  the  heart  by  an  anguish  he  could  scarcely  conceal. 
But  Judith  did  not  comprehend  his  torture, — apparently  she 
had  no  memory  or  recognition  of  him, — her  errant  fancy  was 
already  drifting  elsewhere. 

"  Take  me  away  to  the  trees  yonder" — she  said  to  Mary 
supplicatingly — "  And  let  us  sit  down  and  sing.  Or  thou  shalt 
sing  and  I  will  sleep.  I  am  tired, — the  way  is  endless ;  one 
meets  too  many  dreams.  They  rise  one  after  the  other, — some 
beautiful,  some  dreadful,  and  Judas  is  in  them  all.  And  there 
is  a  red  streak  round  his  throat  just  where  the  cord  pressed  it, 
• — this  cord" — and  she  touched  a  frayed  rope  hanging  at  her 
waist — "  I  cut  the  noose, — nevertheless  he  still  seems  to  suffer, 
though  he  should  not,  and  methinks  at  times  he  looks  upon  me 
wrathfully.  'Tis  cruel  of  him, — he  should  remember  the  old 
days  when  we  were  children, — one  should  never  forget  the  love 
of  home.  And  though  age  has  crept  upon  me  now,  I  once  was 
young, — and  such  beauty  was  mine  as  is  seldom  seen  !  '  The 
fairest  woman  in  Judxa?  I  was  called,  and  this  was  true, — 


A   DREAM  OF  TEE   WORLD'S  TRAGEDY      271 

Judas  should  think  of  it,  and  not  despise  me  now,  because, 
through  suffering,  that  fairness  hath  departed.  Moreover  of 
this  '  Nazarene'  he  served,  he  hath  not  told  me  aught ;  save  that 
He  was  wise  and  good,  and  poor  and  all  unrecognised, — but 
this  is  the  history  of  all  wise  good  men,  and  is  not  strange. 
Some  say  He  was  a  god, — but  there  be  many  gods  in  Borne ! 
Justitia,  Pilate's  wife,  thinks  naught  of  gods.  And  I  have 
even  heard  the  daughter  of  Annas  say  that  she  did  doubt  and 
hate  the  great  Jehovah, — and  this,  when  she  was  wife  of 
Caiaphas,  Jehovah's  priest.  Perchance  she  was  unhappy, — and 
had  good  cause  to  doubt  her  husband's  faithfulness! — who 
knows  ! — but  of  a  very  truth  she  loved  not  God  !  Methinks 
'tis  difficult  to  love  a  Power  Unseen.  Such  thoughts  weary 
me ;  but  this  doth  comfort  me" — and  she  drew  from  her  bosom 
the  same  kind  of  roughly-made  cross  she  had  before  possessed, 
formed  of  two  twigs  of  olive, — "  Caiaphas  did  break  one  in  his 
fury, — and  for  that,  as  well  as  other  things  I  slew  him, — this 
is  another  I  have  made,  and  'tis  a  magic  symbol !  for  when  I 
raise  it — so !"  and  she  lifted  it  above  her  head  in  a  sort  of 
rapture — "  methinks  I  hear  most  wondrous  music,  and  a  sweet 
voice  saying  '  Peace !'  " 

She  nestled  close  to  the  Magdalen,  who  with  pitying  tears, 
placed  one  arm  round  her  and  strove  to  lead  her  away.  But 
she  quickly  perceived  that  the  direction  taken  was  towards  the 
exit  from  the  garden,  and  she  obstinately  refused  to  move  a 
step  further  on  that  path. 

"  No,  no !"  she  said — "  We  will  go  deeper  in  among  the 
trees.  There  is  a  place  of  palms  yonder,  and  many  flowers, 
and  shade  and  fragrance.  Come  ! — sing  me  to  sleep — be  thou 
my  friend,  and  stay  with  me  till  sunset,  when  Judas  will  be 
here." 

She  began  to  gather  up  all  her  fallen  garlands,  and  while  she 
was  thus  occupied,  the  Magdalen  whispered  to  Barabbas — 

"  Comfort  thyself,  friend, — I  will  stay  with  her  a  little. 
Thou  can'st  follow  and  see  the  place  where  she  will  choose  to 
rest — then  go  thou  quickly  to  her  father  and  tell  him  she  is 
here.  Prepare  him  well  to  use  with  her  both  force  and  gentle- 
ness,— be  not  thus  sorrowful  and  amazed  at  her  dislike  of  thee 
— she  knows  thee  not  at  all, — a  cloud  is  on  her  brain ; — have 
patience !" 

"  Hath  she  slain  Caiaphas?"  muttered  Barabbas  unsteadily — 
u  Or  is  the  fancy  born  of  her  distraction  ?" 

"I  know  not!"  answered  Mary — "Thou  must  inquire  and 


272  BARABBAS 

learn.  I  have  heard  nothing — for  to  me  the  Master's  rising 
from  the  dead  hath  sufficed  as  news  for  all  the  world  1  Of 
men's  doings  I  know  naught." 

As  she  spoke  thus  in  hurried  accents,  Judith  caught  her 
impatiently  by  the  arm  and  drew  her  away. 

"Bid  yon  stranger  depart" — she  said — "I  like  him  not! 
He  doth  resemble  one  Barabbas !  He  was  my  lover  and  I  did 
betray  him, — he  would  slay  me  if  he  knew  !" 

And  she  quickened  her  pace.  The  Magdalen  accompanied 
her,  and  Barabbas  followed  slowly  at  a  little  distance,  striving 
to  conceal  himself  as  much  in  the  background  as  possible.  At 
last,  after  various  erratic  ups  and  downs,  Judith  arrived  at 
what  she  called  "a  place  of  palms."  The  feathery  foliage 
towered  high  up  against  the  deep  blue  sky,  and  smaller  trees 
of  thicker  branch  and  leaf  cast  their  green  gloom  on  the 
smooth  turf,  while  numberless  climbing  roses  and  passion- 
flowers had  grown  up  arch-wise  so  as  to  form  a  complete  bower 
of  shade.  Here  the  frenzied  girl  seemed  to  grow  suddenly 
calm, — she  sighed  profoundly,  and  her  troubled  countenance 
cleared.  She  sat  down  under  the  natural  canopy  of  flowers 
with  Mary  beside  her.  A  smile  parted  her  lips, — the  old 
sweet  witching  smile  that  on  that  perfect  mouth  had  been  a 
resistless  snare  for  the  souls  of  men. 

"  Sing  1"  she  said—"  Some  simple  song  of  tenderness  that 
will  banish  all  the  spectres  flitting  round  me !  I  will  not  ask 
thee  who  thou  art, — thou  hast  a  look  of  love  within  thine 
eyes  and  thou  art  beautiful.  Yea  ! — thou  hast  long  fair  tresses 
full  of  sunshine, — but  see  I"  and  she  held  up  a  mass  of  her 
own  luxuriant  hair  which  was  like  gold  and  fire  commingled — 
"This  is  a  brighter  colour  methinks? — and 'tis  even  as  silk 
unto  the  touch.  Lo,  when  I  die  thou  shall  sever  it  and  make 
a  rope  thereof, — twine  it  around  the  throat  of  Judas, — and 
maybe  it  will  heal  his  wound.  Now  sing !" 

She  leaned  her  head  against  Mary's  breast  and  half  closed 
her  eyes.  Barabbas  ventured  nearer  and  stood  in  the  shadow 
of  the  trees,  listening  while  the  voice  of  the  Magdalen,  honey- 
sweet  yet  shaken  by  tears  sounded  plaintively  on  the  silence. 
And  the  song  that  she  sang  ran  thus : 

The  earth  hath  many  flowers :  in  all  the  fields  and  bowers 
Their  radiant  blossoms  open  'neath  the  glory  of  the  sun, — 
But  their  leaves  are  scarce  unfurl'd  to  the  summer  of  the  world, 
When  they  perish  in  their  beauty,  every  one. 
Brief  is  their  fair  delight;  'tis  ended  ere  the  night. 


A  DREAM  OF  THE    WORLD'S  TRAGEDY      273 

Sad  emblems  are  they  all  of  the  sadder  lives  of  men  ! 
Better  be  a  rose,  the  wildest  one  that  blows, 
And  ta/e  in  the  shelter  of  the  King's  garden  ! 

The  lofty  laurels  stand,  at  a  conqueror's  right  hand, 

To  deck  the  feasts  of  triumph  and  the  revellings  of  mirth, 

Lilies  and  bays  are  bound  for  the  brows  of  heroes  crowned, 

As  symbols  of  the  evanescent  earth, — 

But  beauty,  pride,  and  power,  are  the  blossoms  of  an  hour, 

Bringing  sorrow  more  than  safety  to  the  weary  souls  of  men ; 

Better  be  a  rose,  the  wildest  one  that  blows, 

And  safe  in  the  shelter  of  the  King's  garden  ! 

The  soft,  quaint,  almost  solemn  melody  ceased,  and  Judith 
began  to  rock  herself  to  and  fro  restlessly,  wringing  her  hands 
as  though  she  were  in  pain. 

"  The  King's  garden  !"  sho  wailed — "  Ay  ! — but  where  is 
the  King  ?  He  was  crowned  with  thorns  and  He  is  dead, — 
dead !  they  have  crucified  Him  !  I,  Judith  Iscariot,  by  sub- 
tilty,  betrayed  Him  ! — on  me,  on  me,  let  the  curse  fall — not 
on  Judas,  not  on  Judas,  merciful  God  ! — but  on  me !  On  me 
let  the  thunders  crash  vengeance, — let  the  fires  of  earth  con- 
sume me, — mine  was  the  sin — mine,  I  say  ! — Judas  was  inno- 
cent !  In  the  King's  garden  one  should  meet  the  King, — but 
He  is  dead ;  I  would  that  He  were  living,  for  since  He  died  I 
have  been  lost  in  darkness  !" 

And  she  broke  into  a  passion  of  wild  weeping.  Mary  drew 
her  compassionately  into  her  arms  and  glancing  backward  made 
a  slight  sign  to  Barabbas.  He  understood,  and  turning  away, 
hastened  out  of  Gethsemane,  his  heart  aching  and  his  eyes  full 
of  scalding  blinding  tears,  while  the  strange  refrain  of  the 
Magdalen's  song  echoed  itself  over  and  over  again  in  his 
ears — 

Better  be  a  rote,  the  wildest  one  that  blows, 
And  safe  in  the  shelter  of  the  King's  garden  ! 

Better,  ay,  far  better !  Best  of  all  things  in  life,  death  and 
eternity  it  is,  to  be  the  humblest  creature  ever  born,  and  "  safe," 
— safe  in  the  shelter  of  that  mystic  "  garden"  where  Christ  is 
King! 


274  BARABBAS 


CHAPTER  XLIIL 

MAKING  his  way  with  all  possible  speed  towards  the  house 
of  Iscariot  to  bear  the  ill  news  of  Judith's  distraught  condi- 
tion to  her  already  broken-hearted  father,  Barabbas  found  the 
whole  city  in  strange  confusion.  The  streets  were  blocked  by 
disorderly  crowds  of  people  wandering  to  and  fro,  many  of 
whom  were  weeping  and  wailing  hysterically,  while  others  were 
wildly  crying  out  that  "  the  graves  were  opened"  and  that  the 
world  was  coming  to  an  end.  Elbowing  a  difficult  passage 
through  the  throng,  Barabbas  inquired  the  cause  of  the  seem- 
ing tumult,  and  learned  that  the  rumour  of  the  "  Nazarene's" 
miraculous  resurrection  had  excited  what  some  practical  per- 
sons called  "  a  fever  of  imagination"  among  the  populace,  and 
that  numbers  of  men  and  women  had  been  suddenly  seized  by 
frenzy  and  had  run  out  of  their  houses  in  frantic  terror,  shriek- 
ing aloud  that  they  had  "  seen  the  dead  !"  Long-perished 
friends,  and  loved  ones  who  had  slept  entombed  for  years,  now 
appeared  again  among  the  living,  so  these  living  swore  ;  spirit- 
hands  touched  them,  spirit-voices  called  them, — all  the  air  was 
full  of  mystic  sound.  Possessed  by  superstitious  fear,  they 
could  not  be  persuaded  to  return  to  their  usual  daily  occupa- 
tions, and  were  only  pacified  by  crowding  together  in  the  open 
thoroughfares,  and  leaguing  themselves  as  it  were,  in  a  band  of 
mutual  support  and  protection  against  the  overwhelming  Super- 
natural that  on  that  wondrous  morning  seemed  to  invest  the 
land.  Iscariot  was  not  in  the  city,  so  Barabbas  learned, — his 
unhappy  son  Judas  had  been  buried  in  haste  and  privacy  early 
in  the  morning,  and  he  himself,  after  the  dreary  obsequies  were 
over,  had  taken  horse  and  ridden  out  towards  Bethany  in  re- 
newed search  for  his  lost  daughter.  Nevertheless,  in  spite  of 
this  information,  Barabbas  pressed  on  in  the  vague  hope  of 
meeting  him,  till  finally  he  could  go  no  further,  being  com- 
pletely hemmed  in  by  an  excited  mob  that  was  pouring  itself 
towards  the  house  of  Caiaphas.  In  the  midst  of  the  howling, 
hooting,  unreasoning  rabble  were  the  Roman  soldiers  who  had 
been  set  to  guard  the  sacred  sepulchre ;  they  had  just  under- 
gone examination  by  Pontius  Pilate,  and  by  him  were  now  sent 
on  to  tell  the  story  of  their  night's  adventure  to  the  high- 


A  DREAM  OF  THE   WORLD'S  TRAGEDY      275 

priest.  They  could  scarcely  keep  the  order  of  their  march,  so 
roughly  were  they  hustled  by  the  irritated  and  impatient  crowd, 
and  they  had  much  ado  to  refrain  from  responding  wrathfully 
to  the  repeated  jeers  of  impudent  half-grown  lads,  and  beggars 
of  both  sexes  who  helped  to  swell  the  riotous  cortege,  shouting 
insults  all  the  way. 

"  Lo,  what  drunken  varlets  are  these  men  of  Rome  !  They 
could  not  guard  even  a  dead  Jew !" 

"Where  is  the  Prophet  of  Nazareth?" 

"  Who  broke  the  seals  of  Sanhedrim  ?" 

"  What  have  ye  done  with  the  King  of  the  Jews  ?  Give 
Him  back  to  us  and  we  will  crucify  Him  a  second  time  more 
surely !" 

Meanwhile  as  the  noisy  concourse  came  roaring  and  jostling 
onward,  within  the  high-priest's  palace  itself  there  was  a  great 
hush  and  shadow.  All  the  servants  and  officers  of  the  house- 
hold knew  that  Caiaphas  had  been  dangerously  wounded  on  the 
previous  night  by  some  secret  assassin,  who  had  stabbed  him 
and  left  him  for  dead.  He  had  been  found  lying  senseless  and 
bleeding  on  the  piece  of  grass  immediately  below  his  private 
balcony,  and  the  attempted  murder  was,  without  any  hesitation, 
judged  to  be  the  act  of  one  of  the  disciples  of  the  ''  Nazarene" 
who  had,  in  all  likelihood,  considered  it  a  rightful  means  of 
avenging  his  dead  Master.  A  surgeon  had  been  hastily  sum- 
moned, who  gave  it  as  his  opinion  that  the  injury  inflicted 
would  not  necessarily  prove  fatal,  but  that  to  ensure  recovery 
the  patient  must  have  the  greatest  care  and  the  utmost  quiet. 
Accordingly,  the  gates  of  the  palace  were  closed  against  all 
comers ;  the  servants  went  about  on  tip-toe, — Rachel,  "  the  pale 
daughter  of  Annas"  as  Judith  had  been  wont  to  call  her,  sat 
somewhat  apart  from  the  couch  of  her  priestly  spouse,  occa- 
sionally ministering  to  his  wants  with  that  dutiful  yet  frigid 
exactitude  which  might  distinguish  a  paid  nurse  rather  than  a 
wife, — the  curtains  at  the  casement  of  the  sick  man's  chamber 
were  closely  drawn  to  exclude  the  dazzling  sunlight,  and  every 
possible  precaution  had  been  taken  to  ensure  absolute  tran- 
quillity. But  all  this  care  was  of  little  avail,  since  Caiaphas 
himself  was  the  despair  of  his  physician.  He  groaned  and 
swore, — tossing  and  tumbling  among  his  pillows  in  a  restless 
fury  at  his  own  enforced  inactivity, — and  he  could  scarcely  re- 
spond to  the  soothing  and  bland  inquiries  of  Annas,  his  col- 
league and  father-in-law,  with  any  show  of  patience  or  civility. 

"  Truly  thou  dost  chafe  thy  spirit  needlessly,  Caiaphas" — 


278  BARABBAS 

observed  that  sleek  personage  sedately — "  Seeing  that  I  am  here 
to  act  for  thee  and  carry  out  thy  duties  of  the  Temple  minis- 
tration. Moreover  thou  art  singularly  unwise  and  obstinate  in 
withholding  from  us  all  description  of  thy  would-be  murderer. 
He  must  be  tracked  and  punished  as  thou  knowest, — this 
weapon  that  was  found  beside  thee,  and  with  which  thou  wert 
well-nigh  slain,  will  aid  us  in  discovery." 

Caiaphns  flung  aside  his  coverings  and  made  an  attempt  to 
sit  up.  The  attendant  physician  remonstrated,  but  he  paid  no 
heed. 

"  What  weapon  dost  thou  speak  of  ?"  he  muttered  hoarsely 
— "  Give  it  to  me  !  Let  me  look  upon  it  1" 

Annas,  alarmed  at  the  fierce  expression  of  his  face,  at  once 
gave  it  to  him.  He  clutched  it, — then  glared  angrily  round 
the  room. 

"  Leave  me,  all  of  ye !"  he  said — "  All,  save  my  wife.  I 
would  speak  with  her  alone." 

His  irritability  was  such  that  they  dared  not  provoke  him 
further  by  contradiction, — his  command  was  therefore  obeyed. 
He  waited  in  silence  till  the  door  closed  behind  the  retiring  fig- 
ures of  Annas,  the  physician,  and  two  servants  who  had  been 
in  waiting, — then  he  sank  back  on  his  pillows  exhausted,  still 
holding  fast  the  jewelled  dagger  with  which  Judith  Iscariot 
had  in  her  frenzy  so  nearly  made  an  end  of  his  life. 

"  Rachel,  come  to  me  !"  he  called  faintly  yet  imperatively. 

His  wife  approached  him.  She  was  a  slight  dark  pensive- 
looking  woman  with  pale  composed  features  and  cold  calm 
eyes. 

"  Thou  hast  seen  this  toy  before," — he  said,  showing  her  the 
dagger,  "  Thou  knowest  it  ?" 

She  glanced  at  it  indifferently. 

"  Full  well !"  she  answered — "  'Tis  Judith's  jewelled  play- 
thing— a  gift  to  her  from  the  dead  Gabrias  1" 

Caiaphas  turned  himself  restlessly. 

"  Ay  I  'tis  Judith's.  The  girl  is  frenzied  for  her  brother's 
death, — she  came  to  me  last  night, — she  knew  not  what  she 
said  or  did.  'Twas  she  who  stabbed  me, — but  none  must  know 
of  it.  Take  thou  the  weapon  therefore,  and  cast  it  in  the  well 
below  the  garden, — thou  wilt  do  this  and  say  nothing, — pas- 
sionless as  thou  art  I  feel  that  I  can  trust  thee !" 

She  took  the  dagger,  and  a  curious  smile  flitted  across  her 
features. 

"  Alas,  poor  Judith  !"  she  said. 


A  DREAM  OF  THE    WORLD'S  TRAGEDY      277 

Caiaphas  gave  her  a  quick  surprised  look. 

"  Thou  dost  pity  her?" 

"  With  all  my  soul !" 

A  feverish  rush  of  blood  crimsoned  the  high-priest's  features. 

"  I  loved  her !"  he  cried  hoarsely,  in  a  sudden  reckless  access 
**f  pain  and  passion — "  Hearest  thou,  Rachel !  I  loved  her !" 

Rachel's  cold  eyes  rested  scornfully  upon  him. 

"  I  hear,  Caiaphas  !     And  I  know !" 

"  Learn  then  yet  another  thing !"  he  continued  wildly — "  For 
her  sake  I  have  been  faithless  unto  thee !" 

"  That  also  do  I  know  1"  responded  Rachel  with  chill  equa- 
nimity. 

"And  sayest  thou  nothing? — carest  thou  nothing?" — he 
demanded,  amazed  and  exasperated. 

Over  the  face  of  the  pale  daughter  of  Annas  came  the  warm 
flush  of  a  righteous  disdain. 

"  I  say  nothing  because  I  feel  nothing,  Caiaphas !" — she  re- 
plied— "  To  know  thee  as  I  have  known  thee,  ever  since  the 
day  when  my  father  Annas  gave  my  life  into  thy  cruel  keeping, 
would  make  the  softest  woman's  heart  as  hard  as  steel  or  ada- 
mant. I  care  nothing, — for  who  could  care  for  the  loss  or  the 
retaining  of  a  love  so  valueless  as  thine  !  Speak  we  no  more 
of  this,  for  I  have  schooled  myself  to  silence  ; — I  am  thy  wife, 
— only  thy  wife,  who  according  to  thy  measure  is  little  more 
than  dog  or  slave !  And  I  will  do  thy  bidding  as  dog  and 
slave  till  death  releases  me,  for  out  of  mine  own  self-respect 
and  pride  I  will  not  let  thee  boast  that  I  have  failed  in  aught. 
And  of  thy  sensual  passions  I  heed  nothing, — thou  art  free  to 
follow  them,  seeing  thou  dost  walk  in  the  holy  ways  of  Abra- 
ham, to  whom  most  surely  all  women  born  were  of  less  account 
than  the  cattle  of  the  field  ! — yet  he  was  the  favourite  of  the 
self-same  God  thou  servest, — and  so,  perchance  art  thou  !  But 
for  me,  henceforth,  there  shall  be  other  gods  than  one  who  doth 
reward  with  favour  the  lies  and  infidelities  of  man  !" 

Such  passion  vibrated  in  her  voice,  such  wrath  flashed  within 
her  eyes  that  for  the  moment  her  husband  was  stupefied  with 
astonishment ; — but  as  she  turned  to  leave  the  room,  he  called 
her  back  angrily. 

"  Rachel !" 

"  "What  now  ?" 

"  How  darest  thou"  ...  he  panted  huskily — "  How  darest 
thou  assault  me  with  thy  shrewish  tongue  thus  furiously" 

She  smiled  coldly. 

24 


278  BARABBAS 

"  I  dare  all  things,  being  wronged !"  she  answered — "  And 
for  Judith  Iscariot  I  have  naught  but  love ! — love  and  grati- 
tude that  she  did  seek  to  rid  the  world  of  thee  I  'Twas  bravely 
done  !  I  would  she  had  succeeded  !" 

And  with  haughty  step  and  slow  she  passed  out  of  the  apart- 
ment, just  as  Annas,  white  and  trembling  with  alarm  entered 
it  again,  accompanied  by  the  physician. 

"  Caiaphas !  .  .  .  Oaiaphas !"  .  .  .  he  stammered. 

"  Sir,  be  calm  !"  interposed  the  physician  anxiously,  hasten- 
ing to  the  bedside  of  his  patient, — "  I  sought  to  keep  intruders 
from  thee, — but  now  this  business  seemeth  strange  and  ur- 
gent"  

He  broke  off,  and  Caiaphas,  still  agitated  by  the  unexpected 
conduct  of  his  wife  towards  him,  stared  wonderingly  from  one 
to  the  other. 

"  What  ails  ye  both  ?"  he  asked  feebly — "  How !  dost  thou 
tremble,  Annas  ? — thou  who  art  moved  by  nothing  save  a  lack 
of  delicate  food?  Speak,  man  !  What  news  is  on  thy  lips?" 

"  Pilate  hath  sent  his  men  to  thee" — faltered  Annas, — "  The 
watch  hath  been  broken, — the  sepulchre  is  empty" 

With  a  frightful  cry  Caiaphas  almost  leaped  from  his 
bed. 

"  Cowards !  Thieves !  Let  them  not  dare  to  say  the  Man 
of  Nazareth  hath  risen  from  the  dead,  for  if  His  body  be  no 
longer  in  the  tomb,  it  hath  been  stolen  !  Where  are  these  lag- 
gards ? — these  worthless  Romans  ?  Pilate  hath  sent  them  ? — 
then  bid  them  enter  I" 

Annas  glanced  at  the  physician  who  shrugged  his  shoulders 
and  threw  up  his  hands,  implying  by  these  gestures  his  resigna- 
tion of  all  responsibility  in  a  matter  so  entirely  beyond  his 
control. 

"Bid  them  enter !"  shouted  Caiaphaa  again,  his  face  con- 
vulsed with  impatience  and  fury.  And  in  another  moment, 
Maximus,  with  the  speechless  Galbus  and  the  rest  of  his  men ; 
keeping  behind  him,  appeared. 

"  Sir,"  said  he,  looking  full  at  the  high-priest,  who  glared  at 
him  in  return  with  an  expression  of  implacable  and  vengeful 
ferocity — "  Methinks  I  am  come  at  an  ill  time,  seeing  thou  art 
wounded  and  suffering ;  nevertheless  I  am  bound  to  fulfil  the 
received  command  of  the  governor.  Pilate  hath  sent  me  hither 
to  tell  thee  that  our  watch  hath  been  in  vain, — the  Heavens 
have  interposed,  and  a  miracle  hath  been  enacted ;  the  '  Naza- 
rene'  hath  risen !" 


A  DREAM  OF  THE   WORLD'S  TRAGEDY      279 

"  Liar !"  and  Caiaphas  well-nigh  foaming  at  the  mouth, 
clutched  at  the  purple  coverings  of  his  couch  and  leaned  for- 
ward as  though  he  were  about  to  hurl  some  deadly  weapon  at 
the  speaker — "  Liar !  Who  art  thou,  dastard  Roman,  that 
darest  presume  upon  my  patience  by  the  bringing  of  a  false 
report  ?  Thou  wert  not  placed  in  charge  !  Galbus  did  head 
thy  band  of  scoundrels, — let  him  speak  !" 

Maximus,  pale  with  rage  at  the  insult  thus  offered  to  him- 
self and  his  comrades  had  much  ado  to  control  his  rising 
temper. 

"Sir  priest,"  he  said,  breathless  with  suppressed  anger — 
"  Thou  goest  too  far  in  the  manner  of  thy  speech,  seeing 
Judaea  is  the  slave  of  Rome,  and  thou  thyself  a  payer  of 
tribute  unto  Caesar.  I  have  not  brought  thee  any  false  report, 
— I  scorn  to  lie, — and  I  am  here  to  tell  the  truth  of  what  I 
saw.  That  these  men  about  me  slept  I  deny  not, — but  I  was 
wakeful, — and  with  mine  own  eyes  I  did  behold,  at  the  first 
quarter  after  midnight,  the  heavens  opened  and  two  god-like 
Shapes  descending  towards  the  tomb.  Galbus  looked  on  the 
marvellous  sight  with  me, — and  with  the  lightning  of  the 
glory  we  were  smitten  to  the  ground  even  as  dead  men.  At 
morning  when  we  woke  we  found  the  great  stone  rolled  away 
from  the  sepulchre,  and  the  tomb  itself  empty  of  all  save  the 
linen  cerements  wherein  the  body  of  the '  Nazarene'  was  swathed. 
And  as  for  Galbus,  I  would  that  any  bidding  of  thine  or  mine 
could  make  him  speak, — for  since  the  fearful  fires  did  fall  upon 
us  both  at  midnight,  he  hath  been  smitten  feeble  as  thou  seest 
him  now,  and  dumb." 

While  Maximus  thus  spoke  the  countenance  of  Caiaphas 
had  grown  livid  and  hideous  with  the  restrained  passion  and 
bitter  malice  of  his  soul. 

"  Would  I  had  had  my  way  !"  he  muttered  thickly  between 
the  slow  gasps  of  his  labouring  breath — "  I  would  have  hewn 
the  body  of  the  crucified  blasphemer  asunder  limb  from  limb, 
and  flung  each  portion  to  the  dogs  that  roam  the  city !"  He 
paused,  choking  back  the  terrible  oath  that  rose  to  his  lips,  and 
then  went  on  slowly,  addressing  himself  again  to  Maximus — 
"  So  ! — this  is  the  story  of  the  thieves'  trick  played  upon  ye 
by  the  Galilean  rogues  who,  like  their  Mastei,  practise  devils' 
magic !  Think  not  I  am  deceived ;  no  dead  man  rises  from 
the  grave,  and  I  will  sift  this  matter!  Galbus  hath  lost  the 
power  of  speech  thou  sayest, — nevertheless  he  is  not  deaf 
methinks, — he  is  capable  of  signs.  Let  him  stand  forth  and 


280  BARABBAS 

face  me !  I  will  question  him,  and  by  the  God  of  Israel  fce 
shall  answer  me  if  only  in  dumb  show  1" 

His  irate  order  was  obeyed, — the  two  soldiers  who  supported 
the  tottering,  half-paralysed  Galbus,  led  him  forward.  Caia- 
phas,  leaning  out  of  bed,  grasped  him  by  the  arm  roughly. 

"  Galbus  1" 

Slowly  the  wandering  lack-lustre  eyes  of  the  centurion  lifted 
themselves  and  rested  vaguely  on  the  high-priest's  pale  and 
resentful  visage.  At  first  there  was  no  expression  whatever  in 
their  fixed  regard — but  gradually  the  light  of  returning  intelli- 
gence and  memory  brightened  and  dilated  them,  and  a  sudden 
change  began  to  manifest  itself  in  the  whole  demeanour  of  the 
stricken  man.  Drawing  a  deep  breath  he  straightened  his 
drooping  figure,  and  shook  himself  free  of  his  two  supporters 
who  stared  upon  him  in  amazement, — with  one  hand  he  felt 
for  his  sword,  and  as  he  touched  the  familiar  hilt,  he  smiled, 
and  raised  his  head  with  his  former  proud  and  martial  bearing. 
Caiaphas  watched  him  in  astonishment  and  suspicion — the 
man's  former  crushed  and  helpless  demeanour  seemed  now  an 
elaborate  pretence, — his  very  dumbness  might  be  assumed  ! — 
and  believing  this  to  be  the  case,  a  black  frown  wrinkled  the 
high-priest's  brows  as  he  fiercely  demanded — 

"  How  now,  Galbus  1  What  report  hast  thou  to  offer  of  thy 
duty  ? — what  knowest  thou  of  last  night's  vigil  ?  If  thou  art 
dumb,  make  signs ;  if  thou  hast  any  utterance,  speak  !  Who 
made  thy  watch  of  no  avail,  and  turned  thy  Roman  valour 
into  trembling?" 

With  sudden  and  startling  vehemence  the  unexpected  answer 
came: 

'{Jesus  of  Nazareth,  Son  of  the  living  Godj) 

It  was  Galbus  who  spoke, — the  spell  of  silence  was  all  at 
once  lifted  from  him, — and  his  voice,  resonant,  clear  and  con- 
vincing, rang  like  a  trumpet-note  through  the  room.  Wonder 
and  dismay  fell  upon  all  who  heard  him, — but  he,  expanding 
and  glorying~as  it  were  in  the  utterance  of  a  truth,  exclaimed 
again  loudly  and  fearlessly — 

"  Jesus  of  Nazareth,  Son  of  the  living  God  !" 

Maddened  with  rage,  Caiaphas  made  a  frantic  attempt  to 
strike  him  on  the  mouth,  but  was  prevented  by  the  politic 
Annas. 

"Away  with  him,  away  with  him  !"  he  cried  furiously,  im- 
potently  beating  the  air  with  his  clenched  fists — "  Bind  him, — 
gag  him  I — slay  him  1  X  will  be  answerable  for  his  death  to 


A  DREAM  OF  THE    WORLD'S  TRAGEDY      281 

Caesar !  Gag  him,  I  say  ! — silence  him  in  earnest ! — he  is  a 
liar,  a  liar ! — he  shall  be  branded  as  such  to  his  nation  ! — bear 
him  hence  quickly, — let  him  not  shout  his  blasphemies  through 
the  town  !  Gag  him  ! — ye  villains,  ye  will  not  obey  me  1 — ye 
will  let  the  people  think  the  crucified  malefactor  a  god  divine, 
— curse  him,  I  say  ! — curse  ye  all  for  a  band  of  liars,  ye  foul 
brutes,  ye  cowards  of  Home, — ye  base  pauderers  to  the  scum 
of  Galilee" 

His  voice  broke  in  a  sharp  cry, — his  wound  began  to  bleed 
afresh  and  the  crimson  stain  welled  rapidly  through  the  linen 
wrappings ;  the  physician  seriously  alarmed,  declared  to  Annas 
that  he  could  not  be  answerable  for  his  patient's  life  if  this 
scene  were  allowed  to  continue.  Annas  therefore  took  it  upon 
himself  to  put  an  end  to  the  inquiry. 

"  Get  ye  all  hence  !"  he  said,  addressing  himself  to  Maxlmus 
angrily — "  And  take  this  raving  Galbus  out  of  hearing  I  His 
dumbness  was  better  than  his  speech.  But  think  not  we  shall 
let  this  matter  rest  thus, — what  reasoning  man  would  of  sane 
will  accept  a  fool's  report  such  as  thou  bringest  I  We  are  not 
to  be  dupad  either  by  Galileans  or  Romans  !" 

Maxituus  gave  him  no  reply  save  a  look  of  supreme  scorn, — 
Galbus  meanwhile  had  been  coldly  watching  the  pallid  and 
convulsed  face  of  Caiaphas. 

"  Lo,  how  the  devils  in  this  Jewish  priest  do  torture  him  !" 
he  said  meditatively — "  Hell  itself  cries  out  upon  Christ's  mur- 
derer!" 

"  Silence,  thou  knave  !"  cried  Annas. 

"  Silence  thyself,  thou  Jew  !"  retorted  Galbus, — "  thou  can'st 
not  so  command  a  soldier  of  Tiberius." 

Annas  grew  livid  with  rage.  The  physician  who  was  en- 
gaged in  stanching  the  blood  that  flowed  from  Caiaphas's 
wound,  again  interposed,  entreating  that  the  room  might  be 
cleared  and  his  patient  left  tranquil.  Annas  therefore,  with 
difficulty  restraining  the  torrent  of  invective  that  rose  to  his 
lips,  assumed  an  air  of  dignified  rebuke. 

"  Centurion,  'tis  beneath  me  and  my  sacred  calling  to  argue 
with  the  base  and  the  unworthy.  Hence  ! — with  thy  men, — 
through  Pilate  we  shall  yet  communicate  with  thee,  and  report 
thy  conduct  to  the  Emperor.  Doubt  not  that  justice  will  be 
done  ! — both  unto  thee  and  unto  us, — and  whosoever  broke  the 
seals  of  the  Sanhedrim  aflixed  upon  the  tomb  ye  all  were 
set  to  guard,  shall  be  tracked  and  punished  with  the  extremest 
penalty  of  the  law." 


282  BARABBAS 

Galbus  smiled  grimly. 

"  Track  ye  the  angels  then,  and  find  the  path  to  Heaven  T 
he  said — "  To  false  priests  the  task  will  not  be  easy !" 

And  turning  abruptly  on  his  heel  he  placed  himself  at  the 
head  of  his  company  as  if  he  had  never  left  command  of  it. 
In  the  momentary  pause  before  the  little  troop  departed,  one 
soldier  hung  back  and  made  a  secret  sign  to  Annas. 

"  What  would'st  thou  ?"  said  Annas  impatiently — "  Seest 
thou  not  the  high-priest  almost  swoons? — he  can  stand  no 
more  of  this  rude  clamour." 

"  I  would  but  say  one  thing  to  him" — said  the  man,  who 
was  a  dark  browed,  evil-looking  fellow  from  Sicily — "  Haply  it 
might  give  him  a  clue." 

Annas  looked  at  him  scrutinisingly,  then  quickly  approached 
Caiaphas  who  had  sunk  back  on  his  pillows  in  a  sort  of  lethargy. 

"  This  soldier  hath  a  private  word  for  thee,  my  sou," — he 
said. 

Caiaphas  opened  his  languid  bloodshot  eyes. 

"  Vex  me  110  more ;"  he  muttered  feebly — "  I  suffer  I — let 
me  rest !" 

"Sir" — said  the  soldier  quickly — "'tis  but  a  hint  to  thee 
which  may  serve  to  some  good  purpose.  'Tis  true  we  slept 
upon  our  watch  last  night,  lulled  into  slumber  by  a  wondrous 
singing  as  of  nightingales, — and  of  ourselves  we  saw  no  marvels, 
despite  what  Maximus  hath  told  thee.  But  on  this  morning  as 
we  came  away  from  the  sepulchre,  a  stranger  met  us  on  the 
road  who  did  inquire  most  particularly  as  to  the  nature  of  our 
vigil.  He  had  a  foreign  aspect,  and  to  our  wonder,  wore  the 
Emperor's  signet.  And  with  him  was  Barabbas." 

Caiaphas  started,  and  heedless  of  his  wound,  sat  up. 

"  Barabbas  ?" 

"  Yea,  sir.     Barabbas.     He  that  was  a  robber." 

A  sudden  gleam  of  malicious  joy  sparkled  in  the  high- 
priest's  eyes. 

"  Soldier,  I  thank  thee !  Thou  hast  done  well  in  telling  me 
of  this.  Come  back  hither  later  on,  and  thou  shalt  have  gold 
from  the  treasury  as  thy  reward.  And  mark  me,  friend  ! — to 
all  thy  comrades  who  did  sleep,  seeing  no  miracle,  but  only 
seeing  Barabbas  on  the  road  next  morning,  gold  shall  be  meted 
out  full  lavishly,  provided  they  will  tell  this  thing  throughout 
the  town.  Barabbas  did  defend  the  '  Nazarene,'  and  therefore 
may  be  ranked  among  His  followers  and  disciples.  Thou  sayest 
truly, — Barabbas  was  a  robber  /" 


A  DREAM  OF  THE    WORLD'S  TRAGEDY      283 

And  when  the  soldier  had  rejoined  his  companions,  and  the 
sound  of  the  retreating;  footsteps  of  all  the  men  had  died  away 
in  the  outer  corridor,  Caiaphas  lay  back  again  upon  his  couch 
with  a  sigh  of  deep  relief  and  contentment.  Smiling  an  evil 
smile,  he  murmured  to  himself  softly — 

"  Barabbas  ? — Barabbas  was  a  robber" 

And  in  an  hour's  time,  despite  his  recent  rage  and  excite- 
ment, he  slept  tranquilly, — while  on  his  thin  closely-compressed 
lips,  even  in  deep  slumber,  still  lingered  the  shadow  of  that 
wicked  smile. 


CHAPTER  XLIV. 

EMERGING  at  last  with  difficulty  from  the  turbulent  throng 
that  had  accompanied  the  Roman  soldiers  to  the  high -priest's 
palace  and  that  now  waited  in  a  dense  mass  outside  the  gates 
for  their  return,  Barabbas  managed  finally  to  reach  Iscariot'a 
dwelling.  The  house  was  shut  up  and  in  mourning ;  and  none 
of  the  servants  could  truly  tell  where  their  master  had  gone 
after  his  son's  melancholy  funeral.  Uncertain  what  to  do,  and 
shrinking  from  the  idea  of  coufiding  to  paid  menials  the  news 
that  their  mistress  was  wandering  about  distraught,  with  no 
other  companion  or  friend  than  the  evilly-reputed  Magdalen, 
Barabbas  could  see  no  other  course  open  to  him  than  to  return 
at  once  to  Gethsemane  and  consult  with  Mary  as  to  what  next 

father.  He  therefore  made  the  best  of  his  way  back  to  the 
garden  by  certain  by-streets  where  the  crowd  had  not  pene- 
trated, and  as  he  came  out  upon  the  open  road  leading  to  the 
Mount  of  Olives,  within  sight  of  the  trees  of  Gethsemane,  he 
perceived  a  group  of  persons  standing  together  in  earnest  con- 
versation. Drawing  nearer  he  recognised  one  of  them  as  Simon 
Peter;  the  others  he  did  not  know,  but  judged  from  their  ap- 
pearance and  dress  that  they  were  Galileans,  and  followers  of 
Him  that  was  called  the  "  Nazarene."  He  would  have  passed 
them  by,  in  his  haste  to  reach  his  destination,  but  that  Peter 
Baw  him  and  called  to  him.  He  approached  reluctantly. 

"  This  is  Barabbas!"  said  Peter  slowly — "  He  who  was  re- 
leased unto  the  Jews  instead  of  the  Lord.  He  hath  repented 
of  his  crimes ;  shall  we  not  persuade  him  to  go  with  us  ?" 


284  BARABBAS 

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  f'aileth  not  I  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, — "  Pe'rchance 
thou  also,  on  the  way,  wilt  meet  and  see  the  risen  Lord  !" 

"  Nay,  I  have  seen  Him  1"  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  1 
Whither  He  went  I  know  not,  for  though  I  searched  the  tomb 
He  was  not  there." 

"  We  also  searched  the  tomb" — began  Peter. 

"  What  1  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  did'st  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 


A  DREAM  OF  THE    WORLD'S   TRAGEDY      285 

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  '  Naza- 
rene' !" 

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.  Yo 
perchance  are  righteous,  arid  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,  in- 
asmuch 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 — "  Can'st 


286  BARABBAS 

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,  fear- 
ing Barabbas, — let  me  know  Him  as  He  is,  and  what  matter 
even  if  I  die  of  the  terror  and  the  splendour  of  His  presence  I 
Doubt  would  shake  my  soul  no  more, — I  would  endure  eter- 
nities 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— JEvil ; — 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  '  god-speed  !'  and — if  ye  meet  your  Lord,  may  your  eyes 
have  love  enough  to  know  Him  when  ye  see  Him !  So — • 
farewell  I" 

"  Stay  !"  cried  Peter — "  All  thy  reproaches  shall  not  go  un- 
answered. 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  had'st  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  1"  retorted  Barabbas  hotly — 
"  Would'st  thou  shelter  thine  own  weakness  behind  that^of 
woman  ? — 'tis  an  unmanly  deed  !  Does  it  make  tliy  sin  or  the 
sin  of  Judas  less  that  ye  were  so  ea  sily  tempted  by  woman's 
voice  and  persuaded  by  woman's  eyes  ?  Nay !  it  doth  prove 


A  DREAM  OF  THE   WORLD'S  TRAGEDY      287 

your  fickleness  the  more, — go  to  !  bear  thy  part  in  crime  with- 
out mean  subterfuge  j  'tis  nobler  to  confess  a  sin  than  cover 
it" —  Here  he  broke  off  abruptly,  startled  by  a  sudden  move- 
ment 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  con- 
sternation 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  iden- 
tified 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  1'ro,  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  1  He  has  come  out  of 
the  grave,  they  say, — devils  and  angels  alike  whisper  it, — never- 
theless 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  1" 

i  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 


288  B  ARABS  AS 

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  1 — 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  livej/  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  un- 
fortunate 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  whisperers  in  the  air  tell 
me,  I  may  haply  find  the  King.  For  though  He  looked  in 


A  DREAM  OF  THE    WORLD'S   TRAGEDY      289 

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,  friend,  I  do  beseech  thee  1 — 
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  sorrow- 
fully. 

"  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  did'st  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  mur- 
derer ask  for  his  victim  ? — shall  he  that  hath  wilfully  wrested 
x  t  25 


290  BARABBAS 

life  from  the  innocent  expect  that  life  to  live  again?  Cryt 
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  can'st  thou  tell,  Peter?"  interposed  John  quickly — 
"  Thou  art  too  harsh, — thou  should'st  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  1" 

u  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  did'st  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,-^-!  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." 

"Did'st  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 


A  DREAM  OF  THE    WORLD'S  TRAGEDY      291 

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, — 
•Aen  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  did'st  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  tho  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  con- 
vulsion, 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 


292  BARABBAS 

thrust  the  Magdalen  aside.  Like  some  great  queen  she  lifted 
her  head  with  an  imperial  gesture,  and  her  eyes  flashed  lire. 

"What  news  bring  ye  from  the  city?"  she  demanded — • 
"Do  they  mourn  there  or  rejoice  for  the  death  of  Caiaphas?" 

"  Alas,  Judith,  dream  not  so  wildly  1" — murmured  Barabbas 
quickly — "  Caiaphas  is  not  dead, — some  enemy  hath  wounded 
him  in  the  night, — but  he  doth  live,  and  will  live  on, — trouble 
not  thyself!" 

As  he  spoke  she  looked  at  him  strangely, — and  over  her 
features  came  a  swift  dusky  pallor  as  of  death. 

"  What!  Caiaphas  doth  live  and  will  live  on?"  she  cried — 
"  He  is  not  dead?  Then  upon  him,  0  God  of  Israel,  send 
down  thine  everlasting  curse  ! — let  loose  on  him  the  fiends  of 
darkest  hell !  Betrayer,  seducer,  liar  and  self-seeking  hypo- 
crite, remember,  0  just  God,  remember  the  sins  of  this  thy 
so-called  righteous  servant  in  the  Holy  Place,  and  let  thy  judg- 
ments meet  the  measure  of  his  vileness !  Not  upon  Judas" 
— and  she  raised  her  arms  aloft  in  passionate  appeal — "  not 
upon  Judas,  nor  on  any  blind  and  ignorant  sinner  visit  tny 
vengeance,  0  dread  Lord,  but  on  thy  Priest  who  in  pretence 
of  serving  the  Divine  hath  murdered  it !  A  curse  on  Caiaphas  ! 
— the  curse  of  dead  Judas, — the  curse  of  dying  Judith  ' — the 
never-lifting  curse  of  the  v  retched  who  are  led  by  a  priest's 
Lie  out  of  Heaven  into  Heh  !" 

Dilating  with  her  inward  passion,  she  looked  like  a  pale 
fierce  prophetess  denouncing  the  evils  of  the  time, — reason 
for  the  moment  seemed  to  have  returned  to  her, — her  voice 
was  clear,  her  sentences  connected, — and  Peter  and  the  others 
stared  upon  her  amazed,  awed  and  fascinated.  But  the  rush 
of  her  wild  eloquence  exhausted  her, — she  lost  breath  and 
looked  vaguely  about  her,  groping  with  her  hands  in  a  blind 
way,  as  though  she  had  become  suddenly  enveloped  in  dark- 
ness. All  at  once  she  sprang  forward  eagerly  with  an  impetu- 
ous grace  and  swiftness  that  caused  those  around  her  to  fall 
hastily  back,  except  Barabbas,  who  still  tried  to  hold  and 
support  her,  though  she  with  a  gesture  of  her  old  pride  and 
scorn  motioned  him  away.  Alone  on  the  white  dusty  road 
she  stood  in  a  listening  attitude, — her  eyes  glittering,  her  lips 
apart ;  evidently  she  heard,  or  thought  she  heard,  something 
that  to  the  others  who  watched  her  was  but  silence.  The  sun 
poured  atraightly  down  upon  her, — she  looked  like  a  fair 
startled  sylph  in  the  amber  glow  of  the  burning  Eastern 
noonday, — gi-adually  an  expression  of  surprise  and  then  of 


A  DREAM  OF  THE    WORLD'S   TRAGEDY      293 

rapture  lighted  her  pallid  face, — she  lifted  her  gaze  slowly, 
and  with  seeming  wonder  and  incredulity,  fixed  her  eyes  on 
the  near  grassy  slope  of  the  Mount  of  Olives,  where  two 
ancient  fig-trees  twining  their  gnarled  boughs  together  made 
an  arch  of  dark  and  soothing  shade.  Pointing  thither  with 
one  hand,  she  smiled, — and  once  more  her  matchless  beauty 
flashed  up  through  fonn  and  face  like  a  flame. 

"  Lo,  there!"  she  exclaimed  joyously — "  How  is  it  that  ye 
could  not  find  Him  ?  There  is  the  King !" 

Throwing  up  her  arms,  she  ran  eagerly  along  a  few  steps, 
.  .  .  tottered,  .  .  .  then  fell  face  forward  in  the  dust  and 
there  lay;  .  .  .  motionless  for  ever !  She  had  prayed  for  the 
pardon  of  Judas, — she  had  sought — and  found — the  "  King"  ! 

Barabbas,  Mary  Magdalene  and  the  disciples  quickly  sur- 
rounded the  prone  figure  shrouded  in  its  gold  hair,  but  ere 
they  could  raise  it,  the  sound  of  a  horse's  hoofs  galloping  fast 
down  the  road  came  closer  and  closer,  and  finally  stopped.  A 
man's  voice  called  out  anxiously — 

"  What  have  ye  there ?     Need  ye  any  service?" 

They  looked  up, — and  a  solemn  silence  fell  upon  them. 
For  it  was  Iscariot.  He  had  just  returned  from  a  vain  search 
for  his  daughter  in  the  villages  of  Bethpage  and  Bethany. 
In  one  keen  glance  he  read  in  their  awestricken  faces  his  own 
new  misery,  and  dismounting  from  his  horse  he  dispersed  the 
little  group  with  a  single  tragic  gesture  of  supreme  despair. 
The  white  figure  fallen  in  the  dust,  the  lustrous  wonder  of  the 
hair  that  covered  it  as  with  a  mantle,  swam  before  his  eyes, — • 
flinging  himself  down  he  clutched  wildly  at  the  corpse  of  that 
fair  child  of  his  who  had  been  to  his  heart  above  all  earthly 
things  beloved. 

"Judith  I"  he  cried. 

Then,  slowly  and  shudderingly  he  lifted  the  body  and  turned 
the  face  upward  to  the  light,  .  .  .  alas,  the  piteous  beauty  of 
that  face  ! — what  sadness,  and  what  wonder  in  its  fixed  grave 
smile  !  So  strongly  too  did  it  resemble  the  face  of  the  dead 
Judas,  that  had  it  not  been  for  the  wealth  of  woman's  hair 
falling  about  it,  it  might  have  been  taken  for  the  fine  fair 
remorseful  countenance  of  that  self-slain  disciple.  Yet  a 
certain  vague  joy  rested  on  the  quiet  features ; — one  little 
hand  pressed  against  the  bosom,  held  a  cross ;  this  Iscariot 
saw,  and  wrenching  it  from  the  stiffening  fingers,  flung  it  in 
the  dust. 

"  Get  hence  !"  he  cried  fiercely — "  Ye  madmen  of  Galilee, 
25* 


294  BARABBAS 

get  hence !  Out  of  my  sight,  and  linger  not  to  triumph  in 
my  misery  1  Behold,  my  house  is  desolate, — I  have  no  more 
place  or  honour  in  the  world !  Rejoice  at  that,  ye  enemies 
of  Israel !  What  care  I  for  your  promised  heaven  ! — ye  have 
reft  from  me  the  joy  of  earth !  What  are  your  boasted 
miracles !  your  resurrections  from  the  grave ! — will  ye  give 
me  back  my  children  ?  Will  ye  raise  up  my  son,  self-slaugh- 
tered for  your  Prophet's  sake  ?• — Will  ye  restore  to  me  this 
maid,  the  daughter  of  my  blood,  the  treasure  of  my  care  ? 
Nay !  ye  are  liars  all ! — ye  have  no  power  to  comfort  the 
afflicted,  ye  cruel  preachers  of  a  loveless  creed, — ye  cowards 
and  accurst !  Leave  me  I  say  ! — leave  me,  .  .  .  alone  with 
my  dead  !" 

And  clasping  the  body  of  his  daughter  in  his  arms,  he  laid 
his  grey  head  upon  her  still  breast  and  wept, — wept  as  only 
strong  men  weep  when  they  are  broken-hearted. 

Awed  and  troubled,  and  vaguely  perplexed  too  by  the 
mystery  of  a  grief  and  pain  too  great  as  it  seemed  for  human 
or  divine  consolement,  the  disciples  slowly  moved  away,  the 
Magdalen  accompanying  them  sorrowfully,  her  face  veiled 
to  hide  her  tears, — and  only  Barabbas  remained  beside  the 
stricken  father  to  share  with  him  his  bitter  agony.  Once 
Peter  looked  back  and  seemed  to  consider  whether  he  should 
speak.  But  he  hesitated,— for  what,  after  all,  could  he  say  ? 
He  had  not  the  secret  of  his  Divine  Master  who  by  a  mere 
look  could  calm  a  tempest.  True,  he  might  have  said  "  Be 
patient,  Iscariot !  God  will  comfort  thee  !"  What !  This, 
to  a  Pharisee  and  usurer?  Never!  Let  him,  instead  of 
children,  hug  his  bags  of  ill-gotten  gold, — what  Jew  with 
wealth  hath  need  of  other  comfort?  So  Peter  thought,  yet 
there  was  an  uneasiness  in  his  mind ;  his  Master,  he  well 
knew,  would  not  have  acted  thus,  and  he  was  by  his  lack  of 
broad  sympathy,  already  falsifying  and  distorting  the  Divine 
example.  Tormented  by,  yet  wilfully  deaf  to  the  teasing 
whisper  of  conscience,  he  walked  on  "  to  meet  the  Lord"  by 
the  road  to  Galilee,  half  hoping,  half  fearing,  half  doubting, 
half  believing,  an  image  of  the  future  on  which  he  was 
destined  to  set  his  lasting  mark.  Meanwhile  John  lingered  a 
moment, — his  earnest  gaze  rested  compassionately  on  the 
tragic  group  beneath  the  olive-boughs, — the  aged  jew  clasp- 
ing his  dead  daughter,  his  grey  locks  mingling  with  her  gold, 
— and  the  rugged  dark  figure  of  Barabbas  standing  near ; — 
then,  stooping,  he  raised  reverently  from  the  dust  the  cross 


A  DREAM  OF  THE    WORLD'S  TRAGEDY      295 

Iscariot  had  thrown  there,  kissed  it,  laid  it  against  his  breast, 
and  with  fair  head  bent  musiugly  and  eyes  full  of  dreams, 
went  slowly  on  his  way. 


CHAPTER   XLVL 

NEARLY  a  week  had  elapsed  since  the  miracle  of  the  Resur- 
rection of  the  Crucified  had  been  reported  in  Jerusalem.  The 
high-priest  Caiaphas  was  recovering  rapidly  from  his  well-nigh 
deadly  wound,  and  had  so  far  carried  out  certain  secret  plans 
of  his  as  to  have  had  the  centurion  Galbus,  together  with  his 
companion  Maximus,  sent  hastly  out  of  Judaea  and  back  to 
Rome.  Petronius  too,  the  other  centurion,  suspected  of  sym- 
pathy with  the  followers  of  the  "  Nazarene"  was  likewise  dis- 
missed,— but  all  three  officers  had  no  sooner  reached  their 
native  country  than  they  were  at  once  promoted  in  the  Roman 
legions,  by  whose  good  office  and  influence  no  one  knew,  unless 
the  stranger  Melchior  who  wore  the  Emperor's  signet  had 
something  to  do  with  the  matter.  Meanwhile,  it  was  gen- 
erally understood  among  the  Jews  that  the  body  of  the 
"  Prophet  out  of  Galilee"  had  been  stolen, — moreover,  that 
the  authorities  of  the  Sanhedrim  council  were  already  on  the 
track  of  the  criminal  concerned  in  the  robbery.  Public  atten- 
tion however,  had  been  somewhat  diverted  from  the  matter 
by  the  grand  and  picturesque  obsequies  of  Judith  Iscariot. 
Never  had  the  city  seen  such  a  sight  as  the  long  procession  of 
white-robed,  lily-wreathed  maidens  who  attended  the  corpse  of 
"the  fairest  woman  in  Judaea"  to  its  last  resting-place  bedside 
that  of  her  ill-fated  brother.  White  flowers  and  white  dra- 
peries symbolised  to  the  people's  gaze  the  dead  girl's  pure 
virginity, — and  though  some  shook  their  heads  and  shrugged 
their  shoulders  and  whispered  rumours  of  scandal,  none  dared 
speak  boldly  of  the  truths  they  knew.  For  Iscariot  was  a 
power  in  Jerusalem, — his  usurer's  grip  held  fast  the  fortunes 
of  many  a  struggling  household, — the  secret  fear  of  him  kept 
would-be  rancorous  tongues  mute.  But  the  proud  priest  Caia- 
phas hid  his  burning  eyes  in  the  pillows  of  his  sick-bed,  and 
smarted  in  his  guiity  conscience  as  he  heard  the  sound  of  the 


296  BARABBAS 

dreary  funeral  chant  passing  by  bis  palace  walls,— yet  he  main- 
tained a  rigid  silence, — and  his  pale  wife  Rachel,  coldly  watch- 
ing him,  also  held  her  peace.  Between  them  lay  the  full  and 
true  knowledge  of  Judith's  deep  dishonour, — nevertheless,  like 
the  murderous  dagger  she  had  used,  which  now  was  rusting  at 
the  bottom  of  a  well,  that  knowledge  remained  buried  in  their 
hearts  by  unspoken  yet  mutual  agreement. 
.  All  the  disciples  and  followers  of  the  "  Nazarene,"  men  and 
women  alike,  had  left  Jerusalem,  some  for  fear  of  the  priests, 
some  to  return  to  their  own  homes  in  the  country  districts, — 
and  the  city  inhabitants  were  beginning  to  fall  back  into  their 
usual  methods  of  living, — methods  which  had  been  so  strangely 
disorganised  by  late  events.  Joseph  of  Arimathea  had  had 
his  tomb,  now  rendered  so  sacred,  hewn  open  from  the  top 
that  it  might  be  more  readily  examined  within  and  without, 
and  disgusted  with  the  callousness  and  suspicions  of  the  priests, 
himself  entirely  believing  in  the  Divine  Resurrection  from  the 
Dead,  sold  his  fine  house  in  Jerusalem,  gave  all  the  proceeds 
to  the  poor  and  departed  to  his  native  humble  town  of  Arima- 
thea, there  to  dwell  in  retirement  for  good.  Among  other 
gossip  of  the  town  it  was  rumoured  that  Pilate,  the  governor, 
had  written  letters  to  the  Emperor  Tiberius,  asking  to  be  re- 
called to  Rome,  on  the  plea  of  ill-health,  but  of  this,  nothing 
was  known  for  certain. 

It  was  about  the  eighth  day  after  the  first  Easter, — and 
over  the  little  village  of  Nazareth  the  sun  was  sinking.  A 
blaze  of  royal  gold  and  purple  falling  aslant  from  the  west 
reddened  the  outlying  fertile  valley  and  surrounding  cornfields, 
and  poured  warm  splendour  through  the  open  doorway  of  a 
small  dark  dwelling  where  sat  an  aged  man,  alone  at  a  carpenter's 
bench,  working  busily,  though  sunset  was  the  usual  sign  for 
rest  from  labour.  He  was  finishing  a  wooden  cradle  of  which 
every  portion  was  panelled  into  squares  of  curious  and  elaborate 
carving.  His  wrinkled  hands  manipulated  the  carving  tools 
with  singular  swiftness  and  dexterity,  and  as  he  fashioned  a 
flower  or  a  leaf  in  the  design,  he  worked  with  the  minute  and 
fastidious  care  of  an  artist  who  loves  the  labour  he  has  chosen. 
Beside  him  on  the  bench  lay  a  fresh-gathered  branch  of  field- 
lilies, — he  was  copying  these  on  a  square  of  wood  with  ex- 
traordinary fidelity.  The  red  glow  of  the  skies  illumined  his 
bent,  roughly-clad  figure,  and  set  a  rose-halo  round  his  snow- 
white  hair, — he  was  completely  absorbed  in  his  toil, — so  much 
so  that  he  did  not  hear  an  approaching  slow  footstep  at  hia 


A  DREAM  OF  TEE    WORLD'S  TRAGEDY      297 

door,  or  see  the  shadow  which  darkened  it  and  partially  robbed 
him  of  the  sun. 

"Art  thou  Joseph,  the  carpenter  of  Nazareth?"  said  a 
harsh  sad  voice,  suddenly  addressing  him— "And  dost  thou 
work  thus  peacefully  without  mourning,  thy  son  being  dead 
yonder  in  Jerusalem  ?" 

The  old  man  started.  Laying  down  the  panel  he  was  carving, 
.he  shaded  his  eyes  with  one  hand  from  the  sun,  and  looked  up 
jdirnly  and  wonderingly  at  his  questioner.  He  saw  before  him 
/a  tall  broad-shouldered  man,  dark  and  fierce-featured,  travel- 
worn  and  dusty,  with  terrible  black  eyes  that  burned  beneath 
his  shaggy  brows  with  the  danger-fires  born  of  long  pent-up 
unshed  tears. 

"  What  stranger  art  thou  ?"  he  demanded — "  Why  comest 
thou  hither?" 

"  I  am  an  outcast  of  the  world,  by  name  Barabbas," — and 
as  the  intruder  gave  this  answer,  he  moved  a  step  or  two  within 
the  shed — "  Thus  have  I  answered  thee  straightway  but  to  me 
thou  offerest  no  quick  reply.  I  have  come  hither  from  Jeru- 
salem, impelled  by  a  desire  to  find  thee  and  to  speak  with  thee, 
if  peradventure  thou  art  he  of  whom  the  people  tell  me. 
Wherefore  I  ask  again,  art  thou  or  art  thou  not  Joseph,  son 
of  Jacob,  a  descendant  of  the  House  of  David,  and  father  of 
Him  who  was  called  '  the  King  of  the  Jews'  ?" 

Rising  from  his  bench,  the  venerable  man  confronted  his 
importunate  visitor. 

"  Yea,  I  am  Joseph :"  he  answered  mildly. 

Barabbas,  gaunt  and  worn  with  sorrow,  sleeplessness  and 
fatigue,  fixed  upon  him  a  piercing  look  as  though  he  sought  to 
read  the  inmost  secrets  of  his  soul. 

"  Surely  thou  art  a  poor  and  aged  man" — he  muttered  faintly 
— "  On  the  brink  of  the  grave  thy  feet  are  treading, — with 
that  darkness  waiting  for  thee,  that  darkness  in  which  we  know 
not  what  may  chance  to  us, — thou  wilt  not  lie !  I  shall  find 
truth  in  thee  doubtless, — truth — truth  at  last" 

His  voice  failed  him, — his  eyes  closed, — he  dropped  wearily 
on  a  low  bench  near  the  door.  He  had  travelled  for  two  days 
with  scarcely  any  rest  or  food,  and  in  his  exhausted  condition 
it  was  some  minutes  before  he  perceived  that  Joseph  was  prof- 
fering him  a  wooden  bowl  full  of  pure  cool  water.  He  drank 
gratefully,  and  recovering  himself  a  little  he  again  turned  his 


eyes  on  the  imposing,  reverend  figure  beside  him. 
"  I  ain  Barabbas" — he  repeated  presently  after  a 


pause, — 


298  BARABBAS 

"  But  perchance  that  Dame  doth  tell  thee  nothing.  Hear  then 
its  meaning.  I  have  been  thief,  rebel  and  murderer, — no  good 
thing  is  there  in  my  mind  towards  any  man ;  by  right  and 
justice  I  should  have  been  crucified  instead  of  Him  who  was 
thy  Son,  for  He  was  innocent  and  I  am  guilty.  But  if  thou 
knowest  the  world's  ways,  this  will  not  seem  unto  thee  strange, 
for  man's  laws  are  made  to  excuse  man's  guilt, — and  innocence 
is  ever  slain,  being  a  virtue  unrequired,  an  aggravation  and  re- 
proach to  wickedness.  So  hath  it  been  in  Jerusalem  these  past 
wild  days, — and  so  methinks  will  it  ever  be  in  all  the  laby- 
rinths of  this  life.  Freedom  hath  done  me  little  service, — I 
have  lived  centuries  of  grief  since  the  doors  of  my  prison  were 
unbarred, — I  thirsted  for  my  liberty, — it  came,  but  brought 
me  naught  but  sorrow, — rather  would  I  have  died  than  suffered 
as  I  have  suffered, — death  did  never  seem  to  me  so  sweet  and 
welcome  as  now, — God  knoweth  it  1  Thou  lookest  at  me  with 
most  unmoved  and  placid  face, — carest  thou  not  that  they  have 
slain  thy  son  ?" 

Joseph  said  no  word,  but  stood  immovably  erect, — the  sunset- 
glow  shining  warmly  about  him  and  •widening  its  ring  of  glory 
round  his  silvery  hair. 

"  Howbeit  now  it  seems  they  nave  not  slain  Him  after  all, 
and  thou  perchance  dost  know  it" — went  on  Barabbas,  watch- 
ing for  some  change  of  expression  in  the  old  man's  peaceful 
countenance — "  And  all  the  world  is  growing  mad  with  talk 
of  '  miracles.'  He  hath  arisen  living  from  the  dead,  and  hath 
appeared  to  His  followers — part  of  this  tale  is  true,  but  has 
no  '  miracle'  in  it,  inasmuch  as  I  am  sure  He  never  died.  He 
swooned  upon  the  Cross  and  recovered  in  the  tomb,  and  doubt- 
less will  appear  to  men  for  many  years  to  come,  and  thus  will 
be  confirmed  the  story  of  His  resurrection.  Markest  thou 
this  ?  No  Diviuity  was  in  this  Man,  nor  any  sort  of '  miracle  ;' 
thou,  Joseph,  dost  not  assume  Divinity  for  the  Child  begotten 
of  thy  will  and  born  of  thy  blood  in  mortal  fashion  as  all 
creatures  of  mortality  are  born  ?" 

He  had  spoken  in  tones  that  were  purposely  cold  and  matter- 
of-fact,  yet  under  his  assumed  composure  there  was  concealed 
a  keen  and  painful  anxiety.  Still  silent,  Joseph  stood,  a  regal 
figure,  bathed  in  the  purple  and  gold  reflections  of  the  evening 
skies.  At  last  Barabbas  could  bear  the  suspense  no  longer, — 
his  suppressed  impatience  broke  forth  in  a  kind  of  fury. 

"  Speak,  man,  speak  I"  he  cried  passionately — "  Oh,  if  thou 
knewest  my  tortures  !  Lo,  I  have  seen  this  Man, — this  '  King 


A  DREAM  OF  THE    WORLD'S   TRAGEDY      299 

of  the  Jews,'  in  all  His  fair,  heroic  appalling  beauty !  His 
face,  His  voice,  His  aspect  haunt  me ! — His  patient  eyes 
consume  my  soul !  Man  or  God,  whiche'er  He  be,  in  very 
truth  His  looks  were  more  of  God  than  Man, — His  ten- 
derness was  more  than  human !  Men  are  cruel  to  each 
other, — He  was  pitiful, — men  complain, —  He  never  mur- 
mured !  I  watched  Him  die, — He  made  a  glory  out  of  pain  ! 
— and  on  the  morn  when  it  was  said  He  had  risen  from  His 
grave,  I,  even  I  myself,  saw  Him  walking  softly  'mid  the 
shadows  of  the  dawn  and  speaking — ay !  to  whom,  thinkest 
thou,  did  He  speak?  To  a  broken-hearted  woman  whose  sins 
He  had  forgiven  1  'Twas  marvellous, — no  man  newly  escaped 
from  the  grave  would  have  stopped  for  this  methinks, — yet 
God,  we  are  taught,  is  vengeful, — wherefore  it  seeuis  this 
'  Nazarene'  is  neither  man  nor  god.  Oh  that  I  knew  Him  as 
He  truly  is ! — I  would  dare  all  things  for  this  one  instruction  I 
Lo,  I  have  pleaded  even  with  His  mother,  thy  wife,  praying 
her  to  tell  me  of  His  birth  which  now  is  also  said  to  be  a 
'  miracle' — but  she  was  dumb,  even  as  thou  art,  and  while  I 
looked  upon  her  a  great  light  shone  about  her  face, — a  light 
mystic  and  wonderful  that  filled  my  soul  with  fear.  Even 
such  a  splendour  did  invest  the  '  Nazarene'  when  I  beheld  Him 
in  the  Hall  of  Judgment, — beauty  and  light  seemed  portion 
of  His  nature.  Nevertheless  the  terror  of  this  mystery  doth 
madden  me ;  hence  I  have  come  to  thee ; — speak  thou  the 
truth,  Joseph,  as  simple  man  and  honest,  and  tell  me  all  thou 
can'st  of  this  same  Jesus,  the  wonder  of  Judaea, — thou,  as 
His  father  must  know  everything  concerning  Him,  even  from 
the  very  hour  that  He  was  born  into  the  world  !  Wherefore, 
if  only  out  of  mercy  to  my  pain  and  ignorance  I  do  beseech 
thee,  speak !" 

"  What  can  I  tell  thee,  tortured  soul !"  said  Joseph  at  last, 
in  solemn  compassionate  accents — "  Save  that  the  Man  Divine 
was  not  my  Son  !" 

Barabbas  sprang  up  and  caught  him  convulsively  by  the  arm. 

"Not  thy  Son!"  he  echoed — u  Was  not  Mary  thy  wife? 
Hast  thou  no  children  ?" 

"  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  dicTst  thou  not  espouse  her?" 


300  BARABBAS 

"  Even  as  I  was  bidden" — answered  Joseph  simply — "  And 
worshipped  her  as  Angel  and  as  Queen  !" 

"Ah,  now  thou  also  dost  conluse  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  pro- 
tection 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  flowerets  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  Ba- 
rabbas, perplexed  and  baffled — u  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  ehe  not  thine?" 

"  No !"  answered  Joseph  with  sudden  and  passionate  vehe- 
mence— "  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  eva- 
sion !  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  knewest  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  tha 


A  DREAM  OF  THE    WORLD'S  TRAGEDY      301 

mitside  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  earnest- 
ness, he  looked  full  at  the  daring  questioner. 

"  In  the  name  of  the  great  God  that  made  us,"  he  said  trem- 
ulously— "  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  Ba- 
rabbas staggered  back  amazed,  blinded,  breathless,  and  smitten 
with  terror ; — before  him,  in  silent,  royal,  radiant  beauty  stood 
— the  "  Nazarene"  ! 


CHAPTER  XLVIL 

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  crea- 
tion 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,  a<j 
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  him- 
26 


302  BARABBAS 

self  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  hab- 
itation was  no  phantom  but  a  glorious  living  Truth  ! — and  as 
Barabbas  gradually  became  conscious  of  this,  he  prayed  in- 
wardly that  he  might  die  at  so  supreme  a  moment  of  tran- 
scendent 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  strug- 
gling breath, — he  a  poor  mortal  sinner  dared  to  approach  im- 
mortal 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,  0  Thou  Divine !"  he  cried — 
"  Lellne"foIIow  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 


A  DREAM  OF  THE   WORLD'S  TRAGEDY      303 

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  caresa 
from  heaven, — he  was  dimly  aware  that  a  few  stars  were  hang- 
ing 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  dis- 
solving into  air,  suddenly  vanished  ! 

Barabbas  halted  abruptly  and  looked  about  him.  He  was 
already  some  miles  away  from  Nazureth,  and  there  was  dark- 
ness 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  Sa- 
viour 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  acquaint- 
ance 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 


304  BARABBAS 

himself,  and  to  him  first  he  would  narrate  his  adventure  at 
Nazareth.  Then  he  would  declare  his  faith,  not  only  to  Mel- 
chior  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  straight- 
way 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 
lilted  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  I 


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 
guard-room  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. 


A  DREAM  OF  THE   WORLD'S  TRAGEDY      305 

"  Why,  art  tbou  not  Barabbas?"  he  exclaimed. 

"  Yea,  truly  am  1 1    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  Barabbaa 
patiently — "  Nevertheless  by  law  my  crimes  were  lately  par- 
doned. Of  what  new  fault  am  I  accused?" 

"  Of  a  base  attempt  to  murder  the  high-priest  Caiaphas  1" — 
answered  an  officer  who  seemed  to  be  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  1  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  1 — 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 — "  Ques- 
tion 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 
t*  26* 


3Ub'  BARABBAS 

this  false  accusation  against  an  already  known  criminal, — more- 
over 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  cir- 
cumstance. 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  pre- 
pared 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  1" 

"  Rash  fool !"  cried  a  soldier,  striking  him — "  Dare  not  to 
speak  thus  if  thou  dost  value  life !  That  utterence  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  1  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  friends,  good  Romans  ! — I  bear  you  no 
ill-will.  See  1 — 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  com- 
mands that  I  receive  are  changeless,  and  whosoever  disobeys 
them  is  accurst  1" 

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  ex- 
changing 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 


A  DREAM  OF  THE   WORLD'S  TRAGEDY       307 

longer  Judith  Iscariot, — she  was  a  new  creature,  removed,  in- 
definable 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  1  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  ingrained  bad 
nature  thou  can'st  not  keep  thee  out  of  mischief.  They  cru- 
cified 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 !" 

A  great  beauty  illumined  his  dark  features, — his  eyes  were 
soft  and  earnest, — on  his  lips  there  rested  a  faint  grave  smile. 

The  gaoler  stared  at  him,  perplexed  and  dimly  touched. 

"  An'  thou  art  civil-tongued  I  will  not  vex  thy  last  hours" — 
he  said,  in  friendlier  accents—"  Thou'lt  have  a  full  day's  peni- 


308  BARABBAS 

tence, — the  Council  will  not  sit  to-morrow.  Thou  shalt  not 
starve  or  thirst  meanwhile, — for  though  I  know  thou  art  a  rank 
villain  I'll  see  to  that, — more  I  cannot  do  for  thee, — so  make 
the  best  of  thy  old  lodging." 

He  closed  the  iron  door,  bolting  and  barring  it  with  heavy 
noise, — Barabbas  listened,  with  an  instinctive  sense  that  for 
him  it  barred  out  the  world  eternally.  Standing  upright,  he 
looked  about  him.  The  same  dungeon  ! — the  same  narrow  line 
of  light  piercing  the  thick  obscurity  1  It  fell  from  the  moon, 
a  pure  stream  of  silver, — and  he  sat  down  presently  on  a  stone 
projection  of  the  wall  to  watch  it.  In  this  attitude,  with  face 
lifted  to  the  mild  radiance,  he  was  happy  and  at  rest, — his 
wretched  prison  seemed  beautiful  to  him, — and  the  prospect  of 
a  speedy  death  contained  no  terror  but  rather  joy. 

He  passed  the  night  tranquilly,  in  wakeful  meditation,  till 
the  arrowy  moonbeam  in  his  cell  changed  to  a  golden  shaft 
shot  aslant  from  the  rising  sun.  With  the  morning  the  gaoler 
brought  him  food  and  drink,  and  asked  him  whether  he  had 
slept. 

"  Not  I !"  he  answered  cheerfully — "  'Twas  nigh  on  the  ap- 
proach of  dawn  when  I  came  hither, — and  the  pleasure  of  my 
thoughts  did  banish  slumber.  Is  it  a  fair  day  ?" 

"  Yea,  'tis  a  fair  day," — replied  the  gaoler,  secretly  marvel- 
ling at  the  composure  of  the  captive — "  Though  methinks  thou 
should'st  be  little  interested  in  the  weather  fair  or  foul.  Thou 
hast  another  day  and  night  to  pass  alive,  in  the  pleasure  of  thy 
thoughts  as  thou  sayest, — and  after  that  thou  wilt  think  no 
more  !  Knowest  thou  of  what  thou  art  suspect  ?" 

"  Something  have  I  heard," — responded  Barabbas — "  But 
truly  I  suspect  myself  of  more  sins  than  Councils  wot  of  1" 

The  gaoler  stared  and  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  Thou  speakest  in  riddles,"  he  said—"  And  thou  art  alto- 
gether a  strange  rascal.  Nevertheless  I  have  made  inquiry 
concerning  thee.  Thy  case  is  hopeless — for  'tis  Caiaphas  who 
doth  accuse  thee." 

"  This  doth  not  astonish  me  ;" — said  Barabbas. 

"  He  hath  reason  then  ?" 

"  Nay,  he  hath  no  reason.  But  I  find  nothing  marvellous 
in  that  a  priest  should  lie  !" 

The  gaoler  chuckled  hoarsely. 

"I  like  thee  for  that  saying! — rogue  as  thou  art  I  like 
thee  !"  and  he  rubbed  his  hands  complacently — "  Thou  hast 
wit  and  sense  withal ! — Why,  man,  if  God  is  anything  of  the 


A  DREAM  OF  THE   WORLD'S  TRAGEDY      309 

likenesa  His  priests  would  make  Him  out  to  be,  He  is  the 
worst  and  most  boastful  tyrant  that  ever  wreaked  havoc  on  man- 
kind 1  But  take  heed  to  thyself ! — speak  not  thus  rashly, — , 
think  on  the  '  Nazarene'  who  set  Himself  against  this  priestcraft, 
and  would  have  had  it  all  abolished  or  made  new  had  He  ob- 
tained His  will.  He  had  a  daring  spirit,  that  young  Man  of 
Nazareth  ! — I  myself  once  heard  Him  say  that  it  was  not  well 
to  pray  in  public  places  to  be  seen  of  men.  This  was  a  blow  di- 
rect at  the  keeping  up  of  temples  and  fat  priests  to  serve  in  them, 
— but  look  you  He  suffered  for  His  boldness — and  though  'twas 
said  He  was  the  Son  of  God,  that  did  not  save  Him" 

"  Prithee  be  reverent  in  thy  speech," — interposed  Barabbas 
gently — "  Take  heed  thyself  that  thou  blaspheme  not !  He 
was,— He  is  the  Son  of  God ! — the  Risen  from  the  Dead,  the 
Saviour  of  the  world, — as  such  I  know  and  do  acknowledge 
Him  !" 

"  By  Israel,  now  do  I  see  that  thou  art  mad  !"  cried  the 
gaoler  backing  away  from  him — "  Mad,  raving  mad  ! — touched 
by  the  fever  of  miracles  that  hath  lately  plagued  Jerusalem  j 
this  '  Nazarene'  hath  bewitched  the  very  air  1  Prate  to  thy- 
self of  such  follies,  not  to  me  ; — I  have  no  patience  with  dis- 
tempered brains.  Prepare  thee  for  thy  cross  to-morrow ! — 
this  will  be  more  wholesome  meditation  for  thy  mind.  Thou 
wilt  see  me  no  more  ; — I  was  sorry  for  thy  ups  and  downs  of 
fortune,  thy  brief  glimpse  of  freedom  finishing  in  new  im- 
prisonment ;  but  now, — verily  as  I  live,  I  think  thee  danger- 
ous and  only  fit  to  die  !" 

With  these  words  he  turned  to  leave  the  dungeon  ;  Barabba? 
extended  his  fettered  hands. 

"  Farewell,  friend  !"  he  said. 

The  gaoler  looked  round  grudgingly  and  in  ill-humour, — he 
was  vexed  with  himself  at  the  singular  interest  this  man  Ba- 
rabbas had  awakened  in  him,  and  he  was  ashamed  to  show  it. 
He  eyed  the  tall,  muscular  figure  up  and  down  severely,  and 
met  the  full  calm  gaze  of  the  dark  earnest  eyes, — then,  as  it 
were  against  his  own  will,  he  hastily  grasped  the  hands  and  as 
hastily  let  them  go. 

"  Farewell  1"  he  responded  curtly — "  "When  thou  diest,  die 
bravely  1" 

And  he  disappeared,  making  more  clanging  noise  than  usual 
in  his  impatient  bolting  aud  barring  of  the  door. 

Left  alone,  Barabbas  fell  back  into  his  former  train  of  happy 
musing.  Of  the  narrow  discomfort,  heat  and  darkness  of  hia 


310  BARABBAS 

miserable  dungeon  he  was  scarcely  conscious, — be  was  more 
triumphant  than  any  conquering  king  in  the  fulness  and  joy 
of  the  knowledge  of  things  eternal.  He  had  been  lifted  to 
that  sublimity  and  supremacy  of  pure  faith  which  alone  en- 
ables a  man  to  bear  sorrow  nobly,  to  dare  all  things  and  hope 
all  things ;  the  warm  sweet  certainty  of  something  higher, 
grander  and  lovelier  than  this  life  and  all  that  it  contains, 
nestled  in  his  heart  like  a  brooding  bird  and  kept  him  glad  and 
tranquil.  At  times  he  felt  a  strong  desire  to  pray  to  that  Di- 
vine Friend  who  after  guiding  him  a  little  way  had  suddenly 
departed  from  him  on  the  hills  above  Nazareth, — to  ask  Him 
to  bestow  the  beauty  of  His  glorious  Presence  on  His  wor- 
shipping servant  once  again.  But  he  checked  this  longing, 
— it  seemed  like  a  renewal  of  doubt, — as  if  he  sought  to  be 
convinced  and  re-convinced  of  truth  immutably  declared.  To 
pray  for  further  benefit  after  so  much  had  been  bestowed 
would  surely  be  both  selfish  and  ungrateful.  Therefore  he 
made  no  appeal,  but  sat  in  solitary  communing  with  his  own 
soul,  which  now,  completely  aroused  to  the  long-withheld  con- 
sciousness of  immortality,  already  aspired  to  its  native  sover- 
eignty in  glorious  worlds  unseen. 

The  day  wore  slowly  onward, — and  again  the  night  dropped 
down  its  dusky  purple  curtain  patterned  with  the  stars  and 
moon.  A  pleasant  sense  of  weariness  overcame  Barabbas  at 
last, — he  took  no  thought  for  the  morrow  on  which  it  seemed 
likely  he  would  be  tried  before  Caiaphas,  found  guilty  and  put 
to  death, — except  in  so  far  that  he  had  resolved  to  make  no 
defence,  as  he  could  not  do  so  without  implicating  the  dead 
Judith.  Also,  he  had  determined  that  when  questioned  con- 
cerning the  supposed  theft  of  the  body  of  the  Christ  from  the 
sepulchre,  he  would  openly  declare  his  faith,  and  would  pro- 
nounce before  all  the  scribes  and  Pharisees  the  adjuration  ; 
"  Jesus  of  Nazareth,  Son  of  the  living  God!11  And  with  this 
very  phrase  upon  his  lips,  he  threw  himself  down  upon  the 
straw  that  was  heaped  in  one  corner  of  his  dungeon,  closed  his 
eyes  and  fell  fast  asleep. 

In  his  sleep  he  dreamed  a  pleasing  dream.  He  fancied  he 
was  lying  on  a  couch  of  emerald  moss,  softer  than  softest  vel- 
vet,— that  flowers  of  every  hue  and  every  fragrance  were 
blossoming  round  him, — and  that  beside  him  sat  a  shining 
figure  in  white,  weaving  a  crown  of  thornless  roses.  "  Where 
have  I  wandered  ?"  he  murmured — "  Into  what  wondrous 
country  of  fair  sights  and  sounds  ?"  And  the  angelic  shape 


A  DREAM  OF  THE   WORLD'S  TRAGEDY      3H 

beside  him  made  musical  response, — "Thou  hast  reached  a 
place  of  shelter  out  of  storm, — and  after  many  days  of  watch- 
ing and  of  trouble  we  have  persuaded  thee  hither.  Rest  now 
and  take  thy  joy  freely ; — thou  art  safe  in  the  King's  Garden  !" 

With  these  words  ringing  yet  in  his  ears  he  suddenly  awoke, 
and  waking,  wondered  what  ailed  him.  He  felt  faint  and 
giddy ;  the  walls  of  his  prison  appeared  to  rock  to  and  fro  as 
in  an  earthquake,  and  the  nightly  moonbeam  falling  aslant, 
struck  his  eyes  sharply  like  a  whip  of  fire.  Something  cold 
and  heavy  pressed  with  numbing  force  upon  his  heart, — an  icy 
sense  of  suffocation  rose  in  his  throat, — and  in  the  acute  suffer- 
ing of  the  moment,  he  struggled  to  his  feet,  though  he  could 
scarcely  stand  and  only  breathed  with  difficulty.  The  blood 
galloped  feverishly  in  his  veins, — then  abruptly  stilled  itself 
and  seemed  to  freeze, — the  chill  pang  at  his  heart  ceased,  leav- 
ing his  limbs  numb  and  quivering.  Exhausted  by  this  spasm 
of  physical  agony,  his  head  dropped  feebly  on  his  breast  and  he 
leaned  against  the  wall  for  support  panting  for  breath,  .  .  . 
when,  ...  all  at  once  a  great  light,  like  the  pouring-out  of 
liquid  gold,  flashed  dazzlingly  into  his  cell !  He  looked  up, 
.  .  .  and  uttered  a  cry  of  rapture ! — Again,  again  ! — face  to 
face  with  him  in  his  lonely  dungeon, — he  beheld  the  "  Naza- 
rene !"  The  Vision  Beautiful ! — the  shining  Figure,  the  radi- 
ant Face  of  the  Divine  "  Man  of  Sorrows  1" — this  was  the 
marvellous  Glory  revealed  within  the  gloom  ! 

Awed,  but  not  afraid,  Barabbas  raised  his  eyes  to  his  super- 
nal Visitant. 

"  Lord — Lord  !"  he  gasped  faintly  stretching  his  manacled 
hands  blindly  forth — "  I  am  not  worthy  I  Why  hast  Thou 
come  to  me  ? — I,  Barabbas,  am  unfit  to  look  upon  Thee !  I 
should  have  died  upon  the  cross,  not  Thou ! — Command  me 
therefore  to  some  place  of  punishment, — some  desert  in  the 
darkest  ways  of  death  ! — there  let  me  rid  myself  of  sin,  if  this 
be  possible,  by  faith  in  Thee — by  love  !" 

He  broke  off,  trembling, — and  the  great  Christ  seemed  to 
smile.  Filled  with  excess  of  joy,  he  now  beheld  that  Divine 
Figure  bending  tenderly  towards  him, — gentle  Hands  were  laid 
upon  his  bruised  and  fettered  wrists ;  Hands  that  drew  him 
close  and  closer  yet,  slowly  and  surely  upwards, — upwards  into 
puch  light  and  air  as  never  gladdened  earth, — and  a  thrilling 
Voice  whispered — 

"  Whosoever  believeth  in  Me  shall  not  abide  in  Darkness ! 
Enter  thou  into  the  joy  of  thy  Lord  /" 


312  BARABBAS 

The  light  widened  into  a  rippling  sea  of  gold  and  azure,— 
the  dungeon  walls  appeared  to  totter  and  crumble  to  nothing- 
ness,— bright  forms  of  beauty  grew  up  like  flowers  out  of  the 
clear  pure  space ;  and  such  symphonic  music  sounded  as  made 
the  rolling  of  planets  in  their  orbits  seem  but  the  distant  lesser 
notes  of  the  vast  eternal  melody ;  and  thus, — clinging  close  to 
the  strong  Hands  that  held  his,  and  looking  with  wondering 
grateful  ecstasy  into  the  Divine  eyes  that  smiled  their  pardon 
and  eternal  love  upon  him,  Barabbas  left  his  prison  and  went 
forth,  into  the  "  glorious  liberty  of  the  free  1" 


With  the  early  dawn  of  the  next  day  two  men  descended 
together  in  haste  to  visit  the  dungeon.  One  was  the  gaoler — 
the  other  was  the  stranger  Melchior. 

"They  shall  not  crucify  Barabbas" — said  the  latter  re- 
solvedly— "  I  will  be  answerable  for  him,  and  myself  defend 
him  at  his  trial." 

"  Thou  speakest  boldly !"  returned  the  gaoler,  eyeing  him 
dubiously — "  But  though  thou  hast  the  Emperor's  signet,  and 
Caiaphas  hath  given  thee  permit  to  see  the  prisoner,  these 
favours  will  not  stay  the  progress  of  the  law." 

"  Maybe  not !" — said  Melchior  impatiently — "  Nevertheless 
the  makers  of  the  law  in  Jerusalem  are  corrupt ;  and  their 
corruption  shall  be  blazoned  to  the  world  if  this  lately  par- 
doned man  be  again  made  to  suffer.  What  influence  can  be 
obtained  for  him  shall  most  assuredly  be  used.  There  is  much 
good  in  this  Barabbas." 

Here  they  reached  the  dungeon.  Quickly  unlocking  the 
door,  the  gaoler  peered  in. 

"  Barabbas  I" 

No  answer  was  returned. 

"  Barabbas,  come  forth !" 

Still  silence. 

"He  sleeps  soundly," — said  the  gaoler,  taking  down  a  lan- 
tern which  hung  on  the  outside  wall  for  use  and  lighting  it, — 
"  We  must  needs  go  in  and  rouse  him." 

Lamp  in  hand  he  entered  the  dismal  cell,  Melchior  following. 


A  DREAM  OF  THE    WORLD'S  TRAGEDY      313 

Barabbas  lay  on  the  ground,  apparently  sunk  in  a  deep  and 
peaceful  slumber  ;  his  manacled  hands  were  folded  cross-wise 
on  his  breast.  Melchior  stepped  hurriedly  forward  and  bent 
down  over  him. 

"  Barabbas  1" 

But  Barabbas  rested  gravely  mute.  A  flash  from  the 
prison-lantern  showed  that  a  smile  was  on  his  face,  and  that 
his  dark  and  rugged  features  were  smoothed  and  tranquillised 
into  an  expression  of  exceeding  beauty.  There  was  something 
grand  and  impressive  in  the  aspect  of  his  powerful  figure  lying 
thus  passive  in  an  attitude  of  such  complete  repose, — his 
crossed  hands  and  closed  eyes  suggested  that  eternal  calm 
wherein,  as  in  a  deep  sea  is  found  the  pearl  of  Infinite  Knowl- 
edge. 

Melchior  rose  from  his  brief  examination  of  the  quiet  form  ; 
a  vague  melancholy  shadowed  his  face. 

"  We  need  argue  no  more  concerning  the  fate  of  Barabbas  1" 
he  said  in  hushed  accents — "  Neither  signets  of  emperors  nor 
authority  of  priests  can  avail  him  now !  We  come  too  late. 
Whatever  were  his  passions  or  crimes  they  are  pardoned, — 
and  a  Higher  Power  than  ours  hath  given  him  his  liberty. 
Carry  him  forth  gently ;  he  is  dead  !" 


EPILOGUE. 

ONE  afternoon  at  sunset  two  travellers  stood  together,  look- 
ing their  last  on  the  white  walls  and  enclosed  gardens  of  Jeru- 
salem. Silently  absorbing  the  scene,  they  watched  from  a 
little  hill  above  the  city,  the  red  sky  glow  like  a  furnace  over 
the  roofs  and  turrets,  and  flash  fire  upon  the  architectural 
splendour  of  that  "jewel  of  the  earth"  known  as  Solomon's 
Temple.  They  could  see  the  summit  of  Calvary,  bare  and 
brown  and  deserted, — and  in  the  lower  distance  the  thick  green 
foliage  of  Gethsemane.  One  of  them,  a  man  of  singular 
height  and  massive  build,  knelt  on  the  turf,  and  fixed  his  eyes 
with  a  passionate  intensity  on  Calvary  alone, — there  his  looks 
lingered  with  deep  and  wondering  tenderness  as  though  he 
saw  some  beatific  vision  on  that  lonely  point  which  shone  with 
a  blood-red  hue  in  the  ardent  flame  of  the  descending  sun. 
o 


314  B  ARABS  AS 

His  companion,  no  other  than  Melchior,  turned  and  saw  him 
thus  entranced. 

"  Sorrowest  thou,  Simon,"  he  said  gently — "  to  leave  this 
land  which  God  hath  visited  ?  Vex  not  thy  soul, — for  God 
is  ever  with  thee ;  and  Calvary  is  not  the  wonder  of  Judaea, 
but  of  the  wider  world  from  henceforth.  Judaea  hath  rejected 
the  Divine,  wherefore  she  herself  shall  be  rejected." 

Simon  of  Gyrene,  for  it  was  he,  looked  up. 

"  Yea,  thou  dost  speak  truly,"  he  answered,  "  in  this  as  in 
other  things.  Nevertheless  I  can  but  remember  how  I  bore  the 
Cross  up  yonder  hill !  Words  can  never  tell  the  sweetness  of 
the  toil, — the  joy  and  glory  that  surrounded  me  I  And  greater 
still  the  marvel  of  the  raising  of  that  Cross ! — methought  I 
held  Salvation !  Let  me  not  speak  of  it, — my  soul  doth  reel 
too  near  the  verge  of  Heaven ! — and  once  again  I  see  His  face 
—the  face  of  God  that  smiled  on  me  I" 

Melchior  did  not  speak  for  some  minutes, — his  own  eyes 
were  turned  thoughtfully  towards  some  scattered  rocks  on  a 
plain  to  the  left  of  the  city,  which  was  sometimes  called  the 
"  Place  of  Tombs"  on  account  of  its  numerous  hewn-out  sepul- 
chres and  burial-caves. 

"  Over  there," — he  said  presently,  pointing  thither — "  sleeps 
Barabbas  whom  I  told  thee  of, — there  where  that  solitary  palm 
nods  its  half- withered  leaves.  "Twas  I  who  gave  him  burial, — 
no  other  living  friend  he  seemed  to  have  in  all  Jerusalem,  de- 
spite the  rapture  of  the  foolish  crowd  the  day  he  was  set  free. 
He  was  an  untaught  erring  soul,  yet  not  without  some  noble- 
ness— a  type  of  human  Doubt  aspiring  unto  Truth  ;  methinks 
out  of  this  aspiration  only,  he  hath  found  both  peace  and 
pardon." 

He  was  silent  a  little, — then  continued, 

"  Cyrenian,  to  thee  was  given  the  strength  to  bear  the  Cross, 
and  in  thy  task  thou  did'st  obtain  both  faith  and  knowledge. 
All  men  may  not  win  such  sweet  and  sudden  happiness, — for 
humanity  is  weak,  not  strong.  Humanity  can  rarely  sacrifice 
itself  for  God,  and  doth  not  willingly  accept  a  burden  not  ita 
own.  Thou,  who  dost  now  resign  thy  home  and  kindred,  thy 
fertile  valleys  of  Cyrene,  thy  free  and  thoughtless  serving  of 
thyself,  for  the  sake  of  serving  the  Divine,  art  wise  before  the 
days  of  wisdom,  and  wilt  perchance  know  swiftly  and  at  once 
what  it  will  take  this  wild  unspiritual  world  long  centuries  to 
learn.  The  Messenger  has  come,  and  the  Message  has  been 
given, — the  Christ  hath  been  slain  and  hath  arisen  from  the 


A   DREAM  OF  THE    WORLD'S  TRAGEDY      315 

iead,  as  symbol  of  the  truth  that  Good  shall  triumph  over 
Evil  everlastingly, — nevertheless  it  will  be  long  ere  the  lesson 
of  Divine  Perfection  is  understood  by  manT5 

Simon,  rising  from  his  kneeling  attitude,  looked  wistfully  and 
with  some  curiosity  at  the  speaker. 

"Why  should  it  be  long?"  he  asked— "Since  thou  so 
speedily  hast  learned  to  recognise  the  Christ?  Art  thou 
more  skilled  in  mysteries  than  other  men  ?" 

"  If  I  should  say  so,  'twould  be  a  boast  unworthy" — Melchior 
answered  slowly — "  And  of  the  things  occult  I  may  not  tell 
thee.  But  this  much  thou  shalt  hear.  In  early  youth  I  was 
a  king,  .  .  .  nay,  man,  wonder  not ! — kings  are  no  marvel ! 
The  puppets  of  the  nations  merely, — prisoned  round  with  vain 
trappings  and  idle  shows, — the  very  scorn  of  all  who  have  ob- 
tained a  true  and  glorious  independence !  I  learned  in  my 
brief  kingship  the  worthlessness  of  sovereignty,  the  fickleness 
of  crowds,  the  instability  of  friends,  the  foolishness  of  earthly 
power.  When  Christ  was  born  in  Bethlehem,  a  vision  came 
upon  me  in  the  midwatches  of  the  night,  and  an  Angel  stood 
before  me  saying — '  Arise,  Melchior  1  be  thou  the  first  mon- 
arch in  the  world  to  resign  monarchy ;  for  the  time  hath  come 
when  crowns  and  kingdoms  shall  be  utterly  destroyed  as  ob- 
stacles to  the  Brotherhood  of  Man.  Get  thee  to  Bethlehem 
of  Judaea, — there  shalt  thou  find  the  new-born  God,  the  Prince 
of  Peace,  who  will  unite  in  one  all  nations, — and  link  Humanity 
to  Heaven  by  the  splendour  of  His  Everlasting  Name !" 

He  paused  enrapt, — Simon  of  Cyrene  watched  him  awed  and 
fascinated. 

"The  Angel  vanished" — he  continued— "  And  I  arose 
straightway  and  went,  and  stayed  not  on  my  journey  till  I 
came  to  Bethlehem ;  there  did  I  lay  my  crown  before  the  Child 
of  Mary,  and  swear  to  Him  my  faith/'  I  have  followed  Him 
from  the  cradle  to  the  Cross ;  I  follow  Him  now  from  the  rent 
sepulchre  of  Earth  to  the  unbarre.d  gate  of  Heaven  !'} 

"  And  I  with  thee  1"  exclaimed  "Simon  with  eager  fervour, 
— "  Lo,  I  am  humble  as  a  child — and  I  will  learn  of  thee  all 
that  I  should  do  1" 

"  Nay,  I  can  teach  thee  nothing" — said  Melchior  gently — 
"  Thou  hast  borne  the  Cross — thou  hast  lifted  the  Christ, — the 
rest  will  be  granted  thee." 

He  looked  once  more  over  the  city  which  now  seemed  to 
float  like  a  glittering  mirage  in  the  circling  glory  of  the  after- 
glow :  the  sun  had  sunk. 


316  B ARABS AS 

"  'If  thou  Tiad'st  known,  even  in  this  thy  day1 " — he  quoted 
dreamily — "  Alas,  alas !  What  of  those  who  wilfully  prefer 
ignorance  to  knowledge !" 

"  Speakest  thou  of  the  misguided  who  have  scorned  and  re- 
jected the  Divine?"  asked  Simon — "Surely  ere  long  they  all 
will  be  convinced, — yea,  even  Caiaphas" 

"  Thou  simple  soul ! — thinkest  thou  that  a  liar  can  ever  be 
convinced  of  truth  ?  Nay — 'tis  a  miracle  past  all  working ! 
Through  Caiaphas  the  stain  of  treachery  will  rest  on  the  dead 
Judas ;  through  Caiaphas  will  be  denied  the  Resurrection, — 
through  Caiaphas  the  very  name  of  Christ  will  be  banished 
from  the  Jewish  annals.  Bear  thou  this  in  mind, — that  a  so- 
called  Priest  of  God  did  crucify  God's  Messenger.  'Twill  help 
thee  to  more  clearly  read  the  future  ' 

"  Knowest  thou,"  said  Simon  suddenly — "  that  Peter  hath 
returned  from  Bethany  and  boldly  preacheth  Christ  crucified 
and  risen  ?" 

"  Ay,  doth  he  preach  ?"  queried  Melchior,  with  satiric  melan- 
choly— "  And  hath  he  grown  so  sudden  bold  ?  Even  so  doth 
he  make  late  atonement !  He  hath  a  wondrous  destiny — for 
half  the  world  will  grasp  the  creed  devised  by  him  who  did 
deny  his  Master." 

Sighing,  he  turned  away  from  the  city  view. 

"  'Tis  God's  symbolic  teaching,"  he  said,  "  which  few  of  us 
may  understand.  A  language  unlettered  and  vast  as  eternity 
itself!  Upon  that  hill  of  Calvary  to  which  thou,  Simon,  turnest 
thy  parting  looks  of  tenderness,  hath  been  mystically  enacted 
the  world's  one  tragedy — the  tragedy  of  Love  and  Genius, 
slain  to  satisfy  the  malice  of  mankind.  But  Love  and  Genius 
are  immortal,  and  immortality  must  evermore  arise ;  wherefore 
in  the  dark  days  that  are  coming  let  us  not  lose  our  courage  or 
our  hope.  There  will  be  many  forms  of  faith, — and  many 
human  creeds  in  which  there  is  no  touch  of  the  Divine, — keep 
we  to  the  faithful  following  of  Christ,  and  in  the  midst  of  many 
bewilderments  we  shall  not  wander  far  astray.  The  hour  grows 
late, — come,  thou  first  hermit  of  the  Christian  world ! — let  us 
go  on  together !" 

They  descended  the  hill.  Across  the  plains  they  passed 
slowly ;  taking  the  way  that  led  towards  the  mystic  laud  of 
Egypt,  where  the  Pyramids  lift  their  summits  to  the  stars,  and 
the  Nile  murmurs  of  the  false  gods  forgotten.  They  walked 
in  a  path  of  roseate  radiance  left  by  a  reflection  of  the  vanished 
sun ;  and  went  onward  steadily,  never  once  looking  back,  till 


A  DREAM  OF  THE   WORLD'S  TRAGEDY      317 

their  figures  gradually  diminished  and  disappeared.  Swiftly 
the  night  gathered,  and  spread  itself  darkly  over  Jerusalem 
like  a  threatening  shadow  of  storm  and  swift  destruction ; 
thunder  was  in  the  air,  and  only  one  pale  star  peered  dimly 
forth  in  the  dusk,  shining  placidly  over  the  Place  of  Tombs, 
where,  in  his  quiet  burial -cave,  Barabbas  slept  beside  the  with, 
ering  palm. 


THF   1ND. 


By  Marie  Corelli. 

Cameos. 

Ten  Short  Stories.     I2mo.    Cloth,  $1.00. 

The  surprising  versatility  of  Marie  Corelli  has  never  been  better  displayed  than 
in  this  varied  group  of  short  stories  which  run  the  whole  gamut  of  feeling,  senti- 
ment, and  purpose  known  to  contemporary  fiction.  Appearing  as  they  do  almost 
simultaneously  with  "  The  Sorrows  of  Satan,"  that  wonderful  romance  of  nine- 
teenth-century life  which  is  the  theme  of  the  day,  alike  in  England  and  America, 
they  serve  to  mark  the  tenderness,  the  love  of  human  sentiment,  and  the  sympathy 
for  human  suffering  which  are  naturally  less  emphasized  in  the  more  powerful  and 
.ted  novel. 


The  Sorrows  of  Satan ; 

Or,  The  Strange  Experience  of  one  Geoffrey  Tempest, 

Millionaire. 
A  Romance.  With  frontispiece  by  Van  Schaick.    I2mo.   Cloth,  #1.50. 

"  There  is  very  little  in  common  between  this  story  and  '  Barabbas.'  In '  The 
Sorrows  of  Satan'  Miss  Corelli  wields  a  much  more  vigorous  pen.  She  is  full  of  her 
purpose.  Dear  me,  how  she  scathes  English  society  !  She  exposes  the  low  life  of 
high  life  with  a  ruthless  pen.  The  sins  of  the  fashionable  world  made  even  Satan 
sad ;  they  were  more  than  he  could  bear,  poor  man  !  The  book  is  lively  reading, 
and  will  be  read  in  England  with  an  eager  curiosity."—  CAieafo  Tribune. 

Barabbas. 

A  Dream  of  the  World's  Tragedy. 

I2mo.     Cloth,  $1.00. 

"A  book  which  aroused  hi  some  quarters  more  violent  hostility  than  any  book 
of  recent  years.  By  most  secular  critics  the  authoress  was  accused  of  bad  taste, 
bad  art,  and  gross  blasphemy;  but,  in  curious  contrast,  most  religious  papers 
acknowledged  the  reverence  of  treatment  and  the  dignity  of  conception  which 
characterized  the  work." — Lfndon  Athentzum. 

Vendetta ; 

Or,  The  Story  of  One  Forgotten. 
i2mo.    Cloth,  $1.00. 

"  It  is  a  thrilling  and  irresistibly  charming  book."— Baltimore  American. 

"  The  story  is  Italian,  the  time  1884,  and  the  precise  stage  of  the  acts,  Naples, 

during  the  last  visitation  of  the  cholera.    A  romance,  but  a  romance  of  reality.    No 

mind  of  man  can  imagine  incidents  so  wonderful,  so  amazing  as  those  of  actual 

occurrence.     While  the  story  is  exciting,  and  must  be  read  through  when  once 

egun,  it  furnishes  a  vivid  and  impr  "— 

ashington  National  Republican. 


J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT  COMPANY,  PHILADELPHIA. 


By  Captain  Charles  King,  U.S.A. 

Under  Fire,   illustrated.         The  Colonel's  Daughter,   illustrated 
Marion's  Faith,   illustrated.    Captain  Blake,   illustrated. 

Foes  in   Ambush.   (Paper,  50  cents.) 

I2mo.    Cloth,  $1.25. 


Waring's  Peril.  Trials  of  a  Staff  Officer. 

I2I710.      Cloth,  Jl.OO. 


Kitty's  Conquest. 

Starlight  Ranch,  and  Other  Stories. 
Laramie;  or,  The  Queen  of  Bedlam. 
The  Deserter,  and  From  the  Ranks. 
Two  Soldiers,  and  Dunraven  Ranch. 

A  Soldier's  Secret,  and  An  Army  Portia. 
Captain  Close,  and  Sergeant  Croesus. 

I2mo.     Cloth,  J i. oo ;   paper,  50  cents. 


EDITOR  OF 

The  Colonel's  Christmas  Dinner,  and  Other  Stories. 

izmo.     Cloth,  fx. 25;  paper,  50  cents. 

An  Initial  Experience,  and  Other  Stories. 

121110.    Cloth,  fi. oo ;  paper,  50  cents. 

Captain  Dreams,  and  Other  Stories. 

iznio.    Cloth,  (i.oo;  paper,  50  cents. 


"  From  the  lowest  soldier  to  the  highest  officer,  from  the  servant  to  the  master, 
there  is  not  a  character  in  any  of  Captain  King's  novels  that  is  not  wholly  in  keep- 
ing with  expressed  sentiments.  There  is  not  a  movement  made  on  the  field,  not  a 
break  from  the  ranks,  not  an  offence  against  the  military  code  of  discipline,  and 
hardly  a  heart-beat  that  escapes  his  watchfulness." — Boston  Herald. 


J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT  COMPANY,  PHILADELPHIA. 


This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


AUG27  194* 


ULRDL    MAY  10198, 

Ktiri)  ID-URt 

APR1 7  1985 
4WKJUN061* 


*VA  * 


Form  L9-25m-9,'47(A5618)444 


THE  LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  (          .LIFORNIA 
LOS  ANGELES 


PR 

4504  Corelli 


BE3 


Barabbas 


PR 

4504 

B23