I.N.R.I Part 33

He pulled Himself together in order to totter a few steps farther. An old man, full of years and very lonely, stood by. He had come from the desert where great thoughts dwell. He had come to see if Jerusalem was ascending upwards or sinking downwards. He desired its descent, for he longed for rest. The old man stood in front of the cobbler and said to him softly: "Grandson of Uriah! You refuse a brief rest to this poorest of poor creatures? You yourself will be everlastingly restless. You will experience human misery to the uttermost and never be able to rest. The curse of your people will be fulfilled in you--you heartless Jew!"

At that selfsame hour Simeon, the citizen, was sitting alone in his house thinking over his fate, and he was sad. Since the ride into the wilderness, from which he had returned beaten and robbed, he had, following the word of the Prophet from whom he had sought happiness, made many changes in his way of life. Impossible as it had then seemed, much had become possible. He had emanc.i.p.ated his slaves, broken up his harem, given the overflow of his possessions to the needy, and dispensed with all show. And yet he was not happy--his heart was bare and empty. He was pondering the matter when the shouting of the crowd reached him from the street. What was happening so early? He looked down, saw the spears of the soldiers glitter above the people's heads, and noted how one of the malefactors who was to be executed that day was being led out. Simeon was turning away from the disagreeable sight when he saw that the man was carrying the cross Himself, and how, ill-treated by the guards, He became weaker every moment, so that the cross struck noisily against the stones. In a flash he understood. Without stopping to think, he hurried into the street, and pushed his way to the tortured creature in order to help Him. And when he looked into the poor man's worn face, down which a tear ran, he was so overcome with pity that he placed himself under the cross, took it on his shoulder, and carried it along. The crowd howled; insults and mud were thrown at Simeon. He paid no heed, he scarcely observed it. He was absorbed in what he was doing; he only thought of his desire to help the unhappy creature who staggered along beside him to bear His load. A wondrous feeling stirred in him, an eager gladness that he had never known before. All the joy of his life was not to be compared with this bliss; he would have liked to go on for ever and ever by the side of this Man, helping Him to bear His load and loving Him.

Is that it? Is that what men call life? To be where Love is and to do what Love enjoins?

CHAPTER x.x.xV

Anxiety increased in the quiet house at Nazareth. Mary determined to go to Jerusalem for the holy festival to offer her sorrow as a sacrifice to G.o.d, to implore Him to enlighten her erring son, and to restore to Him the faith of His ancestors. As she journeyed through Samaria and Judaea she thought of the days long past, when she had travelled that way to Bethlehem with her faithful Joseph, and of the inconceivable things that had happened since then.

She reached a valley where the earth was grey and dry. It was the place in which Adam and Eve had settled when they were driven out of Paradise. She thought of the wayward children of our first parents, and with her mind's eye saw a dear little descendant of Adam, who was perfectly innocent, and yet had to share earth's sorrow with the guilty. The boy stood sadly by a hedge, and peeped over into the Lost Paradise. A white-robed angel standing by the Tree of Knowledge saw the child and was sorry for him. He broke off a branch from the tree, handed it over to the boy, and said: "Here is something for you out of Paradise. Plant the bough in the ground. It will take root and grow, and produce fresh seeds until the throne of the Messiah is built out of its trunk." "O, G.o.d! where is the trunk, and where is the Messiah's throne?" sighed Mary, and she moved away.

When after her tiring journey she reached the town one morning, she found the people streaming along the roads and streets in one direction. She asked the innkeeper what was happening. He replied by asking her if she did not also wish to go and see the execution.

"G.o.d forbid!" answered Mary; "happy are all who are not obliged to go."

"Look, there they come!" exclaimed the inn-keeper in glad surprise.

"They'll come past here. I really believe it's the Messiah-King! Oh, I could have let out my windows for a silver groat apiece!"

The woman from Galilee wanted to go back into the house, but she was pushed aside and carried with the crowd into the narrow street, where suddenly she stood before Him! Before Jesus, her son! When He saw His mother His little remaining strength nearly forsook Him, but He managed to keep His feet. He turned to her with a look of unspeakable sadness and love, a brief look in which lay all that a son could have to say to his mother at such a meeting. Then they pushed Him on with blows and curses.

Mary stood as if turned to stone. Her eyes were tearless, her head in a whirl, her heart scarcely beat. "That is what G.o.d has prepared for me!" That was all she could think, as, unwilling, bewildered, she was carried along by the crowd. Everything seemed sunk in a blue darkness, yet stars danced before her eyes.

At length the procession emerged through the vaulted double gateway into the open. A dim, pale light lay over the barren land. The rocky hill stood out clear on the right. A great stir was there. Busy workmen were digging deep holes on the top, others were preparing the stakes for the desert robbers. Those wild creatures were already half naked, and the executioners were slinging cords round them to bind them to the wooden frame. They were the lean, brown Barabbas and the pale, sunken-eyed Dismas. The former gazed around him with his hawk's eyes, clenched his hands, and tried to burst his fetters. The other was quite broken down, and his unkempt hair hung about him. The disciples had come as far as the tower of the town walls, but had withdrawn in terror, all but John, James, and Peter. For Peter had decided to acknowledge himself a follower of Jesus of Nazareth, should it cost him his life. But no one troubled any further about the strangers. The disciples had seen Judas slinking behind the rocky mounds; he looked abject and forlorn, the very image of despair, and although their rage against the traitor had known no bounds, they were softened by the sight of the miserable creature, regarding him only as an object of horror.

Simeon carried the cross to the top of the hill. And when he laid it down and looked once again into the face of the malefactor who had staggered up beside him, he recognised the Prophet. He recognised the man with whom he had spoken in the desert concerning eternal life. He had then paid scant attention to His words, but he had forgotten none of them. Now he began to understand that whoever lived according to the teaching of this man must attain inward happiness. And was it on account of that teaching that the man was to be executed?

The captain ordered Simeon to move away. Two executioners laid hands on Jesus in order to strip away His garments. He threw one swift glance to Heaven, then closed His eyes, and calmly let them proceed.

The guards seized His gown, fought for it, and because they could not agree who had won it they diced for it. Then they accused each other of cheating, and fought afresh. Up came Schobal, the dealer in old clothes, and pointed out with a grin that it was not worth while to crack their skulls over a poor wretch's old coat. The gown was torn and b.l.o.o.d.y; it was not worth a penny; but in order to end a dispute between his brave countrymen he would offer fourpence, which they could divide in peace among them. The coat was delivered over to Schobal.

He went up and down in the crowd with the garment. It was the coat of the Prophet who was being executed! Who wanted a souvenir of that day?

He would sell the coat for the half of its value; it might be bought for twelve pence!

A man brought long iron nails in a basket. The Nazarene was not to be tied, but nailed, because He had once said that He should descend from the cross. When they noticed that Jesus was nearly swooning, they offered Him a refres.h.i.+ng drink of vinegar and myrrh. He refused it with thanks, and when He began to sink down the executioners caught Him and laid Him on the cross.

Suddenly the crowd drew back. Many did not want to see what was going on. They were dumb. They had never dreamed of this. The gentleness with which He bore all the torture, the scorn, the death before His eyes, this heroic calm weighed like a mountain on their hard hearts.

Those who had formerly despised Him now wanted to hate Him, but they could not. They were powerless before this overwhelming gentleness.

What a sound! That of a hammer beating on iron! "How the blood spurts!" whispered someone. Two hammers. .h.i.t the nails, and at each blow heaven and earth trembled. The crowd held its breath, and not a sound was heard from the town. Nothing but the ringing of the hammer.

Then suddenly a heartrending cry was heard in the crowd. It came from a strange woman who had pushed through it and sank to the ground. The ma.s.s of people drew away more and more, no one would stand in front, yet each stretched his neck so as to see over the others' heads. They saw the stake lifted up and then sink again. The captain's orders could be heard plainly and clearly. Then the cross stood up straight.

At first the long stake was seen above their heads, bearing a white placard. Then the cross-beams appeared on which trembling human arms were seen, then the head moving in agonising pain. Thus did the cross with the naked human body rise in the air. Slowly it rose, supported by poles, and as soon as it stood straight the foot of the cross was set so roughly in its hole that the body shook with a dull groan. The wounds made by the nails in the hands and feet were torn open, the blood ran in dark streams over the white body, down the stake, and dropped on the ground. And from the lips of Him on the cross this loud cry was heard, "O, Father, forgive them, forgive them! For they know not what they do."

A strange murmur arose in the crowd, and those who had not understood the cry asked their neighbours to repeat it. "He asks pardon for His enemies? For His enemies? He is praying for His enemies?"

"Then--then He cannot be human!"

"He forgives those who despised, slandered, scorned, beat, crucified Him? When dying He thinks of His enemies and pardons them? Then it is as He said, He is indeed the Christ! I always thought He was the Christ. I said so only last Sabbath!" The voices grew louder.

Schobal, the old clothes dealer, pushed about in the crowd and offered the Messiah's coat for twenty pence.

"If He is the Messiah," shouted a Rabbi hoa.r.s.ely, "let Him free Himself. He who wants to help others and cannot help Himself is a poor sort of Messiah."

"Now, Master," exclaimed a Pharisee, "if you would rebuild the shattered Temple, now's the time. Come down from the cross, and we'll believe in you." The man on the cross looked at the two mockers in deep sadness, and they became silent. Suddenly a pa.s.sage in the Scriptures flashed into their minds: "He was wounded for our transgressions!"

When they had all drawn back from the cross, and the executioners were preparing to raise up the two desert robbers, the woman who had swooned, supported by the disciple John, tottered up to the tall cross and put her arms round its trunk so that the blood ran down upon her.

So infinite was her pain that it seemed as if seven swords had pierced her heart. Jesus looked down, and how m.u.f.fled was the voice in which He said: "John, take care of My mother! Mother, here is John, your son!"

A murmur arose in the crowd: "His mother? Is that His mother? Oh, poor things! And the handsome young man His brother? The poor creatures! Look how He turns to them as if He would comfort them."

Many a man pa.s.sed his hand over his eyes, the women sobbed aloud. And a dull lamentation began to go through the people--the same people who had so angrily demanded His death. And they talked together.

"He can't suffer much longer."

"No, I've had some experience. I've been here every Pa.s.sover. But this time----"

"If I only knew what is written on the tablet."

"Over His head? My sight seems to have gone."

"Inri!" exclaimed somebody,

"Inri! Somebody calls out 'Inri.'"

"Those are the letters on the tablet."

"But the man's name's not Inri."

"Something quite different, my friend. That is Pilate's joke. _Jesus Nazarenus Rex Judaeorum_."

"Don't talk to me in that accursed Latin tongue."

"In good Hebrew: Jesus of Nazareth, King of the Jews."

"Now, they've got Him in the middle," said another, for the two robbers had been hoisted up to the right and left of Him. The one on the left stretched out his neck, and mocked at Jesus with a distorted face: "I suppose, neighbour, that you too are one of those who get executed just because they are weaklings. Jump from the cross, rush among them, and the wretches will idolise you!"

Jesus did not answer him. He turned His head towards the man who hung on His right who saw the moment approaching when his legs would be broken. In the agony of death, and in penitence for his ill-spent life, he turned to Him whom they called Messiah and Christ. And when he saw the expression with which Jesus looked at him, a curious shudder pa.s.sed through the criminal's heart. How the man on the cross gazed at him, with His fading eyes--My G.o.d!--it was the never-to-be-forgotten holy look which a little child had given him in the days of his youth.

Dismas began to weep, and said: "Lord, you are from heaven! When you return home, remember me."

And Jesus said to him: "There is mercy for all who repent! To-day, Dismas, you and I will be together at the Heavenly Father's home."

"He is from heaven!" was heard in the crowd. "He is from heaven!" One of the Roman soldiers threw his spear away, and exclaimed in immense excitement: "Verily, He is the Son of G.o.d!"

"The Son of G.o.d! The Son of G.o.d! Set Him free! It is the Son of G.o.d who hangs on the cross!" The cry rolled through the crowd like the dull noise of an avalanche; like a shriek of terror, like the inward consciousness of a fearful mistake, the most fearful that had been made since the world began. He who hangs yonder on the cross is the Son of G.o.d. Far below in a cleft of the rock is a poor sinner. He struggles up to his feet, holding on with his lean hands, he looks up to the cross with rolling eyes. A prayer for mercy wells up from his heart like a b.l.o.o.d.y spring. And beside him a woman kneels and folds her hands against the cross. And she who thus stands under the cross wrings her hands, and implores mercy for her child.

The letters I.N.R.I, over the cross begin to gleam. And a voice is heard in the air: "Jesus Near Redeems Ill-doers."

"The Son of G.o.d! The Son of G.o.d!" The cry went on without ceasing.

"The Son of G.o.d on the cross!"

"The Son of G.o.d's coat! A hundred gold pieces for the coat!" shrieked old Schobal, lifting the garment up on a stick like a flag. The dealer swore by that flag, for its value had risen a thousandfold in an hour.