When the disciples separated after the meal, notwithstanding their fears, they did not realise that it was a farewell. They sought their lodgings. Only John, Peter, and James accompanied the Master when He left the town in the dark night and descended the valley to the foot of the Mount of Olives. There was a garden there. White stones lay between the savin trees and the weeping cypresses, fresh spring grass covered the ground. Jesus said to His companions: "Stay here a little." He Himself went farther into the garden. The sky was covered by a thin veil of cloud, so that the moon shed a pale light over the earth. The town on the mountain rose up dark and still; no sound was to be heard except the rippling of the brook Kedron in the valley. Jesus stood and looked up through the trees towards heaven. He breathed heavily, and drops of perspiration stood on His brow. He felt a great agony, an agony He had never before known. Had He not often thought of death, and in His mind felt quite reconciled to it? Did He not know that the Heavenly Father would receive Him? Only He still belonged to this sweet life below, and still the way was open to Him to escape death. Is His soul so weak now that it is troubled by the prospect of the enemy at hand, ready to seize Him? Can He not go over the mountain to Jericho, into the wilderness, to the sea? No, not flight. Of His own free will He is to appear before the judges in order to stand by what He said. Ah! but this surrender to the powers He had offended means death. He sank down on the ground so that His head touched the grass, as if He would draw the earth to Him with eager arms. "Must it be, O Father? Fain would I stay with men in order to bring them nearer to Me. Who will guide My disciples, still so weak? Guard them from evil, but do not take them from the world. Let them live and spread Thy name. If it is possible, let Me stay with them. But if it must be, take this agony of soul from Me and stand by Me. But I must not demand aught, My God, only humbly entreat. If it is Thy will that I shall suffer all human sorrow and pain, then Thy will be done. Accept this sacrifice for all who have provoked Thee. If Thou desirest it, I will take the sins of the world upon Me, and atone for them that Thou mayest pardon. But if it may be avoided, Father, My Father who art in heaven, have mercy on Thy Son, who has proclaimed Thy mercy." So He prayed, and in His infinite distress He longed for His disciples. He went to them and found them asleep. They were sleeping like innocent children, and knew nothing of His terrible struggle. He woke Peter, and said: "I am wellnigh perishing with sorrow. Surely you might watch with Me in this hour."
The disciple pulled himself together with some difficulty and shook the others. But when Jesus looked at the poor fellows. He thought: "What can they do for Me?" He left them and went away, in order to fight through it alone. And again He prayed: "Help Me, Lord; Oh, My God, forsake Me not." But Heaven was silent, the loneliness was intolerable, and lie once more went back to His disciples. They were again fast asleep. They rested so peacefully, tired out by the cruel world, that Jesus thought, Well, let them sleep. Drops, like blood, ran down His forehead and fell on the ground. A third time He turned to the Father: "Forsaken of all, on Thee alone I call. There is none to hear Me in My agony. They are all asleep, and the clash of spears is on the road. Lord God, send Thine angels to protect Me!"
Not a leaf stirred; there was not a breath of air. Heaven remained deaf and dumb.
"It is the silent word of God. To His will I submit."
When Judas sat in the room among the twelve, he felt so bewildered and confused that he did not hear all that Jesus said. So he got up, left the room, and rushed through the empty streets of the city. "One of those who sit at this table will betray Me!" He knows men's thoughts. That gives Him power over all. But He does not know how to use that power; He must be driven to that. Judas could think of nothing else. The thought with which hitherto he had only played now took violent possession of his head and heart. He went through the city gate, which was not closed at this Passover time. He would spend the night among the bushes; but see—there goes the Master along the road with three of His disciples. Judas stretched out his head between the branches in order to look after them. They went towards the valley. Were they going to Bethany? Now he knew what to do. He quickly pulled himself together, and went straight off to the Roman captain.
"I know where He is."
"You want money for this Jew?"
"That's not my reason for telling you."
"Yet you tell me."
"Because I can't wait any longer. You will find out who He is, ere long."
"Well, where is He?"'
"I'll go with the soldiers. There are several persons with Him; I will go up to one and kiss his cheek. That will be He."
"How much do you want for this service of love, you brute?" asked the captain.
"Insult away! Seek Him without me. I know what I'm after."
"Well, how much do you want? Are thirty silver pieces enough?"
"The Man is worth more."
"I do not haggle over prices."
"Well, give what you please. I fancy He will cost you very dear."
The bargain was struck. Judas, the treasurer, put the coins in the common purse, and thought: If we had only had this sooner. And now it's hardly any use to us. Then a troop of soldiers placed him in their midst, and, carrying torches, the procession marched out of the town and down into the Valley of Kedron. They crossed the brook, and at the entrance to the garden gate intended to proceed to Bethany. But a swift, curious glance of Judas observed, by the glimmer of the moon, figures lying on the ground under a bush. He stopped, looked, and recognised the brothers. He signed to the soldiers to enter the garden quietly. To walk quietly is the way of traitors, not of warriors. The sound of marching and the clash of swords woke the disciples. A very different awakening from the gentle bidding of the Master! They jumped up and hastened to where He was kneeling.
Judas came forward and said: "Did I frighten you?" Then he went up to Jesus: "You are still awake, Master?" He bent down in greeting, kissed Him lightly on the cheek, and thought in tremulous expectation: Messiah King, now reveal Thyself!
Then the soldiers rushed up. They had been joined by a mob armed with sticks and cudgels, just as when notorious criminals are taken. Jesus went forward a few steps to meet them and offered His hands to them to be bound. John threw himself between, but he was dashed to the ground. James struggled with two of the soldiers; Peter snatched the sword of a third, and hacked at one of the Temple guards so that his ear flew from his body.
"What are you doing?" Jesus called to the disciple. "If you interfere they will kill you. You will conquer not with the sword, but with the word. But you, O people of Jerusalem; you treat Me as shamefully as if I were a murderer. And only five days ago you led Me into the city with palms and psalms. What have I done since then? I sat in the Temple among you. Why did you not take Me then?"
They mocked at Him. "Isn't to-day soon enough for you? Can't you wait any longer for your ladder to heaven? Patience, it is set up already."
When the disciples heard such allusions, and saw the Master calmly surrendering Himself, they drew back. The sticks and spears clashed together, the crowd jogged along, the torches flickered, and so the procession went up to the city.
Judas stood behind the trunk of a tree, looking through the branches at the dread procession, and his eyes started from his head in terror.
The judges were awakened at midnight; the Jewish High Priests that they might accuse Him, the heathen judges that they might condemn Him. The High Priest Caiaphas left his couch right gladly; he was delighted that they had caught Him at last, but he thought that the High Priest Annas should frame the accusation; he was younger, better acquainted with the Roman laws, and would carry through the ticklish business most effectively. He, Caiaphas, would hold himself ready for bearing testimony or sealing documents at any minute. Annas, too, was delighted that the Galilean, who had insulted the Pharisees in the Temple in so unheard-of a fashion, was caught at last. He would settle the matter this very night, before the people, on whom no reliance was to be placed, could interfere. With respect to the accusation, the whole high priesthood of Jerusalem must meet in order to take counsel over this knotty case. As a matter of fact there was nothing they could legally bring against the fellow. His speeches to the people. His proceedings in the Temple were, unfortunately, not sufficient. Some crime—a political one if possible—must be proved against Him, if that heathen, the Roman governor, was to condemn Him.
So they met at the house of Caiaphas to take counsel. They carried innumerable scrolls under their arms, in which were written all manner of things that had occurred since the first appearance of the Nazarene. The Galilean Rabbis especially had sent volumes in order to discredit and expose Him. Yet all this would not be sufficient for the governor. Some definite point must be clearly worked up.
Then Jesus was brought in. His hands were bound, His dress was soiled and torn. His countenance very sad. The crowd had already had proof of His courage. He stood there quietly. Terror He no longer felt, sadness alone lay in His eyes. They turned over the scrolls and spoke together in whispers. It was made known that they would be glad to hear anyone who could bring any evidence against Him. But no one offered. The priests looked at each other in bewilderment. Those who struck Him and insulted Him must surely know why they did it!
At length a deformed man came forward. He was certainly only a poor camel-dealer, but he knew something. The story of the whale! The Galilean said that, just as the whale cast up Jonah after three days, so would He come forth from His grave three days after His death. The man had also said that He would destroy Solomon's Temple, which had taken forty-seven years to build, and rebuild it in three days. Other witnesses could be found to testify to these things.
Some considered, however, that these stories were empty exaggerations, and nothing more.
"They are blasphemy," exclaimed Caiaphas. "Everything He says has a hidden meaning. What He meant was that three days after His death He would rise again, in order to destroy the Kingdom of the Jews and establish a new Kingdom." Then he turned to Jesus: "Did you say that?"
Jesus was silent.
"He does not deny it; He did say it. The wrath of Jehovah which presses heavily on Israel has been evoked by this blasphemer and false prophet. And the guilty creature does not deny it." Then Caiaphas turned to the people who were gathering in increasing numbers in the fore-court: "Let him who knows anything further against Him come forward and speak."
Then several voices exclaimed: "He is a blasphemer, He is a false prophet. He has brought on us the curse of Jehovah!"
"Do you hear?" said the High Priest. "That is the voice of the people! Yet in order to satisfy the nicest of consciences we will permit Him to speak once again that He may defend Himself. Jesus of Nazareth! many know that you have said that you are the Christ, sent by Heaven. Answer clearly and without ambiguity. I ask you, Are you Christ, the Son of God?"
"You say so," replied Jesus.
Again, and in a louder voice, Caiaphas asked: "By all you deem sacred, speak now on oath. Are you the Son of God?"
Then said Jesus to the High Priest: "If you do not believe it now that I stand before you as a malefactor, you will believe it when I come down from heaven in the clouds at the right hand of Almighty God."
When Jesus had spoken these words, Caiaphas turned to the assembly: "What do you want more? If that's not rank blasphemy, I'll resign my office. If that's not blasphemy, then we have punished others, who said less, far too severely. What shall we do with Him?"
Several priests rent their garments in anger, and shouted: "Let Him die!"
The cry was taken up by many voices out in the streets. The priests immediately put things in shape for the sentence to be pronounced that night, and, if possible, carried into effect before the festival, without making a stir.
If the matter had rested with Herod, King of the Jews, he would have rid himself of his rival from Nazareth with a snap of his lingers; but it was the Roman governor with whom they had to deal. So Pontius Pilate also was awakened in the night. He was a Roman, and had been appointed by the Emperor to hold Judaea in spite of Herod, whose Jewish kingdom had become as nothing. Pilate often declared that this office of ruling the Jewish people for the Emperor had been his evil star. He would rather have remained in cultured Rome, whose gods were much more amiable than the perverse Jehovah, about whom all kinds of sects disputed. And then came this Nazarene. When Pilate learnt the reason why he was disturbed from his sleep he cursed. "This stupid business again about the Nazarene who, accompanied by a few beggars, rode into Jerusalem on an ass, and said He was the Messiah. The people laughed at Him. And that's to be made a political case! They should expel Him from the Temple and let people sleep."
But the crowd shouted in front of his windows: "He is a blasphemer! A deceiver and a traitor! An anarchist! He must be tried!" Pilate did not know what to do. Then his wife came, and entreated him not to do anything to Jesus of Nazareth. She had had a horrible dream about Him. She had seen Him standing in a white garment that shone like the moon. Then he had descended into a deep abyss where the souls of the condemned were wailing, had raised them up and led them on high. Then dreadful angels with big black wings had seized the judges, and thrown them into the abyss. Pilate had been among them, and his cry of pain still rang in her ears.
"Don't make my head more confused than it is already with your talking," he commanded. The noise in the street became more threatening every moment.
Jesus was exhausted, and, surrounded by guards, sat down on a stone in the courtyard of Pilate's house. The crowd came up, mocked Him and insulted Him. They draped Him in the torn red cloak of a Bedouin for royal purple, they plucked thorns from a hedge in the neighbouring garden, wove them into a crown, and set it on His head. They broke off a dry reed and put it into His hand as a sceptre. They anointed His cheek with spittle. And then they bowed down to the ground before Him, and sang in a shrill voice: "Hail to Thee, O anointed Messiah-King!" and put out their tongues at Him.
Jesus sat there, calm and unmoved. He looked at His tormentors with sad eyes, not in anger, but in pity.
His disciples, terrified to death, had now come up, but remained outside the walls. Peter was furious over the infamous betrayal that had taken place, and could not understand what had possessed Judas. In sore distress he stood in the farthest courtyard where it was dark. Then a girl tripped up to him on her way to the well for water.
"Here's another!" she shouted. "Why are you standing here? Go and do homage to your King."
Peter turned in the direction of the gate.
"You're one of those Galileans, too," she continued.
"What have I to do with Galilee?" he said.
A gatekeeper interposed: "Of course he is a Galilean. You can see that by his dress. He belongs to the Nazarene."
"I do not know Him," said Peter, and tried to hurry off. The gatekeeper stopped him with the shaft of his spear. "Halt there, you Jew! Your King is seated yonder on His throne. Do homage to Him before He flies into the clouds."
"Let me alone; I do not know the man," exclaimed Peter, and hastened away. As he went out of the gate, a cock crowed just over his head. Peter started. Did He not speak of a cock at supper? "And another will deny me this night just before cock-crow." In a flash the old disciple saw what he had done. From terror that he, too, would be seized, he had lied about his Master, about Him who had been everything to him—everything—everything. Now in His need they had left Him alone, had not even had the courage to acknowledge themselves His supporters. "Oh, Simon!" he said to himself, "you should have stayed by your lake instead of playing at being the chosen of God. He gave me His Kingdom of Heaven and this is how I requite Him!" His life was now so broken that he crept out into the desert. There he threw himself on a stone, wrung his hands, and abandoned himself to weeping.
Jesus was at last brought into the hall before the Governor. When Pilate saw Him in that unheard-of disguise, his temper began to rise. He was not to be waked from His sleep for a joke. Well, the Jews had mocked at their Messiah-King, and He would mock at them through Him.
He heard the accusation but found nothing in it. "What?" he said to the High Priests and their supporters, "I'm to condemn your King? Why, what are you thinking of?" Instead of terrifying the accused with his judicial dignity, he desired to enter into conversation with Him. Although the Nazarene stood there in such wretched plight, He must have something in Him to have roused the masses as He did. He wanted to make His acquaintance. In a friendly manner he put mocking questions to Him. Did he really know anything special of God? Would He not tell him too, for even heathens were sometimes curious about the Kingdom of Heaven? How should a man set about loving a God whom no one had ever seen? Or which among the gods was the true one? And for the life of him he would like to know what truth really was.
Jesus said not a word.
"You do not seem to lack the virtue of pride," continued Pilate, "and that's in your favour. You know, of course, in whose presence you stand, in the presence of one who has the power, to put you to death, or to set you free."
Jesus was still silent.
The crowd which already filled the large courtyard became more and more noisy and unmanageable. Rabbis slipped through it in order to fan the fire, and on all sides sentence of death was eagerly demanded. Pilate shrugged his shoulders. He did not understand the people. But he could not condemn an innocent man to death. He would let the Nazarene just as He was step out on to the balcony. He himself took a torch from a slave's hand to light up the pitiful figure. "Look," he called down to the crowd, "look at the poor fellow!"
"To the gallows with him! To the cross with him!" shouted the crowd.
"If," said Pilate, preserving his ironical tone, "if you do not want to miss your Passover spectacle, go out there; no fear of criminals not being crucified to-day. What do you say to Barabbas, the desert king? O ye men of Jerusalem, be satisfied with one king."
"We want to see this Jesus crucified," raged the people.
"But why, by Jupiter? I cannot see that He is guilty of anything."
One of the High Priests came up to him.
"If you set free this blasphemer, this demagogue, who, so He says, intends to redeem the Jewish nation from bondage, who has the devil's eloquence with which to influence the masses, if you let this man go about among the people again, then you are your Emperor's bitterest enemy. Then we shall ask for a governor who is as true to the Emperor as we are!"
"You would be more imperial than Pontius Pilate!" He threw out that sentence to them, measuring their figures with contempt. Whenever Rome touched any of their chartered rights they seethed with anger; but whenever they needed power to accomplish some purpose hostile to the people, they cringed to Rome. They recognised no people and no Emperor; their Temple-law was all in all to them. And they dared to advise the Governor to be imperial! But the crowd murmured angrily. The storm of passion was increasing in the courtyard. A thousand voices threatening, shouting shrilly, demanded the Nazarene's death. At that moment his wife sent to Pilate and reminded him of her dream. He was inclined to set the accused free at once. Then in the dim light of the torches and the dawning day a dark mass appeared above the heads of the people. It was one of those criminals' stakes with the cross-beam like those erected out at Golgotha, only more massive and imposing. They had dragged the cross here, and when it became visible to the crowd they broke out in heightened fury: "Crucify Him! Crucify Him! Jesus or Pilate!"
"Jesus—or Pilate?" Was that what they shouted?
"Jesus or Pilate?" was re-echoed from courtyard to courtyard, from street to street.
"Do you hear, Governor?" one of the High Priests asked him. "There is nothing else to be done! You see, the people haven't been asleep to-night. They are mad!" So saying, he seized the staff of justice, and offered it to Pilate. He had turned pale at the sight of the raging mob. He signed with his hand that he wished to speak. The tumult subsided sufficiently for his words to be heard, and he shouted hoarsely:
"I cannot find that this man has committed any crime. But you wish to crucify Him. So be it, but His death is on your consciences!" Purposely following the Jewish custom, he washed his hands in a bowl, so that those who could not hear him might see; then holding them up, all dripping wet, before the people, he exclaimed: "My hands are clean from His blood. I accept no responsibility." He seized the staff, broke it in two with his hands, and threw the pieces at Jesus's feet.
Then there arose a storm of jubilation; "Hail to thee, Pilate! Hail to the Governor of the great Emperor! Hail to the great Governor of the Emperor!"
The High Priests humbly bowed before him, and the guards seized the condemned man.
The big cross, carried by insolent youths, swung to and fro above the heads of the people. Every one tried to get out of the way of the sinister thing; if a man, joking, thrust his neighbour towards it, he pushed quickly back into the crowd with a shriek. And the unceasing cry went on: "Hail to Pontius Pilate! To the cross with the Nazarene!"
Jesus was led from the hall into the courtyard, where His guards had to protect Him from the fury of the mob. They led Him up to the cross.
A sentry appeared, and, violently swinging his arm, shouted; "No execution can take place here! Away with Him! No execution can be permitted here!"
"To Golgotha!"
When the youths found that they would have to take the cross back to where they had fetched it, they let it fall to the ground, so that the wood made a groaning noise, and then ran off.
"Let Him carry His own cross!" shouted several voices. The plan commended itself to the guards; they unbound His hands, and placed the cross on His shoulder. He staggered under the load. They beat Him with cords like a beast of burden; He tottered along with trembling steps, carrying the stake on His right shoulder, so that one arm of the cross fell against His breast, held fast there by His hands. The long stake was dragged along the ground. They had tied a cord round His waist by which they led Him. They pulled Him along so violently that He stumbled, and often fell. The crowd which followed tried to do everything they could to hurt Him. So Jesus tottered along, bowed under the heavy weight of the wood. His gown covered with street mud, His head pierced by the thorns so that drops of blood trickled down His unkempt hair and over His agonised face. Never before was so wretched a figure dragged to the place of execution, never before was a poor malefactor so terribly ill-treated on his way to death. And never before had such dignity and gentleness been seen in the countenance of a condemned man as in that of this man. Some women who had got up early out of curiosity to see the procession stood crowded together at the street corner. But when they saw it their mood changed, and they broke out into loud lamentation, over the unheard-of horror. Jesus raised His trembling hand towards them, as if He wished to warn them: "While your husbands murder Me, you are melted to tears. Do not lament for Me, lament for yourselves and for your children, who will have to suffer for the sins of their fathers!" One of the women, heedless of the raging mob, tore the white kerchief from her head, and bent down to Him who was carrying the cross in order to wipe the blood and perspiration from His face. When she got back to her house and was about to wash the cloth, she saw on it—the face of the Prophet. And it seemed as if kindness and gratitude for her service of love looked out from its features at her. The women all came running up to see the miracle, and to haggle to get the cloth that bore such a picture for themselves. But its possessor locked it up in her room.
When Jesus fell beneath the cross for the third time, He was unable to get up again. The guards tugged and pulled Him; the Roman soldiers who accompanied them were too proud to carry the cross for this wretched Jew. So the crowd was invited to chose someone to lift up Jesus and drag the cross along. The only answer was scornful laughter. A hard-featured cobbler rushed out of a neighbouring house, and, almost foaming at the mouth with rage, demanded that the creature should be removed from before his door. "Customers will be frightened away," he cried.
"Let Him rest here for a moment," said one of the soldiers, pointing to the fallen man, whose breast heaved in short, violent spasms.
Then the cobbler swung a leathern strap and struck the exhausted man. 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 emancipated 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?
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 God, 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, God! 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.
"God 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 God 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 bloody; 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 refreshing 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 hit 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 mass 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 hoarsely, "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 passage 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 muffled 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 passed 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 Passover. 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 passed through the criminal's heart. How the man on the cross gazed at him, with His fading eyes—My God!—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 God!"
"The Son of God! The Son of God! Set Him free! It is the Son of God 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 God. 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 bloody 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 God! The Son of God!" The cry went on without ceasing. "The Son of God on the cross!"
"The Son of God'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. "A hundred gold pieces for the Son of God's coat!" But it was high time that the dealer made himself scarce, for the people of Jerusalem were enraged at a man who wanted to do business in presence of the dying Saviour. The good, pious citizens of Jerusalem!
Not a High Priest was to be seen. They had all gone away. The hoarse-voiced Rabbi was still there, reciting Psalms aloud to the dying man.
"Stop that!" someone shouted at him. "You killed Him."
"We've killed Him? Who do you mean?" asked the Rabbi with well-feigned innocence.
"Why you, you expounders of the Scriptures, you brought Him to His death; it was you, and you alone!"
The Rabbi replied very seriously: "Think, my friend, what you are saying. Can you prove this charge before the dread Jehovah? We expounders of the Law brought Him to His death! Every one knows who condemned Him. It was the foreigners. They have ever been the ruin of our nation! Every one knows who crucified Him at the desire of the people."
It was high time that he should defend himself. The voices grew ever louder: It was the High Priests who had goaded on the people and judges! They are guilty——
"Silence! He still lives!"
All looks were centred on the cross.
Jesus turned His head to the crowd and muttered in His weakness: "I am thirsty! I am thirsty!"
The captain ordered a sponge to be dipped in vinegar, and reached up to Him on a stick so that the dying man might sip the moisture.
A young woman with her hair flowing loose lay among the rocks. She kneeled, and, supporting her elbows on the ground, wailed softly: "O Saviour, Saviour! My sins!"
He looked once again at His dear ones. Then He lifted His head quickly and uttered a cry to Heaven: "Father, receive My soul! My Father! Do not forsake Me!" He looked upwards, gazed at the heavens with wide-opened eyes, then His head dropped and fell on His breast.
John sank to the ground, covering his face with his hands. All was over!
The crowd was almost motionless. They stood and stared, and their faces were white. The town walls were dun-coloured, the shrubs were grey, the young buds were pale and closed.
A lustreless sun stood in the sky like a moon, and its shadows were ghostly. Terrified rooks and bats flew around, and hovered about the cross in this horrible twilight. Rocks on the hills broke away, and skulls rolled down the slope. As for the people, they seemed to have lost the power of speech, they stood dumb and looked at one another.
"Something has happened," said an old man to himself.
The crowd began to move, uncertainly at first, then with more animation and noise.
"What has happened?" asked a bystander.
"My friend, what has happened now has thrown the world off its balance. I do not know what it is, but it has thrown the world off its balance. If it is not the end of the world, then it must be its beginning."
"Inri! Inri!" shouted the voice of a shuddering lunatic.
Then there was a general shout. "What is it? It is dark! I've never been so terrified in all my days."
"Look at the cross! It's growing longer! Higher, ever higher, higher! I can't see the top of it! It's a giant cross!"
Then came news. "A pillar has fallen in the Temple. The curtain of the Holy of Holies has been rent in twain. Outside, in the cemetery, the tombs have opened and the dead wrapped in their white shrouds have risen from them."
"The end of the world!"
"The beginning of the world!"
"Jesus Christ!"
"JESUS CHRIST!" rustles through the crowd like the spring breezes over the desert. The words sound through the whole of Jerusalem, they sound throughout the broad land of Judaea, these words of all power. They kindle a fire which has lighted up the universe until the present day.
His dear and faithful ones assembled at the cross where the dead Master hung. There are more of them than there were yesterday, among them even some who had shouted in the night: "Crucify Him!" The disciples stood there silent, making no lamentation. Mary, the mother, stood by John's side, and Magdalen by him. A marvellous quiet had come over their hearts, so that they asked themselves:
"How can this be? Is not our Jesus dead?"
"My brothers," said Peter, "for me it is as if He still lives."
"He in us, and we in Him," said John.
Only Bartholomew was restless. Hesitatingly he asked James if he had not also understood Him to say: "Father, do not forsake Me." But James was thinking of another word and of another of the brothers. He went away from the cross to seek out Judas. He would tell him that in dying the Master had forgiven His enemies, he would tell Judas of the Saviour's legacy: Mercy for sinners!
Since the early hours of the morning when the Master had been condemned to death in the Governor's house, Judas had wandered aimlessly about. He tried to surrender himself to the captain as a false witness and a spy, as one who sold men for gold. He was laughed at and left alone. Then he went to one of the High Priests to swear that his statements had not been so meant; that his Master was no evil-doer, but rather the Messenger of God, who would destroy His enemies. He had not intended to betray Him, and he would return the traitor's pay to the Pharisee. The latter shrugged his shoulders, saying that it was no concern of his; he had given no money and would receive none. Then Judas threw the silver pieces at his feet and hurried away. His long hair waved in the wind. He slunk along behind the town walls in order to get in advance of the procession and let himself be impaled at Golgotha instead of the Master. But he was too late; he heard the strokes of the hammer. He went down into the valley of Kedron. Not a soul was to be seen there, every one had gone to the place of execution. Judas was thrown aside, even by the gaping crowd, abandoned as a traitor. Frightful, inconceivable, was the thing he had done! Alas! why had He not revealed Himself? He stood patiently, gentle as a lamb before the judges, and bore the cross as no one had ever done before. Could that be it after all? Not to strive against one's enemies, to suffer one's fate as the will of God, to lay down one's life for the tidings of the Father—was that glory the mission of the Messiah? "And I? I expected something else of Him. And I made a mistake, greater than all the mistakes of all the fools put together. And now I am thrust out of the fellowship of righteous men, and thrust out of the fellowship of sinners. There is pardon for the murderer, but not for the traitor. He Himself said: Better that such a man had never been born. Others dare to atone for their sins in caves of the desert, dare to expiate their crimes with their blood—but I am cast out of all Love and all expiation for ever and ever." Such were the endless laments of Judas. He wandered to and fro behind walls and among bushes; he hid himself in caves all the day long. Then suddenly it flashed on him: "It is unjust. I believed in Him. I believed in Him so implicitly. Is such trust thrown away? Can the Divine Man cast aside such a trust? No, it is not so, it is not so!"
His fate was decided by this shattering of his last hope. When it was dark he slunk past a farm. Ropes hung over the walls; he pulled one off and hurried to the mountain. The sun was setting behind Jerusalem, over the heights, like a huge, red, lustreless pane of glass. Once more for the last time his eye sought the light, the departing light. And a cross stood out large and dark against the red circle; the tall cross at Golgotha right in the centre of the gloomy sun. Gigantic and dark it towered against the crimson background—horrible! The despairing heart of Judas could not endure it. With a savage curse he went up to a fig-tree. James was behind him. He had seen Judas climb the slope, had waved his cloak and cried to him: "It is I, James. Brother, I come from the Master. Listen, brother, mercy for sinners. Mercy for all who repent. Listen." Almost breathless he reached the fig-tree. Arms and legs hung down lifeless, the mouth drawn in, the tongue protruding from the lips. The body swung to and fro in the evening breeze. The wretched man had not waited for the Saviour's pardon.
Towards the end of that same day the old man of the East, who came from the desert where great thoughts dwell, the weary old man who called down twice the curse of everlasting unrest on the grandson of Uriah, went to a stonecutter in Jerusalem. He thought it time to order his tombstone. And on it were to be cut the letters "I.N.R.I."
"Did you also belong to the Nazarene?" asked the stonecutter.
"Why do you ask that?"
"Because it is the inscription on His cross."
"It is the inscription on my grave," said the old man, "and it means: 'IN NIRVANA REST I.'"