I.N.R.I Part 22

exclaimed Simeon, jumping into his litter and giving the sign to depart.

The procession moved on slowly, its glitter showing up against the dark rocks of the desert track. The disciples gazed after it in silence.

A little old man lay on the yellow sand. He was so grey and dwarfish that he looked like a mountain sprite. The old fellow was at home in the bare, big rocks. He loved the desert, for it is the home of great thoughts. He loved the desert where he hoped to find the entrance to Nirvana. Now when the disciples pa.s.sed near him as they were returning to the Master, he pushed the upper part of his body out of the sand, and asked: "What did the man want to whom you were speaking?"

"He wanted to be able to live for ever."

"To live for ever!" exclaimed the old fellow in surprise. "And that is why the man drags himself across the desert. What extraordinary people there are! Now I could go any distance to find my Nirvana. I only desire eternal life for my enemies. It is many a day since people said I was a hundred years old. If you are men of wisdom, teach me, tell me what I must do to reach Nirvana?"

They were astonished. It was something like out of a fairy tale. A living creature who did not wish to live! But Matthew knew how to answer him.

"My friend, your desire is modest, but it can never be fulfilled. You will never be nothing. If you die, you lose only your body, not yourself. You will, perhaps, not live, but you will be just as the same as now: you are not living now, and yet you exist. Breathing and waiting is not living. Living is fulfilment, is love--is the Kingdom of Heaven."

"My Kingdom of Heaven is Nirvana," said the little old man, and buried himself again in the sand.

As they went along Matthew said: "He fears everlasting existence because he does not recognise a G.o.d. But he is not so far from us as the man who loves the world."

Simeon went on his way, and towards evening reached the oasis of Kaba.

He ordered his people to encamp there for the night. The servants, porters, and animals formed the outer ring, the tent--in which he took his supper, stretched himself on his cus.h.i.+ons, and let himself be fanned to sleep by the maidens--was in the centre. But he did not sleep well. He had bad dreams: his house in Jerusalem was burnt down, his s.h.i.+ps were wrecked, faithless stewards broke open his chests. And amid all, always the cry, "Give it all up!" About midnight he awoke.

And it was no longer a dream, but terrible reality. A m.u.f.fled noise could be heard throughout the camp, dark forms with glittering weapons moved softly about, in the camp itself crawling figures moved softly here and there. A tall, dark man, accompanied by Bedouins, carrying torches and knives, stood in front of Simeon.

"Do not be alarmed, my princely friend!" he said to Simeon, who jumped up; but none could tell whether he spoke from arrogance or authority, kindly or in scorn. "It's true we are disturbing your night's repose, but, provided you give no trouble, we have no evil designs. Hand over all that you possess."

In the first confusion the wretched man thought he heard the Prophet speaking, but he soon noted the difference. The Prophet and His disciples gave up everything that they possessed. This man took everything that others possessed.

"I know you, proud citizen of Jerusalem. I am Barabbas, called the king of the desert. It is useless to resist. Three hundred men are at this moment keeping watch round your camp. We've settled matters with your servants and slaves; they are powerless."

It was clear to the poor rich man what the chief meant. His slaves were slain, he was menaced by a like fate. What had that disciple of the Prophet said? Wealth endangered life, and poverty protected it.

If he had set his followers free, giving them what they needed, and wandered about in simple fas.h.i.+on on his own legs, the robber's knife would not now be pointed at his breast. In unrestrained rage he uttered a brutal curse: "Take whatever you can find, and do not mock me, you infamous beast of the desert!"

"Calmly, calmly, my dear sir," said the chief, while dusky men rolled up carpets, clothes, arms, jewels, and golden goblets, and threw them into big sacks. "See, we are helping you to pack up."

"Take the rubbish away," shouted Simeon, "and leave me in peace."

The chief, Barabbas, grinned. "I fancy, my friend, that you and I know each other too well for me to let you go back to Jerusalem. You would then have too great a desire to have me with you. You would send out the Romans to search for me, and bring me to the beautiful city. The desert is much more to my taste: life is pleasanter there. Now, tell me where the bags of coin such as a man like you always carries about with him are hidden. No? Then you may go to sleep."

He who went forth to seek eternal life is now in danger of losing mortal life. In terror of death, cold sweat on his brow, he began to haggle for his life with the desert king. He not only offered all that he had with him. The next caravans were bringing him rare spices and incense; bars of gold, diamonds, and pearls were coming in the Indian s.h.i.+ps, and he would send all out to the desert, as well as beautiful women slaves, with jewels to deck their throats. Only he must be allowed to keep his bare life.

Grinning and wrinkling up his snub nose, Barabbas let it be understood that he was not to be won with women and promises--he was no longer young enough. Neither would he have any executioner dispatched in search of him--he was not old enough. And he had his weaknesses. He could not decide which would suit the n.o.ble citizen's slender, white neck best, metal or silk. He took a silken string from the pocket of his cloak, while two Bedouins roughly held Simeon.

Meanwhile, outside the camp, the second chief was packing the stolen treasure on the camels by torchlight. Whenever he stumbled over a dead body he muttered a curse, and when his work was finished he sought his comrade. Women in chains wept loudly, not so much on account of their imprisonment--they took that almost as a matter of course--but because their master was being murdered in the tent. So the second chief s.n.a.t.c.hed a torch from a servant, hastened to the tent, and arrived just in the nick of time.

"Barabbas!" he exclaimed, taking hold of the murderer, "don't you remember what we determined? We only kill those who fight; we do not kill defenceless persons."

Barabbas removed his thin arms from his victim and in a tearful voice grumbled: "Dismas, you are dreadful. I'm old now, and am I to have no more pleasure?"

Dismas said meaningly: "If the old man does not keep his agreement, the troop will have its pleasure, and, for a change, swing him who likes to be called king of the desert."

That had the desired effect. Barabbas knew the band cared much more for Dismas than for himself, and he did not wish matters to come to a climax.

When day dawned a mule was led to Simeon. One of his slaves, with his wounded arm in a sling, was allowed him, and he carried some bread and his cloak, and led the beast. And so the citizen of Jerusalem returned to the town he had left a week before under such brilliant circ.u.mstances, a defeated and plundered man.

The affair attracted great attention in the city. Armed incursions were eagerly made into the desert between Jerusalem and the Jordan, where one evil deed after another was reported. Even the Rabbis and Pharisees preached a campaign to clear the rocks and sandy flats of the dangerous and destructive hordes by which they were infested. The famous band of the chiefs, Barabbas and Dismas--so it was said--were not the worst. Much more ominous were the vagrant crowds that gathered about the so-called Messiah from Nazareth, who, feeling himself safe in the desert, indulged in disorderly speeches and acts. So it was settled to send out a large company of soldiers, led by the violent Pharisee, Saul, a weaver who had left his calling out of zeal for the law, in order to free the land from the mob of robbers and heretics.

Now about this time Dismas, the old robber-chief, fell into deep contrition. His heart had never really been in his criminal calling.

Murder was particularly hateful to him, and, so far as he was free to do so, he had always sought to avoid it. Now even plundering and robbing became hateful to him. In the night he had visions of the terrible Jehovah. He thought of John, the desert preacher, and considered it high time to repent. So one day he said to Barabbas:

"Do you know, comrade, there is just now a prince at the oasis of Silam who has with him immensely more wealth than that citizen of Jerusalem?

I know his position and his people, and I know how to get at him.

Shall we take this lord?"

"If you continue to be so useless, Dismas, you'll be flung to the vultures." Such were the terms in which Barabbas thanked his ally. It was decided that the attack should be made. Dismas led the band towards the oasis of Silam. Barabbas went with his steed decorated with gay-coloured feathers, an iron coronet on his head. For it was a prince whom he was to visit! Dismas encamped his men under a rocky precipice. And when at night time all rested in order to be fit for the attack on the princely train early in the morning, Dismas climbed the rocks and gave the signal. The Roman soldiery hidden behind the rocks cut down all who opposed them, and took the rest prisoners, Dismas and Barabbas among them. When the latter saw that he had been betrayed, he began to rage in his chains like a wild animal.

"What would you have brother?" said Dismas to Barabbas, who had often scorned him so bitterly. "Am I not a prisoner, too? Haven't you always preached that right lay with the stronger? So then the Romans are right this time. Once you betrayed me and forced me to join the plundering Bedouins, most excellent Barabbas, and now it's my turn.

I've betrayed you to the arm of Rome. And we'll probably be impaled!"

Then, as if that were a real delight, he brought his hand down cheerfully on his companion's shoulder so that his chains rattled.

"Yes, my dearest brother, they will impale us!"

They were brought in gangs to Jerusalem, where they lay in prison for many long months awaiting death. On account of his self-surrender, Dismas had been granted his wish for solitary confinement. He desired, undisturbed, to take stock of his wasted life. A never-ending line of dark, b.l.o.o.d.y figures pa.s.sed before him. But there was one patch of light amid the gloom. It had happened many years ago, but he had a very clear remembrance of that distant hour. A young mother with her child rode on an a.s.s. The infant spread out his little arms and looked at him. But never in his life had human creature looked at him like that child had looked, with such a glance of ardent love.

If only once again, before he died, he could but see a beam of light like that.

CHAPTER XXII

When the people who had gathered round Jesus heard that Saul, the terrible weaver, was scouring the desert with a troop of police, they began to melt away. They feared unpleasant consequences. They fully recognised the right, but most of them were disinclined to suffer persecution for that right. They must return to their domestic duties, to their families, industries, and commerce, and, so far as was possible, live according to the Master's teaching. They left Him because it seemed to them that His cause was falling. In the end there were just a few faithful ones who stayed with Him, and even some of them were in hopes that He would reveal the power of the Messiah. But they all urged Him to repair to some other neighbourhood. Jesus was not afraid of having to render an account of Himself to His adversaries in Jerusalem, but the time had not yet come, the work was not yet finished. He knew that He could never retrace His steps, for the more incontestable His justification was, the more dangerous it would seem to them. With His now dwindled troop of followers He left the desert to revisit once again His native Galilee.

But here His opponents were no better than before; houses were closed as He approached, the people got out of His way when He began to speak.

Only Mary, with all a mother's simple faith, said; "Ah, you have come at last, my son! Now stay, with me!"

There was, however, no place for Him in the house. A strange apprentice from Jericho was established in the workshop. He worked at the wood with the hatchet and saw that Jesus had once handled; sat by the hearth and at the table where Jesus had once sat; slept in the bed on which Jesus had once reposed. But it did not seem that he enjoyed the same pleasant dreams for he groaned and tossed about, and when he awakened was ill-pleased at having to continue the same work which he had ill-humouredly laid aside the evening before. How often did Mary look at him in silence, and think of the difference between him and her Jesus. And she saw how the man carelessly ate his meals, and went to his bed each day, while her son was perhaps peris.h.i.+ng in a strange land, and had no stone whereon to lay His head.

And now Jesus was once again with her. "Mother," He said to Mary, "don't speak impatiently to Aaron. He is poor, discontented, and sullen; he has found little kindness in men and without exactly knowing it, thirsts for kindness. When you would bring Me water in the morning to wash with, take it to him. When you would prepare dinner for Me, prepare it for him. When you would bless Me in the evening, bless him.

Love may perhaps do what words cannot. Everything that you think to do for Me in My absence, do for him."

"And you--you will have nothing more from me?"

"Mother, I want everything from you. I am always with you. You can be good to Me in showing kindness to every poor creature. I must lead men by stern measures, be you gentle. I must burn the ulcers from out the dead flesh, you shall heal the wounds. I must be the salt, be you the oil."

How happy she was when He spoke to her like that. For that was her life--to be kind, to help, wherever she could. And here was her son consecrating such deeds of kindness till they became a covenant between her and Him, a bond of memory for mother and child when parted from each other. Now that He had appealed to her love, she did not feel so lonely; she felt once more at one with Him, and had a sort of presentiment that in future times her bleeding mother's heart would be satisfied beyond measure.

Once again Jesus went through His native land to see if the seed of His teaching had sprung up anywhere. But the earth was barren. He was not so much troubled by the pa.s.sionate enmity with which many regarded Him, or the angry murmurings against Him and His word, as by indolence of mind, by obstinate, stupid adherence to commonplace inanities, by entire lack of perception, by indifference towards spiritual life. At first the novelty and strangeness of His appearance had compelled attention, but that was over. Whether the Prophet was old or new, it was all one to them. One was just like another, they declared, and they remained indifferent. "The hot and the cold," Jesus exclaimed one day, "I can accept, but those who are lukewarm I cast from Me. Had I preached in heathen lands, or in the ruined seaports of Tyre and Sidon, they would have repented in sackcloth and ashes. Had I taught in Sodom and Gomorrah, those towns would still be standing. But these places here in Galilee are sunk in a quagmire of shame; they scorn their Prophet. When the day of reckoning comes, it will go worse with this land than with those towns. My poor Bethsaida, and thou, fair Magdala!

And thou, Capernaum the beautiful! How I loved you, My people, how highly did I honour you; I desired to lift you to Heaven. And now you sink in the abyss. Pray to him, your Mammon, in the days of your need; there will be no other consolation for you. Carouse, laugh, and be cruel to-day; to-morrow you will be hungry and you will groan: Ah, we have delayed too long! Believe me a day will come when you fain would justify your lives to Me, crying: 'Lord, we would willingly have given you food, drink, and lodging, but you did not come to us.' But I did come to you. I came in the starving, the thirsty, the homeless, only you would not recognise Me. I will not accuse you to the Heavenly Father, but Moses, whose commandments you have broken, will accuse you.

And when you appeal to the Father, He will say: 'I know you not.'"

The disciples trembled and were terrified in mind and soul when He spoke those angry words. But they were not surprised, for the people had sunken very low.