Part 17 (2/2)

The dim forest within Hacked from my roots, Haled on by rude woodmen Bracing sinewy shoulders Up the steep mountain side, Till aloft on the summit Firmly they fastened me.

”I spied the Frey[5] of man with eager haste Approach to mount me; neither bend nor break I durst, for so it was decreed above Though earth about me shook.

”Up-girded him then the young hero, That was G.o.d Almighty, Strong and steady of mood, Stept he on the high gallows: Fearless amongst many beholders For he would save mankind.

Trembled I when that 'beorn' climbed me, But I durst not bow to earth.”

There hung the Lord of Hosts Swart clouds veiled the corpse, The sun's light vanished 'Neath shadows murk.

While in silence drear All creation wept The fall of their king.

Christ was on Rood-- Thither from afar Men came hastening To aid the n.o.ble one.

Everything I saw, Sorely was I With sorrows harrowed, Yet humbly I inclined To the hands of his servants Striving much to aid them.

Now from the Rood The mighty G.o.d, Spear-pierced and blood-besprent, Gently men lowered; They laid him down limb-weary, They stood at the lifeless head, Gazing at Heaven's Lord, And he there rests awhile, Weary after his mickle death-fight.

Such was the paean of Caedmon, mighty among the writers of runes, in the seventh century after the Saviour's death. Now, twelve centuries later, it lived again, and the terrible event was once more enacted, just as the skald had sung, just as it happened nearly two thousand years ago.

What is s.p.a.ce, what is time to aught that is rooted in love?

The dirge of the chorus had died away. A strange sound behind the curtain accompanied the last verses--the sound of hammering--could it be? No, it would be too horrible. The audience heard, yet _would_ not hear. A deathlike stillness pervaded the theatre--the blows of the hammer became more and more distinct--the curtain rolled upward--there He lay with His feet toward the spectators, flat upon the cross. And the executioners, with heavy blows, drove nails through His limbs; they pierced the kind hands which had never done harm to any living creature, but wherever they were gently laid, healed all wounds and stilled all griefs; the feet which had borne the divine form so lightly that it seemed to float over the burning sand of the land and the surging waves of the sea, always on a mission of love. Now He lay in suffering on the ground, stretched upon the accursed timbers--half benumbed, like a stricken stag. At the right and left stood the lower crosses of the two criminals. These men merely had their arms thrown over the cross-beams and tied with ropes, only the feet were fastened with nails. Christ alone was nailed by both hands and feet, because the Pharisees were tortured by a foreboding that He could not be wholly killed. Had they dared, they would have torn Him to pieces, and scattered the fragments to the four winds, in order to be sure that He would not rise on the third day, as He had predicted.

The executioners had completed the binding of the thieves. ”Now the King of the Jews must be raised.”

”Lift the cross! Take hold!” the captain commanded. The spectators held their breath, every heart stood still! The four executioners grasped it with their brawny arms. ”Up! Don't let go!”

The cross is ponderous, the men pant, bracing their shoulders against it--their veins swell--another jerk--it sways--”Hold firm! Once more--put forth your strength!” and in a wide sweep it moved upward--all cowered back shuddering at the horrible spectacle.

”It is not, It cannot be!” Yet it is, it can be! Horror thrilled the spectators, their limbs trembled. One grasped another, as if to hold themselves from falling. It was rising, the cross was rising above the world! Higher--nearer! ”Brace against it--don't let go!”

It stood erect and was firm.

There hung the divine figure of sorrow, pallid and wan. The nails were driven through the bleeding hands and feet--and the eye which would fain deny was forced to witness it, the heart that would have prevented, was compelled to bear it. But the scene could be endured no longer, the grief restrained with so much difficulty found vent in loud sobs, and the hands trembling with a feverish chill were clasped with the _same_ feeling of adoring love. Unspeakable compa.s.sion was poured forth in ceaseless floods of tears, and rose gathering in a cloud of pensive melancholy around the head of the Crucified One to soothe His mortal anguish. By degrees their eyes became accustomed to the scene and gained strength to gaze at it. Divine grace pervaded the slender body, and--as eternal beauty reconciles Heaven and h.e.l.l and transfigures the most terrible things--horror gradually merged into devout admiration of the perfect human beauty revealed in chaste repose and majesty before their delighted gaze. The countess had clasped her hands over her breast. The world lay beneath her as if she was floating above with Him on the cross. She no longer knew whether he was a _man_ or Christ Himself--she only knew that the universe contained _nothing_ save that form.

Her eyes were fixed upon the superhuman vision, tear after tear trickled down her cheeks. The prince gazed anxiously at her, but she did not notice it--she was entranced. If she could but die now--die at the foot of the cross, let her soul exhale like a cloud of incense, upward to Him.

Darkness was gathering. The murmuring and whispering in the air drew nearer--was it the Valkyries, gathering mournfully around the hero who scorned the aid. Was it the wings of the angel of death? Or was it a flock of the sacred birds which, legend relates, strove to draw out the nails that fastened the Saviour to the cross until their weak bills were crooked and they received the name of ”cross-bills.”

The sufferer above was calm and silent. Only His lambent eyes spoke, spoke to those invisible powers hovering around Him in the final hour.

Beneath His cross the soldiers were casting lots for His garments--the priests were exulting--the brute cynicism was watching with wolfish greed for the victim to fall into its clutches, while shouting with jeering mocking: If thou be the Son of G.o.d, come down from the cross!

He trusted in G.o.d; let Him deliver Him now, if He will have Him!--

”Thou that destroyest the temple and buildest it in three days, save thyself. Show thy power, proud King of the Jews!”

The tortured sufferer painfully turned His head.

”Father, forgive them; for they know not what they do.--”

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