Old Faustina was in distant Palestine, on her way to Jerusalem. She had
not desired that the mission to seek the Prophet and bring him to the
Emperor should be intrusted to any one but herself. She said to herself:
“That which we demand of this stranger, is something which we can not
coax from him either by force or bribes. But perhaps he will grant it us
if some one falls at his feet and tells him in what dire need the
Emperor is. Who can make an honest plea for Tiberius, but the one who
suffers from his misfortune as much as he does?”
The hope of possibly saving Tiberius had renewed the old woman’s youth.
She withstood without difficulty the long sea trip to Joppa, and on the
journey to Jerusalem she made no use of a litter, but rode a horse. She
appeared to stand the difficult ride as easily as the Roman nobles, the
soldiers, and the slaves who made up her retinue.
The journey from Joppa to Jerusalem filled the old woman’s heart with
joy and bright hopes. It was springtime, and Sharon’s plain, over which
they had ridden during the first day’s travel, had been a brilliant
carpet of flowers. Even during the second day’s journey, when they came
to the hills of Judea, they were not abandoned by the flowers. All the
multiformed hills between which the road wound were planted with fruit
trees, which stood in full bloom. And when the travelers wearied of
looking at the white and red blossoms of the apricots and persimmons,
they could rest their eyes by observing the young vine-leaves, which
pushed their way through the dark brown branches, and their growth was
so rapid that one could almost follow it with the eye.
It was not only flowers and spring green that made the journey pleasant,
but the pleasure was enhanced by watching the throngs of people who were
on their way to Jerusalem this morning. From all the roads and by-paths,
from lonely heights, and from the most remote corners of the plain came
travelers. When they had reached the road to Jerusalem, those who
traveled alone formed themselves into companies and marched forward with
glad shouts. Round an elderly man, who rode on a jogging camel, walked
his sons and daughters, his sons-in-law and daughters-in-law, and all
his grandchildren. It was such a large family that it made up an entire
little village. An old grandmother who was too feeble to walk her sons
had taken in their arms, and with pride she let herself be borne among
the crowds, who respectfully stepped aside.
In truth, it was a morning to inspire joy even in the most disconsolate.
To be sure the sky was not clear, but was o’ercast with a thin
grayish-white mist, but none of the wayfarers thought of grumbling
because the sun’s piercing brilliancy was dampened. Under this veiled
sky the perfume of the budding leaves and blossoms did not penetrate the
air as usual, but lingered over roads and fields. And this beautiful
day, with its faint mist and hushed winds, which reminded one of Night’s
rest and calm, seemed to communicate to the hastening crowds somewhat of
itself, so that they went forward happy—yet with solemnity—singing in
subdued voices ancient hymns, or playing upon peculiar old-fashioned
instruments, from which came tones like the buzzing of gnats, or
grasshoppers’ piping.
When old Faustina rode forward among all the people, she became infected
with their joy and excitement. She prodded her horse to quicker speed,
as she said to a young Roman who rode beside her: “I dreamt last night
that I saw Tiberius, and he implored me not to postpone the journey, but
to ride to Jerusalem to-day. It appears as if the gods had wished to
send me a warning not to neglect to go there this beautiful morning.”
Just as she said this, she came to the top of a long mountain ridge, and
there she was obliged to halt. Before her lay a large, deep
valley-basin, surrounded by pretty hills, and from the dark, shadowy
depths of the vale rose the massive mountain which held on its head the
city of Jerusalem.
But the narrow mountain city, with its walls and towers, which lay like
a jeweled coronet upon the cliff’s smooth height, was this day magnified
a thousand-fold. All the hills which encircled the valley were bedecked
with gay tents, and with a swarm of human beings.
It was evident to Faustina that all the inhabitants were on their way to
Jerusalem to celebrate some great holiday. Those from a distance had
already come, and had managed to put their tents in order. On the other
hand, those who lived near the city were still on their way. Along all
the shining rock-heights one saw them come streaming in like an unbroken
sea of white robes, of songs, of holiday cheer.
For some time the old woman surveyed these seething throngs of people
and the long rows of tent-poles. Thereupon she said to the young Roman
who rode beside her:
“Verily, Sulpicius, the whole nation must have come to Jerusalem.”
“It really appears like it,” replied the Roman, who had been chosen by
Tiberius to accompany Faustina because he had, during a number of years,
lived in Judea. “They celebrate now the great Spring Festival, and at
this time all the people, both old and young, come to Jerusalem.”
Faustina reflected a moment. “I am glad that we came to this city on the
day that the people celebrate their festival,” said she. “It can not
signify anything else than that the gods protect our journey. Do you
think it likely that he whom we seek, the Prophet of Nazareth, has also
come to Jerusalem to participate in the festivities?”
“You are surely right, Faustina,” said the Roman. “He must be here in
Jerusalem. This is indeed a decree of the gods. Strong and vigorous
though you be, you may consider yourself fortunate if you escape making
the long and troublesome journey up to Galilee.”
At once he rode over to a couple of wayfarers and asked them if they
thought the Prophet of Nazareth was in Jerusalem.
“We have seen him here every day at this season,” answered one. “Surely
he must be here even this year, for he is a holy and righteous man.”
A woman stretched forth her hand and pointed towards a hill, which lay
east of the city. “Do you see the foot of that mountain, which is
covered with olive trees?” she said. “It is there that the Galileans
usually raise their tents, and there you will get the most reliable
information about him whom you seek.”
They journeyed farther, and traveled on a winding path all the way down
to the bottom of the valley, and then they began to ride up toward
Zion’s hill, to reach the city on its heights. The woman who had spoken
went along the same way.
The steep ascending road was encompassed here by low walls, and upon
these countless beggars and cripples sat or lolled. “Look,” said the
woman who had spoken, pointing to one of the beggars who sat on the
wall, “there is a Galilean! I recollect that I have seen him among the
Prophet’s disciples. He can tell you where you will find him you seek.”
Faustina and Sulpicius rode up to the man who had been pointed out to
her. He was a poor old man with a heavy iron-gray beard. His face was
bronzed by heat and sunshine. He asked no alms; on the contrary, he was
so engrossed in anxious thought that he did not even glance at the
passers-by.
Nor did he hear that Sulpicius addressed him, and the latter had to
repeat his question several times.
“My friend, I’ve been told that you are a Galilean. I beg you,
therefore, to tell me where I shall find the Prophet from Nazareth!”
The Galilean gave a sudden start and looked around him, confused. But
when he finally comprehended what was wanted of him, he was seized with
rage mixed with terror. “What are you talking about?” he burst out. “Why
do you ask me about that man? I know nothing of him. I’m not a
Galilean.”
The Hebrew woman now joined in the conversation. “Still I have seen you
in his company,” she protested. “Do not fear, but tell this noble Roman
lady, who is the Emperor’s friend, where she is most likely to find
him.”
But the terrified disciple grew more and more irascible. “Have all the
people gone mad to-day?” said he. “Are they possessed by an evil spirit,
since they come again and again and ask me about that man? Why will no
one believe me when I say that I do not know the Prophet? I do not come
from his country. I have never seen him.”
His irritability attracted attention, and a couple of beggars who sat on
the wall beside him also began to dispute his word.
“Certainly you were among his disciples,” said one. “We all know that
you came with him from Galilee.”
Then the man raised his arms toward heaven and cried: “I could not
endure it in Jerusalem to-day on that man’s account, and now they will
not even leave me in peace out here among the beggars! Why don’t you
believe me when I say to you that I have never seen him?”
Faustina turned away with a shrug. “Let us go farther!” said she. “The
man is mad. From him we will learn nothing.”
They went farther up the mountain. Faustina was not more than two steps
from the city gate, when the Hebrew woman who had wished to help her
find the Prophet called to her to be careful. She pulled in her reins
and saw that a man lay in the road, just in front of the horse’s feet,
where the crush was greatest. It was a miracle that he had not already
been trampled to death by animals or people.
The man lay upon his back and stared upward with lusterless eyes. He did
not move, although the camels placed their heavy feet close beside him.
He was poorly clad, and besides he was covered with dust and dirt. In
fact, he had thrown so much gravel over himself that it looked as if he
tried to hide himself, to be more easily over-ridden and trampled down.
“What does this mean? Why does this man lie here on the road?” asked
Faustina.
Instantly the man began shouting to the passers-by:
“In mercy, brothers and sisters, drive your horses and camels over me!
Do not turn aside for me! Trample me to dust! I have betrayed innocent
blood. Trample me to dust!”
Sulpicius caught Faustina’s horse by the bridle and turned it to one
side. “It is a sinner who wants to do penance,” said he. “Do not let
this delay your journey. These people are peculiar and one must let them
follow their own bent.”
The man in the road continued to shout: “Set your heels on my heart! Let
the camels crush my breast and the asses dig their hoofs into my eyes!”
But Faustina seemed loath to ride past the miserable man without trying
to make him rise. She remained all the while beside him.
The Hebrew woman who had wished to serve her once before, pushed her way
forward again. “This man also belonged to the Prophet’s disciples,” said
she. “Do you wish me to ask him about his Master?”
Faustina nodded affirmatively, and the woman bent down over the man.
“What have you Galileans done this day with your Master?” she asked. “I
meet you scattered on highways and byways, but him I see nowhere.”
But when she questioned in this manner, the man who lay in the dust rose
to his knees. “What evil spirit hath possessed you to ask me about him?”
he said, in a voice that was filled with despair. “You see, surely, that
I have lain down in the road to be trampled to death. Is not that enough
for you? Shall you come also and ask me what I have done with him?”
When she repeated the question, the man staggered to his feet and put
both hands to his ears.
“Woe unto you, that you can not let me die in peace!” he cried. He
forced his way through the crowds that thronged in front of the gate,
and rushed away shrieking with terror, while his torn robe fluttered
around him like dark wings.
“It appears to me as though we had come to a nation of madmen,” said
Faustina, when she saw the man flee. She had become depressed by seeing
these disciples of the Prophet. Could the man who numbered such fools
among his followers do anything for the Emperor?
Even the Hebrew woman looked distressed, and she said very earnestly to
Faustina: “Mistress, delay not in your search for him whom you would
find! I fear some evil has befallen him, since his disciples are beside
themselves and can not bear to hear him spoken of.”
Faustina and her retinue finally rode through the gate archway and came
in on the narrow and dark streets, which were alive with people. It
seemed well-nigh impossible to get through the city. The riders time and
again had to stand still. Slaves and soldiers tried in vain to clear the
way. The people continued to rush on in a compact, irresistible stream.
“Verily,” said the old woman, “the streets of Rome are peaceful pleasure
gardens compared with these!”
Sulpicius soon saw that almost insurmountable difficulties awaited them.
“On these overcrowded streets it is easier to walk than to ride,” said
he. “If you are not too fatigued, I should advise you to walk to the
Governor’s palace. It is a good distance away, but if we ride we
certainly will not get there until after midnight.”
Faustina accepted the suggestion at once. She dismounted, and left her
horse with one of the slaves. Thereupon the Roman travelers began to
walk through the city.
This was much better. They pushed their way quickly toward the heart of
the city, and Sulpicius showed Faustina a rather wide street, which they
were nearing.
“Look, Faustina,” he said, “if we take this street, we will soon be
there. It leads directly down to our quarters.”
But just as they were about to turn into the street, the worst obstacle
met them.
It happened that the very moment when Faustina reached the street which
extended from the Governor’s palace to Righteousness’ Gate and Golgotha,
they brought through it a prisoner, who was to be taken out and
crucified. Before him ran a crowd of wild youths who wanted to witness
the execution. They raced up the street, waved their arms in rapture
towards the hill, and emitted unintelligible howls—in their delight at
being allowed to view something which they did not see every day.
Behind them came companies of men in silken robes, who appeared to
belong to the city’s élite and foremost. Then came women, many of whom
had tear-stained faces. A gathering of poor and maimed staggered
forward, uttering shrieks that pierced the ears.
“O God!” they cried, “save him! Send Thine angel and save him! Send a
deliverer in his direst need!”
Finally there came a few Roman soldiers on great horses. They kept guard
so that none of the people could dash up to the prisoner and try to
rescue him.
Directly behind them followed the executioners, whose task it was to
lead forward the man that was to be crucified. They had laid a heavy
wooden cross over his shoulder, but he was too weak for this burden. It
weighed him down so that his body was almost bent to the ground. He held
his head down so far that no one could see his face.
Faustina stood at the opening of the little bystreet and saw the doomed
man’s heavy tread. She noticed, with surprise, that he wore a purple
mantle, and that a crown of thorns was pressed down upon his head.
“Who is this man?” she asked.
One of the bystanders answered her: “It is one who wished to make
himself Emperor.”
“And must he suffer death for a thing which is scarcely worth striving
after?” said the old woman sadly.
The doomed man staggered under the cross. He dragged himself forward
more and more slowly. The executioners had tied a rope around his waist,
and they began to pull on it to hasten the speed. But as they pulled the
rope the man fell, and lay there with the cross over him.
There was a terrible uproar. The Roman soldiers had all they could do to
hold the crowds back. They drew their swords on a couple of women who
tried to rush forward to help the fallen man. The executioners attempted
to force him up with cuffs and lashes, but he could not move because of
the cross. Finally two of them took hold of the cross to remove it.
Then he raised his head, and old Faustina could see his face. The cheeks
were streaked by lashes from a whip, and from his brow, which was
wounded by the thorn-crown, trickled some drops of blood. His hair hung
in knotted tangles, clotted with sweat and blood. His jaw was firm set,
but his lips trembled, as if they struggled to suppress a cry. His eyes,
tear-filled and almost blinded from torture and fatigue, stared straight
ahead.
But back of this half-dead person’s face, the old woman saw—as in a
vision—a pale and beautiful One with glorious, majestic eyes and gentle
features, and she was seized with sudden grief—touched by the unknown
man’s misfortune and degradation.
“Oh, what have they done with you, you poor soul!” she burst out, and
moved a step nearer him, while her eyes filled with tears. She forgot
her own sorrow and anxiety for this tortured man’s distress. She thought
her heart would burst from pity. She, like the other women, wanted to
rush forward and tear him away from the executioners!
The fallen man saw how she came toward him, and he crept closer to her.
It was as though he had expected to find protection with her against all
those who persecuted and tortured him. He embraced her knees. He pressed
himself against her, like a child who clings close to his mother for
safety.
The old woman bent over him, and as the tears streamed down her cheeks,
she felt the most blissful joy because he had come and sought protection
with her. She placed one arm around his neck, and as a mother first of
all wipes away the tears from her child’s eyes, she laid her kerchief of
sheer fine linen over his face, to wipe away the tears and the blood.
But now the executioners were ready with the cross. They came now and
snatched away the prisoner. Impatient over the delay, they dragged him
off in wild haste. The condemned man uttered a groan when he was led
away from the refuge he had found, but he made no resistance.
Faustina embraced him to hold him back, and when her feeble old hands
were powerless and she saw him borne away, she felt as if some one had
torn from her her own child, and she cried: “No, no! Do not take him
from me! He must not die! He shall not die!”
She felt the most intense grief and indignation because he was being led
away. She wanted to rush after him. She wanted to fight with the
executioners and tear him from them.
But with the first step she took, she was seized with weakness and
dizziness. Sulpicius made haste to place his arm around her, to prevent
her from falling.
On one side of the street he saw a little shop, and carried her in.
There was neither bench nor chair inside, but the shopkeeper was a
kindly man. He helped her over to a rug, and arranged a bed for her on
the stone floor.
She was not unconscious, but such a great dizziness had seized her that
she could not sit up, but was forced to lie down.
“She has made a long journey to-day, and the noise and crush in the city
have been too much for her,” said Sulpicius to the merchant. “She is
very old, and no one is so strong as not to be conquered by age.”
“This is a trying day, even for one who is not old,” said the merchant.
“The air is almost too heavy to breathe. It would not surprise me if a
severe storm were in store for us.”
Sulpicius bent over the old woman. She had fallen asleep, and she slept
with calm, regular respirations after all the excitement and fatigue.
He walked over to the shop door, stood there, and looked at the crowds
while he awaited her waking.