“I dreamt—the delirious dream—the burning ball, the shining will-o’-the-wisp, and it lasted with me—not quite through the week.
“Then the light went out, and it never properly lit again.
“It was a strange week, with a great shadow hanging on the air which no one noticed. The gay scenes and the excitement of the city attracted me, a wild longing to mingle once more with the crowd and laugh with it. I listened to the sermons in the Temple, and then went away alone and walked through the teeming streets. I heard some speaking in open admiration of Him, some in more whispered tones; others stood in dark groups, with scowling faces hidden by sinister smiles. I passed by these unheeding, for who ever yet with mind pre-occupied noticed word or look of utter strangers? At night I wandered away to the village to see our Master. When supper was over it was His custom to go forth alone. I think the hard life and the strain were beginning to tell on Him, though His face was more quiet and peaceful even than it used to be. And then something prompted me to tell Him all that was going on in the city. I was gay and light-hearted, trying to crush down something which I could not understand. He listened and was interested, and some instinct within me made me laugh and talk more gaily than ever before.
“So each night of that last week we walked and talked together, and the terrible blindness that hung on all was hanging over me. I knew that He was silent, but I put it down to the silence of fatigue, not gathering Death. And then on the Thursday I came again, and the time was short, but only at our parting did I recognize anything about to come. For then, as if by a sudden impulse, He took my hands and looked at me. Such a face I had never seen. It seemed as if in one swift lightning flash it was transformed from peace to agony. I had never seen such eyes, such look of utter ruin on a face, such haggard, drooping lines. Every feature was pinched with fearful pain—a child’s face—a man’s soul—the spirit of a God. They strove together in horrible working contrast, and that childish weakness which I had never seen before seemed to me most terrible of all. It seemed as if I saw through the strength to the utter weakness.
“And then every spark of feeling within me was drawn out to Him. I don’t know whether as a mother or a woman, since surely both are one. I felt as if I had it within me to take His weary, racking pain upon my shoulders, to ease Him of this hellish chain that never kills. And so, in what to some may seem a terrible presumption, I stretched out my arms to draw Him to me, for I was young and strong, with a power born of love. And then, with a cry in which weakness and pain, and tenderness, and love, were all intermingled, He spoke my name, ‘Mary,’ and came forward with arms outstretched to meet my own. And suddenly the weakness died from His face, and left only a purity and strength so deep that I felt that I had been unconsciously a tempter. And with a voice so kind and grave and clear that it seemed to convey a hidden meaning which I could not understand, He said, ‘Touch me not. I have not yet ascended to my Father.’
“Then I went home, but not to sleep. The veil was torn aside. I felt that something terrible was going to happen, and far on to midnight I tossed or walked about. They said afterwards that this had been the hour of His agony, that cruel fight of God with God, in which human soul is pierced and spirit torn in pain that may well bring sweat drops to the brow. They had not watched, heavy with sleep, whilst I within the city sat with eyes like burning coal staring at darkness. Then in the morning I heard that He was taken, that Judas had betrayed Him. I don’t think I ever understood the danger, except for one chill fear that came and went. He was so strong, so sure, so loved of all the people; but a week ago they had gone out to welcome Him, now they would rescue Him, their friend and teacher whom they loved. I felt somehow that this was going to be the climax, the great crisis that would begin and end the struggle that was to make Him king. And so with a beating heart and flying step I made to where the crowd was gathered outside the high priest’s house. There was a silence which I could not understand, one of those fatal, ominous silences that a spark can send crashing like a thunder-storm.
“When, later, He came out to go to Pilate I expected to hear the cheers and cry that still were ringing in my ears. But no sound came save the dull murmur of disappointment—at nothing, perhaps. I strained my eyes to catch a sight of His beloved face. It was the same with a difference—and with the sight of it my empty dream of kingdoms vanished like air. The agony of the garden made the difference; this was a dying animal brought to bay—a broken heart holding itself together with the firmness of heaven to stand the last sad onslaught.
“I saw the proud Pharisees and priests pass by in the procession.
“How I hated them!
“With a hate so black it poisoned all my blood.