“I longed to cry out and raise the crowd against them, that crowd which, though it laughed, loved me in its own coarse way and hated them. An iron hand with fingers strong as death clenched at my throat and strangled every sound. That cry would have altered the day. The crowd longed for excitement and it found none. It grew sulky, ready to follow the first leader who came forward on either side, for good or bad.
“I followed with the stream to Pilate’s house, and after that I remember nothing but one long, unnatural dream. I couldn’t understand a thing that happened; the crowd, which I thought would weep and fight for Him, was suddenly one great howling mass of laughter, ready for any jest or foolery that might present itself. And a crowd that laughs when a man is on trial for death is a fearful thing—it can be roused to any cruelty. Poor things! They were disappointed in Him. And those who hated Him, and wished to see Him dead, worked on this disappointment by laughter and derision.
Passage here omitted
“But I never saw His face in life after that first strained glance. I could not have raised my eyes to look upon His weakness and humiliation. I followed on to Calvary without seeing or hearing anything, and I kept out of sight as best I could. But when, in the darkest hour of desolation, He gave that terrible broken-hearted cry I struggled to my feet from my place behind the Cross and stretched out my arms toward it. Oh, God! Only those who have been utterly powerless know its sinking misery. I only fell back again, I was of no use. And after that what matter? Wherever I went, whatever I did, I saw that haggard face and heard those words, ‘Mary!’ It rang through the city in the deadest night, through my veins the whole day long, and then in accents grave and full of strongest meaning, ‘Touch me not. I am not yet ascended to my Father.’ In the garden, on the morning that they call the Resurrection, it came to me again. The sepulchre was empty. The dead body was stolen by the Jews; but from that world invisible I heard the song of angels wafting the words again to me, ‘Mary! Touch me not. I am not yet ascended to my Father.’ It is only a simple story this of mine, and it is short enough.
“One, too, that has been often told, so perhaps I may have wearied you with telling it again.”
“And afterwards?”
“Well, afterwards the days grew into one another like one continuous night. I think I was a coward, because I had no wish to live. When at last the sun of life was set and the dawn of Heaven broke I left earth with a happy and contented sigh to enter on the spiritual childhood. I had lived just long enough to learn to stand alone—for before His death I had always leant on Him. After that I was as happy as happy could be, and have been ever since.”
Then for some time there was silence, till at last I said,—