The captain ordered Simeon to move away. Two executioners laid hands on Jesus in order to strip away His garments. He threw one swift glance to Heaven, then closed His eyes, and calmly let them proceed. The guards seized His gown, fought for it, and because they could not agree who had won it they diced for it. Then they accused each other of cheating, and fought afresh. Up came Schobal, the dealer in old clothes, and pointed out with a grin that it was not worth while to crack their skulls over a poor wretch's old coat. The gown was torn and bloody; it was not worth a penny; but in order to end a dispute between his brave countrymen he would offer fourpence, which they could divide in peace among them. The coat was delivered over to Schobal. He went up and down in the crowd with the garment. It was the coat of the Prophet who was being executed! Who wanted a souvenir of that day? He would sell the coat for the half of its value; it might be bought for twelve pence!
A man brought long iron nails in a basket. The Nazarene was not to be tied, but nailed, because He had once said that He should descend from the cross. When they noticed that Jesus was nearly swooning, they offered Him a refreshing drink of vinegar and myrrh. He refused it with thanks, and when He began to sink down the executioners caught Him and laid Him on the cross.
Suddenly the crowd drew back. Many did not want to see what was going on. They were dumb. They had never dreamed of this. The gentleness with which He bore all the torture, the scorn, the death before His eyes, this heroic calm weighed like a mountain on their hard hearts. Those who had formerly despised Him now wanted to hate Him, but they could not. They were powerless before this overwhelming gentleness. What a sound! That of a hammer beating on iron! "How the blood spurts!" whispered someone. Two hammers hit the nails, and at each blow heaven and earth trembled. The crowd held its breath, and not a sound was heard from the town. Nothing but the ringing of the hammer. Then suddenly a heartrending cry was heard in the crowd. It came from a strange woman who had pushed through it and sank to the ground. The mass of people drew away more and more, no one would stand in front, yet each stretched his neck so as to see over the others' heads. They saw the stake lifted up and then sink again. The captain's orders could be heard plainly and clearly. Then the cross stood up straight. At first the long stake was seen above their heads, bearing a white placard. Then the cross-beams appeared on which trembling human arms were seen, then the head moving in agonising pain. Thus did the cross with the naked human body rise in the air. Slowly it rose, supported by poles, and as soon as it stood straight the foot of the cross was set so roughly in its hole that the body shook with a dull groan. The wounds made by the nails in the hands and feet were torn open, the blood ran in dark streams over the white body, down the stake, and dropped on the ground. And from the lips of Him on the cross this loud cry was heard, "O, Father, forgive them, forgive them! For they know not what they do."
A strange murmur arose in the crowd, and those who had not understood the cry asked their neighbours to repeat it. "He asks pardon for His enemies? For His enemies? He is praying for His enemies?"
"Then—then He cannot be human!"
"He forgives those who despised, slandered, scorned, beat, crucified Him? When dying He thinks of His enemies and pardons them? Then it is as He said, He is indeed the Christ! I always thought He was the Christ. I said so only last Sabbath!" The voices grew louder. Schobal, the old clothes dealer, pushed about in the crowd and offered the Messiah's coat for twenty pence.
"If He is the Messiah," shouted a Rabbi hoarsely, "let Him free Himself. He who wants to help others and cannot help Himself is a poor sort of Messiah."
"Now, Master," exclaimed a Pharisee, "if you would rebuild the shattered Temple, now's the time. Come down from the cross, and we'll believe in you." The man on the cross looked at the two mockers in deep sadness, and they became silent. Suddenly a passage in the Scriptures flashed into their minds: "He was wounded for our transgressions!"
When they had all drawn back from the cross, and the executioners were preparing to raise up the two desert robbers, the woman who had swooned, supported by the disciple John, tottered up to the tall cross and put her arms round its trunk so that the blood ran down upon her. So infinite was her pain that it seemed as if seven swords had pierced her heart. Jesus looked down, and how muffled was the voice in which He said: "John, take care of My mother! Mother, here is John, your son!"
A murmur arose in the crowd: "His mother? Is that His mother? Oh, poor things! And the handsome young man His brother? The poor creatures! Look how He turns to them as if He would comfort them."