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MIRACLE! A MIRACLE! they cried; and truly it was no miracle--it was
only me Ahasuerus, the wanderer taking thought concerning his crime
against the crucified. Then came a great light all about me, such
light for shining as I had never before beheld, and indeed I saw it
not all with my eyes, but the greater part with my soul, which
surely is the light of the eyes themselves. And I said to myself,
Doubtless the Lord is at hand, and he cometh to me as late to the
blessed Saul of Tarsus, who was NOT the chief of sinners, but
I--Ahasuerus, the accursed. And the thunder burst like the bursting
of a world in the furnace of the sun; and whether it was that the
lightning struck me, or that I dropped, as was my custom, outwearied
from the cross, I know not, but thereafter I lay at its foot among
the pinnacles, and when the people looked again, the miracle was
over, and they returned to their houses and slept. And the next day,
when I sought the comfort of the bath, I found upon my side the
figure of a cross, and the form of a man hanging thereupon as I had
hung, depainted in a dark colour as of lead plain upon the flesh of
my side over my heart. Here was a miracle indeed! but verily I knew
not whether therefrom to gather comfort or despair.
"'And it was night as I went into a village among the mountains,
through the desert places of which I had all that day been
wandering. And never before had my condition seemed to me so
hopeless. There was not one left upon the earth who had ever seen me
knowing me, and although there went a tale of such a man as I, yet
faith had so far vanished from the earth that for a thing to be
marvellous, however just, was sufficient reason wherefore no man, to
be counted wise, should believe the same. For the last fifty years I
had found not one that would receive my testimony. For when I told
them the truth concerning myself, saying as I now say, and knowing
the thing for true--that I was Ahasuerus whom the Word had banished
from his home in the regions governed of Death, shutting against him
the door of the tomb that he should not go in, every man said I was
mad, and would hold with me no manner of communication, more than if
I had been possessed with a legion of swine-loving demons. Therefore
was I cold at heart, and lonely to the very root of my being. And
thus it was with me that midnight as I entered the village among the
mountains.--Now all therein slept, so even that not a dog barked at
the sound of my footsteps. But suddenly, and my soul yet quivers
with dismay at the remembrance, a yell of horror tore its way from
the throat of every sleeper at once, and shot into every cranny of
the many-folded mountains, that my soul knocked shaking against the
sides of my body, and I also shrieked aloud with the keen terror of
the cry. For surely there was no sleeper there, man, woman, or
child, who yelled not aloud in an agony of fear. And I knew that it
could only be because of the unseen presence in their street of the
outcast, the homeless, the loveless, the wanderer for ever, who had
refused a stone to his maker whereon to rest his cross. Truly I know
not whence else could have come that cry. And I looked to see that
all the inhabitants of the village should rush out upon me, and go
for to slay the unslayable in their agony. But the cry passed, and
after the cry came again the stillness. And for very dread lest yet
another such cry should enter my ears, and turn my heart to a jelly,
I did hasten my steps to leave the dwellings of the children of the
world, and pass out upon the pathless hills again. But as I turned
and would have departed, the door of a house opened over against
where I stood; and as it opened, lo! a sharp gust of wind from the
mountains swept along the street, and out into the wind came running
a girl, clothed only in the garment of the night. And the wind blew
upon her, and by the light of the moon I saw that her hands and her
feet were rough and brown, as of one that knew labour and hardship,
but yet her body was dainty and fair, and moulded in loveliness. Her
hair blew around her like a rain cloud, so that it almost blinded
her, and truly she had much ado to clear it from her face, as a
half-drowned man would clear from his face the waters whence he
hath been lifted; and like two stars of light from amidst the cloud
gazed forth the eyes of the girl. And she looked upon me with the
courage of a child, and she said unto me, Stranger, knowest thou
wherefore was that cry? Was it thou who did so cry in our street in
the night? And I answered her and said, Verily not I, maiden, but I
too heard the cry, and it shook my soul within me.--What seemed it
unto thee like, she asked, for truly I slept, and know only the
terror thereof and not the sound? And I said, It seemed unto me that
every soul in the village cried out at once in some dream of
horror.--I cried not out, she said; for I slept and dreamed, and my
dream was such that I know verily I cried not out. And the maiden
was lovely in her innocence. And I said: And was thy dream such,
maiden, that thou wouldst not refuse but wouldst tell it to an old
man like me? And with that the wind came down from the mountain like
a torrent of wolves, and it laid hold upon me and swept me from the
village, and I fled before it, and could not stay my steps until I
got me into the covert of a hollow rock.
"'And scarce had I turned in thither when, lo! thither came the maiden
also, flying in my footsteps, and driven of the self-same mighty
wind. And I turned in pity and said, Fear not, my child. Here is but
an old man with a sore and withered heart, and he will not harm
thee.--I fear thee not, she answered, else would I not have
followed thee.--Thou didst not follow me of thine own inclining, I
said, but the wind that came from the mountains and swept me before
it, did bear thee after me.--Truly I know of no wind, she said, but
the wind of my own following of thee. Wherefore didst thou flee from
me?--Nay! but wherefore didst thou follow me, maiden?--That I might
tell thee my dream to the which thou didst desire to hearken. For,
lo! as I slept I dreamed that a man came unto me and said, Behold, I
am the unresting and undying one, and my burden is greater than I
can bear, for Death who befriendeth all is my enemy, and will not
look upon me in peace. And with that came the cry, and I awoke, and
ran out to see whence came the cry, and found thee alone in the
street. And as God liveth, such as was the man in my dream, such art
thou in my waking sight.--Not the less must I ask thee again, I
said, wherefore didst thou follow me?--That I may comfort thee, she
answered.--And how thinkest thou to comfort one whom God hath
forsaken?--That cannot be, she said, seeing that in a vision of the
night he sent thee unto me, and so now hath sent me unto thee.
Therefore will I go with thee, and minister unto thee.--Bethink thee
well what thou doest, I said; and before thou art fully resolved,
sit thee down by me in this cave, that I may tell thee my tale. And
straightway she sat down, and I told her all. And ere I had finished
the sun had risen.--Then art thou now alone, said the maiden, and
hast no one to love thee?--No one, I answered, man, woman, or
child.--Then will I go with thee, for I know neither father nor
mother, and no one hath power over me, for I keep goats on the
mountains for wages, and if thou wilt but give me bread to eat I
will serve thee. And a great love arose in my heart to the maiden.
And I left her in the cave, and went to the nearest city, and
returned thence with garments and victuals. And I loved the maiden
greatly. And although my age was then marvellous being over and
above a thousand and seven hundred years, yet found she my person
neither pitiful nor uncomely, for I was still in body even such as
when the Lord Jesus spake the word of my doom. And the damsel loved
me, and was mine. And she was as the apple of mine eye. And the
world was no more unto me as a desert, but it blossomed as the rose
of Sharon. And although I knew every city upon it, and every highway
and navigable sea, yet did all become to me fresh and new because of
the joy which the damsel had in beholding its kingdoms and the
glories thereof.
"'And it came to pass that my heart grew proud within me, and I said
to myself that I was all-superior to other men, for Death could not
touch me; that I was a marvel upon the face of the world; and in
this yet more above all men that had ever lived, that at such an age
as mine I could yet gain the love, yea, the absolute devotion, of
such an one as my wife, who never wearied of my company and
conversation. So I took to me even the free grace of love as my
merit unto pride, and laid it not to the great gift of God and the
tenderness of the heart of my beloved. Like Satan in Heaven I was
uplifted in the strength and worthiness and honour of my demon-self,
and my pride went not forth in thanks, for I gloried not in my God,
but in Ahasuerus. Then the thought smote me like an arrow of
lightning: She will die, and thou shalt live--live--live--and as he
hath delayed, so will he yet delay his coming. And as Satan from the
seventh heaven, I fell prone.
"'Then my spirit began again to revive within me, and I said, Lo! I
have yet many years of her love ere she dieth, and when she is gone,
I shall yet have the memory of my beloved to be with me, and cheer
me, and bear me up, for I may never again despise that which she
hath loved as she hath loved me. And yet again a thought smote me,
and it was as an arrow of the lightning, and its barb was the truth:
But she will grow old, it said, and will wither before thy face, and
be as the waning moon in the heavens. And my heart cried out in an
agony. But my will sought to comfort my heart, and said, Cry not
out, for, in spite of old age as in spite of death, I will love her
still. Then something began to writhe within me, and to hiss out
words that gathered themselves unto this purpose: But she will grow
unlovely, and wrinkled, and dark of hue, and the shape of her body
will vanish, and her form be unformed, and her eyes will grow small
and dim, and creep back into her head, and her hair will fall from
her, and she shall be as the unsightly figure of Death with a skin
drawn over his unseemly bones; and the damsel of thy love, with the
round limbs and the flying hair, and the clear eyes out of which
looketh a soul clear as they, will be nowhere--nowhere, for
evermore, for thou wilt not be able to believe that she it is who
standeth before thee: how will it be with thee then? And what mercy
is his who hath sent thee a growing loss in the company of this
woman? Thereupon I rose in the strength of my agony and went forth.
And I said nothing unto my wife, but strode to the foot of the great
mountain, whose entrails were all aglow, and on whose sides grew the
palm and the tree-bread and the nut of milk. And I climbed the
mountain, nor once looked behind me, but climbed to the top. And
there for one moment I stood in the stock-dullness of despair. And
beneath me was the great fiery gulf, outstretched like a red lake
skinned over with black ice, through the cracks wherein shone the
blinding fire. Every moment here and there a great liquid bubbling
would break through the crust, and make a wallowing heap upon the
flat, then sink again, leaving an open red well-pool of fire whence
the rays shot up like flame, although flame there was none. It lay
like the back of some huge animal upheaved out of hell, which was
wounded and bled fire.--Now, in the last year of my long sojourn,
life had again, because of the woman that loved me, become precious
unto me, and more than once had I laughed as I caught myself
starting back from some danger in a crowded street, for the thing
was new to me, so utterly had the care of my life fallen into disuse
with me. But now again in my misery I thought no more of danger, but
went stalking and sliding down the sindery slope of the huge
fire-cup, and out upon the lake of molten earth--molten as when
first it shot from the womb of the sun, of whose ardour, through all
the millions of years, it had not yet cooled. And as once St. Peter
on the stormy water to find the Lord of Life, so walked I on the
still lake of fire, caring neither for life nor death. For my heart
was withered to the roots by the thought of the decay of her whom I
had loved; for would not then her very presence every hour be
causing me to forget the beauty that had once made me glad?--I had
walked some ten furlongs, and passed the middle of the lake, when
suddenly I bethought me that she would marvel whither I had gone,
and set out to seek me, and something might befall her, and I should
lose my rose ere its leaves had begun to drop. And I turned and
strode again in haste across the floor of black heat, broken and
seamed with red light. And lo! as I neared the midst of the lake, a
form came towards me, walking in the very footsteps I had left
behind me, nor had I to look again to know the gracious motion of my
beloved. And the black ice broke at her foot, and the fire shone up
on her face, and it was lovely as an angel of God, and the glow of
her love outshone the glow of the nether fire. And I called not to
stay her foot, for I judged that the sooner she was with me, the
sooner would she be in safety, for I knew how to walk thereon better
than she. And my heart sang a song within me in praise of the love
of woman, but I thought only of the love of my woman to me, whom the
fires of hell could not hold back from him who was worthy of her
love; and my heart sent the song up to my lips; but, as the first
word arose, sure itself a red bubble from the pit of glowing hell,
the black crust burst up between us, and a great hillock of
seething, slow-spouting, slow-falling, mad red fire arose. For a
moment or two the molten mound bubbled and wallowed, then sank--and
I saw not my wife. Headlong I plunged into the fiery pool at my
feet, and the clinging torture hurt me not, and I caught her in my
arms, and rose to the surface, and crept forth, and shook the fire
from mine eyes, and lo! I held to my bosom but as the fragment of a
cinder of the furnace. And I laughed aloud in my madness, and the
devils below heard me, and laughed yet again. O Age! O Decay! I
cried, see how I triumph over thee: what canst thou do to this? And
I flung the cinder from me into the pool, and plunged again into the
grinning fire. But it cast me out seven times, and the seventh time
I turned from it, and rushed out of the valley of burning, and threw
myself on the mountain-side in the moonlight, and awoke mad.
"'And what I had then said in despair, I said yet again in
thankfulness. O Age! O Decay! I cried, what canst thou now do to
destroy the image of her which I bear nested in my heart of hearts?
That at least is safe, I thank God. And from that hour I never more
believed that I should die when at length my body dropped from me.
If the thought came, it came as a fear, and not as a thing
concerning which a man may say I would or I would not. For a mighty
hope had arisen within me that yet I should stand forgiven in the
eyes of him that was crucified, and that in token of his forgiveness
he would grant me to look again, but in peace, upon the face of her
that had loved me. O mighty Love, who can tell to what heights of
perfection thou mayest yet rise in the bosom of the meanest who
followeth the Crucified!'"
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