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The storms have doubled over the tin plate for the inscription INRI, and the rains have effaced the letters. At the foot of the cross, as on the real Golgotha, is a confused heap of skulls and bones which the indifferent grave-digger has thrown from the graves he digs, and there they will probably await, not the resurrection of the dead, but the coming of the animals to defile them.
The crowd began to move, uncertainly at first, then with more animation and noise. "What has happened?" asked a bystander. "My friend, what has happened now has thrown the world off its balance. I do not know what it is, but it has thrown the world off its balance. If it is not the end of the world, then it must be its beginning." "Inri! Inri!" shouted the voice of a shuddering lunatic.
"If I only knew what is written on the tablet." "Over His head? My sight seems to have gone." "Inri!" exclaimed somebody, "Inri! Somebody calls out 'Inri." "Those are the letters on the tablet." "But the man's name's not Inri." "Something quite different, my friend. That is Pilate's joke. Jesus Nazarenus Rex Judaeorum." "Don't talk to me in that accursed Latin tongue."
Talking one day in the cabinet of the King, and admiring in the tone of a connoisseur some fine paintings of the Crucifixion by the first masters, he remarked that they were all by one hand. He was laughed at, and the different painters were named, as recognized by their style. "Not at all," said the Marquis, "the painter is called INRI; do you not see his name upon all the pictures?"
Talking one day in the cabinet of the King, and admiring in the tone of a connoisseur some fine paintings of the Crucifixion by the first masters, he remarked that they were all by one hand. He was laughed at, and the different painters were named, as recognized by their style. "Not at all," said the Marquis, "the painter is called INRI; do you not see his name upon all the pictures?"
Talking one day in the cabinet of the King, and admiring in the tone of a connoisseur some fine paintings of the Crucifixion by the first masters, he remarked that they were all by one hand. He was laughed at, and the different painters were named, as recognized by their style. "Not at all," said the Marquis, "the painter is called INRI; do you not see his name upon all the pictures?"
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