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