work evidently to clothe her characters in the real human, that which is changeless and unchangeable as cycles in the world's eye; and to show that the mind of man in its essentials does not change, and that its perfection is gained only by the spiritual side of things, overcapping the material and the so-called animal. That God intends men and women to attain this superiority over matter is one of the æsthetic treasures of Marie Corelli's literature, generally not particularly well received, still less understood, but haply none the less welcome, as it is a conception of its own peculiar originality by no means local. The fictional character of Caiaphas in all his sycophancy and sacerdotal arrogancy occupies a measure of the romance, furnishing a tone of treachery throughout.
"Once dead," whispered Caiaphas, with a contemptuous
side-glance at the fair-faced enemy of
his craft, the silent "Witness unto the Truth,"—"and,
moreover, slain with dishonor in the public
sight, he will soon sink out of remembrance. His
few disciples will be despised,—his fanatical foolish
doctrine will be sneered down, and we,—we will
take heed that no chronicle of his birth or death or
teaching remains to be included in our annals. A
stray street preacher to the common folk!—how
should his name endure?"
Naturally the description of the Magdalen is full
of extraordinary beauty. It is the beauty of a
