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Pilate.
Foolishness! foolishness! Fye, you weary me.
You are so small, you women, cannot peep
Over the fence next to you; so self-willed,
You'll not trust other's eyes who see a world
Stretched out beyond it. "Dearest" says the man,
"I see some certain hills and valleys there;
I'll draw them in my picture of the world."
"Not so" the woman says, "there's nothing more
Than this green yard we stand in. Map it out
And that's the world." And so she'll make her roads
Run straight to little points within the hedge,
And never thinks there may be curves to take
To reach great points outside.
Procla.
And does that mean
A woman thinks a judge is to be just,
And a man thinks a judge is to resolve
What policy were spoiled if he were just?
Pilate.
It means a man, a ruler as I am,
Must look beyond the moment, must allay
Justice with prudence. Innocence is much
To save a man, but is not everything
Where a whole province is at stake for Rome.
How many lives think you had cost this life
Refused to these hot zealots? In one word
Sum up the answer - war. You tender soul
Who weep so for this one man dead, what tears,
What cataracts of tears would wear the sight
Out of your frightened eyes if I had been,
What by the Gods I longed to be, mere just,
Had, starving them of their sweet blood-draught, roused
The wild dog lurking in each several man
Of your dear Jews, these stubborn sullen Jews
Who are ready any moment to spring up
And flesh their teeth in Roman throats? Aye, think -
Bloody rebellion loosed; the ready cry
"Insult to Moses' law" howled through the land,
Maddening these tiger tribes; the Roman sway
Tottering and rent as by an earthquake's throes;
Our Romans hacked and maimed and trampled, snared
In ambushes and onslaughts in the dark.
And, then the vengeance! these your hero Jews,
Whose myths and hymns so take you, trodden out
Like reptiles underneath the heel; not one,
But hundreds, crucified; rapine and fire
And slaying everywhere. Then, bye and bye,
The province settled in an angry peace,
Half our Jews dead, the other half grown dumb
For utter fear, and Rome supreme again,
Cæsar bethinks him whence the mischief came:
"Our procurator - What! to save one man
Who preached, he thought, a fine philosophy
He put a slight upon the famous law
He was bidden touch so gingerly, and set
The land in that fierce uproar! Call him home
And let him answer it." You'd blame me then
In sadder fashion, Procla. Aye, I know
You women do it. Always 'tis a fault,
Never an evil fortune. A man dies,
You're wretched, but you tell him while he dies
It was his fault.
Next |
A Woman Sold
Bartimaeus
Judas
Pilate
The Walk To Emmaus
A Bride
A March Night
A Messenger
A Mother's Cry
A Wedding
Afterwards
Dead Amy
Deserted
Dreaming
Glad Waves
Going
How The Brook Sings
If
In The Storm
In The Sunshine
Looking Downstairs
Mary Lost
Never Again
Night Whispers
On The Lake
On The Shore
Our Lily
Passing Away
Perjured
Safe
Shadow
Sunlight
The Blush Rose
The Gift
The Heiress' Wooer
The Hidden Wound
The Lake
The Land Of Happy Dreams
The Old Year Out
The Red Star On The Hill
The River
The Setting Star
The Shadow Of A Cloud
To And Fro
To One Of Many
Too faithful
Two Maidens |
