A Roman Lawyer in Jerusalem | Page 5

God! And yet you live--you live. He spared you, then. Where am I? what has happened? A black cloud Came o'er me when you laid your hands on him. Where are they all? Where is he? Lysias, speak?'
"'Judas,' I said, 'what folly is all this? Christus my men have bound and borne away! The rest have fled. Rouse now and come with me; My men await me, rouse yourself and come!'
"Throwing his arms up, in a fit he fell, With a loud shriek that pierced the silent night. I could not stay, but, calling instant aid, We bore him quick to the adjacent house. And placing him in kindly charge, I left, Joining my men who stayed for me below.
"Straight to the high priest's house we hurried on, And Christus in an inner room we placed, Set at his door a guard, and then came out. After a time there crept into the hall Where round the blazing coals we sat, a man, Who in the corner crouched. 'What man are you?' Cried some one; and I turning, looked at him. 'Twas Peter. ''Tis a fellow of that band That followed Christus, and believed in him.' ''Tis false!' cried Peter; and he cursed and swore. 'I know him not--I never saw the man.' But I said nothing. Soon he went away.
"That night I saw not Judas. The next day, Ghastly, clay-white, a shadow of a man, With robes all soiled and torn, and tangled beard, Into the chamber where the council sat Came feebly staggering: scarce should I have known 'Twas Judas, with that haggard, blasted face: So had that night's great horror altered him. As one all blindly walking in a dream He to the table came--against it leaned-- Glared wildly round a while; then, stretching forth, from his torn robes, a trembling hand, flung down, As if a snake had stung him, a small purse, That broke and scattered its white coins about, And, with a shrill voice, cried, 'Take back the purse 'Twas not for that foul dross I did the deed-- 'Twas not for that--oh, horror! not for that! But that I did believe he was the Lord; And that he is the Lord I still believe. But oh, the sin!--the sin! I have betrayed The innocent blood, and I am lost!--am lost!' So crying, round his face his robes he threw, And blindly rushed away; and we, aghast, Looked round--and no one for a moment spoke.
"Seeing that face, I could but fear the end; For death was in it, looking through his eyes. Nor could I follow to arrest the fate That drove him madly on with scorpion whip.
"At last the duty of the day was done, And night came on. Forth from the gates I went, Anxious and pained by many a dubious thought, To seek for Judas, and to comfort him. The sky was dark with heavy lowering clouds; A lifeless, stifling air weighed on the world; A dreadful silence like a nightmare lay Crouched on its bosom, waiting, grim and grey. In horrible suspense of some dread thing. A creeping sense of death, a sickening smell, Infected the dull breathing of the wind. A thrill of ghosts went by me now and then, And made my flesh creep as I wandered on. At last I came to where a cedar stretched Its black arms out beneath a dusky rock, And, passing through its shadow, all at once I started; for against the dubious light A dark and heavy mass that to and fro Slung slowly with its weight, before me grew. A sick dread sense came over me; I stopped-- I could not stir. A cold and clammy sweat Oozed out all over me; and all my limbs, Bending with tremulous weakness like a child's, Gave way beneath me. Then a sense of shame Aroused me. I advanced, stretched forth my hand And pushed the shapeless mass; and at my touch It yielding swung--the branch above it creaked-- And back returning struck against my face. A human body! Was it dead or not? Swiftly my sword I drew and cut it down, And on the sand all heavily it dropped. I plucked the robes away, exposed the face-- 'Twas Judas, as I feared, cold, stiff, and dead; That suffering heart of his had ceased to beat."
Thus Lysias spoke, and ended. I confess This story of poor Judas touched me much. What horrible revulsions must have passed Across that spirit in those few last hours! What storms, that tore up life even to its roots! Say what you will--grant all the guilt--and still What pangs of dread remorse--what agonies Of desperate repentance, all too late, In that wild interval between the crime And its last sad atonement!--life, the while, Laden with horror all