Part 2
SENTRY. Stand aside.
CH. CIT. Send word to him; I cannot be denied. I have to see him; it concerns the State Urgently, too, I tell you.
SENTRY. It can wait.
CH. CIT. It may mean bloodshed.
SENTRY. Bloodshed is my trade. A sentry's orders have to be obeyed The same as God's, that you were talking of.
CH. CIT. I tell you, I must see him.
SENTRY. That's enough. You cannot now.
MADMAN. The soldier's words are true.
CH. CIT. Could you send word?
SENTRY. Sir, I have answered you.
CH. CIT. Those words that Pilate wrote, the Hebrew screed, May cause a riot.
MADMAN. Yes?
CH. CIT. And death.
SENTRY. Indeed. You got the poor man's life, what would you more?
CH. CIT. Means to see Pilate.
SENTRY. As I said before, You cannot. Stand away. A man like you Ought to know better than to lead a crew To yell for a man's blood. God stop my breath, What does a man like you with blood and death? Go to.
CH. CIT. You will not send?
SENTRY. I will not send.
CH. CIT. [_going_]. You shall regret this.
SENTRY. Right. Goodbye, my friend.
CH. CIT. Means will be found.
[_Exit._
SENTRY. These priests, these preaching folk.
[_Pause. Sings._]
"Upon a summer morning, I bade my love goodbye, In the old green glen so far away, To go to be a soldier on biscuits made of rye." It is darker than it was.
MADMAN. It is falling dark.
SENTRY. It feels like earthquake weather. Listen.
MADMAN. Hark.
SENTRY. It sounded like a shock inside the walls.
MADMAN. God celebrates the madman's funerals.
SENTRY. The shouts came from the Temple.
MADMAN. Yes, they sing Glory to God there, having killed their King.
SENTRY. You knew that man they are hanging?
MADMAN. Yes. Did you?
SENTRY. Not till I saw him scourged. Was he a Jew?
MADMAN. No. Wisdom comes from God, and he was wise. I have touched wisdom since they took my eyes.
SENTRY. So you were blinded? Why?
MADMAN. Thinking aloud, One Passover.
SENTRY. How so?
MADMAN. I told the crowd That only a bloody God would care for blood. The crowd kill kids and smear the lintel wood, To honor God, who lives in the pure stars.
SENTRY. You must have suffered; they are angry scars.
MADMAN. There is no scar inside.
SENTRY. That may be so; Still, it was mad; men do not wish to know The truth about their customs, nor aught else.
[_Cries off._]
MADMAN. They have nailed the teacher Jesus by those yells.
SENTRY. It is darker. There'll be earthquake before night. What sort of man was he?
MADMAN. He knew the right And followed her, a stony road, to this.
SENTRY. I find sufficient trouble in what is Without my seeking what is right or wrong.
MADMAN. All have to seek her, and the search is long.
SENTRY. Maybe.
MADMAN. And hard.
SENTRY. Maybe.
[_Pause. Sings._]
"I mean to be a captain before I do return, Though the winters they may freeze and the summers they may burn, I mean to be a captain and command a hundred men And the women who..." [_A bugle call off._] There is recall.
_The doors are opened and the_ SENTRY _goes._
MADMAN. The wild-duck, stringing through the sky, Are south away. Their green necks glitter as they fly, The lake is gray, So still, so lone, the fowler never heeds. The wind goes rustle, rustle, through the reeds.
* * * * * *
There they find peace to have their own wild souls. In that still lake, Only the moonrise or the wind controls The way they take, Through the gray reeds, the cocking moorhen's lair, Rippling the pool, or over leagues of air.
* * * * * *
Not thus, not thus are the wild souls of men. No peace for those Who step beyond the blindness of the pen To where the skies unclose. For them the spitting mob, the cross, the crown of thorns, The bull gone mad, the saviour on his horns.
* * * * * *
Beauty and Peace have made No peace, no still retreat, No solace, none. Only the unafraid Before life's roaring street Touch Beauty's feet, Know Truth, do as God bade, Become God's son. [_Pause._]
Darkness come down, cover a brave man's pain. Let the bright soul go back to God again. Cover that tortured flesh, it only serves To hold that thing which other power nerves. Darkness, come down, let it be midnight here, In the dark night the untroubled soul sings clear.
[_It darkens._]
I have been scourged, blinded and crucified, My blood burns on the stones of every street In every town; wherever people meet I have been hounded down, in anguish died.
[_It darkens._]
The creaking door of flesh rolls slowly back. Nerve by red nerve the links of living crack, Loosing the soul to tread another track.
Beyond the pain, beyond the broken clay, A glimmering country lies Where life is being wise, All of the beauty seen by truthful eyes Are lilies there, growing beside the way. Those golden ones will loose the torted hands, Smooth the scarred brow, gather the breaking soul, Whose earthly moments drop like falling sands To leave the spirit whole. Now darkness is upon the face of the earth.
[_He goes._
[PILATE _entering, as the darkness reddens to a glare._]
PILATE. This monstrous day is in the pangs of birth. There was a shock. I wish the troops were back From Golgotha. The heavens are more black Than in the great shock in my first year's rule. Please God these zealot pilgrims will keep cool Nor think this done by God for any cause. The lightning jags the heaven in bloody scraws Like chronicles of judgment. Now it breaks. Now rain.
PROCULA [_entering_]. O Pilate.
PILATE. What?
PROCULA. For all our sakes Speak. Where is Jesus?
PILATE. He is crucified.
PROCULA. Crucified?
PILATE. Put to death. My wife, I tried To save him, but such men cannot be saved. Truth to himself till death was all he craved. He has his will.
PROCULA. So what they said is true. O God, my God. But when I spoke to you You said that you had warned him.
PILATE. That is so. Another charge was brought some hours ago, That he was claiming to be that great King Foretold by prophets, who shall free the Jews. This he persisted in. I could not choose But end a zealot claiming such a thing.
PROCULA. He was no zealot.
PILATE. Yes, on this one point. Had he recanted, well. But he was firm. So he was cast.
PROCULA. The gouts of gore anoint That temple to the service of the worm. It is a desecration of our power. A rude poor man who pitted his pure sense Against what holds the world its little hour, Blind force and fraud, priests' mummery and pretence, Could you not see that this is what he did?
PILATE. Most clearly, wife. But Roman laws forbid That I should weigh, like God, the worth of souls. I act for Rome, and Rome is better rid Of these rare spirits whom no law controls. He broke a statute, knowing from the first Whither his act would lead, he was not blind.
PROCULA. No, friend, he followed hungry and athirst The lonely exaltation of his mind. So Rome, our mother, profits by his death, You think so?
PILATE. Ay.
PROCULA. We draw securer breath, We Romans, from his gasping on the cross?
PILATE. Some few will be the calmer for his loss. Many, perhaps; he made a dangerous claim. Even had I spared it would have been the same A year, or two, from now. Forget him, friend.
PROCULA. I have no part nor parcel in his end. Rather than have it thought I buy my ease, My body's safety, honor, dignities, Life and the rest at such a price of pain There [_she stabs her arm with her dagger_] is my blood, to wash away the stain. There. There once more. It fetched too dear a price. O God, receive that soul in paradise.
PILATE. What have you done?
PBOCULA. No matter; it atones. His blood will clamor from the city stones.
PILATE. Go in. No, let me bind it.
PROCULA. Someone comes. A councillor, I think. Ask what he wants.
_Enter_ JOSEPH.
JOSEPH. Greetings, Lord Pilate.
PILATE. And to you.
JOSEPH [_to_ PROCULA]. And you. [_to_ PILATE]. I have a boon to ask.
PROCULA. What can we do?
JOSEPH. Lord Pilate, may I speak?
PILATE [_to_ PROCULA]. Go in. [_She goes in._] Go on [_to_ JOSEPH].
JOSEPH. The man called Christ, the follower of John, Was crucified to-day by your decree. [PILATE _bows._] He was my master, very dear to me. I will not speak of that. I only crave Leave to prepare his body for the grave, And then to bury him. May I have leave?
PILATE. Yes, you may have him when the guards give leave. Wait. In a case like this, men may believe That the dead master is not really dead. This preaching man, this King, has been the head Of men who may be good and mean no harm, Whose tenets, none the less, have caused alarm First to the priests, and through the priests to me. I wish this preacher's followers to see That teaching of the kind is to be curbed. I mean, established truths may be disturbed, But not the Jews, nor Rome. You understand?
JOSEPH. I follow; yes.
PILATE. A riot might be fanned, Such things have been, over the martyr's grave.
JOSEPH. His broken corpse is all his followers crave.
PILATE. Why, very well then.
JOSEPH. Will you give your seal?
PILATE. My seal? What for?
JOSEPH. That I may show the guard And have the body.
PILATE. Gladly; but I feel... Not yet; not until dark.
JOSEPH. It will be hard To bury him to-night ... the feast begins.
PILATE. I know, but still, when men are crucified...
JOSEPH. There is no hope of that. The man has died.
PILATE. Died? Dead already?
JOSEPH. Yes.
PILATE. 'Tis passing soon.
JOSEPH. God broke that bright soul's body as a boon. He died at the ninth hour.
PILATE. Are you sure?
JOSEPH. I saw him, Lord.
PILATE. I thought he would endure Longer than that; he had a constant mind.
JOSEPH. The great soul burns the body to a rind.
PILATE. But dead, already; strange. [_Calling._] You in the court, Send me Longinus here with his report.
A VOICE. I will, my lord.
PILATE. This teacher was your friend?
JOSEPH. Was, is, and will be, till the great world end; Which God grant may be soon.
PILATE. I disagree With teachers of new truth. For men like me There is but one religion, which is Rome. No easy one to practise, far from home. You come from Ramah?
JOSEPH. Yes.
PILATE. What chance is there Of olives being good?
JOSEPH. They should be fair.
PILATE. You will not use Italian presses? No?
JOSEPH. Man likes his own, my lord, however slow; What the land made, we say, it ought to use.
PILATE. Your presses waste; oil is too good to lose. But I shall not persuade.
SERVANT. Longinus, Lord.
PILATE. Make your report, centurion. Where's your sword? What makes you come thus jangled? Are you ill?
LONGINUS. There was a shock of earthquake up the hill. I have been shaken. I had meant to come Before; but I was whirled ... was stricken dumb. I left my sword within....
PILATE. Leave it. Attend. Is the man, Jesus, dead? This is his friend Who wants to bury him, he says he is.
LONGINUS. Jesus is out of all his miseries. Yes, he is dead, my lord.
PILATE. Already?
LONGINUS. Yes. The men who suffer most endure the less. He died without our help.
JOSEPH. Then may I have His body, Lord, to lay it in the grave?
PILATE. A sentry's there?
LONGINUS. Yes, Lord.
PILATE. Have you a scroll? [_Takes paper._] Right. Now some wax. [_Writes._] Give into his control The body of the teacher; see it laid Inside the tomb and see the doorway made Secure with stones and sealed, then bring me word. This privilege of burial is conferred On the conditions I have named to you. See you observe them strictly.
JOSEPH. I will do All that himself would ask to show my sense Of this last kindness. I shall go from hence Soon, perhaps far; I give you thanks, my lord. Now the last joy the niggard fates afford; One little service more, and then an end Of that divineness touched at through our friend.
[_Exit._
PILATE. See that the tomb is sealed by dark to-night. Where were you hurt, Longinus? You are white. What happened at the cross?
LONGINUS. We nailed him there Aloft, between the thieves, in the bright air. The rabble and the readers mocked with oaths, The hangman's squad were dicing for his clothes. The two thieves jeered at him. Then it grew dark, Till the noon sun was dwindled to a spark, And one by one the mocking mouths fell still. We were alone on the accursed hill And we were still, not even the dice clicked, Only the heavy blood-gouts dropped and ticked On to the stone; the hill is all bald stone. And now and then the hangers gave a groan. Up in the dark, three shapes with arms outspread. The blood-drops spat to show how slow they bled. They rose up black against the ghastly sky, God, Lord, it is a slow way to make die A man, a strong man, who can beget men. Then there would come another groan, and then One of those thieves (tough cameleers those two) Would curse the teacher from lips bitten through And the other bid him let the teacher be. I have stood much, but this thing daunted me, The dark, the livid light, and long long groans One on another, coming from their bones. And it got darker and a glare began Like the sky burning up above the man. The hangman's squad stood easy on their spears And the air moaned, and women were in tears, While still between his groans the robber cursed. The sky was grim: it seemed about to burst. Hours had passed: they seemed like awful days. Then ... what was that?
PILATE. What? Where?
LONGINUS. A kind of blaze, Fire descending.
PILATE. No.
LONGINUS. I saw it.
PILATE. Yes? What was it that you saw?
LONGINUS. A fiery tress Making red letters all across the heaven. Lord Pilate, pray to God we be forgiven.
PILATE. "The sky was grim," you said, there at the cross. What happened next?
LONGINUS. The towers bent like moss Under the fiery figures from the sky. Horses were in the air, there came a cry. Jesus was calling God: it struck us dumb. One said "He is calling God. Wait. Will God come? Wait." And we listened in the glare. O sir, He was God's son, that man, that minister, For as he called, fire tore the sky in two, The sick earth shook and tossed the cross askew, The earthquake ran like thunder, the earth's bones Broke, the graves opened, there were falling stones.
PILATE. I felt the shock even here. So?
LONGINUS. Jesus cried Once more and drooped, I saw that he had died. Lord, in the earthquake God had come for him. The thought of 't shakes me sick, my eyes are dun.
PILATE. Tell Scirrus to relieve you.
LONGINUS. Lord....
PILATE. Dismiss. Lie down and try to sleep; forget all this. Tell Scirrus I command it. Rest to-night. Go in, Longinus, go.
LONGINUS. Thank you, Lord Pilate.
[_Exit_ LONGINUS.
PILATE [_alone_]. No man can stand an earthquake. Men can bear Tumults of water and of fire and air, But not of earth, man's grave and standing ground; When that begins to heave the will goes round. Longinus, too. [_Noise below._] Listen. Does Herod come? I heard his fifes.
_The doors open. _SERVANTS_ enter._
SERVANT. Lord Herod is at hand; Will it please your Lordship robe?
PILATE. Sprinkle fresh sand, For blood was shed to-day, here, under foot.
[_He robes._]
Well, that; the other clasp. [_Music off._]
A VOICE. Cohort. Salute.
PILATE. Leave torches at the door. Dismiss.
[SERVANTS _go._
He comes Welcomed by everyone; the city hums With joy when Herod passes. Ah, not thus Do I go through the town. They welcome us With looks of hate, with mutterings, curses, stones.
_Enter_ PROCULA.
Come, stand with me. Welcome Lord Herod here. Welcome must make amends for barrack cheer.
THE NUBIANS _hold torches at the door._
HEROD _enters._
Come in, good welcome, Herod.
PROCULA. Welcome, sir.
HEROD. To Rome, to Pilate, and to Beauty, greeting; Give me your hands. What joy is in this meeting. Pilate, again. You, you have hurt your hand?
PILATE. It is nothing, sir.
HEROD. Beauty has touched this land, A wound has followed.
PBOCULA. What you please to call Beauty, my lord, did nothing of the kind. An earthen vessel tilted with a wall.
HEROD. May it soon mend. Now let me speak my mind. Pilate, since you have ruled here, there have been Moments of ... discord, shall we say? between Your government and mine. I am afraid That I, the native here, have seldom made Efforts for friendship with you.
PILATE. Come.
HEROD. I should Have done more than I have, done all I could, Healed the raw wound between the land and Rome, Helped you to make this hellish town a home, Not left it, as I fear it has been, hell To you and yours cooped in a citadel Above rebellion brewing. For the past I offer deep regret, grief that will last, And shame; your generous mind leaves me ashamed.
PILATE. Really, my lord.
PROCULA. These things must not be named.
PILATE. It is generous of you to speak like this, But, Herod, hark.
PROCULA. If things have been amiss, The fault was ours.
HEROD. No, the fault was mine. Your generous act this morning was a sign Of scrupulous justice done to me by you For all these years, unnoticed hitherto, Unrecognized, unthanked. I thank you now. Give me your hand ... so ... thus.
PILATE. Herod, I bow To what you say. To think that I have done Something (I know not what) that has begun A kindlier bond between us, touches home. I have long grieved lest I have injured Rome By failing towards yourself, where other men Might have been wiser.... That is over, then? Our differences henceforth may be discussed In friendly talk together;
HEROD. So I trust.
PILATE. Give me your hand; I have long hoped for this. I need your help, and you, perhaps, need mine. The tribes are restless on the border-line, The whole land seethes: the news from Rome is bad. But this atones.
PROCULA. O, fully.
HEROD. I am glad.
PILATE. Let us go in.
HEROD. You lead.
PROCULA. A moment, one.... You named a generous act that he had done....?
HEROD. This morning, yes; you sent that man to me Because his crime was laid in Galilee. A little thing, but still it touched me close; It made me think how our disputes arose When thieves out of your province brought to me Were punished with a fine, perhaps set free, Not sent to you to judge, as you sent him. In future you will find me more a friend. Or so I hope.
PILATE. Thanks. May the gods so send That this may lead to happier days for us.
VOICES OF THE CROWD [_who are now flocking in, among them_ THE MADMAN]. Herod the good, Herod the glorious. Long life to Herod.
PILATE. Come, the crowd begin....
VOICES. Herod for ever.
PILATE. Let us go within....
HEROD. Yes. By the by, what happened to the man? I sent him back to you; a rumor ran That he was crucified.
PILATE. He was.
HEROD. The priests Rage upon points of doctrine at the feasts.
VOICES. God bless you, Herod; give you length of days, Herod.
HEROD [_to the_ CROWD]. Go home. To God alone give praise. This is Deliverance Night; go home, for soon Over the dusty hill will come the moon, And you must feast, with prayer to the Adored. [_To_ PILATE.] He well deserved his death.
VOICES. God bless you, Lord.
PILATE. I'll lead the way....
VOICES. Herod.
HEROD [_to_ PROCULA]. Lady, your hand.
PROCULA. There is a just man's blood upon the sand. Mind how you tread.
_They go in. The bronze doors are closed. The _CROWD_ remains for an instant watching the doors._
A VOICE. Herod the Fox makes friends with Pilate. Why?
A VOICE. He needs a Roman loan.
A VOICE. Look at the sky, The Paschal moon has risen.
A VOICE. God is great. Why did I linger here? I shall be late. [_Going._]
A VOICE. Good night and blessing.
A VOICE [_going_]. Pilate's color changed When we cheered Herod.
A VOICE. They have been estranged A long while now; but now they will be friends. [_Going._]
A VOICE. What joy it is when Preparation ends. Now to our Feast. Do you go down the stair?
A VOICE. Yes, past the pools; will you come with me there?
A VOICE. I love to walk by moonlight; let us go. [_They go._]
A VOICE [_singing_]. Friends, out of Egypt, long ago, Our wandering fathers came, Treading the paths that God did show By pointing cloud and flame. By land and sea His darkness and His light Led us into His peace.... [_The voice dies away._]
A VOICE [_off_]. Good-night.
_Only _THE MADMAN_ remains. He takes lilies from a box and begins to tie them in bunches._
MADMAN. Only a penny, a penny, Lilies brighter than any, Lilies whiter than snow. [_He feels that he is alone._] Beautiful lilies grow Wherever the truth so sweet Has trodden with bloody feet, Has stood with a bloody brow. Friend, it is over now, The passion, the sweat, the pains, Only the truth remains. [_He lays lilies down._]
* * * * * *
I cannot see what others see; Wisdom alone is kind to me, Wisdom that comes from Agony.
* * * * * *
Wisdom that lives in the pure skies, The untouched star, the spirit's eyes; O Beauty, touch me, make me wise.
CURTAIN
SONNETS
NOTE
Some few of these sonnets appeared serially in the _Atlantic Monthly, Scribner's Magazine, Harper's Monthly,_ and (perhaps) in one or two other papers. I thank the Editors of these papers for permission to reprint them here.
JOHN MASEFIELD. LONDON, 16th Dec. 1915.
Long long ago, when all the glittering earth Was heaven itself, when drunkards in the street Were like mazed kings shaking at giving birth To acts of war that sickle men like wheat, When the white clover opened Paradise And God lived in a cottage up the brook, Beauty, you lifted up my sleeping eyes And filled my heart with longing with a look; And all the day I searched but could not find The beautiful dark-eyed who touched me there, Delight in her made trouble in my mind, She was within all Nature, everywhere, The breath I breathed, the brook, the flower, the grass, Were her, her word, her beauty, all she was.