Pilate's Monolgue

Pilate's Monolgue
[This monologue of Pilate to Herod takes place a few days after the resurrection at the home of Pontius Pilate. Pilate and Herod are standing on the east porch of the Governor's mansion in Jerusalem, looking toward the Mount of Olives. The time is just at sunset.]

Oh! Herod, couldst thou find no fault in Him—
The Man of Galilee? Clearly He
Belonged within thy jurisdiction. Didst
Thou fear to do thy duty? Still I blame
Thee not—the mob was clamorous for blood!
I questioned Him, but like a lamb before
His shearers He was dumb and answered me
No word. Was not His silence proof of guilt?
But even then I offered to release
Him, till the rabble shouted, "Crucify
This Man: set free Barabbas, if thou wilt,
But we demand the life of Jesus whom
They call the Christ." Oh! dost thou think His blood
Can be upon my head? I washed my hands
Before the multitude and told them I
Was innocent of any crime toward Him.
I scourged Him, it is true, but that was all.
They stripped Him and bedecked Him with a robe
Of scarlet cloth, and placed a crown of thorns
Upon His head, and then they mocked and jeered
And spat upon Him, hailing Him as King!
I can not think that this was right, but still
They say He blasphemed and deserved to die.
But what is blasphemy?

Oh, Herod, I can never rid my dreams of Jesus' look.
He turned His eyes upon me as I dipped
My fingers in the bowl—a glance that seemed
More fraught with love and pity than with hate.
He blessed the people as He hung upon
The cross in agony of pain, and prayed
His God to pardon them because they knew
Not what they did. Thou canst not, Herod, think
This Nazarene was more than man? It can't
Be possible that He whom Pilate scourged
Was Christ indeed! But could a man forgive
His murderers? They say the tomb is burst
And that His body is no longer there!
I might endure His curse. My pen has stabbed
To death a thousand men and never felt
Compunction for the deed, because I knew
They hated me. But now the voice that haunts
My sleep asks only blessings on my head.
They say He wept for men because of sin,
And yet no guile was found in Him. If I
Could close my eyes and see that face no more
I might find peace again.

Three nights I have not slept.
I hear that Judas hanged himself!
And now no guard that watched before
The sepulchre can anywhere be found.
Had I but set the Galilean free!
But did he not insult my majesty?
He must have known I ruled in Cæsar's stead.
What if my wife was troubled in a dream
And suffered many things on His account?
A Roman governor must be a man!
They say the temple's veil was rent in twain—
The sky was darkened and the sun was hid.
He said I had no power to crucify
Except that it be given from above.
He did not know the strength of Pilate's arm!
'Tis said He cried, "My God, my God, why hast
Thou now forsaken me?" The earth did quake,
The tombs were cracked, and then the shrouded dead
Stalked ghost-like through the fields and open streets!
Look! Look! What is yon robe of shining white?
Behold the Man—the Man of Galilee!
With outstretched arms He stands on Olivet,
The shadows purpling o'er Gethsemane.
I hear Him cry in agony of soul,
"How often would I, O Jerusalem,
Have gathered unto Me thy children as
A hen her brood beneath her wing, but ye
Would not come." Herod, canst thou hear His voice?
It is impossible! It can not be!
He must not know that I am Pilate! Still
He calls my name! I can not, dare not go!
What would the people think? I will
Be free. There is no blood upon my hands.
See, I wash them clean and am myself
Again. Oh! Now the spell is gone. Though not
The king, I am governor of the Jews!

-- Cotton Noe (1916)