Page:Von Heidenstam - Sweden's laureate, selected poems of Verner von Heidenstam (1919).djvu/62

 down to His knees. His white prophet's garment was frayed, His feet dusty. With His left hand He compressed the nozzle of a leather skin of wine. Whenever one of the friends who were sitting with crossed legs in a circle about him attempted to rise, He pressed him back to his place again and offered him drink. No cares, no thought of labor came to disturb the still evening joy.

Then arose, unobserved, Judas, the Jew of Jews. His well-tended hands and feet were white as marble, and the nails carefully polished. He did not wipe the sweat from his forehead with a fold of his garment as did the other disciples, but drew out always a long Roman handkerchief. His clean-shaven, prosperous-looking face with its small, sedate, intelligent eyes was altogether that of the sober, discreet man of property.

He stole away softly behind the cottage on the road to Jerusalem, while his green head-cloth fluttered among the twisted black olive trees. He smote himself on the forehead and spoke half-aloud, and it was not difficult to divine his thoughts.

What does it lead to, thought he, if one follow this man who forbids us to work and to think of the future, and upon whose head they have finally set a price? Have not I year by year and day by day saved coin after coin? There lack but thirty pieces of silver—but thirty!—and I shall be sitting under my own fig-tree.—