Pg 563 The Scourging
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Pg 563 The Scourging
by Poem on Fri Jan 09, 2009 7:17 am
« Let Him be scourged » Pilate orders a centurion.
« How many blows? »
« As many as you like… In any case the matter is over. And I am bored. Go. »
Jesus is led by four soldiers to the court-yard beyond the hall. In the middle of that court-yard, which is all paved with coloured marbles, there is a high column like the one in the porch. At about three metres from the floor it has an iron bar protruding at least a metre and ending with a ring, to which Jesus is tied, with His hands joined above His head, after He has been undressed. He has on only short linen drawers and sandals. His hands tied at His wrists are raised up as far as the ring, so that, although tall, He rests only the tips of His toes on the floor… And even that position is a torture.
I have read, I do not know where, that the column was low and that Jesus was bent over it. That may be. I say what I see.
Behind Him stands one who looks like an executioner, with a clear Jewish profile; in front of Him, another man, looking like the previous one. They are armed with scourges, made of seven leather strips tied to a handle and ending with small lead hammers. They begin to strike Him rhythmically, as if they were practising. One in front and one behind, so that Jesus' trunk is in a whirl of lashes and scourges.
The four soldiers, to whom He has been handed, are indifferent and are playing dice with other three soldiers who have just arrived. And the voices of the players follow the rhythm of the sound of the scourges, which hiss like snakes and then resound like stones striking the stretched skin of a drum. They beat the poor, body, which is so slender and as white as old ivory, and then becomes covered with stripes that at first are a brighter and brighter pink shade, then violet, then it displays blue swellings full of blood, then the skin breaks letting blood flow from all sides. They redouble their cruelty on His thorax and abdomen, but there is no shortage of blows given to His legs, arms and even to His head, so that no fragment of His skin may be left without pain.
And not a moan… If He were not held up by the rope, He would fall. But He does not fall and does not groan. Only His head hangs over His chest, after so many blows, as if He had fainted.
« Hey! Stop! He must be alive when He is killed » shouts a soldier scoffingly.
The two executioners stop and wipe their perspiration.
« We are exhausted » they say. « Give us our pay, so that we may have a refreshing drink… »
« I would give you the gallows! But here you are… » and a decurion throws a large coin to each executioner.
« You have done a good job. He looks like a mosaic. Titus, do you mean that this man was really Alexander's love? We must let him know, so that he may mourn over His death. Let us untie Him. »
They untie Him, and Jesus falls on the floor like a dead body. They leave Him there, pushing Him now and again with their feet shod with caligae, to see whether He moans. But He is silent.
« Is He dead? Is it possible? He is a young man and a handicraftsman, so I am told… and He looks like a delicate lady. »
« I will take care of Him » says a soldier. And he sits Him with His back against the column. Clots of blood appear where He was… He then goes towards a fountain gurgling under the porch, he fills a tub with water and pours it on Jesus' head and body. « That's it! Water is good for flowers. »
Jesus draws a deep sigh and tries to stand up, but His eyes are still closed.
« Oh! good. Come on, darling! Your dame is waiting for You!… »
But Jesus in vain presses His hands against the floor trying to stand up.
« Come on! Quick! Are You weak? Here is some refreshment » says another soldier sneeringly. And with the shaft of his halberd he delivers a blow to Jesus' face striking it between the right cheekbone and the nose, that begins to bleed.
Jesus opens His eyes and looks round. His eyes are veiled… He stares at the soldier who struck Him, wipes the blood with His hand, and then, with much effort, He stands up.
« How many blows? »
« As many as you like… In any case the matter is over. And I am bored. Go. »
Jesus is led by four soldiers to the court-yard beyond the hall. In the middle of that court-yard, which is all paved with coloured marbles, there is a high column like the one in the porch. At about three metres from the floor it has an iron bar protruding at least a metre and ending with a ring, to which Jesus is tied, with His hands joined above His head, after He has been undressed. He has on only short linen drawers and sandals. His hands tied at His wrists are raised up as far as the ring, so that, although tall, He rests only the tips of His toes on the floor… And even that position is a torture.
I have read, I do not know where, that the column was low and that Jesus was bent over it. That may be. I say what I see.
Behind Him stands one who looks like an executioner, with a clear Jewish profile; in front of Him, another man, looking like the previous one. They are armed with scourges, made of seven leather strips tied to a handle and ending with small lead hammers. They begin to strike Him rhythmically, as if they were practising. One in front and one behind, so that Jesus' trunk is in a whirl of lashes and scourges.
The four soldiers, to whom He has been handed, are indifferent and are playing dice with other three soldiers who have just arrived. And the voices of the players follow the rhythm of the sound of the scourges, which hiss like snakes and then resound like stones striking the stretched skin of a drum. They beat the poor, body, which is so slender and as white as old ivory, and then becomes covered with stripes that at first are a brighter and brighter pink shade, then violet, then it displays blue swellings full of blood, then the skin breaks letting blood flow from all sides. They redouble their cruelty on His thorax and abdomen, but there is no shortage of blows given to His legs, arms and even to His head, so that no fragment of His skin may be left without pain.
And not a moan… If He were not held up by the rope, He would fall. But He does not fall and does not groan. Only His head hangs over His chest, after so many blows, as if He had fainted.
« Hey! Stop! He must be alive when He is killed » shouts a soldier scoffingly.
The two executioners stop and wipe their perspiration.
« We are exhausted » they say. « Give us our pay, so that we may have a refreshing drink… »
« I would give you the gallows! But here you are… » and a decurion throws a large coin to each executioner.
« You have done a good job. He looks like a mosaic. Titus, do you mean that this man was really Alexander's love? We must let him know, so that he may mourn over His death. Let us untie Him. »
They untie Him, and Jesus falls on the floor like a dead body. They leave Him there, pushing Him now and again with their feet shod with caligae, to see whether He moans. But He is silent.
« Is He dead? Is it possible? He is a young man and a handicraftsman, so I am told… and He looks like a delicate lady. »
« I will take care of Him » says a soldier. And he sits Him with His back against the column. Clots of blood appear where He was… He then goes towards a fountain gurgling under the porch, he fills a tub with water and pours it on Jesus' head and body. « That's it! Water is good for flowers. »
Jesus draws a deep sigh and tries to stand up, but His eyes are still closed.
« Oh! good. Come on, darling! Your dame is waiting for You!… »
But Jesus in vain presses His hands against the floor trying to stand up.
« Come on! Quick! Are You weak? Here is some refreshment » says another soldier sneeringly. And with the shaft of his halberd he delivers a blow to Jesus' face striking it between the right cheekbone and the nose, that begins to bleed.
Jesus opens His eyes and looks round. His eyes are veiled… He stares at the soldier who struck Him, wipes the blood with His hand, and then, with much effort, He stands up.
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