The horror and the dreams of Judas are realised, he gets up from his knees on which, for some reason, he has knelt, and gazes around coldly.
Thus does a stern conqueror look, when he has already determined in his heart to surrender everything to destruction and death, and for the last time throws a glance over a rich foreign city, still alive with sound, but already phantom-like under the cold hand of death.

And suddenly, as clearly as his terrible victory, Iscariot saw its ominous precariousness.

What if they should suddenly understand?
It is not yet too late! Jesus still lives.

There He gazes with entreating, sorrowing eyes.
What can prevent the thin film which covers the eyes of mankind, so thin that it hardly seems to exist at all, what can prevent it from rending?
What if they should understand?
What if suddenly, in all their threatening mass of men, women and children, they should advance, silently, without a cry, and wipe out the soldiery, plunging them up to their ears in their own blood, should tear from the ground the accursed cross, and by the hands of all who remain alive should lift up the liberated Jesus above the summit of the hill! Hosanna! Hosanna! Hosanna?
No! Better that Judas should lie on the ground.

Better that he should lie upon the ground, and gnashing his teeth like a dog, should watch and wait until all these should rise up.
But what has come to Time?
Now it almost stands still, so that one would wish to push it with the hands, to kick it, beat it with a whip like a lazy ass.