My Dear Father:
In my last letter I told you that Lazarus was dead. I write this to
say that he who was dead is alive! Lazarus lives! He whom I saw dead
and buried, and sealed up within the rocky cave of the tomb, is alive
again from the dead; and at this moment, while I am penning this
extraordinary account, I hear his voice from the porch.
How, my dear father, how shall I find adequate language to tell you all
that has happened here within the last twenty-four hours!
The funeral procession was so very long that strangers, pausing, asked
what great master in Israel, or person of note, was being taken to the
sepulchre.
Some answered, "Lazarus, the industrious scribe;" others said, "A young
man who has devoted his life to honor his mother." Others answered, as
Lazarus himself, were he alive, would have had them:
"It is Lazarus, the friend of Jesus."
The place where they were to lay him was the cave in which his father
and mother were entombed. It was in a deep, shady vale, thickly shaded
by cypress, palm and pomegranate trees, and a large tamarind grew, with
its stately branches, overclasping the summit of the secluded place of
sepulchre. The remote swell of a Roman bugle from the head of a cohort,
which was just issuing from a defile, came softly and musically to our
ears, as we stood in silence about the grove wherein we were to place
the dead. Æmilius, my betrothed, was also present, wearing a white
scarf above his silver cuirass, in token of grief, for he also loved
Lazarus. Of him, dear father, I have not of late spoken, for should I
begin to write of him I should have no room in my letters for any other
theme.
The sacred observances at the grove being over, they raised the body of
the dead young man from the bier, and four youths, aided by Æmilius at
the head to support it, conveyed it into the yawning cavern. A moment
they lingered on the threshold, that Mary and Martha might take one
more look, imprint upon its icy cold lips one last kiss, press once
more his unconscious head to their loving and bursting hearts.
The young men moved slowly forward into the gloom of the cave. Mary
rushed in, and with disheveled hair, cried:
"Oh, take him not away forever from the sight of my eyes! Oh, my
brother, my brother, would that I had died for thee! for I am willing
to lie down with the worm and call it my sister, and sleep in the
arms of death, as on the breast of my mother, so thou couldst live! Oh,
brother, brother, let them not take thee forever from the sight of my
eyes! Without thee, how shall life be life!"
[Illustration: Rolling stone, closing a sepulchre.]
Æmilius entered the tomb and, tenderly raising her from the body, on
which she had cast herself in the eloquent abandonment of her wild
grief, he led her forth, and beckoning to me, placed her in my arms.
The body, being placed in a niche hollowed out in the rock, was
decently covered with a grave mantle, all but the calm face, which was
bound about by a snow-white napkin. Maidens of the village advanced and
cast flowers upon his head, and many, many were the sincere tears, both
from beneath manly lids and those of virgins, which bore tribute to his
worth.
The burial ceremonies being ended, five strong men replaced the
ponderous stone door closely fitting the entrance to the cave, and so
secured it, by letting it into a socket, that it would require a like
number to remove it.
As they were retiring with heavy hearts from performing this last duty
to the beloved dead, the sun sank beyond the blue hills of Ajalon in
the west in a lake of gold. To enjoy the sunset, and to relieve our
emotions of sadness, I walked apart with Mary to the top of the hill,
from which I beheld the sun gilding the pinnacle of the Temple, and
making it appear like a gigantic spear elevated into the sky. From the
Levites at evening sacrifice came, mellowed by distance, the deep chant
of the Temple service, uttered by a thousand voices. The cloud from
the altar sacrifice ascended slowly into the still air, and catching
the splendor of the sun's last beams, shone as if the pillar of cloud
and of fire which stood above the tabernacle in the wilderness. The
laborers in the harvest were hastening towards the gates, ere they
should be shut out for the night by the Roman guards, and dwellers in
the village were hurrying forth, lest they should be held in the city
over night.
There was a sacred hush in the sleepy atmosphere that seemed in
sympathy and touching harmony with the scene in which we had just borne
a part. With Mary leaning sobbing upon my shoulder, I sat upon a rock
giving my heart up to the sweet influences of the hour. We were alone,
save Æmilius, who had ridden after us, anxious for our safety, and who
sat upon his horse near by, gazing upon the beauty of the evening scene.
"I am calmer now," said Mary, after a while, raising her head and
looking into my face, her splendid eyes glittering brimful with tears.
"The peace of the sweet, holy skies seems to have descended and entered
my heart. The spirit of Lazarus pervades all and hallows all I see. I
will weep no more. He is happy now, very happy, and let us try to be
holy and go to him, for he cannot come back to us."
At this moment we heard the tramp of horses' hoofs. Æmilius, startled
thereby from his reverie, recovered his seat and laid his hand upon
his sword. The next moment, around a rock projecting from the shoulder
of Olivet, appeared a horseman in the wild, warlike costume of an
Ishmaelite of the desert, brandishing a long spear in the air; then
another and another similarly clad and armed, and mounted on superb
horses of the desert, dashed in sight. These were immediately followed
by a tall, daring-looking young man, in a rich costume, half Grecian,
half Arabic, though his dark, handsome features were decidedly
Israelitish. He rode a superb Abyssinian charger, and sat upon his
back like the heathen centaur I have read of in the Latin books which
Æmilius has given me to read. Upon seeing us he drew rein and smiled,
and waved his jewelled hand with splendid courtesy; but at the sight
of Æmilius his dark eyes flashed, and leaping to his feet in his
stirrups he shook his glittering falchion towards him, and rode with a
trumpet-like cry full upon him.
The brave Roman soldier received the charge by turning his horse
slightly, and catching the point of the weapon upon the blade of his
short sword.
"We meet at last, O Roman!" cried this wild, dashing chief, as
he wheeled his horse like lightning, and once more rode upon the
iron-armed Roman knight.
"Ay, Barabbas, and with joy I hail thee!" responded Æmilius, placing a
bugle to his lips.
At hearing the clear voice of the bugle awaking the echoes of Olivet,
the dread robber chief said haughtily and with a glance of contempt:
"Thou, a knight of the tribune, and commander of a legion, call for
aid, when I offer thee equal battle, hand to hand, and ask not for aid
of my own men's spears?"
"I know no equal battle with a robber. I would hunt thee as I would
do the wolf and the wild beasts of thy deserts," answered Æmilius,
pressing him closely. At a signal from the robber chief his four men,
who had reined up a short distance off, near the tomb of Lazarus, sent
up a shrill, eaglelike scream, that made my blood stand still, and then
rode down like the wind to overcome Æmilius.
Hitherto I had remained as one stupefied at being an involuntary
spectator of a sudden battle, but on seeing his danger, I was at his
side, scarce knowing how I reached the place.
"Retire, dear Adina," he said authoritatively. "I shall have to defend
both thee and myself, and these barbarians will give both my hands
enough to do."
As he spoke he turned his horse's head to meet the forefold shock, and
I escaped, I know not how, with the impulse to hasten to Bethany for
succor. But heaven interposed its aid. A detachment of the body-guard
of Pilate, hearing the recall of their chief's bugle, came now
cantering up the hill. At the sight Barabbas and his party fled, like
wild pigeons pursued by a cloud of Iturean hawks. Barabbas, however,
turned more than once to fling back defiance to his foes. Æmilius soon
reached his side, seized the crimson sash which encircled his waist,
and held him thus, both fighting as they rode. The Roman troop came
up, and after a desperate battle the celebrated chief was taken alive,
though bleeding with many wounds, and bound with his own sash to the
column of one of the tombs.
Æmilius says that Barabbas will assuredly be crucified for his numerous
crimes. Dreadful punishment! and for one so young as this desert robber
to come to such an ignominious and agonizing death; doomed to hang for
hours under the sunbeams by his lacerated hands and feet, till death
at last comes from slow exhaustion of all the powers of nature. I am
amazed that so polite and humane a nation as the Roman can inflict such
a cruel and agonizing death, even upon their malefactors. Ignominious,
indeed, must the life of a man have been, for him to be doomed justly
to suffer such a death.
In this letter, dearest father, I intended to relate to you how Lazarus
has been restored to life, but it is already taken up with so much,
that I defer it to my next. Suffice it for me to tell you at the close
of this letter that it was Jesus who raised him from the dead. And will
you say that he is an impostor? That he has done this wonderful thing
is alone evidence enough to me that he is indeed the Messias of the
Prophets, the Son of God.
Your affectionate daughter,
Adina.