My Dear Father:
I know not how to write--I know not what to say! Dismay and sorrow fill
my heart! I feel as if life were a burden too heavy to hear! They have
crucified him!
Verily fear and a snare are come upon us--desolation and destruction,
O my father! We know not which way to turn. He in whom we trusted has
proved as one of us, weak and impotent, and has suffered death without
power to save himself. He that saved others could not escape the death
of the Roman cross! While I write, I hear the priest Abner, in the
court below, mocking my Uncle Amos in a loud voice:
"Your Messias is dead! A famous great prophet, surely, you Nazarenes
have chosen--born in a manger and crucified as a thief! Said I not
that he who could speak against the Temple and the priesthood was of
Beelzebub?"
Rabbi Amos makes no reply. Shame and despair seal his lips. Thus our
enemies triumph over us, and we answer only with confusion of face.
This unexpected, this unlooked-for, startling result has stupefied me,
and not only me but all who have been so led by fascination as to trust
in him. Even John, the beloved disciple, I hear now pacing the floor of
the adjoining room, sobbing as if his noble heart would burst. Mary, my
cousin's sweet voice, I catch from time to time trying to soothe him,
although she is stricken like us all to the very earth. The unhappy
John I hear despairingly answer her:
"Do not try to comfort me, Mary! There is no ground for hope more! He
is dead--dead! All is lost! We who trusted in him have only to fly, if
we would save our wretched lives, into Galilee, and return once more
to our nets! The sun which shone so dazzlingly has proved a phantom
light and gone out in darkness! He whom I could not but love, I see
that I loved too well, since he proves not what I believed him to
be! Oh, how could he be so like the Son of God and yet not be! Yet I
loved and adored him as if he were the very Son of the Highest! But I
have seen him die as a man--I have gazed on his lifeless body! I have
beheld the deep wound made into his very heart by the Roman spear!
I cast myself upon him, when he was taken down from the cross, and
implored him, by his love for me, to give some sign that he was not
holden by death! I placed my trembling hands over his heart. It was
still--still--motionless as stone, like any other dead man's! He was
dead--dead! With him die all our hopes--the hopes of Israel!"
"He may live again," said Mary, softly and hesitatingly, as if she
herself had no such hope. "He raised Lazarus, thou dost remember!"
"Yes, for Jesus was living to do it," answered John, stopping in his
walk; "but how can the dead raise the dead? No, he will never move,
speak, nor breathe again!"
But I will not further delay the account of his trial and condemnation,
for you will be anxious to know how such a man could be condemned to
a malefactor's death. In my last letter I spoke of his arrest through
the traitorous part enacted by Judas. Led by his captors, bound by the
wrists with a cord, Jesus was taken from the dark groves of Olivet,
where he had been found at prayer, and conducted with great noise into
the city by Cæsar's gate. It is near this archway that Rabbi Amos
lives. I will copy for you my Cousin Mary's account of it to Martha of
Bethany, just written by her, instead of adding any more to my own.
"I went out upon the basilica, which overlooked the streets," says
Mary, "and beheld a multitude advancing with torches flashing, and
soon they came opposite the house, at least two hundred men in number,
half clad and savage looking, with fierce eyes and scowling looks.
Here and there among them was a Levite urging them on, and I also
beheld Abner the priest firing their passions by loud oratory and eager
gesticulations. Behind rode five Roman horsemen, with levelled spears,
guarding a young man who walked with a firm step. I burst into tears.
It was Jesus! His locks were dishevelled, his beard torn, his face
marred, and his garments rent. He was pale and suffering, yet walked
with a firm step. I burst into tears, and so did Adina, who had come
out to see what was passing. He looked up and said touchingly, 'Mourn
not for me.'
"He would have said more, but the priest smote him rudely upon the
mouth, and the crowd, following his example, would have done him
further insult but for the Roman soldiers, who turned their spears
every way to guard him from violence, for they had rescued him from
the terrible rage of the Jews by their centurion's orders, and were
commanded to bring him safely before Pilate. So, thus guarded and
escorted by the men who thirsted for his blood, he was led onward
to the Pretorium, where the Roman Procurator resided. Gradually the
whole multitude disappeared in the distance when silence, a dread and
unearthly silence, succeeded. I turned and looked in Adina's face. She
was leaning, as colorless as marble, against one of the columns of the
basilica.
"'What can all this mean?' she said, with emotion. 'Can it be possible
he has suffered himself to be taken--he who could destroy or make alive
with a word? What means this dreadful scene we have just witnessed?'
"I could not answer. All I knew was what my eyes just beheld--that
Jesus our Prophet, our King, our Messias, on whom all our hopes and
the joy of Israel rested, was dragged a prisoner through the streets,
helpless and without a helper. I trembled with I knew not what unknown
forebodings. Suddenly Adina cried:
"'He cannot be harmed! He cannot die! He is a mighty Prophet, and
has power that will strike his enemies dead. Let us not fear. He has
yielded himself only the more terribly to defeat and destroy his foes.
We will not fear what Pilate or the priests will do! They cannot harm
the Anointed Shiloh of the Lord!'
"While we were yet talking, dear Martha, a dark figure passed
stealthily along beneath the basilica, and seemed to court the shadows
of the house. At this moment my father, Rabbi Amos, opened the outer
gate, with a torch in his hand, to follow, at our request, the crowd of
people, and see what should befall Jesus. The light glared full upon
the tall, spare form of Peter, the Galilean fisherman. His dark, stern
features wore an expression of earnest anxiety.
"'Is it thou, Peter?' exclaimed my father. 'What is all this? Who has
ordered the arrest of Jesus? What has he done?'
"'That hateful and envious man, Caiaphas, seeks to destroy him, and
has bribed with large lures of gold the baser Jews to do this thing.
Come with me, Rabbi, and let us die with him!' and the Galilean pressed
eagerly forward at a pace with which my father could not keep up.
"And this was an hour ago, and yet no news has come from the Pretorium;
but from time to time a dreadful shout from the hill on which the
palace of Caiaphas stands, breaks upon my ears, and the glare of unseen
torches illumines the atmosphere high above the towers of the palace.
It is a fearful night of agony and suspense. Adina, in her painful
uncertainty, but for my entreaties would go forth alone towards the
Pretorium to hear and know all. I can keep myself calm only by writing
to you. Adina has also commenced a letter to her father, recording
these sad things, but she drops her pen to start to the balcony at
every sound. When will this fearful night end! What will the morrow
reveal!
"It is an hour since I wrote the last line. The interval has been one
of agony. Rumors have reached us that the priests insist on Pilate's
passing sentence of death on the Prophet. The cries, 'Crucify him!
Crucify him!' have distinctly reached our ears. John is now here.
About half an hour after Jesus passed he reached our house nearly
destitute of apparel, his clothing having been torn from off him by
the Jews, in their efforts to make him their prisoner also. He is calm
and confiding, saying that his beloved Master can never be injured by
them, and that he will ere many hours deliver himself from his foes,
and proclaim himself king of Israel with power such as man never had
before. May the God of Jacob defend him! John has just gone up to the
Temple to get news, in disguise of a priest, wearing my father's robes.
"I have just seen a messenger passing in great haste along the street,
and his horse falling, cast him almost upon our threshold. It was the
page of Æmilius, the noble Roman knight, who is betrothed to my Cousin
Adina. She hastened to his aid. He was but stunned, and soon was able
to say that he bore a message from Lucia Metella, the fair and youthful
bride of Pilate, urging him to have nothing to do with the Prophet, but
to give him his liberty, for she had just awakened from an impressive
dream in which she saw him sitting on the throne of the universe,
crowned with the stars of heaven, the earth a footstool beneath his
feet, and all nations assembled and doing him homage.
"This report of the page has filled our hearts with joy and hope
inexpressible. Confident that Jesus is the Son of God, we will not fear
what man can do unto him.
"My father has returned. It is day. He says nothing can save Jesus but
his own divine power. The Jews are in number many thousands, and cry
for his blood. Pilate has but a cohort of soldiers and fears to use
force, lest the exasperated people break into open revolt and take the
city from his hands, which they can with ease do if they will unite.
'He trembles,' said my father, 'between fear to condemn the innocent
and dread of the vengeance of the Jews if he let him go. Nothing can
save the Prophet but his own mighty miracle-working power. He who has
saved others will surely save himself.'
"While my father was speaking a man rushed into our presence. He was
low in stature, broad-chested, with a stiff, reddish beard, narrow
eyes, and sharp, unpleasant visage. His attire was ragged and mean, as
was his whole aspect. He grasped in his right hand a small bag, which
rung with coin as his shaking fingers held it. He trembled all over,
and seizing my father by the arm with the quick, nervous grasp of a
lunatic, cried hoarsely:
"'Will he let them? Will he? Will he?'
"'Will he what, Iscariot? Of whom do you speak? Art thou crazed? Thou
shouldst well be, after thy deed to-night!'
"'Will he let them kill him? Will he die? Will he die? Think you he
will escape? He can if he will! Cords to him are ropes of sand!'
"'No, no. He is bound hand and foot!' answered my father, sadly. 'He
makes no defense. I fear he will let them do as they will with him. He
makes no effort to save his life.'
"At this Judas, for it was that wicked man, beat his knitted forehead
in a frenzied manner with the bag of silver, and with a look of
horrible despair rushed forth, crying as he went:
"'I will save him! The priests shall have their money again! He shall
not die! If I had believed he would not do some miracle to escape them,
I never would have sold him! I hoped to get their money, and trusted,
if they bound him, for him to escape by his own power. I did not dream
that he would not exert it to save himself. I will save thee, innocent
man of God, for I, not thou, alone am guilty! Oh, if I had suspected
this--but he shall not die!'
"With these ravings he disappeared towards the Pretorium, leaving us
all amazed at what we had heard.
"The sun is up. The fate of Jesus is sealed! The Procurator has
signed the sentence of death and he is to be crucified to-day. But,
with Judas, I believe that he cannot die, and that he will signalize
the hour by some wonderful miracle of personal deliverance. Thus,
tremblingly, we hope and wait."
Here terminates, my dear father, what my cousin has written to Martha
and Lazarus.
Your sorrowing but loving daughter,
Adina.