My Dear Father:
This is the evening of the Great Day of the Feast, and the second day
since the ignominious execution of him whom we all believed to have
been the Christ, the Son of the Blessed. Yet he still lies dead in the
tomb! Alas, that one so good and noble and wise should have been a
deceiver! Henceforth I have no faith in goodness. I have wept till I
can weep no more.
It is now the close of the High Day of the Feast. The slanting rays of
the setting sun linger yet upon the gilded lances that terminate the
lesser pinnacles of the holy house of the Lord. The smoke of incense
curls lazily up from the sky from its unseen altar, and the deep voices
of the choir of Levites, increased by those of the tens of thousands of
Judah, who crowd all the courts of the Temple, fall upon my ears like
muffled thunder. I never heard anything so solemn. Above the Temple has
hung, since the crucifixion yesterday, the cloud of the smoke of the
sacrifices, and it immovably depends over all the city like a pall.
The sun does not penetrate it, though its light falls upon the earth
outside of the city, but all Jerusalem remains in shadow. This cloud
is a fearful sight, and all men have been watching it and talking of
it and wondering. It seems to be in the form of black, gigantic wings,
spreading a league broad over Jerusalem.
There it now hangs, visible from my window, but we are in some sort
used to its dreadful presence and cease to fear; but we are lost in
wonder. This morning when a high wind arose, blowing from the Great
Sea eastward, every one expected and hoped to see the cloud sail away
before it in the direction of the desert. But the only effect the wind
produced was to agitate its whole surface in tumultuous billows, while
the mass still retained its position above the city. The shadow it
casts is supernatural and fearful, like the dread obscurity which marks
an eclipse of the sun.
And this reminds me, my dear father, to mention what, in the
multiplicity of subjects that rush to my pen for expression, I have
omitted to state to you; and what is unaccountable unless men have, in
truth, crucified in Jesus the very Son of God. At the time of his death
the sun disappeared from the mid-heavens, and darkness, like that of
night, followed over all the earth, so that the stars became visible,
and the hills on which Jerusalem stands shook as if an earthquake had
moved them, and many houses were thrown down; and where the dead are
buried outside of the city, the earth and rocks were rent, tombs broken
up, and many bodies of the dead were heaved to the surface and exposed
to all eyes! These bodies have lain all to-day, for the Jews dare not
touch them to re-bury them for fear of being defiled. All this is
fearful and unaccountable. It is known, too, that as Jesus expired, the
vail of the Temple was rent in twain and exposed the Holy of Holies to
every common gaze! What will be the end of these things is known only
to the God of Abraham. Never was so fearful a Passover before. Men's
faces are pale and all look as though some dread calamity had befallen
the nation.
My last letter, my dear father, closed with the termination of the
examination of Jesus before Caiaphas.
Guarded by Æmilius, who was his true friend to the last, he was led to
the house of Pilate.
The Pretorian gates were shut by the Roman guards as the tumultuous
crowd advanced, for Pilate believed the Jews were in insurrection, and
was prepared to defend his palace; for so few are the troops with him
in the city that he has for some weeks held only the name of power
rather than the reality. But when Æmilius explained to the captain
of the guard that the Jews desired to accuse Jesus, the Nazarene, of
sedition before the Procurator, he was admitted, with the chief men
of the city, into the outer court of Antiochus, and at their call
Pilate came forth to them. When he saw the vast concourse of people
with Caiaphas and the chief priests, and many rich Sadducees, with
the leading men of Jerusalem in the advance, and Jesus, bound and
disfigured by the insults he had undergone, and Æmilius and his few
soldiers enclosing him with their protecting spears, and heard the
loud voices of the multitude, as of wolves baying for the blood of a
defenceless lamb, he stood with amazement for a few moments surveying
the scene.
"What means this, Æmilius?" he demanded of the young Prefect. "Who is
this captive?"
"It is Jesus, called the Christ, my lord, the Prophet of Galilee. The
Jews desire his death, accusing him of blaspheming their God, and--"
"But I have no concern with their religion or the worship of their God.
Let them judge him after their own way," said Pilate, indifferently,
and with an indolent air.
"But, most noble Roman," said Caiaphas, advancing to the portico on
which the Procurator stood, "by our law he should suffer death, and
thou knowest, though we can condemn, as we now have done this Galilean,
we have no power to execute sentence of death."
"This is well said; but would you have me put one of your nation to
death for blaspheming your God? So far as that is concerned, O priest,"
added Pilate, smiling contemptuously, "we Romans blaspheme him daily,
for we worship him not and will have naught to do with your faith. Let
the man go! I see no cause of death in him!"
He then spoke to Æmilius, and desired him to lead Jesus to the spot
where he stood. Pilate regarded him with mingled pity and interest.
After surveying him a moment, he turned to one of his officers and said
aside: "A form divine and fit for Apollo, or any of the greater gods!
His bearing is like a hero! Mehercule! The chisel of Praxiteles nor of
Phidias ne'er traced the outlines of limbs and neck like these. He is
the very incarnation of human symmetry and dignity!"
The courtiers nodded assent to these cool criticisms of the indolent
and voluptuous Italian. Jesus, in the meanwhile, stood motionless
before his judge, his eyes downcast and full of a holy sadness, and his
lips compressed with immovable patience. Pilate now turned to him and
said:
"Thou art, then, that Jesus of whom men talk so widely. Men say, O
Jesus, that thou art wiser than ordinary men; that thou canst do works
of necromancy and art skilled in the subtle mysteries of astrology. I
would question thee upon these things. Wilt thou read my destiny for me
in the stars? If thou answerest well I will befriend thee, and deliver
thee from thy countrymen who seem to howl for thy blood."
"My lord!" cried Caiaphas, furiously, "thou must not let this man go!
He is a deceiver and traitor to Cæsar. I charge him and formally accuse
him, before thy tribunal, with making himself king of Judea!"
To this the whole multitude assented, in one deep voice of rage and
fierce denunciation that shook the very walls of the Pretorium.
"What sayest thou?" demanded Pilate, "art thou a king? Methinks
if thou wert such, these Jews have little need to fear thee." And
the Roman cast a careless glance over the mean and torn apparel and
half-naked limbs of the Prophet.
Before Jesus could reply, which he seemed about to do, there was heard
a sudden commotion in the lower part of the court of Gabbatha, and a
loud, hoarse voice was heard crying:
"Make way! Give back! He is innocent!"
All eyes turned in the direction of the archway, when a man was seen
forcing his path towards the door of the Judgment Hall, in front of
which Pilate was standing, with Jesus a step or two below.
"What means this madman?" cried the Procurator. "Some of you arrest
him!"
"I am not mad! He is innocent! I have betrayed the innocent blood!"
cried Iscariot, for it was he, leaping into the space in front of the
portico. "Take back thy money, and let this holy Prophet of God go
free! I swear to you by the altar he is innocent, and if thou harm him
thou wilt be accursed with the vengeance of Jehovah! Take back thy
silver, for he is innocent!"
"What is that to us? See thou to that!" answered Abner the priest,
haughtily, while the eyes of Caiaphas, falling under the withering
glance of the Roman Procurator, betrayed his guilt.
"Wilt thou not release him if I give thee back the pieces?" cried
Judas, in accents of despair, taking Caiaphas by the mantle and then
kneeling to him imploringly.
But Caiaphas angrily shook him off. At last, in a frenzied manner, he
threw himself at the knees of Jesus, and cried in the most thrilling
accents:
"Oh, Master! Master! Thou hast the power! Release thyself!"
"No, Judas," answered the Prophet, shaking his head and gazing down
compassionately upon his betrayer, and without one look of resentment
at his having betrayed him, "mine hour is come! For this hour I came
into the world!"
"I believed surely thou wouldst not suffer thyself to be arrested. It
is my avarice that hath slain thee! Oh, God! Oh, God! I see now it is
too late!" Thus crying in a voice of despair, he arose and rushed, with
his face hid in his cloak, forth from the presence of all, towards the
outer gate.
This extraordinary interruption produced a startling effect upon all
present, and a few moments elapsed before Pilate could resume his
examination of Jesus, which he did by entering the Judgment Hall and
taking his seat on the throne. He then repeated his question, but with
more deference than before: "Art thou a king, then?"
"Thou sayest that which I am--a king," Jesus answered, with a dignity
truly regal in its bearing; for all the time, bound and marred as he
was by the hands of his enemies, pale with suffering and with standing
a sleepless and fearful night upon his feet, exposed to cold and to
insults, yet he had a kingly air, and there seemed to float about his
head a divine glory, as if a sunbeam had been shining down upon him.
"Thou thyself hearest him!" exclaimed Caiaphas, standing upon the
threshold of the Judgment Hall of the Gentile governor, which he would
not enter for fear of defilement.
"He has everywhere publicly proclaimed that he has been ordained of God
to re-establish the kingdom of Judah and overthrow the power of Cæsar
in Jerusalem," added the governor of the Temple, lifting his voice so
as to be heard above the voices of the priests and scribes, who, all
speaking together, vehemently accused him of many other things.
Pilate at length obtained comparative silence, and then said to Jesus:
"Hearest thou these accusations? Hast thou no answer to make? Behold
how many things they witness against thee!"
Pilate spoke as if he had taken a deep interest in Jesus, and would
give him an opportunity of defending himself.
"He hath perverted the nation; a most pestilent and dangerous fellow!"
exclaimed Caiaphas. "He is a blasphemer above all men!"
"I have nothing to do with your religion. If he hath blasphemed your
gods, take ye him and judge him according to your laws," answered
Pilate.
"Thou knowest, O noble Roman, that we have no power to execute to the
death, therefore do we accuse him before thee."
"I am no Jew, priest! What care I for your domestic and religious
quarrels? He hath done nothing that I can learn for which the laws of
Imperial Rome, which now prevail here, can adjudge him to death. I,
therefore, command his release."
Upon this the Jews sent up a cry of unmingled ferocity and
vindictiveness. Caiaphas, forgetting his fear of defilement, advanced
several steps into the Judgment Hall, and shaking his open hands at
Pilate, cried:
"If thou lettest this man go, thou art not Cæsar's friend. Thou art
in league with him. He that sets himself up as a king in all the wide
bounds of Cæsar's dominions, wars against Cæsar, as well at Jerusalem
as at Rome. If thou release this man, I and my nation will accuse thee
to thy master, Tiberius, of favoring this Galilean's sedition."
When Pilate heard the name of Galilee, he asked if the prisoner were
a Galilean. Upon being answered in the affirmative by the excited
priests, he said to Æmilius:
"Hold! Loose not his bonds just now! Herod, the Tetrarch of Galilee,
last night came up to the Passover feast of the Hebrew God, and is now
at the old Maccabean Palace, with his retinue. Conduct your prisoner to
him, and let Herod judge his own subjects!"
The chief priests and scribes now shouted with approbation at this
decision, for they began to fear that Pilate would release Jesus, and
they knew that the vacillating and reckless Herod would do whatsoever
would gain popular applause.
"To Herod! To the Tetrarch of Galilee with him!" arose the cry.
But Caiaphas, frowning and dissatisfied, remained behind; and Pilate,
glad to get rid of the delicate affair of condemning an innocent man,
smilingly came out and spoke to the gloomy High Priest:
"Thou knowest I can condemn men only for crimes committed against the
laws of the empire. This Jesus hath done nothing worthy of death."
"Noble Governor," answered Caiaphas, stopping in his angry strides up
and down the porphyry floor of the outer portico, "thou forgettest that
I brought him not before thee on this charge of blasphemy alone, but
for sedition! By the altar of God, this is a crime known to thy laws, I
wot!"
"True. You charge a young, defenceless, quiet, powerless man, destitute
of money, men or arms, an obscure fisherman or carpenter of Galilee,
with setting up a throne and kingdom against that of Tiberius Cæsar,
the ruler of the earth! The idea is absurd! It should be treated only
with ridicule. So will Herod say, when he understands the affair."
"So will not Cæsar say, my lord!" answered Caiaphas, with a sneer upon
his curled lip. "If you let this man go, the Jewish nation will draw
up a memorial, accusing you to the emperor of protecting treason.
You will be summoned by the senate to answer the charge; and though
you should succeed in clearing yourself, you will have lost your
government, given to another, and for your fair name, you will live,
ever after, under Cæsar's suspicion."
Pilate turned pale, and bit his lips with vexation.
"My lord priest, thou art bent, I see, on this innocent man's death.
I am no Jew, to understand how he has drawn upon himself thy terrible
wrath and that of thy nation. I will see what Herod will say, who,
being a Jew, is familiar with your customs."
Pilate now reseated himself upon his throne to give hearing to other
complaints.
After the lapse of half an hour a youth threw himself from his horse,
at the door of the court, and drew near the Procurator.
"What aileth thee, Alexander?" demanded Pilate, on seeing blood on his
temples and that he seemed faint.
"But a trifle now, my lord. I was thrown from my horse, who was
startled at a burning torch lying on the ground, and was detained at a
hospitable house until I was able to remount, which brings me hither
late."
"And why come at all? What news sends my fair wife, that she should
despatch you from my house in Bethany at this early hour? No evil
tidings, boy?"
"None, my lord, save this note."
The Greek page then handed his master a small roll of parchment, tied
with scarlet thread. He cut the knot with his dagger and reading the
contents became deadly pale. Caiaphas watched him closely, as if he
would read, reflected in his eyes, the contents of the note which had
so deeply moved him.
"Caiaphas," said the Procurator, "this prisoner must be released!"
[Illustration: JESUS BEFORE PILATE.]
"It is either his destruction, proud Roman, or thine!" answered the
High Priest, turning and walking haughtily away.
Pilate looked after him with a troubled air, and then re-entered the
Hall of Judgment, and seating himself upon his throne, again read the
parchment.
"'Have nothing to do with this just man,' he read half aloud, 'for I
have suffered many things this day in a dream because of him!' The very
gods seem to take sides with this extraordinary young prisoner!" he
exclaimed. "Would to Jove that Herod may have sense enough to release
him and relieve me of this unpleasant business."
While he was yet speaking and musing with himself, unconsciously
aloud, there was heard a great noise of voices in the direction of
the Maccabean Palace, and as it grew nearer and more distinct, Pilate
started up and cried:
"It is as I feared--Herod gives them no satisfaction and they come
again to me! Oh, that the gods would give me wisdom and nerve for this
trying hour, so that I condemn not the innocent nor bring myself into
the power of an accusation to Cæsar from these wicked Jews!"
At this moment the multitude, increased if it were possible in numbers
and in vindictiveness, reappeared, pressing Jesus before them. This
time he was alone, Æmilius having been separated from him in the palace
and kept by the crowd from rejoining him. He was now unbound, and upon
his head was a crown of thorns, piercing the tender temples till the
blood trickled all down his face; upon his shoulders was clasped an old
purple robe, once worn by Herod in his state of petty king, and his
hand held a reed as a scepter; and as he walked along, the bitterest
among the priests, as well as the vilest of the common fellows,
mockingly bent the knee before him, crying:
"Hail, King Jesus! Hail, royal Nazarene! All hail!"
Others went before him carrying mock standards, while still others
acting as heralds ran shouting:
"Make way for the King of the Jews! Do homage, all men, to Cæsar! This
is the great Tiberius, Emperor of Nazareth! Behold his glittering
crown! Mark his royal robes and see his dazzling sceptre! Bend the
knee, bend the knee, men of Judah, before your king!"
When Pilate saw this spectacle and heard these words, he trembled and
was heard to say:
"Either this man or I must perish! These Jews are become madmen with
rage and demand a sacrifice. One of us must fall!"
Oh, that I could write all I feel! But I am compelled, my dear father,
to end here.
Your affectionate child,
Adina.