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 commonfellows, 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.
My Dear Father:
In this letter will be continued my account of the trial, if such it can be called, of Jesus.
John, the faithful and yet trusting disciple whom Jesus loved, still kept near his captive Master, and sought to cheer him by affectionate looks and, where he could do it with safety, by kind acts. More than once he was rudely thrust aside by the fiercer Jews, and once several men seized upon him and would have done him violence, if Caiaphas, to whom John is remotely related and who knows him well, had not interposed. And while John was thus doing all that he could to soften the asperity of his friend's treatment, we at home were exerting ourselves to soothe the maternal solicitude of Mary of Nazareth, his noble and heartbroken mother.
Herod, the Tetrarch of Galilee, was breaking his fast with fruit and wine, at a table overlooking by a window the Street of the Gentiles, when the noise of the advancing thousands of the Jews reached his ear. He started from the table and said:
"These people are surely up in insurrection against Pilate!"
"No, great prince," answered the lad Abel, his cupbearer, who is related to John, and has told me many of these things. "They have taken the Nazarene Prophet, Jesus, and are trying him for sedition."
"This uproar proceeds from no trial, but from a wild mob in motion, and they seem to be approaching," was his answer to him.
As Herod spoke he went to the lattice of his basilica, and beheld the head of the multitude just emerging into the street.
"There are spears and Romans in the van, and I see priests and peasants mixed together. I now see the cause of all the tumult—a mere youth, bound and soiled and pale as marble. What, sirs! this is not the great Prophet, of whose fame I have heard?" he said, turning to his officers. "What mean they by bringing him hither? Yet, Per Baccho! I am glad to get a sight of him!"
The crowd, like the swelling Nile, flowed towards the gates, roaring and chafing like its mighty cataracts, so that there was something fearfully sublime in this display of the power of human passions. Æmilius with difficulty succeeded in getting his prisoner into the piazza of the palace.
"Most royal prince," said Æmilius, kneeling before Herod and presenting a signet, "I am sent by his excellency, Pontius Pilate, the Roman Procurator of Judea, to bring before you this person accused of blasphemy. Ignorant of your customs and faith, the Governor desires that you, who are of his nation, would examine him; and moreover, Pilate, learning that he is a Galilean and a subject of your jurisdiction, courteously declines interfering with your authority."
When Herod Antipas heard delivered so courteous a message from the Procurator, with whom he had been some time at enmity, he was pleased.
"Say thou, Sir Knight, to his excellency, the most noble and princely Governor of Judea, that I appreciate his extraordinary civility, and that nothing will give me more pleasure, in return for such distinguished courtesy, than to be considered by him his friend, and that I regret any occurrence that has hitherto estranged us."
Æmilius, upon receiving this answer, arose and bowed, and then said with the boldness which characterizes him:
"Most gracious and royal Tetrarch, I pray you heed not the charges of these Jews touching this prisoner. They have conceived against him a bitter hatred without justcause. He has done nothing worthy of death. Pilate could find nothing whatsoever in him deserving of the attention of the dignity of a Roman tribunal."
"Let the prisoner fear not," answered Herod, at the same time regarding Jesus attentively as he stood before him in the calm majesty of innocence. "I will not take Pilate's prerogative of judgment out of his hand, so handsomely tendered to me. If he hath blasphemed—Mehercule! the High Priest and priests of the Temple itself," he added, laughing, "do that every day of their lives, for religion is at a low ebb among the hypocritical knaves! I have nothing to do with their charge of blasphemy, or I would have them all stoned to death without mercy. I will first see some miracles wrought by thy far-famed prisoner, noble Æmilius, and then send him back to my illustrious friend Pontius, whom his gods prosper in all things."
Herod, then, fixing his eyes curiously upon Jesus, who had stood silently before him, seemingly the only unmoved person in the vast concourse, said to the soldiers:
"Unbind him! By the staff of Jacob, he hath been roughly handled! Men of Israel, it becomes not such as you to do violence to a man before he is condemned."
While he was speaking John arranged Jesus' mantle about his form. Herod regarded with interest and looks of compassion, the pale and divinely-serene countenance of the prisoner, and seemed struck with the indescribable majesty of his aspect and bearing.
"Art thou the Nazarene Jesus, of whom I have heard so much?" he asked in deferential tones.
"I am he," was the quiet answer.
"Then gladly do I meet thee, for I have long time desired to see thee; and I would fain behold thee do some miracles. Does rumor belie thy powers? What! art thou silent? Dost thou not know who it is that speaks to thee? Come hither, fellow!" he called to a Samaritan muleteer who stood in the crowd, whose oval face and Jewish eyes showed him to be both of Assyrian and Israelitish descent, and whose arm had been taken off by a sword in a contest with Barabbas and his robbers; "come hither, and let this Prophet prove his power and mission by restoring thy arm whole like as the other!"
The man alertly came forward, and all eyes were directed eagerly upon him and upon Jesus; but he thrust the stump of his arm, by Herod's order, in vain before Jesus. The eyes of the Prophet moved not from their meditative look upon the ground.
"Art thou mocking us, thou false Christ?" cried the Tetrarch angrily. "Wilt thou neither speak nor act? If thou art not an impostor, do a miracle before us all, and we will believe in thee!"
Jesus remained motionless, yet preserved a firm and majestic countenance.
"He is a deceiver! He performed his works through Beelzebub, who has now deserted him!" cried the priests.
"Nazarene," said Herod, "I am a Jew also. If thou wilt prove to me by a sign that I will name, that thou art the Christ, I will not only become thy follower, but will let thee go free. Thy silence is an insult to my power. Thou seest yonder marble statue of Judas Maccabeus. Command the sword in its hand to wave thrice above its helmeted head, and I will bend the knee to thee. Nay, wilt not? I will give thee then, something easier to do. Seest thou the carved pomegranates in the entablature of the wall? Bid the one which hangs over this column become ripe, natural fruit, and fall at my feet. No?"
"He has no power—his friend Beelzebub hath given him up into our hands! Death to the necromancer!" were the terrible words which now made the hall tremble.
"See the whirlwind thou hast raised, O Nazarene!" cried Herod, rising. "If thou art a prophet, no harm can they do thee; and if thou art an impostor, if they kill thee thou deservest thy fate! I give thee up into their hands! Save thyself, if thou be the Christ!"
Scarcely had Herod spoken these words, relinquishing Jesus into the hands of his foes, than with a savage cry, as the famished jackals in the desert rush upon their prey, they rushed upon their victim. Æmilius could not protect him; nay, some of Herod's soldiers, whom the Jews had half intoxicated with wine, joined them as soon as they saw their master Antipas had cast him off, and began to scoff and mock him, and one of them thrust a helmet on his head and pulled the visor down over his eyes.
"Nay," said Herod on seeing this. "As he calls himself a king, remove the helmet and crown him, and robe him royally, and place a sceptre in his hand; and lo, yonder block will make him a proper throne! Wemust show Pilate how we Jews serve men who usurp the power of his master, Cæsar!"
One of his men of war brought a cast-off robe of purple which belonged to Herod and, with loud shouts of laughter and coarse jests, they robed him in it, unresisting as the lamb wreathed for the sacrifice. Some one then twined the creeping thorn, which grew on the outer wall, and, twisting it into the shape of a crown, handed it over the heads of the men to Abner.
When Abner saw the crown he smiled with malicious gratification and, nodding approvingly to the man said:
"This is what we needed! Nothing could have done better!" and with his two hands he placed it upon the head of Jesus, pressing cruelly the sharp thorns into his temples till the blood trickled from a dozen wounds. Jesus made no complaint, but the pain forced large bright tears from his eyes, which rolled down his cheeks and fell among the purple robe like glittering pearls.
"Here is also a sceptre for our king!" exclaimed the Samaritan with one arm, using the one to reach a piece of reed, from which a Passover lamb had been slung, to those who were arraying Jesus. This was thrust into the Prophet's grasp, and he held it patiently. His submission, his silence, his endurance of pain, his constant dignity, and the majestic submission which he seemed to manifest to all their insults and tortures, brought tears into the eyes of Æmilius. Even Herod stood amazed at such God-like forbearance, and said to his chief captain:
"If this man is not the Son of God, he is worthy to be deified! Such sublime patience is more than human—it is divine! You Romans, Æmilius, would make a hero of such a man, and when he died worship him as a god!"
"Then, mighty prince, why suffer him to be thus treated?" asked Æmilius.
"It is his own choice. I have entreated him fairly. I asked of him but one of those miracles men say he works, as proof of his Messiahship, and he works me none—shows me no sign. The inference is that he can do none, and therefore he is an impostor."
"Most royal prince," said Abner aloud, "thou now beholdest the King of the Jews, crowned, robed and sceptred!" and he pointed to Jesus.
"Hail! most puissant and potent sovereign of Galilee! Hail! King of fishermen!" cried Herod, mocking him, and seemingly greatly amused at the jest. "Hail! powerful king! What, fellows, men-at-arms and all ye gapers! bend ye not the knee before this royal personage? Do homage to your king!"
Upon this many who were around him kneeled, and some mockingly even prostrated themselves before the Prophet; but he stood so very like a monarch that others, who were about to mock him, refrained, while Herod turned away with a troubled look, saying abruptly:
"Take him back to the Procurator!"
Once more the vast multitude were in motion, and with cries and insults escorted Jesus from the presence of Herod back to the Pretorium.
When Pilate beheld their return in this manner he was greatly vexed. When once more Jesus stood before him, arrayed as I have described in the gorgeous robe and crown, Pilate, turning towards Caiaphas and the priests, said angrily:
"What more will ye have? Why bring this man again before me? Behold, I have examined him before you and have found no fault in him. Ye proved nothing by your witnesses touching those things whereof ye accuse him. I then sent you with him to Herod, and lo! the Tetrarch of Galilee, one of your own nation, finds naught in him worthy of death! Doubtless he has said something about not paying tribute, and deserves for this a light punishment, but not death. I will chastise him, charge him that he be more cautious, and let him go."
"If thou let this man go, thou art an enemy of Tiberius!" answered Caiaphas. "Seest thou what a commotion he has raised in the city? If he is released there will be a revolution."
"In the name of Olympian Jove, O Nazarene, what hast thou done to incense these Jews? If thou art their king, prove it to them or to me," demanded Pilate, greatly troubled.
"My kingdom is not of the earth," answered Jesus. "If my kingdom were an earthly one, then would my servants fight, that I should not be delivered to the Jews; but my kingdom is not of this world."
"Then thou confessest thyself a king?" exclaimed Pilate, with surprise.
"Thou sayest that which I am—a King. To this end was I born, and for this cause came I into the world, that I should bear witness to the truth."
"Truth? What is truth?" asked the Roman; but, without waiting for Jesus to reply,and seeing that the Jews outside of the hall were becoming more and more impatient, he hurriedly went out to them and said:
"I find in the prisoner no fault at all. But ye have a custom that I should at the Passover pardon a criminal out of prison, as an act of clemency, in honor of the day. Will ye, therefore, that I pardon and release unto you this 'King of the Jews'?"
No sooner had Pilate made this proposal than they all with one voice and furious gestures cried:
"No! No! Not this man! We will not have him released!"
"Barabbas! Barabbas!" was echoed and re-echoed by ten thousand voices.
This Barabbas, dear father, is the same fierce bandit of whom I have spoken, who was that day to have been crucified, with two of his lieutenants. But, at the loud demand of the people, Pilate was forced to send to the officer of the wards to let him go free.
Pilate, therefore, finding that the Jews would be content with nothing less than the blood of Jesus, returned sorrowfully into the Judgment Hall.
The residue of my narrative of the condemnation and crucifixion, I will give in the morning, dear father.
Your loving daughter,
Adina.
My Dearest Father:
Jesus had from very weakness sunk upon the steps of the throne of the Hall of Judgment. John knelt by him, bathing the wounds in his temples, from off which he had boldly taken the crown of thorns. When Pilate, after giving the order to release the robber chief Barabbas, came again where Jesus was, he stopped and regarded him attentively, and with an expression of sorrow and admiration. At length he spoke:
"If thou be indeed a god, O heroic young man, as thy patience would seem to prove thee to be, thou needest not to fear these bloodhounds, that bay so fiercely for thy blood. If thou art an impostor and a seditionist, thou verily meritest death. I regard thee but as a youthful enthusiast, and would let thee go free; but I cannot protect thee. If I release thee, not only thou, but also all my troops, will be massacred, for we are but a handful in their grasp. Tell me truly, art thou a son of the divine Jupiter?"
When Jesus, instead of replying, remained silent, the Procurator said sternly:
"What! speakest thou not unto me? Knowest thou not that I have power to crucify thee as a malefactor, and power, if I choose to meet the risk, to release thee?"
Jesus looked up and calmly said:
"Thou couldst have no power against me except it were given thee from above. Therefore he that delivered me into thy hands hath the greater sin!"
And as Jesus said these words in an impressive tone, he glanced fixedly at Caiaphas, who was looking in at the door, as if designating the High Priest. Upon this Pilate pressed his hands against his forehead and paced several times to and fro before the judgment seat, as if greatly troubled. Caiaphas, seeing his irresolution, cried harshly:
"If thou lettest this self-styled king go, O Governor, thou art not Cæsar's friend!"
Pilate's brow grew dark. He took Jesus by the hand, and leading him to the portal, pointed to him, and said aloud:
"Behold your king! What will you that I should do with him? Looks he like a man to be feared?"
"We have no king but Cæsar!"
"Crucify him!"
"To the cross with the false prophet!"
"Death to the usurper! Long live Cæsar! Death to the Nazarene! To the cross! To the cross with him! Let him be crucified!"
These were the various cries from ten thousand throats that responded to the Procurator's address. Remembering the warning message sent him by his young and beautiful wife, who held great influence over him, he trembled with indecision.
"Why will you compel me to crucify an innocent man? What evil hath he done?"
"Crucify him! Crucify him!" was the deafening response.
"I will chastise him and let him go!"
"At your peril release him, O Roman!" exclaimed Caiaphas, in a menacing tone. "Either he or you must die this day for the people! Blood must flow to appease this tempest!"
When the Procurator saw that he could prevail nothing, but that rather the tumult increased, he called for water, which was brought to him in a basin by his page, and in the presence of the whole multitude he washed his hands, saying:
"I am innocent of the blood of this just person! See ye to it, O Jews, ye and your High Priest!"
"His blood be upon us, and on our children!" answered Caiaphas; and all the people re-echoed his language.
"Ay, on us and on our children rest the guilt of his blood!"
"Be it so," answered the Procurator, with a dark brow and face as pale as the dead. "Take ye him and crucify him; and may the God he worships judge you, not me, for this day's deed!"
Pilate then turned away from them and said to Jesus:
"Thou art, I feel, an innocent man, but thou seest that I cannot save thee! I know thou wilt forgive me, and that death can have no terrors for one of fortitude like thine!"
Jesus made him no answer; and Pilate, turning from him with a sad countenance walked slowly away and left the Judgment Hall. As he did so one of his captains said to him:
"Shall I scourge him, my lord, according to the Roman law, which commands all who are sentenced to die to be scourged?"
"Do as the law commands," answered the weak-minded Roman.
His disappearance was the signal for a general rush towards Jesus, chiefly by the rabble, who, indifferent about Gentile defilement, crossed the threshold into the hall, which the chief priests had refrained from doing. These base fellows seized Jesus and, aided by the men-at-arms, dragged him forth into the outer or common hall. Here they stripped him, and, by order of the chief captain, a soldier scourged him with forty stripes, save one.
All this Jesus still bore with God-like majesty. Not a murmur escaped his lips; not a glance of resentment kindled the holy depths of his eyes, which, from time to time, were uplifted to heaven, as if he sought for help and strength from thence.
Not only Æmilius but John was now separated from him; but my uncle, the Rabbi stood near, in order to see what would follow, and to use his influence, if possible, to induce the chief priests to abandon the idea of killing him.
"Good Rabbi," said Jesus to him, "let them do with me what they list. My Father hath given me into their hands. I die, but not for myself. I can keep or yield up my life, as I will."
"Oh, then, dear Master!" cried my uncle, "why not save thyself? Why shouldst thou suffer all this, and death also, if thou hast the power over thy life?"
"If I die not, then were ye all dead. The Scripture must be fulfilled which spoke of me. 'He was led like a lamb to the slaughter.'"
Here Rabbi Amos could speak no more to him, for the crowd dragged him off out of the Court of Gabbatha, and so down the steep street in the direction of the gate of the kings that leads out to Calvary, the public place of execution.
Rabbi Amos accompanied the multitude, keeping as nigh to Jesus as the Roman soldiers, who marched on each side of him, would permit. On the way, as they crossed the open space where once stood the palace and statue of Antiochus Seleucus, the eyes of the Rabbi were attracted by the cries and pointed fingers of many of the people to the body of a man lying dead at the foot of a withered fig tree. Upon drawing nearer, he recognized the features of the man Judas, who had so basely betrayed his Master. The spectacle which he exhibited was revolting and horrid to look upon! About his neck was wound a fragment of his girdle, the other half being still secured to a limb of the tree, showing how he had met his fate.
By this time the people who were dragging Jesus to death were got well beyond the gate, when a cross of heavy cypress was obtained by the centurion from a yard near the lodge. Two others were also brought out, and laid upon the shoulders of two men, the lieutenants of Barabbas, who were also that day to be crucified.
By the time the great crowd had passed the gate, it was known throughout all Jerusalem that Pilate had given orders for the crucifixion of the Nazarene Prophet; and, with one mind, all who had known him and believed in him or loved him left their houses to go out after him to witness the crucifixion; for I forgot to say that Caiaphas had promised, if Jesus were delivered up, that his followers should not be molested. Therefore every person went out of the gate towards Calvary. Mary his mother, my Cousin Mary, Martha and her sister, Lazarus, John, Peter and Thomas, and some women, relatives from Galilee, and many others, also went. When we got without the walls, we seemed to leave a deserted city behind us. As far as the eye could embracethere was a countless multitude. Jesus was borne in front, where we could now and then catch the gleam of a Roman spear. We hastened to get near him and, with difficulty, made our way to the head of the throng, both foes and friends giving back when they saw his weeping mother among us.
At the approach to Calvary we found that, from some cause, the course of the mighty current of human beings was checked. We soon learned the reason. Jesus had sunk to the ground under the weight of the wooden beams on which he was to die, and fainted.
"He is dead!" was the cry of those about him; but, as we drew near, he was just reviving, some one having offered wine to his lips and poured water upon his brow. He stood up, looking mildly around, when meeting his mother's gaze, he said touchingly:
"Weep not, my mother! Remember what I have often told thee of this hour, and believe. Mine hour is come!"
Thus speaking he smiled upon his mother and upon us, with a certain look of divine peace illuminating his countenance.
Barabbas, the robber chief, who had in some degree taken the lead of the mob, now, with the aid of three men, raised the cross again to the shoulders of Jesus, and the soldier ordered him to move on. But the young victim sank at once beneath the insupportable load. Upon this they were at a loss what to do, for it is ignominious for Jew or Gentile to aid in bearing a malefactor's cross, and not a Roman would touch it. At this crisis they discerned a Syro-Phœnician merchant, Simon of Cyrene, a venerable man, well known to all in Jerusalem. This man was for some reason particularly obnoxious to Abner, and, on seeing him, he pointed him out to the centurion as "one of the Nazarenes," and suggested that he should be compelled to bear the cross after Jesus.
The Cyrenian merchant was at once dragged from his mule and led to the place where the cross lay, believing he was about to be himself executed. But when he beheld Jesus standing, pale and bleeding, by the fallen cross, and knew what was required of him, he burst into tears and, kneeling at his feet, said:
"If they compel me to do this, Lord, think not that I aid thy death! I know that thou art a prophet come from God."
"We brought thee not here to prate, old man, but to work. Thou art strong-bodied. Up with this end of the cross and go on after him!" cried the chief priests.
Simon, who is a powerful man, though threescore years of age, raised the extremity of the beam, and Jesus essayed to move under the weight of the other; but he failed.
"Let me bear it alone, Master," answered the stout Simon. "I am the stronger. Thou hast enough to bear the weight of thine own sorrow. If it be a shame to bear a cross after thee, I glory in my shame, as would my two sons, were they here this day."
Thus speaking, he lifted the cross and bore it on his shoulders after Jesus, who, weak from loss of blood and sleep, and weary unto death, had to lean for support against one arm of the instrument of death.
Ah, my dear father, what a place was this across which we moved! Skulls lay scattered beneath our footsteps, and everywhere human bones bleached in the air, and we trod in heaps of ashes where the Romans had burned the bodies of many of those whom they crucified.
The crosses carried by the thieves were now thrown down by them; by one with an execration, by the other with a sigh, as he anticipated the anguish he was to suffer upon it.
The larger cross of the three was that for Jesus. It was taken by three soldiers from the back of the old Cyrenian merchant and cast heavily upon the earth. It was now that a crisis approached of the most painful interest. The centurion ordered his soldiers to clear a circle about the place where the crosses were to be planted with their spears. The Jews who had crowded near, in eager thirst for their victim's blood, gave back slowly and reluctantly before the sharp points of the Roman lances pushed against their breasts, for the centurion had with him full threescore men-at-arms, besides a part of Herod's guard. John, however, held his place close by his Master. He relates that Jesus continued to evince the same sublime composure when the centurion commanded the crucifiers to advance and nail the malefactors to their crosses. The robber-lieutenant, Ishmerai, who was an Edomite, upon seeing the man approach with the basket containing the spikes and hammers, scowled fiercely upon him and looked defiance. He was instantly seized by four savage-looking Parthian soldiers of the Roman guard, and stripped and thrown upon his back upon the cross. His struggles, for he was an athletic man, were so violent that it took six personsto keep him held down upon the arms of the cross and his palms spread open to receive the entering nail, which one of the crucifiers, with naked and brawny arms, pressing one knee upon the wrist, drove in through the flesh and wood, by three quick and powerful blows with his short, heavy-headed hammer.
Thus secured he was left, bleeding and writhing, by the six crucifiers; for there are four to bind the victim, one to hold the spikes, and the sixth to drive them home with his hammer, and from the glance I caught of their half-naked and blood-stained figures, they were worthy to hold the dreadful office which made all men shun them as if they were leprous.
They now approached Omri, the other robber, who was a young man with a mild look, and a face whose noble lineaments did not betray his profession. He was the son of a wealthy citizen in Jericho, and had by riotous living, spent his patrimony and joined Barabbas. He had heard Jesus preach in the wilderness of Jordan, and had once asked him with deep interest many things touching the doctrines he taught.
When the crucifiers, with their cords, basket, nails and iron hammer, drew near him, he said:
"I will not compel you to throw me down. I can die as I have lived, without fear. As I have broken the laws, I am ready to suffer the penalty of the laws."
Thus speaking, he stretched himself upon his cross and, extending his palms along the transverse beam, he suffered them to nail him to the wood, uttering not a moan. He glanced towards Jesus at the same time with an expression of courage, as if he sought to show him that the pain could be borne by a brave man. And perhaps, indeed, Jesus looked as if he needed an heroic example before him to show him how to die without shrinking, for his cheek was like the marble of Paros in its whiteness, and he seemed ready to drop to the earth from weakness. His youth, his almost divine beauty, which not even his tangled hair and torn beard and blood-streaked countenance could wholly hide, the air of celestial innocence that beamed from his eyes, drew upon him many glances of sympathy even from some of his foes. The centurion, who was a tall man with a grizzly beard, and with the hardy exterior of an old Roman warrior, looked upon him with a sad gaze and said:
"I do not see what men hate thee for, for thou seemest more to be a man of love; but I must do my duty, and I hope thou wilt forgive me what I do. A soldier's honor is to obey."
Jesus smiled forgiveness upon him so sweetly that the stern Roman's eyes filled with tears, and he placed his gauntleted hand to his face to conceal his emotion.
But, my dear father, I can go on no longer now with my sad narrative. I am weary weeping at the recollections it calls before me, and at our present affliction. In my next I will complete my account of the unhappy crucifixion of the Prophet of Nazareth.
Your affectionate daughter,
Adina.
Jerusalem—Third Morning after the Crucifixion.
My Dear Father:
As I resume my pen by the faint light of the dawn, to continue the particulars of the crucifixion of the unhappy son of Mary, who, widowed and childless, still remains with us, mourning over her dead son, my heart involuntarily shrinks from the painful subject and bleeds afresh. But there is a fascination associated with all that concerns him, even now that he is dead and has proved himself as weak a mortal as other men, which urges me to write of him and which fills my thoughts only with him.
I have just alluded to his grief-smitten mother. Alas, there is no consolation for her! Her loss is not like that of other mothers. Her son has not only been taken from her by death, but has died ignominiously on a Roman cross, executed between two vile malefactors, as if he himself were the greatest criminal of the three; and not only this, but executed as a false prophet—as a deceiver of Israel.
Yet her love for her son—that deathless, maternal love, which seems immortal in its nature—is not buried with him. She, with dearest Mary and Martha, has just gone out secretly, before the Jews are astir, to pay the last duties to his dead body, ere we all depart for an asylum in Bethany. Until they return from this sad mission of love I will continue my subject—the crucifixion.
When the centurion to whom was committed by Pilate the charge of conductingthe crucifixion of Jesus, gave orders to bind him also to the cross, which lay upon the ground like an altar awaiting its victim, the four Parthian soldiers, his brutal crucifiers, laid hold upon him and began to strip him of his garments, for his enemies had put again on him his own clothes when they led him out of the hall of Pilate. He wore a mantle woven without seam by Mary and Martha, and which had been a present to him by the sisters, as a token of their gratitude, for raising from the dead their brother Lazarus.
His mother, supported by John, could no longer gaze upon her son, and was borne afar off, crying thrillingly:
"Oh, let me not hear the crashing of the nails into his feet and hands! My son! My son! Oh, that thou wouldst now prove to thy mother that thou art a true Prophet!"
"What means this wailing?" cried the fierce Abner. "Who is this woman?"
"The mother of Jesus," I answered, indignantly.
"The mother of the blasphemer! Let her be accursed!" he cried, in a savage tone. "Thou seest, woman, what is the end of bringing up an impostor, to blaspheme Jehovah and the Temple. Thy hopes and his, O wretched woman, have this day miserably perished! So die all false Christs and false prophets!"
Mary buried her face in her hands and wept on my shoulder. I could not look towards the place where Jesus stood. I dreaded to hear the first blow upon the dreadful nails, and as she stopped her ears I would have closed mine also, but that my hands supported her. I could hear the awful preparations—the rattling of the hard cord, as they bound him to the cross, and the low, eager voices of the four busy Parthians, and then the ringing of the spikes, and then silence like that of the grave! Suddenly a blow of a hammer broke the moment of suspense! A shriek burst from the soul of the mother that echoed far and wide among the tombs of Golgotha!
I could see, hear no more!
John having left the stricken mother with me, he and Lazarus had gone back to where they were unrobing the Prophet in order to bind him to the wood. They caught the eyes of their Master, said Lazarus, who gazed upon them calmly and affectionately. They said they had never beheld him appear so majestic and great. He looked, as the centurion afterwards said, "Like a god surrendering himself to death for the safety of his universe!"
"Nothing but the ferocious madness of the chief priests and Jews," added John, "could have prevented them from being awed by the majesty of his presence. And, besides, there sat upon his brow heroic courage, with a certain divine humility and resignation. Not the rough hands of the barbaric soldiers, nor the indignity of being stripped before the eyes of thousands, not the sight of the cross, nor of the thieves, nailed and writhing on theirs, moved him to depart, by look or bearing, from that celestial dignity which, through all, had never left him.
"He made no resistance," continued John, who told me what follows, "when bound upon the cross, but resigned himself passively into the hands of his executioners, like a lamb receiving its death. 'Father,' he said, raising his holy eyes to heaven, 'forgive them, for they know not what they do.'
"Great drops of sweat, when they nailed his feet to the wood, stood upon his forehead," added John, who remained near to see his Master die, and to comfort and strengthen him; "and when the four men raised him and the cross together from the earth and let the end into a hole a foot deep, the shock, bringing his whole weight upon the nails in his hands, tore and lacerated them, nearly dislocating the shoulders at the same time, while every sinew and muscle of his arms and chest was drawn out like cords to sustain this unwonted weight upon them. The first thief fainted from pain, at the shock caused by the setting of his own cross; and the second, cool and defiant as he had been, uttered a loud outcry of agony. But Jesus made no moan, though the unearthly pallor of his countenance showed how inexpressible was his torture."
Ah, my dear father, I would draw a veil over this scene—for it is too painful for me to dwell upon. To the last John believed his Master would not die—that he would not suffer! But when he saw how that pain and anguish seized heavily upon him, and how that he suffered like other men, without power to prevent it, he greatly wondered, and began to believe that all the miracles that he had seen him perform must have been illusions. He could not reconcile the calmness and dignity, the heroic composure and air of innocence with which he came to the cross, with imposture; yet his deathwould assuredly seal as imposture all his previous career.
With his mother we all drew as near the cross as we were permitted to come. Jesus then turned his head towards his mother, and, looking down with the profoundest tenderness and love upon her, committed her to the filial care of the weeping John, who stood supporting her.
There we waited, in expectation of seeing him do some mighty miracle from the cross and descend unharmed, showing to the world thereby his title to be the Messias of God.
The centurion, having placed a guard about the crosses, to keep the friends of the crucified from attempting their rescue, stood watching them. The soldiers who had nailed Jesus to the tree now began to divide, with noisy oaths, his garments among themselves, as well as those of the two thieves, these being by the Roman law the fee of the executioner. This division being made after some time, but not without high talking and drawing of their long Syrian knives upon each other, they were at a loss what to do with the large mantle without seam, which the sisters of Lazarus had woven for the friend of their once dead brother. A group of the Roman guard being seated near, astride upon the four arms of a fallen cross, playing at dice, suggested that the Parthians should decide by lot whose it should be. This the latter consented to and, taking the dice-box in their bloody hands, each of them threw the dice. The highest number fell to the most ferocious of the four fellows, who proposed to sell the cloak, which John joyfully purchased of him at a great price, by means of the jewels of several of the women, who gladly took rings from their ears and bracelets from their arms, I giving, dear father, the emerald which you bought for me at Cairo. But I could not see the robe which Jesus had worn thus desecrated.
After Jesus had hung about an hour upon the cross, Æmilius came from Pilate, and bore the inscription, which it is usual to place above the heads of malefactors, showing their name, and the crime for which they are crucified.
Above the head of Jesus, by means of a small ladder, was placed this inscription, in Greek, Latin, and Hebrew:
THIS IS JESUS,THE KING OF THE JEWS.
When the wicked Abner read this, he turned angrily to the centurion, and to Æmilius, who stood sadly near the cross.
"Write not, O Roman, that he is 'King of the Jews,' but that he said he was King of the Jews!"
"I have placed above him what Pilate has ordered to be written," answered the centurion.
Abner, upon this, mounted a mule and hastened into the city to the Procurator, and laid his complaint before him.
"What I have written, I have written, sir priest," we have heard that the Procurator coldly answered.
"But you, then, have crucified this man for being our king, which we deny!" retorted Abner.
"I will take his word, before that of all the Jews in Cæsar's empire!" answered Pilate angrily. "He said he was a king; and if ever a king stood before a human tribunal, I have had a true and very king before me to-day—and I have signed the warrant for his execution. But his blood be on your heads! Leave my presence, Jew!"
Abner left his presence abashed, and returned to the place of crucifixion. The Jews, in the meanwhile, mocked Jesus, and wagged their heads at him, and reminded him of his former miracles and prophecies.
"Thou that raisedst Lazarus, save thyself from death!" said a Pharisee.
"If thou art the Son of God, prove it by coming down from the cross!" cried the leader of the Sadducees, Eli.
"Thou who saidst if a man kept thy sayings he should never see death—let us see if thou canst avoid death thyself!" said Iddo, the chief of the Essenes.
"He saved others—himself he cannot save!" mocked Ezekias, one of the chief priests.
Æmilius, finding it impossible to save the Prophet from crucifixion, had come out to guard him from the usual insults of the rabble, while he was dying. He had now lost faith in Jesus as a Jewish Prophet, but he loved him still as a man, and pitied him for his sufferings. He talked with him, and earnestly prayed him, as he hung, if he were indeed a god, to show his power! Jesus at first made no reply; but he shortly said, in a faint voice:
"I thirst."
The generous knight ran and filled a sponge with the preparation of sour wine and hyssop, usually given to malefactors,after they have suffered awhile, in order to stupefy them, and render them insensible to their sufferings. While Æmilius was affixing a sponge, dipped in this vessel of vinegar, upon a reed, split at the end to hold it firmly, Ishmerai, the robber, who all the while, as he hung, had uttered execrations upon his crucifiers, and upon Pilate, called, howling fiercely, to Jesus:
"If thou be the Son of God, save thyself and us! If thou didst raise a man once from the dead, thou canst surely keep us from dying! Thou art a vile wretch if thou hast power as a prophet, and will not use it for me, when thou seest how heavy I am of body, and how my great weight tortures me, with infernal racking and rending of every joint."
But Omri, rebuking his fellow, said:
"Dost thou not fear God, seeing thou art in the same condemnation? We suffer justly for our crimes, and to-day do receive the due reward of our transgressions; but this young man hath done nothing amiss, save to preach against the wickedness of the priests, and for being holier than they. Lord, I believe that thou art the Son of God! None but the Christ could do the works that thou hast done, or suffer patiently as thou art doing. Lord, remember me when thou comest into thy kingdom."
Jesus turned his bleeding head towards him, and, with a smile of ineffable glory radiating his pale face, said:
"Verily, I say unto thee, this day shalt thou be with me in Paradise."
Omri, upon this, looked inexpressibly happy, and seemed to rise superior to his sufferings. The other cursed the Prophet aloud, and gnashed at him with his teeth, with looks of demoniacal hatred.
At this moment Æmilius came near with his dripping sponge, and presented the reed upwards to the parched lips of the suffering Jesus. When he tasted it, he would not drink, for he perceived it was the opiate which was usually administered in compassion, to shorten the anguish of the crucified.
The robber, Ishmerai, now eagerly cried for the oblivious sponge, and the Prefect giving the reed to a soldier, the latter placed it to the mouth of the robber, whose swollen tongue protruded! He drank of it with a sort of mad thirst. The other man, also, gladly assuaged his burning fever with it, and soon afterwards both of them sunk into insensibility.
All at once, just as the sixth hour was sounded from the Temple, by the trumpets of the Levites, the cloud which, formed by the smoke of the numerous sacrifices, had hung all day above the Temple, was seen to become suddenly of inky blackness, and to advance towards Calvary, spreading and expanding in the most appalling manner, as it approached us; and in a few minutes, not only all Jerusalem, but Calvary, the Valley of Kedron, the Mount of Olives, and all the country, were involved in its fearful darkness. The sun, which had before been shining with noonday brilliancy, became black as sackcloth of hair, and a dreadful, unearthly, indescribable night overshadowed the world! Out of the center of the cloud, above the crosses, shot forth angry lightnings in every direction. But there was no thunder attending it—only a dead, sepulchral, suffocating silence!
Of the thousands who had been gazing upon the crucifixion, every one was now fallen prostrate upon the earth in terror! Jerusalem was blotted out from our view; only an angry spot of fire-red light, as it were the terrible eye of God itself, was visible above the Temple, over the place of the Holy of Holies. The crosses were no longer visible, save by the fearful shine of the lightnings, flashing fiercely from the dread and silent cloud. The form of Jesus, amid the universal gloom, shone as if divinely transfigured, and a soft halo of celestial light encircled his brow like a crown of glory; while the dark bodies of the two robbers could scarcely be discerned, save by the faint radiance emanating from his own.
Men talked to each other in whispers. An indefinable dread was upon each mind; for the sudden overspreading of the darkness was as unaccountable as it was frightful. Mary, his mother, and Lazarus, exclaimed with awe, both speaking together:
"This is his power. He has produced this miracle!"
"And we shall behold him next descend from the cross," cried Rabbi Amos. "Let us take courage!"
Three hours—three long and awful hours, this supernatural light continued—and all that while the vast multitude remained fixed, and moaning, waiting they knew not what! At length the cloud parted above the cross, with a loud peal of thunder, while a shower of terrible lightning fell, like lances of fire, all around the form of Jesus, which immediately lost its halo and its translucent radiance, His face, at the same time, becameexpressive of the most intense sorrow of soul.
A hundred voices exclaimed, with horror:
"See! he is deserted, and punished by the Almighty!"
We ourselves were amazed and appalled. Our rising hopes were blasted by the livid lightnings, which seemed to blast him! Heaven, as well as man, seemed to war against him! His mother gave utterance to a groan of agony, and sank upon the ground, satisfied that her son was truly accursed of God. At this moment, as if to confirm all our fears, he cried, in the Hebrew tongue:
"Eloi! Eloi! My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?"
Upon this, some, pitying his sufferings, ran to give him wine and hyssop, to deaden them.
"Nay, let him live—let us see if Elias will save him!" answered Abner. "He calleth for Elisha the prophet!"
Suddenly the darkness, which had filled all the air, seemed now to concentrate and gather about the cross, so that he who hanged thereon, became invisible. From the midst of it his thrilling voice was once more heard, as clear and strong as it rang over the waters of Galilee when he preached from a boat to the thousands thronging the shore:
"It is finished! Father, into thy hands I commend my spirit!"
As he uttered these words, a supernatural glory shone around him, and, with a deep sigh, he bowed his head upon his breast and gave up the ghost!
The general exclamation of surprise that followed these clear trumpet-tones, was suddenly checked by a terrible trembling of the earth beneath our feet, so that vast numbers of people were cast down; the rocks of Calvary were rent, and thrown upwards, while the whole city shook with the convulsive throes of an earthquake. The Temple seemed on fire, and above its pinnacle appeared a flaming sword, which seemed to us to cleave the walls to their foundations; and while we looked, the sword changed into the shape of a cross of dazzling light, standing high in the air, over the altar; and from its golden beams poured rays so bright, that all Jerusalem, and the hill country for a wide extent, became as light as noon-day. The ground still continued to rock, and the sepulchres of the kings, with the tombs of ancient prophets, were riven by vast chasms, and the green earth was strewn with the bones and bodies of the dead. The dark cloud, which had begun to form first with the smoke of the sacrifices of the Temple, was now dissipated by the light of the fiery cross, and the sun reappeared. Before it the glorious vision over the Temple gradually faded out and disappeared. The natural order of things gradually returned; and men, smiting their breasts, began to move towards the city, filled with awe and dread at what they had witnessed. The centurion, who stood watching these fearful things, said, aloud, to Æmilius:
"This man spake the truth. He was a god!"
"Truly," responded Æmilius, "this was none other than the Son of God—the very Christ of the Jewish Prophets. All things in the air and on the earth sympathize with his death, as if the God of nature had expired."
Sad and weeping, we left the dismal scene, hanging our heads in despondency; having, even while wondering at these mighty events connected with his crucifixion, abandoned, forever, all hope that this was he who should have redeemed our nation and restored the royal splendor of Judah and the throne of the house of David.
I am, my dear father, your loving daughter,
Adina.
Jerusalem—Third Morning after the Crucifixion.
My Dear Father:
On the day on which the wonderful events took place which I have detailed at large in my last letter, the chief priests, at the head of whom was Annas, met Pilate as he was riding forth from the city, attended by a score of men-at-arms, to survey the deep rents made by the earthquake, and to hear from the mouths of all the people the particulars of the marvels which attended the crucifixion of Jesus. When they came near him, they besought him that he would command his soldiers to take down the bodies, as the next day was a high-day, and that it was contrary to their customs to have criminals executed or left hanging on that day.
"What think ye?" demanded Pilate, reining up and soothing his Syrian war-horse, which, startled at the dead bodies that lay near (for they were crossing the place of theopened tombs), had for some time tramped and plunged madly. "What think ye, priests! Have ye crucified a man or a god? We think these mighty wonders tell us that he was more than a man!"
The priests looked troubled, and seemed unable to answer. But Terah, chief priest of the house of Mariah, answered and said:
"My lord, these were wonderful phenomena, but they would have happened if this Nazarene had not died! Here is a famous astrologer from Arabia, who studies the skies, who says that this darkness was caused by an eclipse of the sun! The dark cloud was but the smoke of the sacrifices, while the earthquake was but a natural and usual occurrence!"
"Stay, sir priest," answered Pilate; "we at Rome, though called barbarians by you polished Jews, have some scholarship in astrology. We know well that an eclipse of the sun can take place only when the moon is new! It is to-day, on this eve of the high-day, at its full, and will to-night rise nearly opposite the sun! It was no eclipse, sir priest, and thy Arabian is a false astrologer. These events occurred because that divine man, your king, has been executed."
Thus speaking, the Roman Procurator spurred on towards the place, followed by his body-guard; now avoiding an open grave, now leaping one of the freshly opened chasms, now turning aside from some body cast up by the earthquake. When he came in front of the crosses, he saw that Jesus hung as if dead, while the thieves still breathed and from time to time heaved groans of anguish, although partly insensible from the effects of the opiate which had been administered to them.
"Think you, Romulus, that he has any life in him?" asked Pilate, in a subdued tone of voice, gazing sorrowfully, and with looks of self-reproach, upon the drooping form of his victim.
"He is dead an hour ago," answered the centurion. "He expired when the earthquake shook the city, and the flaming sword was unsheathed in the air above the Temple! It was a fearful sight, sir, and the more wonderful to see it change in the shape of a cross of fire. I fear, sir, we have crucified one of the gods in the shape of a man."
"It would appear so, centurion," answered Pilate, shaking his head. "I would it had not been done! But 'tis past! The Jews desire their bodies to be removed before their great Sabbath. Let them have their desire."
Pilate then turned his horse and rode slowly and sadly away from the spot. Romulus gave orders to his soldiers to remove the bodies. When the soldiers came to Jesus they saw that he was already dead.
"Let us not break his legs," said one to the other; "it were sacrilege to mar such a manly form."
"Yet we must insure his death, ere he can be taken away," responded the other. "I will pierce him to make sure!"
Thus speaking, the soldier directed his spear to the side of Jesus, and cleaved the flesh to his heart. John, who stood near, and saw and heard all, upon seeing this done bowed his head to the earth in total abandonment of hope!
When he raised his head to gaze upon his crucified Master, he saw flowing from the rent in his side two fountains together, one of crimson blood, and lo! the other of crystal water! He could not believe what he saw, until the soldiers and the centurion expressed aloud their wonder at such a marvel.
"Never was such a man crucified before," exclaimed the centurion.
In the meanwhile, Rabbi Joseph, the counsellor of Arimathea, who stands high in favor with Pilate, met the Governor as he was skirting the wall of the city with his cohort, and asked him if, after Jesus should be pronounced dead, he might take down the body and give it sepulchre.
"Go and receive the body of this wonderful man," said Pilate. "Methinks thou art one who knew him well. What thinkest thou of him, Rabbi?" Joseph perceived that Pilate asked the question with deep interest, seemingly very greatly troubled in mind, and he answered him boldly:
"I believe that he was a Prophet sent from God, your excellency, and that to-day has died on Calvary the most virtuous, the wisest, and the most innocent man in Cæsar's empire."
"My conscience echoes your words," answered Pilate, gloomily; and putting spurs to his horse, he galloped forward in the direction of the Gethsemane Gardens.
Proceeding to the cross, Joseph, by the aid of Lazarus, Simon Peter, Mary, Martha, and Rabbi Amos, took it out of the socket in the rock, with its precious burden, and gently laid it upon the ground with the body still extended upon it.
In the still, holy twilight of that dread day, the west all shadowy gold and mellow light,the air asleep, and a sacred silence reigning in heaven and on earth, they bore away from the hill of death the body of the dead Prophet. The shoulders of Nicodemus, of Peter, of Lazarus, and of John, gently sustained the loving weight of Him they once honored above all men, and whom, though proved by his death, as they believed, to have fatally deceived himself as to his divine mission as the Christ, they still loved for his sorrows so patiently borne, for his virtues so vividly remembered.
Slowly the little group wound their way along the rocky surface of Golgotha, the last to leave that fearful place in the coming darkness. Their measured tread, their low whispers, the subdued wail of the women who followed the rude bier of branches, the lonely path they trod, all combined to render the spectacle one of touching solemnity. The shades of evening were gathering thick around them. They took secret ways for fear of the Jews. But some that met them turned aside with awe when they knew what corpse was borne along, for the impression of the appalling scenes of the day had not yet wholly passed away from their minds. At length they reached a gate in the wall of the garden attached to the noble abode of the wealthy Rabbi Joseph, who went before, and with a key unlocked it, and admitted them into the secluded enclosure. Here the thickness of the foliage of olive and fig trees created complete darkness; for by this time the evening star was burning like a lamp in the roseate west. They rested the bier upon the pavement beneath the arch, and awaited in silence and darkness the appearance of torches which Rabbi Joseph had sent for to his house. The servants bearing them were soon seen advancing, the flickering light from the flambeaux giving all things visible by it a wild aspect, in keeping with the hour.
"Follow me," said Joseph, in a low voice, that was full charged with deep sorrow, as the servants preceded him with their torches.
The sad bearers of the dead body of Jesus raised their sacred burden from the ground, and trod onward, their measured foot-falls echoing among the aisles of the garden. At its farther extremity, where the rock hangs beetling over the valley, and forms at this place the wall of the garden, was a shallow flight of stone steps leading to a new tomb hewn out of the rock. It had been constructed for the Rabbi himself, and had just been completed, and in it no man had ever been laid.
The servants, by command of Joseph, rolled back the stone, and exposed the dark vault of the gaping sepulchre.
"How is it, most worthy Rabbi," said a Roman centurion, suddenly apprizing them of his presence by his voice, "that you bury thus with honor a man who has proved himself unable to keep the dazzling promises he has allured so many of you with?"
All present turned with surprise at seeing not only the centurion, but half a score of men-at-arms, on whose helmets and cuirasses the torches brightly gleamed, marching across the grass towards the spot.
"What means this intrusion, Roman?" asked Rabbi Joseph.
"I am sent hither by command of the Procurator," answered the centurion; "the chief Jews have had an interview with him, informing him that the man whom he had crucified had foretold that after three days he would rise again. They, therefore, asked a guard to be given them to place over the sepulchre, till the third day, lest his disciples secretly withdraw the body, and report that their master is risen. Pilate, therefore, has commanded me to keep watch to-night with my men."
"We bury him with this deference and respect, centurion," answered Rabbi Joseph, "because we believe him to have been deceived, not a deceiver. He was gifted by God with vast power, and therefore doubtless believed he could do all things. He was too holy, wise, and good to deceive. He has fallen a victim to his own wishes for the weal of Israel which were impossible by man to be realized."
The body of Jesus, wrapped in its shroud of spotless linen, and surrounded by the preserving spices of Arabia, was then borne into the tomb, and laid reverently upon the table of stone which Joseph had prepared for his own last resting-place. Simon Peter was the last to quit the side of the body, by which he knelt as if he would never leave it, shedding all the while great tears of bitter grief. John only, at last, drawing him gently forth, enabled the centurion and soldiers to close the heavy door of the tomb. Having secured it evenly by revolving it in its socket, the signet-bearer of the Procurator, who had come with the soldiers, placed a mass of wax, melted by a torch, upon each side of it over the crevices, and stamped each with the Imperial signet, which to break is death!
The Jews who were present, seeing that the sepulchre was thus made sure by the sealing of the stone, and by the setting of the vigilant Roman watch of eighteen men, took their departure. Rabbi Joseph, Nicodemus, and the rest of the friends of Jesus, then slowly retired, leaving a sentinel pacing to and fro before the tomb, and others grouped about beneath the trees or on the steps of the sepulchre, playing at their favorite game of dice, or gazing upon the broad moon, conversing, or singing their native Italian airs; yet with their arms at hand, ready to spring to their feet at the least alarm or word of alert.
(Something fearful must this instant have happened, for the house has just shaken as if with an earthquake. What can be the meaning of these wonders?)
This morning Mary and Martha, with others, have gone to visit Jesus' tomb in Joseph's garden (as I have already said), for the purpose of embalming the body, and on their return we are to go to Bethany for a few days, until the violent hostility of the Jews to his followers subsides.
I hear now the voices of Mary and Martha, in the court of the street, returning from the tomb. They are pitched to a wild note of joy! What can mean the commotion—the exclamations—the running, and shouting, all through the corridors and court? I must close, and fly to learn what new terror or wonder has occurred.
In haste, your affectionate daughter,
Adina.