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!"

"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.