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 a Prophet sent from God—nay, more than a prophet,
Christ, the Son of the Blessed! Yet he still lies dead in

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the tomb, and his splendid prophecies of his future glory,
as King of Israel, have perished with him. 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.

I will now resume my narrative of his trial; for I would,
by showing you how like a true prophet he bore himself,
even before his judges, in some degree excuse myself to
you, for being carried away by him, and accepting him for
all that he professed to be—the very Messias of Jehovah.

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 hundred pinnacles of the Holy
House of the Lord. The smoke of incense curls lazily up
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; and, shooting over the cloud, the sitting
sunbeams, catching the lofty pinnacles, make the
gloom beneath only seem the more sombre. The 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 a pair of black gigantic wings, spreading a league broad
over Jerusalem.

There it hangs, visible from my window; but we are
in some sort used to its dreadful presence, and cease to

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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
over 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 very 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 the bodies of the dead heaved to the
surface, and exposed to all eyes; and arose, and went alive
into the city, where many saw them, and on all sides shrank
away from them in terror. Others of the dead bodies
have lain all to-day, for the Jews dare not touch them to
rebury them, for fear of being defiled. All this is fearful
and unaccountable. 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 if some dread calamity had befallen the nation.
Can the death of Jesus be the cause of all these things?
If so, he was the Son of God, and men have done unto

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him whatsoever they listed. If he be the Blessed Christ,
whom Caiaphas and the priests has had crucified, the
retribution of God's vengeance upon our city and nation is
but just begun. But if he were the Christ, why did he
not save himself?

My last letter, my dear father, closed with the termination
of the examination of Jesus before Caiaphas, the
High-Priest, who not being able to convict him of anything
save alleged blasphemy, and not having the power
in his hands to condemn him to death on this charge, resolved,
in order unfailingly to secure his execution, to
charge him before Pilate, the procurator, of sedition and
treason against Cæsar. But for the fact, that the Romans
had taken the power of death from the Jewish nation,
Jesus would have been then stoned to death for blasphemy,
by order of Caiaphas; but a more ignominious death, as a
revolutionist and usurper of Cæsar's crown, was in reserve
for him, at the hands of the Roman law.

Guarded by Æmilius, who was his true friend to the
last, and followed by the envious Caiaphas, the fierce
Abner, the captains of the Temple, Scribes, Pharisees,
Sadducees, Herodians, and a mixed rabble of the Jews,
artisans, peasants, robbers, beggars, and all the off-scourings
of the nation that pour into the city at the Passover
season, he was led to the house of Pilate.

The Prætorian 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

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Jesus, the Nazarene, of sedition before the Procurator, he
was admitted, with the chief men of the city, into the
outer court of Antiochus; but none passed beyond the
statue of Cæsar, lest they should defile themselves; 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, and 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 nought to do with your
faith. Let the man go! I see no cause of death in him!”

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He then spoke to Æmilius, and desired him to lead Jesus
to the spot where he stood. Pilate then 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.
I have had curiosity to see thee, and thanks, Caiaphas,
to thee, for this privilege. 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,
of 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

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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,
for his lips parted as if to speak, there was heard a sudden
commotion in the lower part of the court of Gabbatha,
(for thus the outer court of the Pretorium, where they
were, is called by the Jews,) 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 him.

“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. “Caiaphas, I have
sought thee everywhere!” he exclaimed, on seeing the
High-Priest. “Take back thy money, and let this holy
Prophet of God go free! I swear to you 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; for Caiaphas was too much
surprised at this open exposure of his bribery of Judas
to speak, his eyes falling under the withering glance of
the Roman Procurator.

“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.

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But Caiaphas shook him off; Abner and the chief-priests
also spurned him from them, as he approached them,
when, 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 him, without one
look of resentment at his having betrayed him, “mine
hour is come. I may not escape. For this I came into
the world.”

“I believed thou wouldst not suffer thyself to be arrested,
when they should find thee in Olivet, my Master, or I
would not have taken their money. It was my avarice
that hath slain thee! Oh God! Oh God! it is too late!”
Thus crying, he rose and rushed, with his face hid in his
cloak, forth from the presence of all, the crowd of men
giving back hastily, as he advanced through their midst
towards the outer gate.

This extraordinary interruption produced a startling
effect upon all present; and it was a few moments before
Pilate could resume his examination of Jesus, which he
did by entering the Judgment-Hall, and taking his seat
on his 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,” he 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

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upon him; yet no sunshine that day penetrated the darkwinged
cloud, that hung suspended low above the city.

“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 hath, also, sought to prevent the people from paying
tribute to Cæsar!” cried Abner, shouting through
an open window, for he also would not, on account of the
holy feast, be profaned by entering a Gentile house.

“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, which we all knew not to be
true.

Pilate at length obtained comparative silence, and then
said to Jesus:

“Hearest thou these accusations? Hast thou no answer
to make? What defence hast thou, Sir Prophet?
Answerest thou nothing? 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 had
blasphemed your gods, take ye him and judge him according
to your laws,” answered Pilate.

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“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, as having done nothing worthy of
capital punishment. Æmilius, unbind thy prisoner, and
let him go. I find no fault in him, that he should be
longer held in bonds.”

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 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. He
hath stirred up all Jewry, from Galilee to this place, and
yet thou findest no fault with him!”

When Pilate heard the name of Galilee, he asked if the
prisoner were a Galilean? Upon being answered in the
affirmative by the excited priest, 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 his God, and is now at the old Maccabean palace,
with his retinue. Conduct your prisoner to him, and let
Herod judge his own subjects. Present him with this
signet in token of amity. Tell him I will not interfere

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with his privileges, and that I desire he would take and
judge the man as if he were in his own tetrarchate.”

The chief priests and scribes now shouted with approbation
at this decision, for they began to fear that Pilate
would release him; and they knew that the vacillating
and reckless Herod would do whatsoever would gain popular
applause.

“If he sends us to Herod with him,” said the priest
Abner, “his doom is sealed—his blood is ours!” And the
multitude without hailed the reappearance of Æmilius,
and his unresisting captive, from the Judgment-Hall, and
followed them across the marble pavement of Gabbatha,
into the street, crying:

“To Herod!—to the Tetrarch of Galilee with him!”

But Caiaphas, frowning and dissatisfied, remained behind,
and Pilate, glad to get rid of the delicate affair of
condemning an innocent man, to gratify the envy of the
Jews, by sending him to his enemy, Herod, smilingly
came out, and spoke to the gloomy High-Priest:

“Thou wert something sharp upon me just now, my
lord Caiaphas. Thou knowest I can condemn men only
for crimes committed against the laws of the Empire.
This Jesus has done nothing worthy of death, were he
called before a tribunal in the capital of the world itself,
Cæsar his judge.”

“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,

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powerless man, destitute of money, men, or arms, an obscure
fisherman or carpenter of Galilee, of 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,
(for Herod will not, surely, accept your courtesy, and
judge him within your jurisdiction,) 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 suspicions!”

Here the High Priest, said my uncle Amos, who heard
all that passed, looked with concentrated maliciousness
into the eyes of the Italian ruler, who 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. It must have been something I am incapable of
comprehending. I will see what Herod will say, who,
being a Jew, is familiar with your customs. But it seems
to me, O Priest, that the testimony of the wretched man
whom, I see, you bribed to betray his master into your
power, would now release him!”

Pilate now reseated himself upon his throne.

While he spoke, a youth threw himself from his horse
at the door of the court, and drew near the Procurator.

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“What aileth thee, Alexander?” demanded Pilate, on
seeing blood on his temples, and that he seemed faint.

“But a trifle now, my good 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
rose-tinted 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 in his eyes reflected, 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 thou 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. Would
to Jove that Herod may have sense enough to release him,
and relieve me of this unpleasant business. One might
better keep in subjection a province of painted and savage
Scythians, than these fierce Jews. I should be well rid

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of my Procuratorship; but I will not lose it by accusation
from them! I must save both Jesus and myself!”

While he was yet speaking and musing with himself,
unconsciously, aloud, so that those who stood about him,
among whom was El Nathan, the brother of the maid
Mirza, who dwells in our household, and from whom I
received this portion of the narrative, 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 royal robe,
once worn by Herod, in his state of petty king; and his
hand held a reed, as a sceptre; and as he walked along,
the bitterest among the priests, as well as the vilest of
the common fellows, bent the knee before him, crying:

“Hail! King Jesus! Hail, Royal Nazarene! All hail!”

Others went before him, carrying mock standards—
while 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

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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.