nce
he is king of the poltroons, let us crown him!'

This proposition was received with insulting joy; several voices
immediately cried out:

'Yes, since he is king, we must invest him with the imperial purple.'

'We must put a sceptre in his hand; we will then proclaim him, and honor
him like our august Emperor Tiberius.'

And whilst their companions continued to surround and insult the young
Nazarene, indifferent to these outrages, several of the soldiers went
out.--One took the red cloak of a horse soldier; another the cane of a
centurion; a third remembering a heap of fagots intended to be burnt,
lying in a corner, chose a few sprigs of a thorny plant, and began
weaving a crown. Several voices then exclaimed:

'We must now proceed to crown the King of the Jews.'

'Yes, let us crown the king of the cowards!'

'The son of God!'

'The son of the god Fear!'

'Companions, this coronation must be performed with pomp, as if it
concerned a real Caesar.'

'As for me, I am crown bearer.'

'And I, sceptre-bearer.'

'And I, bearer of the imperial mantle.'

And amidst shouts and obscene jests, these Romans formed a sort of mock
procession. The crown-bearer advanced the first, holding the crown of
thorns with a solemn air; and followed by a certain number of soldiers;
next came the sceptre-bearer, then other soldiers; lastly, the one who
carried the mantle; and all sang in chorus:

'Hail to the King of the Jews!

'Hail to the Messiah!

'Hail to the Son of God!

'Hail to the Caesar of poltroons, hail!'

Jesus, seated on his bench, regarded the preparations for this insulting
ceremony with unalterable placidity. The crown-bearer having approached
first, raised the thorny emblem above the head of the young man, and
said to him: 'I crown thee, O king!'

And the Roman placed the crown so brutally on the head of Jesus, that
the thorns pierced the flesh; large drops of blood ran, like tears of
blood, down the pale face of the victim; but, except the first
involuntary shudder caused by the agony, the features of the meek and
lowly sufferer maintained their usual placidity, and betrayed neither
resentment nor rage.

'And I invest you with the imperial mantle, O king!' added another
Roman, whilst one of his companions drew off the tunic that had been
thrown over the shoulders of Jesus. No doubt the wool of this garment
had already adhered to the living flesh, for at the moment it was
violently snatched from the