On the Cross: A Romance of the Passion Play at Oberammergau
fulfilled: 'He is brought as a lamb to the slaughter, and as a sheep
before her shearers is dumb, so he openeth not his mouth.'" Then, while
the others were weeping over the impending calamity, Christ said: "Be
not overcome in the first struggle. Trust in me." And, as He spoke, the
loving soul knew that it might rest on Him and be secure.
He moved away. Serene, noble, yet humble, He went to meet His death.
The curtain fell--but this time there was no exchange of greetings from
the boxes, the faces of their occupants were covered to conceal the
tears of which they were ashamed, yet could not restrain.
The countess and her companion remained silent. Madeleine's forehead
rested on her hand--the prince was secretly wiping his eyes.
"People of God, lo, thy Saviour is near! The Redeemer, long promised,
hath come!" sang the chorus, and the curtain rising, showed Christ and
his disciples on the way to Jerusalem. It was the moment that Christ
wept over Jerusalem. Tears of the keenest anguish which can pierce the
heart of a God, tears for the sins of the world! "Jerusalem, Jerusalem,
if thou hadst known, even thou, at least in this thy day, the things
which belongs unto thy peace! But now they are hid from thine eyes."
The disciples entreated their Master not to enter the hostile city and
thus avoid the crime which it was destined to commit. Or to enter and
show Himself in His power, to judge and to reward.
"Children, what ye desire will be done in its time, but my ways are
ordered by my Father, and thus saith the Lord: 'My thoughts are not
your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways.'"
And, loyal and obedient, He followed the path of death. Judas alone
lingered behind, resolving to leave the fallen greatness which promised
no earthly profit and would bring danger and disgrace upon its
adherents. In this mood he was met by Dathan, Andreas Gross, who was
seeking a tool for the vengeance of the money changers. Finding it in
Judas, he took him before the Sanhedrim.
An impressive and touching tableau now introduced a new period, the
gathering of manna in the wilderness, which refreshed the starving
children of Israel. A second followed: The colossal bunch of grapes
from Canaan. "The Lord miraculously fed the multitude in the desert
with the manna and rejoiced their hearts with the grapes of Canaan, but
Jesus offers us a richer banquet from Heaven. From the mystery of His
body and blood flows mercy and salvation!" sang the chorus. The curtain
rose again, Christ was at supper with His disciples. He addressed them
in words of calm farewell. But they did not yet fully understand, for
they asked who would be _first_ in His heavenly kingdom?
His only answer was to lay aside His upper garment, gird, with divine
dignity, a cloth about His loins, and kneel to perform for the
disciples the humblest service--_the washing of their feet_.
The human race looked on in breathless wonder--viewless bands of angels
soared downward and the demons of pride and defiance in human nature
fled and hid themselves in the inmost recesses of their troubled
hearts.
Aye, the strong soul of the woman, which had at first rebelled against
the patience of the suffering God--now understood it and to her also
light came, as He had promised and, by the omnipotent feeling which
urged her to the feet of Him who knelt rendering the lowliest service
to the least of His disciples, she perceived the divinity of
_humility_!
It was over. He had risen and put on His upper garment; He stood with
His figure drawn up to His full height and gazed around the circle:
"Now ye are clean, but not _all_!"--and His glance rested mournfully on
Peter, who before the cock crew, would deny Him thrice, and on Judas,
who would betray Him for thirty pieces of silver.
Then He again took His seat and, as the presentiment of approaching
death transfigures even the most commonplace mortal and illumines the
struggling soul at the moment of its separation from the body, so the
_God_ transfigured the earthly form of the "Son of Man" and appeared
more and more plainly on the pallid face, ere he left the frail husk
which He had chosen for His transitory habitation. And as the dying man
distributes his property among his heirs, _He_ bequeathed His. But He
had nothing to give, save Himself. As the cloud dissolves into millions
of raindrops which the thirsting earth drinks, He divided Himself into
millions of atoms which, in the course of the ages, were to refresh
millions of human beings with the banquet of love. His body and His
blood were his legacy. He divided it into countless portions, to
distribute it among countless heirs, yet it remained _one_ and the
_part_ is to every one _the whole_. For as an element remains a great
unity, no matter into how many atoms it may dissolve--as water is
always water whether in single drops or in the ocean--fire always fire
in sparks or a conflagration--so Christ is _always Christ_ in the drops
of the chalice and the particles of the bread, as well as in His
original person, for He, _too_, is an element, _the element of
divinity_.
As kindred kneel around the bedside of a loved one who is dying, bedew
his hand with tears, and utter the last entreaty: "Forgive us, if we
have ever wounded you?" the thousands of spectators longed to kneel,
and there was not one who did not yearn to press his lips to the
wonderful hand which was distributing the bread, and cry: "Forgive us
our sins." But as reverence for the dying restrains loud lamentations,
the spectators controlled themselves in order not to sob aloud and thus
disturb the divine peace throned upon the Conqueror's brow.
Destiny now relentlessly pursued its course. Judas sold his master for
thirty pieces of silver, and they were paid to him before the
Sanhedrim. The pieces of silver rang on the stone table upon which they
were counted out. It seemed as if the clear sound was sharply piercing
the world, like the edge of a scythe destined to mow down the holiest
things.
The priests exulted, there was joy in the camp of the foes! All that
human arrogance and self-conceit could accomplish, raised its head
triumphantly in Caiaphas. The regal priest stood so firmly upon
the height of his secular power that nothing could overthrow him,
and--Jesus of Nazareth must die!
So the evening came when Christ went with the twelve disciples to the
Mount of Olives to await His doom.
"Father, the hour is come; glorify thy Son, that thy Son may also
glorify thee! I have finished the work which thou gavest me to do--I
have manifested thy name unto men! Father, sanctify them through thy
truth; that they all may be one, as thou, Father, art in me and I in
thee!"
He climbed the lonely mount in the garden of olive trees to pass
through the last agony, the agony of death, which seized upon even the
Son of God so long as He was still bound by the laws of the human body.
"Father, if thou be willing, let this cup pass from me!"
Here Freyer's acting reached its height; it was no longer semblance,
but reality. The sweat fell in burning drops from his brow, and tears
streamed from his eyes. "Yet not _my_ will, but _Thine_ be done--Thy
sacred will!" Clasping his trembling hands, he flung himself prone on
the ground, hiding his tear-stained face, "Father--Thy son--hear Him!"
The throng breathed more and more heavily, the tears flowed faster. The
heart of all humanity was touched with the anguished cry: "Oh, sins of
humanity, ye crush me--oh, the terrible burden--the bitter cup!"
With this anguish the Son of God first drew near to the human race, in
this suffering He first bent down to mortals that they might embrace
Him lovingly like a mortal brother. And it was so at this moment, also!
They would fain have dragged Him from the threatening cross, defended
Him with their own bodies, purchased his release at any cost--too late,
_this_ repentance should have come several centuries earlier.
The hour of temptation was over. The disciples had slept and left him
alone--but the angel of the Lord had comforted Him, the angel whom God
sends to every one who is deserted by men. He was himself again--the
Conqueror of the World!
Judas came with the officers and pressed upon the sweet mouth on which
the world would fain hang in blissful self-forgetfulness--the traitor's
kiss.
"Judas, can you touch those lips and not fall at the feet of Him you
have betrayed?" cried a voice in Madeleine von Wildenau's heart. "Can
you _kiss_ the lips which so patiently endure the death-dealing caress,
and not find your hate transformed to love?" Ah, only the divine can
recognize the divine, only sympathetic natures attract one another!
Judas is the symbol of the godless world, which would no longer
perceive God's presence, even if He came on earth once more. The
soldiers, brawny fellows, fell to the ground as He stood before them
with the words: "I am Jesus of Nazareth!" and He was forced to say:
"Rise! Fear ye not!" that they might accomplish their work--but Judas
remained unmoved and delivered Him up.
Christ was a prisoner and descended step by step into the deepest
ignominy. But no matter through what mire of baseness and brutality
they dragged Him, haling Him from trial to trial--nothing robbed Him of
the majesty of the Redeemer! And if His speech had been full of power,
so was His silence! Before the Sanhedrim, before Herod, and finally
before Pilate, _He_ was the king, and the mighty ones of earth were
insignificant in _His_ presence.
"Who knows whether this man is not the son of some god?" murmured the
polytheistic Romans--and shrank from the mystery which surrounded the
silent One.
The impression here was produced solely by Freyer's imposing calmness
and unearthly eyes. The glance he cast at Herod when the latter ordered
him to perform a miracle--darken the judgment chamber or transform a
roll of papyrus into a serpent--that one glance, full of dignity and
gentleness, fixed upon the poor, short-sighted child of the dust was a
greater miracle than all the conjuring tricks of the Egyptian
Magicians.
But this very silence, this superiority, filled the priest with furious
rage and hastened His doom, which He disdained to stay by a single
word.
True, Pilate strove to save Him. The humane Roman, with his
aristocratic bearing, as Thomas Rendner personated him with masterly
skill, formed a striking contrast to the gloomy, fanatical priests, but
he was not the man for violent measures, and the furious leaders
understood how to present this alternative. The desire to conciliate,
the refuge of all weak souls which shrink in terror from catastrophes,
had already wrested from him a shameful concession--he had suffered the
Innocent One to be delivered to the scourge.
With clenched teeth the spectators beheld the chaste form, bound to the
stake and stained with blood, quiver beneath the lashes of the
executioner, without a murmur of complaint from the silent lips. And
when He had "had enough," as they phrased it, they placed him on a
chair, threw a royal mantle about Him, and placed a sceptre of reeds in
the hand of the mock-king. But He remained mute. The tormentors grew
more and more enraged--they wanted to have satisfaction, to gloat over
the moans of the victim--they dealt Him a blow in the face, then a
second one. Christ did not move. They thrust Him from the chair so that
He fell on the ground--no one ever forgot the beautiful, pathetic
figure--but He was still silent! Then one of the executioners brought a
crown made of huge thorns; He was raised again and the martyr's diadem
was placed upon His brow. The sharp thorns resisted, they would not fit
the noble head, so His tormentors took two sticks laid cross-ways, and
with them forced the spiked coronals so low on His forehead that drops