On the Cross: A Romance of the Passion Play at Oberammergau

crosses of the two criminals. These men merely had their arms thrown over the cross-beams and tied with ropes, only the feet were fastened with nails. Christ alone was nailed by both hands and feet, because the Pharisees were tortured by a foreboding that He could not be wholly killed. Had they dared, they would have torn Him to pieces, and scattered the fragments to the four winds, in order to be sure that He would not rise on the third day, as He had predicted. The executioners had completed the binding of the thieves. "Now the King of the Jews must be raised." "Lift the cross! Take hold!" the captain commanded. The spectators held their breath, every heart stood still! The four executioners grasped it with their brawny arms. "Up! Don't let go!" The cross is ponderous, the men pant, bracing their shoulders against it--their veins swell--another jerk--it sways--"Hold firm! Once more--put forth your strength!" and in a wide sweep it moved upward--all cowered back shuddering at the horrible spectacle. "It is not, It cannot be!" Yet it is, it can be! Horror thrilled the spectators, their limbs trembled. One grasped another, as if to hold themselves from falling. It was rising, the cross was rising above the world! Higher--nearer! "Brace against it--don't let go!" It stood erect and was firm. There hung the divine figure of sorrow, pallid and wan. The nails were driven through the bleeding hands and feet--and the eye which would fain deny was forced to witness it, the heart that would have prevented, was compelled to bear it. But the scene could be endured no longer, the grief restrained with so much difficulty found vent in loud sobs, and the hands trembling with a feverish chill were clasped with the _same_ feeling of adoring love. Unspeakable compassion was poured forth in ceaseless floods of tears, and rose gathering in a cloud of pensive melancholy around the head of the Crucified One to soothe His mortal anguish. By degrees their eyes became accustomed to the scene and gained strength to gaze at it. Divine grace pervaded the slender body, and--as eternal beauty reconciles Heaven and hell and transfigures the most terrible things--horror gradually merged into devout admiration of the perfect human beauty revealed in chaste repose and majesty before their delighted gaze. The countess had clasped her hands over her breast. The world lay beneath her as if she was floating above with Him on the cross. She no longer knew whether he was a _man_ or Christ Himself--she only knew that the universe contained _nothing_ save that form. Her eyes were fixed upon the superhuman vision, tear after tear trickled down her cheeks. The prince gazed anxiously at her, but she did not notice it--she was entranced. If she could but die now--die at the foot of the cross, let her soul exhale like a cloud of incense, upward to Him. Darkness was gathering. The murmuring and whispering in the air drew nearer--was it the Valkyries, gathering mournfully around the hero who scorned the aid. Was it the wings of the angel of death? Or was it a flock of the sacred birds which, legend relates, strove to draw out the nails that fastened the Saviour to the cross until their weak bills were crooked and they received the name of "cross-bills." The sufferer above was calm and silent. Only His lambent eyes spoke, spoke to those invisible powers hovering around Him in the final hour. Beneath His cross the soldiers were casting lots for His garments--the priests were exulting--the brute cynicism was watching with wolfish greed for the victim to fall into its clutches, while shouting with jeering mocking: If thou be the Son of God, come down from the cross! He trusted in God; let Him deliver Him now, if He will have Him!-- "Thou that destroyest the temple and buildest it in three days, save thyself. Show thy power, proud King of the Jews!" The tortured sufferer painfully turned His head. "Father, forgive them; for they know not what they do.--" Then one of the malefactors, even in his own death agony, almost mocked Him, but the other rebuked him; "We receive the due reward of our deeds: but this man hath done nothing amiss!" Then he added beseechingly: "Lord, remember me when Thou comest into Thy kingdom." Christ made the noble answer: "Verily I say unto thee, to-day shalt thou be with me in paradise." There was a fresh roar of mockery from the Pharisees. "He cannot save himself, yet promises the kingdom of heaven to others." But the Saviour no longer heard, His senses were failing; He bent His head toward Mary and John. "Woman, behold thy son! Son, behold thy mother!" The signs of approaching death appeared. He grew restless--struggled for breath, His tongue clung to His palate. "I thirst." The sponge dipped in vinegar was handed to him on a long spear. He sipped but was not refreshed. The agony had reached its climax: "Eloi, Eloi, lama sabachthani?" He cried from the depths of His breaking heart, a wonderful waving motion ran through the noble form in the last throes of death. Then, with a long sigh, He murmured in the tones of an AEolian harp: "It is finished! Father, into Thy hands I commend my spirit!" gently bowed his head and expired. A crashing reverberation shook the earth. Helios' chariot rolled thundering into the sea. The gods fled, overwhelmed and scattered by the hurrying hosts of heaven. Dust whirled upward from the ground and smoke from the chasms, darkening the air. The graves opened and sent forth their inmates. In the mighty anguish of love, the Father rends the earth as He snatches from it the victim He has too long left to pitiless torture! The false temple was shattered, the veil rent--and amid the flames of Heaven the Father's heart goes forth to meet the maltreated, patient, obedient Son. "Come, thou poor martyr!" echoed yearningly through the heavens. "Come, thou poor martyr!" repeated every spectator below. Yet they were still compelled to see the beloved body pierced with a sharp lance till the hot blood gushed forth--and it seemed as if the thrust entered the heart of the entire world! They were still forced to hear the howling of the wolves disputing over the sacred corpse--but at last the tortured soul was permitted to rest. The governor's hand had protected the lifeless body and delivered it to His followers. The multitude dispersed, awe-stricken by the terrible portents--the priests, pale with terror, fled to their shattered temple. Golgotha became empty. The jeers and reviling had died away, the tumult in nature had subsided--and the sacred stillness of evening brooded over those who remained. "He has fulfilled His task--He has entered into the rest of the Father." The drops of blood fell noiselessly from the Redeemer's heart upon the sand. Nothing was heard save the low sobbing of the women at the foot of the cross. Then pitying love approached, and never has a paean of loyalty been sung like that which the next hour brought. The first blades were now appearing of that love whose seed has spread throughout the world! Joseph of Arimathea and Nicodemus came with ladders and tools to take down the body. Ascending, they wound about the lifeless form long bands of white linen, whose ends they flung down from the cross. These were grasped by the friends below as a counterpoise to lower it gently down. Joseph and Nicodemus now began to draw out the nails with pincers; the cracking and splintering of the wood was heard, so firm was the iron. Mary sat on a stone, waiting resignedly, with clasped hands, for her son. "Noble men, bring me my child's body soon!" she pleaded softly. The women spread a winding sheet at her feet to receive it. At last the nails were drawn out and-- "Now from the rood The mighty God Men gently lowered." Cautiously one friend laid the loosened, rigid arms of the dead form upon the other's shoulders, that they might not fall suddenly, Joseph of Arimathea clasped the body: "Sweet, sacred burden, rest upon my shoulders." He descended the ladder with it. Half carried, half lowered in the bands, the lifeless figure slides to the foot of the instrument of martyrdom. Nicodemus extended his arms to him: "Come, sacred corpse of my only friend, let me receive you." They bore Him to Mary-- "They laid Him down limb-weary They stood at the lifeless head." that the son might rest once more in the mother's lap. She clasped in her arms the wounded body of the son born in anguish the second time. Magdalene knelt beside it. "Let me kiss once more the hand which has so often blessed me." And with chaste fervor the Penitent's lips touched the cold, pierced hand of the corpse. Another woman flung herself upon Him. "Dearest Master, one more tear upon Thy lifeless body!" And the sobbing whisper of love sounded sweet and soothing like vesper-bells after a furious storm. But the men stood devoutly silent: "Gazing at Heaven's Lord, And He there rests awhile Weary after his mickle death-fight." CHAPTER VIII. FREYER. The Play was over. "Christ is risen!" He had burst the sepulchre and hurled the guards in the dust by the sight of His radiant apparition. He had appeared to the Penitent as a simple gardener "early in the morning," as He had promised, and at last had been transfigured and had risen above the world, bearing in His hand the standard of victory. The flood of human beings poured out of the close theatre into the open air. Not loudly and noisily, as they had come--no, reverently and gravely, as a funeral train disperses after the obsequies of some noble man; noiselessly as the ebbing tide recedes after flood raised by a storm. These were the same people, yet they _returned_ in a far different mood. The same vehicles in which yesterday the travelers had arrived in so noisy a fashion, now bore them away, but neither shouts nor cracking of whips was heard--the drivers knew that they must behave as if their carriages were filled with wounded men. And this was true. There was scarcely one who did not suffer as if the spear which had pierced the Saviour's heart had entered his own, who did not feel the wounds of the Crucified One in his own hands and feet! The grief which the people took with them was grand and godlike, and they treasured it carefully, they did not desire to lose any portion of it, for--we love the grief we feel for one beloved--and to-day they had learned to love Christ. So they went homeward. The last carriages which drew up before the entrance were those of the countess and her friends. The gentlemen of the diplomatic corps were already standing below, waiting for Countess Wildenau to assign them their seats in the two landaus. But the lady was still leaning against the pillar which supported one end of the box. Pressing her handkerchief to her eyes, she vainly strove to control her tears. Her heart throbbed violently, her breath was short and quick--she could not master her emotion. The prince stood before her, pale and silent, his eyes, too, were reddened by weeping. "Try to calm yourself!" he said firmly. "The ladies are still in their box, the duchess seems to expect you to go to her. A woman of the world, like yourself, should not give way so." "Give way, do you call it?" repeated Madeleine, who did not see that Prince Emil, too, was moved. "We shall never understand each other." At this moment the ladies left their box and crossed the intervening space. They were the last persons in the theatre. The duchess, without a word, threw her arms around Countess von Wildenau's neck. Her