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

ladies-in-waiting, too, approached with tearful eyes, and when the duchess at last released her friend from her embrace, the baroness whispered: "Forgive me, I have wronged you as well as many others--even yesterday, forgive me." The same entreaty was expressed in Her Excellency's glance and clasp of the hand as she said: "Whoever sees this must repent every unloving word ever uttered; we will never forget that we have witnessed it together." "I thank you, but I should have borne you no ill will, even had I known what you have now voluntarily confessed to me!" replied the countess, kissing the ladies with dry, burning lips. "Shall we go?" asked the duchess. "We shall be locked in." "I will come directly--I beg you--will your Highness kindly go first? I should like to rest a moment!" stammered the countess in great confusion. "You are terribly unstrung--that is natural--so are we all. I will wait for you below and take you in my carriage, if you wish. We can weep our fill together." "Your Highness is--very kind," replied the countess, scarcely knowing what she answered. When the party had gone down stairs, she passionately seized Prince Emil's arm: "For Heaven's sake, help me to escape going with them. I will not, _cannot_ leave. I beseech you by all that is sacred, let me stay here." "So it is settled! The result is what I feared," said the prince with a heavy sigh. "I can only beg you for your own sake to consider the ladies. You have invited them to dine day after to-morrow--" "I know it--apologize for me--say whatever you please--you will know--you can manage it--if you have ever loved me--help me! Drive with the ladies--entertain them, that they may not miss me!" "And the magnificent ovation which the gentlemen have arranged at your home?" "What do I care for it?" "A fairy temple awaits you at the Palace Wildenau, and you will stay here? What a pity to lose the beautiful flowers, which must now wither in vain." "I cannot help it. For Heaven's sake, act quickly--some one is coming!" She was trembling in every limb with fear--but it was no member of the party sent to summon her. A short man with clear cut features stood beside her, shrewd loyal eyes met her glance. "I saw that you were still here, Countess, can I serve you in any way?" "Thank Heaven, it is Ludwig Gross!" cried the excited woman joyously, taking his arm. "Can you get me to your father's house without being seen?" "Certainly, I can guide you across the stage, if you wish!" "Quick, then! Farewell, Prince--be generous and forgive me!" She vanished. The prince was too thoroughly a man of the world to betray his feelings even for an instant. The short distance down the staircase afforded him ample time to decide upon his course. The misfortune had happened, and could no longer be averted--but it concerned himself alone. Her name and position must be guarded. "Have you come without the countess?" called the duchess. "I must apologize for her, Your Highness. The performance has so completely unstrung her nerves that she is unable to travel to-day. I have just placed her in her landlord's charge promising not only to make her apologies to the ladies, but also endeavor to supply her place." "Oh, poor Countess Wildenau!" said the duchess, kindly. "Shall we not go to her assistance?" "Permit me to remind your Highness that we have not a moment to lose, if we wish to catch the train!" "Is it possible! Then we must hurry." "Yes--and I think rest will be best for the countess at present," answered Prince Emil, helping the ladies into the carriage. "Well, we shall see her at dinner on Tuesday? She will be able to travel to-morrow?" "Oh, I hope so." "But, Prince Emil! What will become of our flowers?" asked the gentlemen. "Oh, they will keep until to-morrow!" "I suppose she has no suspicion?" "Of course not, and it is far better, for had she been aware of it, no doubt she would have gone to-day, in spite of her illness, and made herself worse." The gentlemen assented. "Still it's a pity about the flowers. If they will only keep fresh!" "She will let many a blossom wither, which may well be mourned!" thought the prince bitterly. "Will you drive with us, Prince?" asked the duchess. "If Your Highness will permit! Will you go to the Casino to-night, as we agreed, gentlemen?" he called as he entered the vehicle. "Not I," replied Prince Hohenheim. "I honestly confess that I am not in the mood." "Nor I," said St. Genois. "This has moved me to that--the finest circus in the world might be here and I would not enter! The burgomaster of Ammergau was right in permitting nothing of the kind." "Yes, I will take back everything I said yesterday; I went to laugh and wept," remarked Wengenrode. "It has robbed me of all desire for amusement," Cossigny added. "I care for nothing more to-day." They bowed to the ladies and the prince, and silently entered their carriages. Prince Emil ordered the countess' coachman to drive back with the maid, who sat hidden in one corner, and joined the duchess and her companions. The equipages rolled away in different directions--one back to the Gross house, the other to Munich, where the florists were toiling busily to adorn the Wildenau Palace for the reception of its fortunate owner, who was not coming. Ludwig Gross led the countess across the now empty stage. It thrilled her with a strange emotion to thread its floor, and in her reverent awe, she scarcely ventured to glance around her at the vast, dusky space. Suddenly she recoiled from an unexpected horror--the cross lay before her. Her agitation did not escape the keen perception of Ludwig Gross, and he doubtless understood it; such things are not new to the people of Ammergau. "I will see whether the house of Pilate is still open, perhaps you may like to step out on the balcony!" he said, and moved away to leave her alone. The countess understood the consideration displayed by the sympathizing man. Kneeling in the dark wings, she threw herself face downward on the cross, pressed her burning lips on the hard wood which had supported the noble body, on the marks left here also by the nails which had apparently pierced the hands of the crucified one, the red stains made by his painted wounds. Aye, it had become true, the miracle had happened. _The artificial blood also possessed redeeming power_. Rarely did any pilgrim to the Holy Land ever press a more fervent kiss upon the wood of the true cross, than was now bestowed on the false one. So, in the days of yore, Helen, the beautiful, haughty mother of the Emperor Constantine, may have flung herself down, after her long sea voyage, when she at last found the long sought cross to press it to her bosom in the unutterable joy of realization. Ludwig's steps approached, and the countess roused herself from her rapture. "Unfortunately the house is closed," said Ludwig, who had probably been perfectly aware of it. They went on to the dressing-rooms. "I'll see if Freyer is still here!" and the drawing-master knocked at the first door. The countess was so much startled that she was forced to lean against the wall to save herself from falling. Was it to come now--the fateful moment! Her knees threatened to give way, her heart throbbed almost to bursting--but there was no answer to the knock, thrice repeated. He was no longer there. Ludwig Gross opened the door, the room was empty. "Will you come in?" he asked. "Would it interest you to see the dressing-room?" She entered. There hang his garments, still damp with perspiration from the severe toil. Madeleine von Wildenau stooped with clasped hands in the bare little chamber. Something white and glimmering rustled and floated beside her--it was the transfiguration robe. She touched it lightly with her hand in passing, and a thrill of bliss ran through every nerve. Ah, and there was the crown of thorns. She took it in her hand and tears streamed down upon it, as though it were some sacred relic. Again the dream-like vision stood before her as she had seen it for the first time on the mountain top with the thorny branches swaying around the brow like an omen. "No, my hands shall defend thee that no thorn shall henceforth tear thee, beloved brow!" she thought, while a strange smile irradiated her face. Then looking up, she met the eyes of Ludwig, fixed upon her with deep emotion as she gazed down at the crown of thorns. She replaced it and followed him to the door of the next room. Caiaphas! An almost childlike dread and timidity assailed her--the sort of feeling she had had when a young girl at the time of her first presentation at court--she was well-nigh glad that he was no longer there and she had time to calm herself ere she confronted the mighty priest. "It is too late, they have all gone!" said Ludwig, offering his companion his arm to lead her down the staircase. Numerous groups of people were standing in front of the theatre and in the street leading to the village. "What are they doing here?" asked the lady. "Oh, they are waiting for Freyer! It is always so. He has slipped around again by a side path to avoid seeing anyone, and the poor people must stand and wait in vain. I have often told him that he ought not to be so austere! It would please them so much if he would but give them one friendly word--but he cannot conquer this shyness. He cannot suffer himself to be revered as the Christ, after the Play is over. He ought not to permit the feeling which the people have for the Christ to be transferred to his person--that is his view of the matter." "It is a lofty and noble thought, but hard for us poor mortals, who so eagerly cling to what is visible. It is impossible not to transfer the impression produced by the character to its representative, especially with a personality like Freyer's!" Ludwig Gross nodded assent. "Yes, we have had this experience of old. Faith needs an earthly pledge, says our great poet, and Freyer's personation is such a pledge, a guarantee of whose blessed power everyone feels sure." The countess eagerly pressed Ludwig's hands. "I have seen people," Ludwig added, "who were happy, if they were only permitted to touch Freyer's garment, as though it could bring them healing like the actual robe of Christ! Would not Christ, also, if He beheld this pious delusion, exclaim: 'Woman, thy faith hath saved thee!'" A deep flush crimsoned the countess' face, and the tears which she had so long struggled to repress flowed in streams. She leaned heavily on Ludwig's arm, and he felt the violent throbbing of her heart. It touched him and awakened his compassion. He perceived that hers, too, was a suffering soul seeking salvation here, and if she did not find it, would perish. "It shall be yours, poor woman; for rich as you may be, you are still poor--and we will give you what we can!" he thought. The two companions pursued their way, without exchanging another word. The countess now greeted the old house like a lost home which she had once more regained. Andreas Gross met her at the door, took off her shawl, and carried it into the room for her. Josepha had already returned and said that the countess was ill. "I hope it is nothing serious?" he asked anxiously. "No, Herr Gross, I am well--but I cannot go; I must make the acquaintance of these people--I cannot tear myself away from this impression!" She sank into a chair, laid her head on the table and sobbed like a child. "Forgive me, Herr Gross, I cannot help it!" she said with difficulty, amid her tears. The old man laid his hand upon her shoulder with a gesture of paternal kindness. "Weep your fill, we are accustomed to it, do not heed us!" He