On the Cross: A Romance of the Passion Play at Oberammergau
your spell, but are too simple and inexperienced not to be dazzled and
confused by its ever varying phantasmagoria. Therefore, Countess, you
are as great a source of peril as of happiness."
"Hm! I understand. But suppose that for the sake of you people of
Ammergau I desired to return to plainness--and simplicity."
"You cannot, Countess, you are too young."
"What do you mean? That would be the very reason I should be able to do
so."
"No, for you have passed the age when people easily accommodate
themselves to new circumstances. Too many of the shoots of luxury have
gained a generous growth; they will assert their claims and cannot be
forced back into the seeds whence they came. Not until they have lived
out their time in the world and died can they form the soil for a new
and, if you desire it, more primitive and simple development!--Any
premature attempt of this kind will last only a few moments and even
these would be a delusion. But what to you would be passing moments of
disappointment, to those who shared them would be--lifelong destiny.
Our clumsy natures cannot make these graceful oscillations from one
feeling to another, we stake all on one and lose it, if we are
deceived."
The countess looked earnestly at him.
"You are a stern monitor, Ludwig Gross!" she said, thoughtfully. "Do
you fear that I might play a game with one of you?"
"An unconscious one, Countess--as the waves toy with a drifting boat."
"Well, that would at least be no cruel one!" replied the lady, smiling.
"_Any_ sport, Countess, would be cruel, which tore one of these calm
souls from its quiet haven here and set it adrift rudderless on the
high sea of passion." He rose. "Pardon me--I am taking too much
liberty."
"Not more than my friendship gave you a right to say. You brought your
friend to me; you are right to warn me if you imagine I should
heedlessly throw the priceless gift away! But, Ludwig Gross"--she took
his hand--"do you know that I prize it so highly that I should not
consider _myself_ too great a recompense? Do you know that you have
just found me in a sore struggle over this problem?"
Ludwig Gross drew back a step as if he could not grasp the full meaning
of the words. So momentous did they seem that he turned pale. "Is it
possible?" he stammered.
A tremulous gesture of the hand warned him to say no more. "I don't
know--whether it is possible! But that I could even _think_ of it, will
enable you to imagine what value your gift possesses for me. Not a
word, I beseech you. Give me time--and trust me. So many marvels have
been wrought in me during the past few days, that I give myself up to
the impulse of the moment and allow myself to be led by an ever-ruling
Providence--I shall be dealt with kindly."
Ludwig, deeply moved, kissed his companion's hand. "Countess, the
impulse which moves you at this moment must unconsciously thrill every
heart in Ammergau--as the sleeping child feels, even in its dreams,
when a good fairy approaches its cradle. And it is indeed so; for, in
you conscious culture approaches unconscious nature--it is a sublime
moment, when the highest culture, like the fairy beside the cradle,
listens to the breathing of humanity, where completion approaches the
source of being, and drinks from it fresh vigor."
"Yes," cried the countess, enthusiastically: "That is it. You
understand me perfectly. All civilization must gain new strength from
the fountain of nature or its sources of life would become dry--for
they perpetually derive their nourishment from that inexhaustible
maternal bosom. Where this is not accomplished in individual lives, the
primeval element, thus disowned, avenges itself in great social
revolutions, catastrophes which form epochs in the history of the
world. It is only a pity that in such phases of violent renewal the
labor of whole epochs of civilization is lost. Therefore souls in
harmony with their age must try to reconcile peacefully what, taken
collectively, assumes the proportions of contrasts destructive to the
universe."
"And where could we find this reconciliation, save in love?" cried
Ludwig, enthusiastically.
"You express it exactly: that is the perception toward which minds are
more and more impelled, and whose outlines in art and science appear
more and more distinctly. That is the secret of the influence of
Parsifal, which extends far beyond the domain of art and, in another
province, the success of the Passion Play! To one it revealed itself
under one guise, to another under another. To me it was here that the
very source of love appeared. And as you, who revealed it to me, are
pervaded by the great lesson--I will test it first upon you. Brother!
Friend! I will aid you in every strait and calamity, and you shall see
that I exercise love, not only in words, but that the power working
within me will accomplish deeds also." She clasped her hands
imploringly: "And if I love one of you _more_ than the others, do not
blame me. The nearer to the focus of light, the stronger the heat! He,
that one, is surely the focus of the great light which, emanating from
you, illumines the whole world. I am so near him--could I remain cold?"
"Ah, Countess--now I will cast aside all fears for my friend. In
Heaven's name, take him. Even if he consumes under your thrall--pain,
too, is godlike, and to suffer for _you_ is a grand, a lofty destiny, a
thousand-fold fairer and better than the dull repose of an every day
happiness."
"Good heavens, when have I ever heard such language!" exclaimed the
countess, gazing admiringly at the modest little man, whose cheeks were
glowing with the flush of the loftiest feeling. He stood before her in
his plain working clothes, his clear-cut profile uplifted, his eyes
raised with a searching gaze as if pursuing the vanishing traces of a
lofty, unattainable goal.
She rose: "There is not a day, not an hour here, which does not bring
me something grand. Woe befall me if I do not show myself worthy of the
obligation your friendship imposes, I should be more guilty than those
to whom the summons of the ideal has never come; who have never stood
face to face with men like you."
Ludwig quietly held out his hand and clasped hers closely in her own.
The piercing glance of his artist-eye seemed to read the inmost depths
of her soul.
After a long pause Madeleine von Wildenau interrupted the silence:
"There stands your sister in great concern over my bodily welfare! Well
then, let us remember that we are human--unfortunately! Will you
breakfast with me?"
"I thank you, I have already breakfasted," said Ludwig, modestly,
motioning to Sephi to be ready.
"Then at least bear me company." Taking his arm, she went with him to
the arbor covered with a wild grape-vine where the table was spread.
She sat down to the simple meal, while her companion served her with so
much tact and grace that she could not help thinking involuntarily;
"And these are peasants? What ought we aristocrats to be?" Then, as if
in mockery of this reflection, a man in his shirt-sleeves with his
jacket flung over his arm and a scythe in his hand passed down the
street by the fence. "Freyer!" exclaimed the countess, her face aflame:
"The Messiah with a scythe?"
Freyer stopped. "You called me, Countess?"
"Where are you going with that implement, Herr Freyer?" she asked,
coldly, in evident embarrassment.
"To mow my field!" he answered quietly. "I have just time, and I want
to try to harvest a little hay. Almost everything goes to ruin during
the Passion!"
"But why do you cut it yourself?"
"Because I have no servant, Countess!" said Freyer, smiling, raised his
hat with the dignified gesture characteristic of him, and moved on as
firmly and proudly as though the business he was pursuing was worthy of
a king. And so it was, when _he_ pursued it. A second blush crimsoned
Madeleine von Wildenau's fair forehead. But this time it was because
she had been ashamed of him for a moment. "Poor Freyer! His little
patrimony was a patch of ground, and should it be accounted a
degradation that he must receive the scanty gift of nature directly
from her hand, or rather win it blade by blade in the sweat of his
brow?" So she reasoned.
Then he glanced back at her and she felt that the look, outshining the
sun, had illuminated her whole nature. The fiery greeting of a radiant
soul! She waved her white hand to him, and he again raised his hat.
"Where is Freyer's field?"
"Not far from us, just outside the village. Would you like to go
there?"
"No, it would trouble me. I should not like to see him toiling for his
daily bread. Men such as he ought not to find it necessary, and it must
end in some way. God sent me here to equalize the injustice of fate."
"You cannot accomplish this with Freyer, Countess, he would have been a
rich man long ago, if he had been willing to accept anything. What do
you imagine he has had offered by ladies who, from sacred and selfish
motives, under the influence of his personation of the Christ, were
ready to make any sacrifice? If ever poverty was an honor to a man, it
is to Freyer, for he might have been in very different circumstances
and instead is content with the little property received from his
father, a bit of woodland, a field, and a miserable little hut. To keep
the nobility and freedom of his soul, he toils like a servant and cares
for house, field, and wood with his own hands."
"Just see him now, Countess," he added, "You have never beheld any man
look more aristocratic while at work than he, though he only wields a
scythe."
"You are a loyal friend, Ludwig Gross," she answered. "And an eloquent
advocate! Come, take me to him."
She hurried into the house, returning with a broad-brimmed hat on her
head, which made her face look as blooming and youthful as a girl's.
Long undressed kid gloves covered her arms under the half flowing
sleeves of her gown, and she carried over her shoulder a scarlet
sunshade which surrounded her whole figure with a roseate glow. There
was a warmth, a tempting charm in her appearance like the velvety bloom
of a ripe peach. Ludwig Gross gazed at her in wonder.
"You are--_fatally_ beautiful!" he involuntarily exclaimed, shaking his
head mournfully, as we do when we see some inevitable disaster
approaching a friend. "No one ought to be so beautiful," he added,
disapprovingly.
Madeleine von Wildenau laughed merrily. "Oh! you comical friend, who
offers with so sour a visage the most flattering compliments possible.
Our young society men might take lessons from you! Pardon me for
laughing," she said apologetically, as Ludwig's face darkened. "But it
came so unexpectedly, I was not prepared for such a compliment here,"
and in spite of herself, she laughed again, the compliment was too
irresistible.
Her companion was deeply offended. He saw in this outbreak of mirth a
levity which outraged his holiest feelings. These were "the graceful
oscillations from one mood to another," as he had termed it that day,
which he had so dreaded for his friend, and which now perplexed his own
judgment!
A moment was sufficient to reveal this to the countess, in the next she
had regained her self-control and with it the power of adapting herself
to the earnestness of her friend's mood.
He was walking silently at her side with a heavy heart. There had been
something in that laugh which he could not fathom, readily as he
grasped any touch of humor. To the earnest woman he had seen that
morning, he would have confided his friend in the belief that he was
fulfilling a lofty destiny; to the laughing, coquettish woman of the
world, he grudged him; Joseph Freyer was far too good for such a fate.
They had walked on, each absorbed in thought, leaving the village