On the Cross: A Romance of the Passion Play at Oberammergau
The warmth emanating from him became in her a devout fervor. The pulses
of ardent piety throbbing in his finger-tips seemed to communicate a
wave-like motion to the surrounding air, which imparted to everything
which hitherto had been dead and rigid, an undulating movement that
lent it a faint, vibrating life.
Something stirred, breathed, murmured before and above her. There was a
rustling among the withered leaves of the garlands at the foot of the
Pieta, invisible feet glided through the church and ascended the steps
of the high altar; high up the vaulted dome rose a murmur which
wandered to the folds of the funeral banner, hanging above, passing
from pillar to pillar, from arch to arch, in ghostly echoes which the
listening ear heard with secret terror, the language of the silence.
And the burning eyes beheld the motionless forms begin to stir. The
contours of the figures slowly changed in the uncertain, flickering
light, the shadows glided and swung to and fro. The Saviour's lips
opened, then slowly closed, the kneeling woman touched the rigid limbs
and laid her fevered fingers on the wounded breast. The other hand
rested in Freyer's. A chain was thus formed between the three, which
thrilled and warmed the wood with the circulating stream of the hot
blood. It was no longer a foreign substance--it was the heart, the poor
pierced heart of their beloved, divine friend. It throbbed, suffered,
bled. More and more distinctly the chest rose and fell with the regular
breathing. It was the creative breath of the deity, which works in the
conscious and unconscious object, animating even soulless matter. The
arm supported by Mary Magdalene swayed to and fro, the fingers of the
hand moved gently. The poor pierced hand--it seemed as if it were
trying to move toward the countess, as if it were pleading, "Cool my
pain."
Urged by an inexplicable impulse, the countess warmed the stiff,
slender fingers in her own. She fancied that it was giving relief.
Higher and higher swelled the tide of feeling in her heart until it
overflowed--and--she knew not how, she had risen and pressed a kiss
upon the wounds in the poor little hand, a kiss of the sweetest, most
sacred piety. She felt as if she were standing by a beloved corpse
whose mute lips we seek, though they no longer feel.
She could not help it, and bending down again the rosy lips of the
young widow rested on the pale half-parted ones of the statue. But the
lips breathed, a cool, pure breath issued from them, and the rigid form
grew more pliant beneath the sorrowful caress, as though it felt the
reconciling pain of the penitent human soul. But the divine fire which
was to purify this soul, blazed far beyond its boundaries in this first
ardor. Overpowered by a wild fervor, she flung herself on her knees and
adjured the God whose breath she had drunk in that kiss, to hear her.
The friend praying at her side was forgotten, the world had vanished,
every law of reason was annihilated, all knowledge was out of her
mind--every hard-won conquest of human empiricism was effaced. From the
heights and from the depths it came with rustling pinions, bearing the
soul away on the flood-tide of mercy. The _miracle_ was approaching--in
unimagined majesty.
Thousands of years vanished, eternity dawned in that _one_ moment. All
that was and is, _was_ not and _is_ not--past, present, and future,
were blended and melted into a single breath beyond the boundaries of
the natural life.
"If it is Thou, if Thou dost live, look at me," she had cried with
ardent aspiration, and, lo!--was it shadow or imagination?--the eyes
opened and two large dark pupils were fixed upon her, then the lids
closed for an instant to open again The countess gazed more and more
earnestly; it was distinct, unmistakable. A shudder ran through her
veins as, in a burning fever, the limbs tremble with a sudden chill.
She tried to meet the look, but spite of the tension in every nerve,
the effort was futile. It was too overpowering; it was the gaze of a
God. Dread and rapture were contending for the mastery. Doubtless she
said to herself, "It is not _outside_ of you, but within you." Once
more she ventured to glance at the mysterious apparition, but the eyes
were fixed steadily upon her. Terror overpowered her. The chord of the
possible snapped and she sank half senseless on the steps of the altar,
while the miracle closed its golden wings above her.
CHAPTER XV.
THE CROWING OF THE COCK.
A loud step roused the rapt enthusiast from her visions. The sacristan
was passing through the church, extinguishing the candles which,
meanwhile, had burned down in their sockets before the Madonna in the
distant corner.
"I beg your pardon for disturbing you," he said; "but I wanted to close
the church. There is plenty of time, however. Shall I leave a candle?
It will be too dark; the lamp alone does not give sufficient light."
"I thank you," replied Freyer, more thoughtful than the countess, who,
unable to control herself, remained on her knees with her face buried
in her hands.
"I will lock the church when we leave it and bring you the key," Freyer
added, and the sacristan was satisfied. The imperious high priest
withdrew silently and modestly, that he might not disturb the prayers
of the man whom he sentenced to death every week with such fury.
The lovers were again alone, but the door remained open. The shrill
crowing of a cock suddenly echoed through the stillness from the yard
of the neighboring parsonage. The countess started up. Her eyes were
painfully dazzled by the light of the wax candle so close at hand.
Before her, the face smeared with shining varnish, lay the wooden
Christ, hard and cold in its carven bareness and rigidity. The
pale-blue painted eyes gazed with the traditional mournfulness upon the
ground.
"What startled you just now?" asked Freyer.
"I don't know whether it was a miracle or a shadow, which created the
illusion, but I would have sworn that the statue moved its lids and
looked at me."
"Be it what it might, it was still a miracle," said Freyer. "If the
finger of God can paint the Saviour's eyes to the excited vision from
the wave of blood set in motion by the pulsation of our hearts, or from
the shadow cast by a smoking candle, is that any less wonderful than if
the stiff lids had really moved?"
The countess breathed a long sigh of relief; "Yes, you are right. That
is the power which, as you say, can do more than swell a human breast,
it can make, for the yearning soul, a heart throb even in a Christ
carved from wood. Even if what I have just experienced could have been
done by lifeless matter, the power which brought us together was
divine, and no one living could have resisted it. Lay aside your crown
of thorns trustfully and without remorse, you have accomplished your
mission, you have saved the soul for which God destined you, it was His
will, and who among us could resist Him?"
Freyer raised the crown of thorns, which he still held, to his lips,
kissed it, and laid it at the feet of the Pieta: "Lord, Thy will be
done, in so far as it is Thy will. And if it is not, forgive the
error."
"It is no error, I understand God's purpose better. He has sent me His
image in you and given it to me in an attainable human form, that I may
learn through it to do my duty to the prototype. To the feeble power of
the novice in faith. He graciously adds an earthly guide. Oh, He is
good and merciful!"
She raised Freyer from his knees: "Come, thou God-given one, that I may
fulfil the sweetest duty ever imposed on any mortal, that of loving you
and making you happy. God and His holy will be praised."
"And will you no longer grieve for the lost Christ?"
"No, for you were right. He is everywhere!"
"In God's name then, come and obey the impulse of your heart, even
though I perish."
"Can you speak so to-day, Joseph?"
"To-day especially. Would you not just now have sworn to the truth of
an illusion conjured up by a shadow? And were you not disappointed when
the light came and the spell vanished? The time will come when you will
see me, as you now do this wooden figure, in the light of commonplace
reality, and then the nimbus will vanish and nothing will remain save
the dross as here. Then your soul will turn away disenchanted and
follow the vanished God to loftier heights."
"Or plunge into the depths," murmured the countess.
"I should not fear that, for then my mission would have been vain! No,
my child, if I did not believe that I was appointed to save you I
should have no excuse in my own eyes for what I am doing. But come, it
is late, we must return home or our absence will occasion comment."
* * * * *
It was half-past nine o'clock. An elderly gentleman of distinguished
aristocratic bearing was pacing impatiently to and fro.
The two sisters were standing helplessly in the doorway, deeply
oppressed by the burden of so haughty a guest.
"If she would only come!" Sephi lamented in the utmost anxiety, for she
dreaded the father for the daughter's sake. It was the old Prince von
Prankenberg, and his bearing augured nothing good.
It seemed to these loyal souls a democratic impertinence on the part of
fate that _such_ a gentleman should be kept waiting, and the prince
regarded it in precisely the same light. The good creatures would
willingly have lent wings to the daughter for whom _such_ a father was
waiting. But what did it avail that the noble lord constantly quickened
his pace as he walked to and fro, time and his unsuspicious daughter
did not do the same. Prince Prankenberg had reached Ammergau at noon
that day and waited in vain for the countess. On his arrival he had
found the whole village in an uproar over the conflagration in the
woods, and the countess and Herr Freyer, who had been seen walking
together in that direction, were missing. At last the herder reported
that they had been in the mountain pasture with him, and Ludwig Gross,
on his return from directing the firemen in the futile effort to
extinguish the flames, set off to inform the Countess Wildenau of her
father's arrival. He had evidently failed to find her, for he ought to
have returned long before. So the faithful women had been on coals of
fire ever since. Andreas Gross had gone to the village to look for the
absent ones, as if that could be of any service! Josepha was gazing
sullenly through the window-panes at the prince, who had treated her as
scornfully as if she were a common maid-servant, when she offered to
show him the way to the countess' room, and answered: "People can't
stay in such a hole!" Meanwhile night had closed in.
At last, coming from exactly the opposite direction, a couple
approached whose appearance attracted the nobleman's attention. A
female figure, bare-headed, with dishevelled hair and tattered,
disordered garments, leaning apparently almost fainting on the arm of a
tall, bearded man in a peasant's jacket. Could it--no, it was
impossible, that _could_ not be his daughter.
The unsuspecting pair came nearer. The lady, evidently exhausted, was
really almost carried by her companion. It was too dark for the prince
to see distinctly, but her head seemed to be resting on the peasant's
breast. An interesting pair of lovers! But they drew nearer, the prince
could not believe his eyes, it _was_ his daughter, leaning on a
peasant's arm. There was an involuntary cry of horror from both as
Countess Wildenau stood face to face with her haughty father. The blood
fairly congealed in Madeleine's veins, her cheeks blanched till their
pallor glimmered through the gloom! Yet the habit of maintaining social
forms did not desert her: "Oh, what a surprise! Good evening, Papa!"