On the Cross: A Romance of the Passion Play at Oberammergau
"Joseph!" said the countess mournfully: "Will you inflict this grief
upon me--now, when you have scarcely recovered?"
"I assure you that I have played the Christus when I felt far worse
than I do now--thanks to your self-sacrificing care, dear wife."
Tears filled the countess' eyes, and she remained silent.
"My dove, do we not understand each other?"
"Yes "--she said after a long, silent struggle: "Do it, my beloved
husband--give yourself to God, as I resign you to Him. He has only
loaned you to me, I dare not keep you from Him, if He desires to show
Himself again to the world in your form! I will cherish and tend and
watch over you, that you may endure it! And when you are taken down
from the cross, I will rub your strained limbs and bedew your burning
brow with the tears of all the sorrows Mary and Magdalene suffered for
the Crucified One, and--when you have rested and again raise your eyes
to mine with a smile, I will rest your head upon my breast in the
blissful feeling that you are no God Who will ascend to Heaven--but a
man, a tender, beloved man, and--_my own_. Oh, God cannot destroy such
happiness, and if He does, He will only draw you to Himself, that I may
therefore long the more fervently for you, for Him, Who is the source
of _all_ love--then--" her voice was stifled by tears as she laid her
head on his breast--"then your wife will not murmur, but wait silently
and patiently till she can follow you." Leaning on his breast, she wept
softly, clasping him in her arms that he might not be torn from her.
"Dear wife," he answered gently, and the wonderfully musical voice
trembled with the most sacred emotion, "we will accept whatever God
sends--loyal to the cross--you and I, beloved, high-hearted woman! Do
not weep, my dove! Being loyal to the cross does not mean only to be
patient--it means also to be strong! Does not the soldier go bravely to
death for an earthly king, and should not I joyfully peril my life for
my _God_?"
"Yes, my husband you are right, I will be strong. Go, then, holy
warrior, into the battle for the ideal and put yourself at the disposal
of your brave fellow combatants!" She slowly withdrew her arms from his
neck as if taking a long, reluctant farewell.
The burgomaster resolutely approached. "We people of Ammergau must bow
to this sacred zeal. This is indeed a grandeur which conquers death!
Whoever sees this effect of our modest Play on souls like yours cannot
be mistaken in believing that the power which works such miracles does
not emanate from men, and must proceed from a God. But as He is a God
of love. He will not accept your sacrifice. Freyer must not take the
part which might cost him his life. We will find a Christus elsewhere
and thus manage for this time."
Freyer fixed his eyes mournfully on the ground. "Now the crown has
indeed fallen from my head! God has no longer accepted me--I am shut
out from the sacred work!"
The burgomaster placed his wife in his arms: "Let it be your task now
to guard this soul and lead it to its destination--this, too, is a
sacred work!"
"Yes, and amen!" said Freyer.
* * *
The ex-countess and the former Christus, both divested of their
temporary dignity, verified his words, attaining in humility true
dignity! Freyer rallied under the care of his beloved wife, and they
used the respite allotted to them by leading a life filled with labor,
sacrifice, and gratitude toward God.
"You ask me, dear friend," the countess wrote a year later to the Duke
of Barnheim, "whether you can assist me in any way? I thank you for the
loyal friendship, but must decline the noble offer. Contentment does
not depend upon what we have, but what we need, and I have that, for my
wants are few. This is because I have obtained blessings, which
formerly I never possessed and which render me independent of
everything else. Much as God has taken from me. He has bestowed in
exchange three precious gifts: contempt for the vanities of the world,
appreciation of the little pleasures of life, and recognition of the
real worth of human beings. I am not even so poor as you imagine. My
faithful old Martin, who will never leave me, helped me out of the
first necessity. Afterwards the Wildenaus' were induced to give up my
private property, jewels, dresses, and works of art, and their value
proved sufficient to pay Martin for the little house he had purchased
for me and to establish for my husband a small shop for the sale of
wood-carving, so that he need not be dependent upon others. When he
works industriously--which he is only too anxious to do at the cost of
his delicate health--we can live without anxiety, though, of course,
very simply. I know how many of my former acquaintances would shudder
at the thought of such a prosaic existence! To them I would say that I
have learned not to seek poetry in life, but to place it there. Yes,
tell the mocking world that Countess Wildenau lives by her husband's
labor and is not ashamed of it! My friend! To throw away a fortune for
love of a woman is nothing--but to toil year in and year out, with
tireless fidelity and sacrifice, to earn a wife's daily bread in the
sweat of one's brow, _is_ something! Do you know what it is to a woman
to owe her life daily to her beloved husband? An indescribable
happiness! You, my friend, would have bestowed a principality upon me,
and I should have accepted it as my rightful tribute, without owing you
any special gratitude--but the hand which _toils_ for me I kiss every
evening with a thrill of grateful reverence.
"So do not grieve for me! Wed the lovable and charming Princess Amalie
of whom you wrote, and should you ever come with your young wife into
the vicinity of the little house surrounded by rustling firs, under the
shadow of the Kofel, I should be cordially glad to welcome you.
"Farewell! May you be as happy, my noble friend, as you deserve, and
leave to me my poverty and my _wealth_. You see that the phantom has
become reality--the ideal is attained.
"Your old friend
"Magdalena Freyer."
When the duke received this letter his valet saw him, for the first
time in his life, weep bitterly.
CONCLUSION.
FROM ILLUSION TO TRUTH.
For ten years God granted the loving wife her husband's life, it seemed
as if he had entirely recovered. At last the day came when He required
it again. For the third time the community offered Freyer the part of
the Christus. He was still a handsome man, and spite of his forty-eight
years, as slender as a youth, while his spiritual expression, chaste
and lofty--rendered him more than ever an ideal representative of
Christ God bestowed upon him the full cup of the perfection of his
destiny, and it was completed as he had longed. Not on a sick-bed
succumbing to lingering disease--but high on the cross, as victor over
pain and death. God had granted him the grace of at last completing the
task--he had held out this time until the final performance--then, when
they took him down from the cross for the last time under the falling
leaves, amid the first snow of the late autumn--he did not wake again.
On the cross the noble heart had ceased to beat, he had entered
into the peace of Him Whom he personated--passed from illusion to
truth--from the _copy_ to the _prototype_.
Never did mortal die a happier death, never did a more beautiful smile
of contentment rest upon the face of a corpse.
"It is finished! You have done in your way what your model did in His,
you have sealed the sacred lesson of love by your death, my husband!"
said the pallid woman who pressed the last kiss upon his lips.
The semblance had become reality, and Mary Magdalene was weeping beside
her Redeemer's corpse.
On the third day after the crucifixion, when the true Christ had risen,
Freyer was borne to his grave.
But, like the ph[oe]nix from its ashes, on that day the real Christ
rose from the humble sepulchre for the penitent.
"When wilt thou appear to me in the spring garden, Redeeming Love?" she
had once asked. Now she was--in the autumn garden--beside the grave of
all happiness.
When the coffin had been lowered and the pall-bearers approached the
worn, drooping widow, the burgomaster asked: "Where do you intend to
live now, Madame?"
"Where, except in Ammergau, here--where his foot has marked for me the
path to God? Oh, my Gethsemane!"
"But," said the pastor, "will you exile yourself forever in this quiet
village? Do you not wish to return to your own circle and the world of
culture? You have surely atoned sufficiently."
"Atoned? No, your Reverence, not atoned, for the _highest happiness_ is
no atonement--expiation is beginning _now_." She turned toward the
Christ which hung on the wall of the church, not far from the grave,
and extending her arms toward it murmured: "Now I have _nothing_ save
_Thee_! Thou hast conquered--idea of Christianity, thy power is
eternal!"----
The cloud of tears hung heavily over Ammergau, falling from time to
time in damp showers.
Evening had closed in. Through the lighted windows of the ground floor
of a little house, surrounded by rustling pines, two women were
visible, Mary and Magdalena. The latter was kneeling before the
"Mother" whose clasped hands were laid upon her head in comfort and
benediction.
The lamps in the low-roofed houses of the village were gradually
lighted. The peasants again sat in their ragged blouses on the carvers'
benches, toiling, sacrificing, and bearing their lot of poverty and
humility, proud in the consciousness that every ten years there will be
a return of the moment which strips off the yoke and lays the purple on
their shoulders, the moment when in their midst the miracle is again
performed which spreads victoriously throughout a penitent world--the
moment which brings to weary, despairing humanity peace and
atonement--_on the cross_.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 1: "Chips from a German Workshop." Vol. I. "Essays on the
Science of Religion."]
[Footnote 2: A dish made of flour and water fried in hot lard, but so
soft that it is necessary to serve and eat it with a spoon.]
[Footnote 3: A drama. Hamerling is better known in America as the
author of his famous novel "Aspasia."]
[Footnote 4: Part of these lines of Caedmon were put into modern
English by Robert Spence Watson.]
[Footnote 5: Frey is the god of peace. When its Mythological
significance was lost, it became an epithet of honor for princes and is
found frequently applied to our Lord and God the Father.]
THE END.