On the Cross Part 76

"Yes--for the countess will always be what she is, even as Herr Freyer's wife! I only wanted to say. Your Highness, that I wouldn't do that. If I were you, I wouldn't give _them_ a single kind word. I'll take back the carriage and horses and say that they can have everything which belongs to you. But I won't beg for my Countess! I think it would be less disgrace if you should condescend to accept something from a plain man like myself, who would consider it an honor and whom you needn't thank! I--" he laughed awkwardly: "I only want to say, if you won't take offence--that I bargained for a little house to-day. But I did it in your name, so that Your Highness needn't be ashamed to live with me! I haven't any kith and kin and--and it will belong to you."

"Martin, Martin!" the proud woman humbly bent her head. "Be it so! You shall help me, if all else abandons me. I will accept it as a loan from you. I can paint--I will try to earn something, perhaps from one of the fashion journals, to which I have always subscribed. The maid once told me I might earn my living by it--it was a prophecy! So I can, G.o.d willing, repay you at some future day."

"Oh, we won't talk about that!" cried Martin joyously, kissing the countess' hands.

"If I may have a little room under the roof for myself--we'll call it the interest. And I have something to spare besides, for--you must eat, too."

The countess covered her face with her trembling hands.

"Now I'll drive home and in Your Highness' name throw carriage, horses, and all the rest of the rubbish at the Wildenaus' feet--then I'll come back and bring something nice for our invalid which can't be had here--and my livery, for Sundays and holidays, so that we can make a good appearance! And I'll look after the garden and house, and--do whatever else you need. Oh, I've never been so happy in my life!"

He left her, and the countess stood gazing after him a long time, deeply shamed by the simple fidelity of the old man, who wished to wear her livery and be her servant, while he was really her benefactor: In truth--high or low--human nature is common to all. Martin returned: "Doesn't Your Highness wish to bid farewell to the horses? Shan't I drive past, or will it make you feel too badly?"

"Beautiful creatures," a tone of melancholy echoed in her voice as she spoke: "No, Martin, I don't want to see them again."

"Yes, yes--!" Martin had understood her, and pitied her more than for anything else, for it seemed to him the hardest of sacrifices to part with such beautiful horses.

The countess remained alone in the little garden. The stars were shining above her head. She thought of the diamond stars which she had once flung to Freyer in false atonement, to place in the dead child's coffin--if she had them now to use their value to support her sick husband--_that_ would be the fitting atonement.

"Only do not let _him_ starve, oh, G.o.d! If I were forced to see him starve! Oh, G.o.d!--spare me that, if it can be!" she prayed, her eyes uplifted with anxious care to the glittering star-strewn vault.

"How is he?" a woman's figure suddenly emerged from the shadow at her side.

"Oh, Mary--Anastasia!"

"How is he?"

"Better, I think! He was very cheerful this evening!--"

"And you, Frau Freyer--how is it with you? It is hard, is it not? There are things to which we must become accustomed."

"Yes."

"I can understand. But do not lose confidence--G.o.d is always with us.

And--I will pray to the Virgin Mary, whom I have so often personated!

But if there is need of anything where _human power_ can aid, I may help, may I not?"

"Mary--angel, be my teacher--sister!"

"No, _mother_!" said Anastasia smiling: "For if Freyer is my son, you must be my daughter. Oh, you two poor hearts, I am and shall now remain your mother, Mary!"

"Mother Mary!"--the countess repeated, and the two women held each other in a loving embrace.----

The week was drawing to a close, and the burgomaster was now obliged to consider the question of the distribution of parts. He found the patient out of bed and wearing a very cheerful, hopeful expression.

"I don't know, Herr Freyer, whether I can venture to discuss my important business with you," he began timidly.

"Oh--I understand--you wish to know when I can play again? Next Sunday."

"You are not in earnest?" said the burgomaster, almost startled.

"Not in earnest? Herr Burgomaster, what would be the value of all my oaths, if I should now retreat like a coward? Do you think I would break my word to you a second time, so long as I had breath in my body?"

"Certainly not, so long as it is in your power to hold out. But this time you _cannot_! Ask the doctor--he will not allow it so soon."

"Am I to ask _him_, when the question concerns the most sacred duty? I will consult him about my life--but my duties are more than my life.

Only thus can I atone for the old sin which ten years ago made me a renegade."

"And you say this now--when you are so happy?"

"Herr Burgomaster," replied Freyer with lofty serenity: "A man who has once been so happy and so miserable as I, learns to view life from a different standpoint! No joy enraptures, no misfortune terrifies him.

Everything to which we give these names is fluctuating, and only _one_ happiness is certain: to do one's duty--until death!"

"Herr Freyer! That is a n.o.ble thought, but if your wife should hear it--would she agree?"

"Surely, for she thinks as I do--if she did not, we should never have been united--she would never have cast aside wealth, rank, power, and all worldly advantages to live with me in exile. Do you believe she did so for any earthly cause? She thinks so--but I know better: The cross allured her--as it does all who come in contact with it."

"What are you saying about the cross?" asked the countess, entering the room: "Good-morning, Friend Burgomaster!"

"My wife! He will not believe that you would permit me to play the Christus again--even should it cost my life?"

The countess turned pale with terror. "Oh, Heaven, are you thinking of doing so?"

"Yes"--replied the burgomaster: "He will not be dissuaded from it!"

"Joseph!" said the countess mournfully: "Will you inflict this grief upon me--now, when you have scarcely recovered?"

"I a.s.sure 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 G.o.d, 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 G.o.d Who will ascend to Heaven--but a man, a tender, beloved man, and--_my own_. Oh, G.o.d 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 G.o.d 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 _G.o.d_?"

"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 G.o.d. But as He is a G.o.d 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! G.o.d 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.