Part 7 (2/2)
”Oh, wash away all earthly dust and earthly ballast, ye surging billows: steal, purify me in thy chaste majesty, queen of the world, heaven-born air of the heights!” Was it possible that hitherto she had been able to live without this bliss, _had_ she lived? No, no, she had not! ”Ammergau, thou art the soil I have sought! Thy miracles are beginning!” cried an exultant voice in the soul of the woman so suddenly released from the toils of weary desolation.
Without exchanging many words--for the old man was full of delicacy, and perceived what was pa.s.sing in the countess' soul--they involuntarily walked in the direction of the Kofel; only when they were pa.s.sing the house of a prominent actor in the Pa.s.sion Play, he often thought it his duty to call his companion's attention to it.
Their way now lead them past a small dilapidated tavern which had but two windows in the front. Here the Roman Procurator lay on his bed of straw, enjoying his well-earned night's rest. It was the house of Pilate! Nowhere was any window closed with shutters--there were no thieves in Ammergau! The moon was reflected from every window-pane.
They turned into the main street of the village, where the Ammer flowed in its broad, deep channel like a Venetian lagoon. The stately, picturesquely situated houses threw sharp shadows on the water. Here the ancient, venerable ”star,” whose landlord was one of the musicians, thrust its capacious bow-window into the street; yonder a foot-bridge led to the house of Caiaphas, a handsome building, richly adorned with frescoes representing scenes from ancient history; farther on Judas was sleeping the sleep of the just, rejoicing in the consciousness of having betrayed his master so often! On the other side Mary rested under the richly carved gable with the ancient design of the clover leaf, the symbol of the Trinity, and directly opposite, the milk-wart nodded and swayed on the wall of the churchyard!
A strange feeling stole over the countess as she stood among these consecrated sleepers. As the fragrance of the sleeping flowers floats over a garden at night, the sorrowful spirit of the story of the Pa.s.sion seemed to rise from these humble resting places, and the pilgrim through the silent village was stirred as though she was walking through the streets of Jerusalem. A street turned to the left between gardens surrounded by fences and shaded by tall, ancient trees.
The shadows of the branches, tossed by the wind, flickered and danced with magical grace. ”That is the way to the dwelling of the Christ,”
said old Gross, in a subdued, reverential tone.
The countess involuntarily started. ”The Christ,” she repeated thoughtfully, pausing. ”Can the house be seen?”
”No, not from here. The house is like himself, not very easy to find.”
”Is he so inaccessible?” asked the countess, glancing down the mysterious street again as they pa.s.sed.
”Oh yes,” replied Andreas. ”He is a peculiar man. It is difficult to approach him. He is a friend of my son, but has little to do with the rest of us.”
”But you a.s.sociate with him?”
”Very little in daily life; he goes nowhere, not even to the ale-house.
But in the Pa.s.sion I am a.s.sociated with him. I always nail him to the cross,” added the old man proudly. ”No one is permitted to do that except myself.”
The countess listened with eager interest. The brief description had roused her curiosity to the utmost. ”How do you do it?” she asked, to keep him to the same subject.
”I cannot explain that to you, but a great deal depends upon having everything exactly right, for, you know, the least mistake might cost him his life.”
”How?”
”Why, surely you can understand. Just think, the man is obliged to hang on the cross for twenty minutes. During this time the blood cannot circulate, and he always risks an attack of palpitation of the heart.
One incautious movement in the descent from the cross, which should cause the blood to flow back too quickly to the heart, might cause his death.”
”That is terrible!” cried the countess in horror. ”And does he know it?”
”Why, certainly.”
”And _still_ does it!”
Here Andreas gazed at the great lady with a compa.s.sionate smile, as if he wanted to say: ”How little you understand, that you can ask such a question!”
They walked on silently. The countess was thinking: ”What kind of man must this Christ be?” and while thus pondering and striving to form some idea of him, it suddenly flashed upon her that there was but _one_ face which could belong to this man, the face she had seen gazing down upon her from the mountain, as if from some other world. Like a blaze of lightning the thought flamed through her soul. ”_That_ must have been he!”
At that moment Gross made a circuit around a gloomy house that had a neglected, tangled garden.
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