Part 8 (1/2)
”Who lives there?” asked the countess in surprise, following the old man, who was now walking much faster.
”Oh,” he answered sorrowfully, ”that is a sad place! There is an unhappy girl there, who sobs and moans all night long so that people hear her outside. I wanted to spare you, Countess.”
They had now reached the end of the village and were walking, still along the bank of the Ammer, toward a large dam over which the mountain stream, swollen by the rain, plunged in mad, foaming waves. The spray gleamed dazzlingly white in the moon-rays, the ma.s.sive beams trembled under the pressure of the unchained volume of water, groaning and creaking with a sinister noise amid the thundering roar until it sounded like the wails of the dying amid the din of battle. The countess shuddered at the demoniac power of this spectacle. High above the steep fall a narrow plank led from one bank of the stream to the other, vibrating constantly with the shock of the falling water.
Madeleine's brain whirled at the thought of being compelled to cross it. ”The timbers are groaning,” she said, pausing. ”Does not it sound like a human voice?”
The old man listened. ”By heaven! one would suppose so.”
”It _is_ a human voice--there--hark--some one is weeping--moaning.”
The dam was in the full radiance of the moonlight, the countess and her companion stood concealed by a dense clump of willows, so that they could see without being seen.
Suddenly--what was that? The old man made the sign of the cross.
”Heavenly Father, it is she!”
A female figure was gliding across the plank. Like the ruddy glow of flame, mingled with the bluish hue of the moonlight, a ma.s.s of red-gold hair gleamed around her head and fluttered in the wind. The beautiful face was ghost-like in its pallor, the eyes were fixed, the very embodiment of despair. Her upper garment hung in tatters about her softly-moulded shoulders, and she held her clasped hands uplifted, not like one who prays, but one who fain would pray, yet cannot. Then with the firm poise of a person seeking death, she walked to the middle of the swaying plank, where the water was deepest, the fall most steep.
There she prepared to take the fatal plunge. The countess shrieked aloud and Gross shouted:
”Josepha! Josepha! May G.o.d forgive you. Remember your old mother!”
The girl uttered a piercing cry, covered her face with both hands, and flung herself p.r.o.ne on the narrow plank.
But, with the speed of a youth, the old man was already on the bridge, raising the girl. ”Shame on you to wish to do such a thing! We must submit to our fate! Now take care that you don't make a mis-step or I, an old man, must leap into the cold water to drag you out again, and you know how much I suffer from the rheumatism.” He spoke in low, kindly tones, and the countess secretly admired his shrewdness and tenderness. She watched them breathlessly as the girl, at these words, tried not to slip in order to spare him. But now, as she did not _wish_ to fall, she moved with uncertain, stumbling feet, where she had just seemed to fly. But Andreas Gross led her firmly and kindly. The countess' heart throbbed heavily till they reached the end and, in the utmost anxiety she stretched out her arms to them from the distance.
Thank Heaven, there they are! The lady caught the girl by the hand and dragged her on the sh.o.r.e, where she sank silently, like a stricken animal, at her feet. The countess covered the trembling form with her cloak and said a few comforting words.
”Do you know her?” she asked the old man.
”Of course, it is Josepha Freyer, from the gloomy house yonder.”
”Freyer? A relative of the Freyer who played the Christ.”
”A cousin; yes.”
The old man was about to go to the girl's house to bring her mother.
”No, no,” said the countess. ”I will care for her. What induced the unfortunate girl to take such a step?”
”She was the Mary Magdalene in the last Pa.s.sion!” whispered the old man. At the words the girl raised her head and burst into violent sobs.
”My child, what has happened!” asked the countess, gazing admiringly at the charming creature, who was as perfect a picture of the penitent Magdalene as any artist could create.
”Why don't you play the Magdalene _this time_?”
”Don't you know?” asked the girl, amazed that there was any human being still ignorant of her disgrace. ”I am not _permitted_ to play now--I am--I have”--she again burst with convulsive sobs and, clasping the countess' knees, cried: ”Oh, let me die, I cannot bear it.”
”She fell into error,” said Gross, in reply to the lady's questioning glance. ”A little boy was born last winter. Now she can no longer act, for only those who are pure and without reproach are permitted to take part in the Pa.s.sion.”
”Oh, how hars.h.!.+” cried the countess; ”And in a land where human beings are so near to nature, and in circ.u.mstances where the poor girls are so little guarded.”