Part 20 (1/2)

Caiaphas! An almost childlike dread and timidity a.s.sailed her--the sort of feeling she had had when a young girl at the time of her first presentation at court--she was well-nigh glad that he was no longer there and she had time to calm herself ere she confronted the mighty priest.

”It is too late, they have all gone!” said Ludwig, offering his companion his arm to lead her down the staircase.

Numerous groups of people were standing in front of the theatre and in the street leading to the village.

”What are they doing here?” asked the lady.

”Oh, they are waiting for Freyer! It is always so. He has slipped around again by a side path to avoid seeing anyone, and the poor people must stand and wait in vain. I have often told him that he ought not to be so austere! It would please them so much if he would but give them one friendly word--but he cannot conquer this shyness. He cannot suffer himself to be revered as the Christ, after the Play is over. He ought not to permit the feeling which the people have for the Christ to be transferred to his person--that is his view of the matter.”

”It is a lofty and n.o.ble thought, but hard for us poor mortals, who so eagerly cling to what is visible. It is impossible not to transfer the impression produced by the character to its representative, especially with a personality like Freyer's!”

Ludwig Gross nodded a.s.sent. ”Yes, we have had this experience of old.

Faith needs an earthly pledge, says our great poet, and Freyer's personation is such a pledge, a guarantee of whose blessed power everyone feels sure.”

The countess eagerly pressed Ludwig's hands.

”I have seen people,” Ludwig added, ”who were happy, if they were only permitted to touch Freyer's garment, as though it could bring them healing like the actual robe of Christ! Would not Christ, also, if He beheld this pious delusion, exclaim: 'Woman, thy faith hath saved thee!'”

A deep flush crimsoned the countess' face, and the tears which she had so long struggled to repress flowed in streams. She leaned heavily on Ludwig's arm, and he felt the violent throbbing of her heart. It touched him and awakened his compa.s.sion. He perceived that hers, too, was a suffering soul seeking salvation here, and if she did not find it, would perish. ”It shall be yours, poor woman; for rich as you may be, you are still poor--and we will give you what we can!” he thought.

The two companions pursued their way, without exchanging another word.

The countess now greeted the old house like a lost home which she had once more regained.

Andreas Gross met her at the door, took off her shawl, and carried it into the room for her.

Josepha had already returned and said that the countess was ill.

”I hope it is nothing serious?” he asked anxiously.

”No, Herr Gross, I am well--but I cannot go; I must make the acquaintance of these people--I cannot tear myself away from this impression!”

She sank into a chair, laid her head on the table and sobbed like a child. ”Forgive me, Herr Gross, I cannot help it!” she said with difficulty, amid her tears.

The old man laid his hand upon her shoulder with a gesture of paternal kindness. ”Weep your fill, we are accustomed to it, do not heed us!” He drew her gently into the sitting-room.

Ludwig had vanished.

Josepha entered to ask whether she should unpack the luggage which was up in her room.

”Yes,” replied the countess, ”and let the carriages return to Munich, until I need them again.”

”His Highness the Prince has left his valet here for your service,”

Josepha reported.

”What can he do? Let him go home, too! Let them all go--I want no one except you!” said the countess sternly, hiding her face again in her handkerchief. Josepha went out to give the order. Where could Ludwig Gross be?--He had become a necessity to her now, thus left alone with her overflowing heart! He had been right in everything.--He had told her that she would learn to weep here, he had first made her understand the spirit of Ammergau. Honor and grat.i.tude were his due, he had promised nothing that had not been fulfilled. He was thoroughly genuine and reliable! But where had he gone, did not this man, usually so sympathetic, know that just now he might be of great help to her? Or did he look deeper _still_, and know that he was but a subst.i.tute for another, for whom her whole soul yearned? It was so lonely. A death-like stillness reigned in the house and in the street. All were resting after the heavy toil of the day.

Something outside darkened the window. Ludwig Gross was pa.s.sing on his way toward the door, bringing with him a tan, dark figure, towering far above the low window, a figure that moved shyly, swiftly along, followed by a throng of people, at a respectful distance. The countess felt paralyzed. Was _he_ coming? Was he coming in.

She could not rise and look--she sat with clasped hands, trembling in humble expectation, as Danae waited the moment when the shower of gold should fall. Then--steps echoed in the workshop--the footsteps of two--! They were an eternity in pa.s.sing down its length--but they were really approaching her room--they came nearer--some one knocked!