Part 28 (1/2)
”The Christ wed Mary? The son the mother? No, though we are not what we represent, _that_ would be impossible. I have become so accustomed to regard her as my mother that it would seem to me a profanation.”
”But next winter, when the Play is over, it will be different.”
”And _you_ say this to me, Countess; _you_, after this morning?” cried Freyer, with a trembling voice. ”Are you in earnest?”
”Certainly. I cannot expect you, for my sake, to neglect older claims upon your heart!”
”Countess, if I had older claims, would I have spoken to you as I did to-day, would the events have occurred which happened to-day? Can you believe such things of me? You are silent? Well, Countess, that may be the custom in your circle, but not in mine.”
”Forgive me, Freyer!” stammered the lady, turning pale.
”Freyer shaded his eyes with his hand as if the sun dazzled him, in order to conceal his rising tears.
”For what are you looking?” asked the countess, who thought he was trying to see more distinctly.
He turned his face, eloquent with pain, full toward her. ”I was looking to see where my dove had flown, I can no longer find her. Or was it all a dream?”
”Freyer!” cried the countess, utterly overwhelmed, slipping her hand through his arm and resting her head without regard for possible spectators on his heaving breast. ”Joseph, your dove has not flown away, she is here, take her to your heart again and keep her forever, forever, if you wish.”
”Take care, Countess,” said Freyer, warningly, ”there are people moving in all directions.”
She raised her head. ”Will it cause you any harm?” she asked, abashed.
”Not me, but you. I have no one to question me and could only be proud of your tokens of favor, but consider what would be said in your own circle, if it were rumored that you had rested your head on a peasant's breast.”
”You are no peasant, you are an artist.”
”In your eyes, but not in those of the world. Even though we do pa.s.sably well in wood-carving and in the Pa.s.sion Play, so long as we are so poor that we are compelled to till our fields ourselves, and bring the wood for our carvings from the forest with our own hands, we shall be ranked as peasants, and no one will believe that we are anything else. You will be blamed for having a.s.sociated with such uncultured people.”
”Oh, I will answer for that before the whole world.”
”That would avail little, my beloved one, Heaven forbid that I should ever so far forget myself as to boast of your love before others, or permit you to do anything which they would misjudge. G.o.d alone understands what we are to each other, and therefore it must remain hidden in His bosom where no profane eye can desecrate it.”
The countess clung closer to him in silent admiration. She remembered so many annoyances caused by the indiscretions due to the vanity of men whom she had favored, that this modest delicacy seemed so chivalrous and lofty that she would fain have fallen at his feet.
”Dove, have I found you again?” he said, gazing into her eyes. ”My sweet, naughty dove! You will never more wound and wrong me so. I feel that you might break my heart” And pressing her arm lightly to his side, he raised her hand to his burning lips.
A glow of happiness filled Madeleine von Wildenau's whole being as she heard the stifled, pa.s.sionate murmur of love. And as, with every sunbeam, the centifolia blooms more fully, revealing a new beauty with each opening petal, so too did the soul of the woman thus illumined by the divine ray of true love.
”Come,” she said suddenly, ”take me to the kind creature who so tenderly ministers to you, perhaps suffers for you. I now feel drawn toward her and will love her for your sake as your mother, Mary.”
”Ah, my child, that is worthy of you! I knew that you were generous and n.o.ble! Come, my Magdalene, I will lead you to Mary.”
They walked rapidly to the field where Anastasia was busily working.
The latter, seeing the stranger approach, let down the skirt she had lifted and adjusted her dress a little, but she received the countess without the least embarra.s.sment and cordially extended her hand. _Her_ bearing also had a touch of condescension, which the great lady especially noticed. Anastasia gazed so calmly and earnestly at her that she lowered her eyes as if unable to bear the look of this serene soul.
The smoothly brushed brown hair, the soft indistinctly marked brows, the purity of the features, and the virginal dignity throned on the n.o.ble forehead harmonized with the ideal of the Queen of Heaven which the countess had failed to grasp in the Pa.s.sion Play. She was beautiful, faultless from head to foot, yet there was nothing in her appearance which could arouse the least feeling of jealousy. There was such spirituality in her whole person--something--the countess could not describe it in any other way--so expressive of the sober sense of age, that the beautiful woman was ashamed of her suspicion. She now understood what Freyer meant when he spoke of the maternal relation existing between Anastasia and himself. She was the true Madonna, to whom all eyes would be lifted devoutly, reverently, yet whom no man would desire to press to his heart. She was probably not much older than the countess, two or three years at most, but compared with her the great lady, so thoroughly versed in the ways of the world, was but an immature, impetuous child. The countess felt this with the secret satisfaction which it affords every woman to perceive that she is younger than another, and it helped her to endure the superiority which Anastasia's lofty calmness maintained over her. Nay, she even accepted the inferior place with a coquettish artlessness which made her appear all the more youthful. Yet at the very moment she adopted the childish manner, she secretly felt its reality. She was standing in the presence of the Mother of G.o.d. Womanly nature had never possessed any charm for her, she had never comprehended it in any form. She had never admired any of Raphael's Madonnas, not even the Sistine. A woman interested her only as the object of a man's love for which she might envy her, the contrary character, the ascetic beauty of an Immaculate was wholly outside of her sphere. Now, for the first time in her life, she was interested in a personality of this type, because she suddenly realized that the Virgin was also the Mother of the Saviour. And as her love for the Christ was first awakened by her love for Joseph Freyer, her reverence for Mary was first felt when she thought of her as his mother! Madeleine von Wildenau, so poor in the treasures of the heart, the woman who had never been a mother, suddenly felt--even while in the act of playing with practised coquetry the part of childlike ignorance--under the influence of the man she loved, the _reality_ in the farce and her heart opened to the sacred, mysterious bond between the mother and the child. Thus, hour by hour, she grew out of the captivity of the world and the senses, gently supported and elevated by the might of that love which reconciles earth and heaven.
She held out one hand to Anastasia, the other to Freyer. ”I, too, would fain know the dear mother of our Christ!” she said, with that sweet, submissive grace which the moment had taught her. Freyer's eyes rested approvingly upon her. She felt as if wings were growing on her shoulders, she felt that she was beautiful, good, and beloved; earth could give no more.