Читать книгу On the Cross - Wilhelmine von Hillern - Страница 60

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Day was dawning. The first rays of the morning sun, ever broader and brighter, were darting through the air, whose blue waves surged and quivered under the flaming couisers of the ascending god of day. Aphrodite seemed to have bathed and left her veil in the foam of the wild mountain stream into which the penitent Magdalene had tried to throw herself. Apollo in graceful sport, had gathered the little white clouds to conceal the goddess and they waved and fluttered merrily in the morning breeze around the rushing chariot. Then, as if the thundering hoof-beats of the fiery chargers had echoed from the vaulted arch of the firmament, the solemn roar of cannon announced the approach of the other god, the poor, unassuming, scourged divinity in His beggar-garb. The radiant charioteer above curbed his impatient steeds and gazed down from his serene height upon the conflict, the torturing, silent conflict of suffering upon the bloody battlefield of the timorous earth. Smiling, he shook his divine head, for he could not understand the cause of all this. Why should a god impose upon Himself such misery and humiliation! But he knows that He was a more powerful god, for he was forced to fly from the zenith when the former rose from His grave.--So thought Helios, glancing over at the gentle goddess Selene, whose wan face, paling in his presence, was turned full toward the earth. She could not bear to behold the harrowing spectacle, she was the divinity of peace and slumber, so, averting her mild countenance, she bade Helios farewell and floated away to happier realms.

Blest gods, ye who sit throned in eternal beauty, eternal peace; ye who are untouched by the grief and suffering of the human race, who descend to earth merely to taste the joys of mortals when it pleases ye to add them to your divine delights, look down upon the gods whom sorrowing humanity, laden with the primeval curse, summoned from his heaven to aid, where none of ye aided, to give what none of ye gave, the heart's blood of love! Gaze from your selfish pleasures, ye gay Hellenic deities, behold from your Valhalla, grim divinities of the Norsemen, look hither, ye dull, stupid idols of ancient India, hither where, from love for the human race, a god bleeds upon the martyr's cross--behold and turn pale! For when the monstrous deed is done, and the night has passed. He will cast aside His humble garb and shine in His divine glory. Ye will then be nothing but the rainbow which shimmers in changeful hues above His head! "Excelsior!" echoes a voice through the pure morning-sky and: "Gloria in excelsis, Deo!" peals from the church, as the priests chant the early mass.

An hour later the prince stopped before the door in a carriage to convey the countess to the Passion Theatre, for the way was long and rough.

He gave the Gross sisters strict orders to have everything ready for Countess Wildenau's departure at the close of the performance.

"The carriages must stand packed with the luggage before the theatre when we come out. The new maid must not be late."

Madeleine von Wildenau made no objection to all this, she was very pale and deeply agitated. Ludwig Gross, who was also just going to the theatre, was obliged to enter the carriage, too; the countess would listen to no refusal. The prince looked coldly at him. Ludwig Gross raised his hat, saying courteously:

"May I request an introduction?"

The lady blushed. "Herr Gross, head-master of the drawing-school!" She paused a moment in embarrassment, Ludwig's bronze countenance still retained its expectant expression.

"The Hereditary Prince of Metten-Barnheim," said the prince, relieving the countess' embarrassment, and raising his hat.

The drawing-master's delicate tact instantly perceived Prince Emil's generous intention.

"Pardon me," he said, with a shade of bashfulness, "I did not know that I was in the presence of a gentleman of such high rank--"

"No, no, you were perfectly right," interrupted Prince Emil, who was pleased with the man's modest confidence, and immediately entered into conversation with him. He asked various questions, and Ludwig described how he was frequently compelled to get suitable figures for his tableau from the forests and the fields, because the better educated people all had parts assigned to them, and how difficult it was to work with this untrained material; especially as he had barely two or three minutes to arrange a tableau containing three hundred persons.

The countess gazed absently at the motley throngs surging toward the Passion Theatre. The fresh morning breeze blew into the carriage. All nature was full of gladness, a festal joy which even the countess' richly caparisoned horses seemed to share, for they pranced gaily and dashed swiftly on as if they would fain vie with the sun-god's steeds above. The Bavarian flags on the Passion Theatre fluttered merrily against the blue sky, and now another discharge of cannon announced the commencement of the performance. The carriage made its way with much difficulty through the multitude to the entrance, which was surrounded by natives of Ammergau. Ludwig Gross ordered the driver to stop, and sprang out. All respectfully made way for him, raising their hats: "Ah, Herr Gross! The drawing-master! Good-day!"

"Good-day," replied Ludwig Gross, then unceremoniously giving the countess his arm, requested the prince to follow and led them through several side passages, to which strangers were not admitted, into the space reserved for boxes, where two fine-looking young men, also members of the Gross family, the "ushers" were taking tickets. Ludwig lifted his hat and left them to go to his work. The prince shook hands with him and expressed his thanks. "A cultured man!" he said, after Ludwig had gone. Meanwhile one of the ushers had conducted the countess to her seat.

There directly before her lay the long-desired goal! A huge amphitheatre built in the Greek style. Between the boxes, which overlooked the whole, and the stage, under the open sky, extended a vast space, whose seats rose to the height of a house. The orchestra, too, was roofless, as also were the proscenium and the stage, at whose extreme right and left stood the houses of Pilate and Caiaphas, between which stretched the streets of Jerusalem. The chorus was stationed on the proscenium and here all the great scenes in which the populace took part were performed. The main stage, occupying the centre only, as in the Greek theatre, was a temple-like covered building with a curtain, in a certain sense a theatre within a theatre, where the scenes that required a smaller frame were set. Beyond, the whole was surrounded by the amphitheatre of the lofty mountains gazing down in majestic repose, surmounting and crowning all.

The orchestra was playing the last bars of the overture and the surging and hum of the thousands who were finding their seats had at last ceased. The chorus came forward, all the singers clad in the Greek costume, at their head as choragus Johannes Diemer, arrayed in diadem and toga. A majestic figure of true priestly dignity, he moved across the stage, fully imbued with the spirit of the sublime drama which it was his honorable office to open. Deep silence now reigned throughout the audience. It seemed as if nature herself was listening outside, the whispering morning breeze held its breath, and not a single bird-note was heard. The repose of the Sabbath spread its wings protectingly over the whole scene, that nothing should disturb this consecrated mood.

As the stately figures advanced wearing their costly robes with as much dignity as if they had never been clad in any other garments, or would be forced again to exchange them for the coarse torn blouse of toil; as they began to display the art acquired with such self-sacrificing devotion after a wearisome day of labor, and the choragus in the purest, noblest intonation began the first lines: