"Run away?" cried the burgomaster, inexorably giving the act the right name.

"Yes, I have just found these lines on his table."

The burgomaster turned pale as if he had received a mortal wound. A peal of thunder seemed to echo in his ears--the thunder which had shattered the temple of Jerusalem, whose priest he was! The walls fell, the veil was rent and revealed the place of execution. Golgotha lay before him. He heard the rustling wings of the departing guardian angel of Ammergau. High above, in terrible solitude, towered the cross, but it was empty--he who should hang upon it--had vanished! Grey clouds gathered around the desolate scene.

But from the empty cross issued a light--not a halo, but like the livid, phosph.o.r.escent glimmer of rotten wood! It shone into a chasm where, from a jutting rock, towered a single tree, upon which hung, faithful to his task--Judas!

A peal of jeering laughter rose from the depths. "You have killed yourself in vain. Your victim has escaped. See the conscientious Judas, who hung himself, while the other is having a life of pleasure!"

Shame and disgrace! "The Christ has fled from the cross." Malicious voices echo far and wide, cynicism exults--baseness has conquered, the divine has become a laughing-stock for children--the Pa.s.sion Play a travesty.

The phosph.o.r.escent wood of the cross glimmered before the burgomaster's eyes. Aye, it was rotten and mouldering--this cross--it must crumble--the corruption of the world had infected and undermined it, and this had happened in Oberammergau--under _his_ management.

The unfortunate man, through whose brain this chain of thoughts was whirling, sat like a stone statue before his friend, who stood waiting modestly, without disturbing his grief by a single word.

What the two men felt--each knew--was too great for utterance.

The burgomaster was mechanically holding Freyer's letter in his clenched hand. Now his cold, stiff fingers reminded him of it. He laid it on the table, his eyes resting dully on the large childish characters of the unformed hand: "Forgive me!" ran the brief contents.

"I am no longer worthy to personate the Saviour! Not from lack of principle, but on account of it do I resign my part. Ere you read these lines, I shall be far away from here! G.o.d will not make His sacred cause depend upon any individual--He will supply my place to you!

Forget me, and forgive the renegade whose heart will be faithful to you unto death! Freyer!"

Postscript:

"Sell my property--the house, the field, and patch of woods which was not burned and divide the proceeds among the poor of Ammergau. I will send you the legal authority from the nearest city.

"Once more, farewell to all!"

The burgomaster sat motionless, gazing at the sheet. He could have read it ten times over--yet he still stared at the lines.

Ludwig Gross saw with terror that his eyes were gla.s.sy, his features changed. The calmness imposed by the iron will had become the rigidity of death. The drawing-master shook him--now, in the altered position, the inert body lost its balance and fell against the back of the chair.

His friend caught the tottering figure and supported the n.o.ble head. It was possible for him to reach the bell with his other hand and summon Kleinhofer. "The doctor--quick--tell him to come at once!" he shouted.

The man hurried off in terror.

The news that the burgomaster had been stricken with apoplexy ran through the village like wild fire. Every one rushed to the office. The physician ran bare-headed across the street. The confusion was boundless.

Ludwig could scarcely control the tumult. Supporting the burgomaster with one arm, he pushed the throng back with the other. The doctor could scarcely force his way through the crowded room. He rubbed the temples and arteries of the senseless man. "I don't think it is apoplexy, only a severe congestion of the brain," he said, "but we cannot tell what the result may be. He has long been overworked and over-excited."

The remedies applied began to act, the burgomaster opened his eyes. But as if he were surrounded by invisible fiends which, like wild beasts, were only held in check by the firm gaze of the tamer and, ever ready to spring, were only watching for the moment when they might wrest from him the sacred treasure confided to his care--his dim eyes in a few seconds regained the steady flash of the watchful, imperious master.

And the discipline which his unyielding will was wont to exert over his limbs instantly restored his erect bearing. No one save the physician and Ludwig knew what the effort cost him.

"Yes," said the doctor in a low tone to the drawing-master: "This is the consequence of his never granting himself any rest during these terrible exertions."

The burgomaster had gone to the window and obtained a little air. Then he turned to the by-standers. His voice still trembled slightly, but otherwise not the slightest weakness was perceptible, and nothing betrayed the least emotion.

"I am glad, my friends, that we are all a.s.sembled--otherwise I should have been compelled to summon you. Is the whole parish here? We must hold a consultation at once. Kleinhofer, count them."

The man obeyed.

"They are all here," he said.

At that moment the burgomaster's wife rushed in with Anastasia. They had been in the fields and had just learned the startling news of the illness of the husband and brother.

"Pray be calm!" he said, sternly. "There is nothing wrong with me--nothing worth mentioning."

The weeping women were surrounded by their friends but the burgomaster, with an imperious wave of the hand, motioned them to the back of the room. "If you wish to listen--and it is my desire that you should--keep quiet. We have not a moment to lose." He turned to the men of the parish.

"Dear friends and companions! I have tidings which I should never have expected a native of Ammergau would be compelled to relate of a fellow citizen. A great misfortune has befallen us. We no longer have a Christ! Freyer has suddenly gone away."

A cry of horror and indignation answered him. A medley of shouts and questions followed, mingled with fierce imprecations.

"Be calm, friends. Do not revile him. We do not know what has occurred.

True, I cannot understand how such a thing was possible--but we must not judge where we know no particulars. At any rate we will respect ourselves by speaking no evil of one of our fellow citizens--for that he was, in spite of his act."

Ludwig secretly pressed his hand in token of grat.i.tude.

"This misfortune is sent by G.o.d"--the burgomaster continued--"we will not judge the poor mortal who was merely His tool. Regard him as one dead, as he seems to regard himself. He has bequeathed his property to our poor--we will thank him for that, as is right--in other respects he is dead to us."

The burgomaster took the letter from the table. "Here is his last will for Ammergau, I will read it to you." The burgomaster calmly read the paper, but it seemed as if his voice, usually so firm, trembled.

When he had finished, deep silence reigned. Many were wiping their eyes, others gazed sullenly into vacancy--a solemn hush, like that which prevails at a funeral, had taken possession of the a.s.sembly. "We cannot tell," the burgomaster repeated: "Peace to his ashes--for the fire which will be so destructive to us is still blazing in him. We can but say, may G.o.d forgive him, and let these be the last words uttered concerning him."

"May G.o.d forgive him!" murmured the sorely stricken a.s.semblage.

"Amen!" replied the burgomaster. "And now, my friends, let us consult what is to be done. We cannot deceive ourselves concerning our situation. It is critical, nay hopeless. The first thing we must try to save is our honor. When it becomes known that one of our number, and that one the Christ--has deserted his colors, or rather the cross, we shall be disgraced and our sacred cause must suffer. _Our_ honor here is synonymous with the honor of G.o.d, and if we do not guard it for ourselves we must for His sake."

A murmur of a.s.sent answered him. He continued: "Therefore we must make every effort to keep the matter secret. We can say that Freyer had suddenly succ.u.mbed to the exertion imposed by his part, and to save his life had been obliged to seek a warmer climate! Those who _know_ us men of Ammergau will not believe that any one would retire on account of his health, nay would prefer death rather than to interrupt the performances--but there are few who do know us."

"G.o.d knows that!" said the listeners, mournfully.

"Therefore I propose that we all promise to maintain the most absolute secrecy in regard to the real state of affairs and give the pretext just suggested to the public."

"Yes, yes--we will agree not to say anything else," the men readily a.s.sented. "But the women--they will chatter," said Andreas Gross.

"That is just what I fear. I can rely upon you men," replied the burgomaster, casting a stern glance at the girls and women. "The men are fully aware of the meaning and importance of our cause. It is bad enough that so many are not understood and supported by their wives!

You--the women of Ammergau--alas that I must say it--you have done the place and the cause more harm by your gossip than you can answer for to the G.o.d who honors us with His holy mission. There is chattering and tattling where you think you can do so unpunished, and many things are whispered into the ears of the visitors which afterwards goes as false rumors through the world! You care nothing for the great cause, if you get an opportunity to gratify some bit of petty malice. Now you are weeping, are you not? Because we are ruined--the performances must cease! But are you sure that Joseph Freyer would have been capable of treating us in this way, had it not been for the flood of gossip you poured out on him and his cousin, Josepha? It embittered his mind against us and drove him into the stranger's arms. Has he not said a hundred times that, if it were not for personating the Christ, he would have left Ammergau long ago? Where _one_ bond is destroyed another tears all the more easily. Take it as a lesson--and keep silence _this_ time at least, if you can govern your feminine weakness so far! I shall make your husbands accountable for every word which escapes concerning this matter." Several of the women murmured and cast spiteful glances at the burgomaster.

"To _whom_ does this refer, _who_ is said to have tattled?" asked a stout woman with a bold face.

The burgomaster frowned. "It refers to those who feel guilty--and does not concern those who do not!" he cried, sternly. "The good silent women among you know very well that I do not mean them--and the others can take heed."

A painful pause followed. The burgomaster's eyes rested threateningly upon the angry faces of the culprits. Those who felt that they were innocent gazed at him undisturbed.

"I will answer for my wife"--"Nothing shall go from my house!"

protested one after another, and thus at least every effort would be made to save the honor of Ammergau, and conceal their disgrace from the world. But now came the question how to save the Play. A warm debate followed. The people, thus robbed of their hopes, wished to continue the performances at any cost, with any cast of characters. But here they encountered the resolute opposition of the burgomaster: "Either well--or not at all!" was his ultimatum. "We cannot deceive ourselves for a moment. At present, there is not one of us who can personate the Christ--except Thomas Rendner, and where, in that case, could we find a Pilate--who could replace Thomas Rendner?"

There was a violent discussion. "The sacristan, Nathanael, could play Pilate."

"Who then would take Nathanael?"