



Produced by Charles Bowen, from page scans provided by the Web Archive








Transcriber's Notes:

   1. Page scan source:
      http://www.archive.org/details/oncrossaromance00saffgoog

   2. The diphthong oe is represented by [oe].





[Illustration: "_Accursed be the hour I raised you from the dust to my
side_."--Page 339]






                              ON THE CROSS


                                   A
                     Romance of the Passion Play at
                              Oberammergau



                                   BY
                         Wilhelmine von Hillern
                                  AND
                            Mary J. Safford




                        DREXEL BIDDLE, PUBLISHER
                              PHILADELPHIA






                            Copyright, 1902

                                   BY

                       ANTHONY J. DREXEL BIDDLE.

                               *   *   *







             PRESS OF DREXEL BIDDLE, PHILADELPHIA, U. S. A.






                                   TO

                         HERR JOHANNES DIEMER,

      THE RENOWNED DELIVERER OF THE PROLOGUE IN THE PASSION PLAYS
          OF THE LAST DECADE, A TRUE SON OF AMMERGAU, IN WHOSE
            UNASSUMING PERSON DWELLS THE CALM, DEEP SOUL OF
             THE ARTIST, THE LOYAL SYMPATHIZING FRIEND, IN
                 WHOSE PEACEFUL HOME I FOUND THE QUIET
                   AND THE MOOD I NEEDED TO COMPLETE
                    THIS WORK, IT IS NOW DEDICATED,
                        WITH GRATEFUL ESTEEM, BY

                                              THE AUTHORESS.




                               CONTENTS.


Introduction.


                               CHAPTER I.

A Phantom.


                              CHAPTER II.

Old Ammergau.


                              CHAPTER III.

Young Ammergau.


                              CHAPTER IV.

Expelled from the Play.


                               CHAPTER V.

Modern Pilgrims.


                              CHAPTER VI.

The Evening Before the Play.


                              CHAPTER VII.

The Passion Play.


                             CHAPTER VIII.

Freyer.


                              CHAPTER IX.

Signs and Wonders.


                               CHAPTER X.

In the Early Morning.


                              CHAPTER XI.

Mary and Magdalene.


                              CHAPTER XII.

Bridal Torches.


                             CHAPTER XIII.

Banished from Eden.


                              CHAPTER XIV.

Pieta.


                              CHAPTER XV.

The Crowing of the Cock.


                              CHAPTER XVI.

Prisoned.


                             CHAPTER XVII.

Flying from the Cross.


                             CHAPTER XVIII.

The Marriage.


                              CHAPTER XIX.

At the Child's Bedside.


                              CHAPTER XX.

Conflicts.


                              CHAPTER XXI.

Unaccountable.


                             CHAPTER XXII.

Falling Stars.


                             CHAPTER XXIII.

Noli me Tangere.


                             CHAPTER XXIV.

Attempts to Rescue.


                              CHAPTER XXV.

Day is Dawning.


                             CHAPTER XXVI.

The Last Support.


                             CHAPTER XXVII.

Between Poverty and Disgrace.


                            CHAPTER XXVIII.

Parting.


                             CHAPTER XXIX.

In the Deserted House.


                              CHAPTER XXX.

The "Wiesherrle."


                             CHAPTER XXXI.

The Return Home.


                             CHAPTER XXXII.

To the Village.


                            CHAPTER XXXIII.

Received Again.


                             CHAPTER XXXIV.

At Daisenberger's Grave.


                             CHAPTER XXXV.

The Watchword.


                             CHAPTER XXXVI.

Memories.


                            CHAPTER XXXVII.

The Measure is Full.


                            CHAPTER XXXVIII.

On the Way to the Cross.


                             CHAPTER XXXIX.

Stations of Sorrow.


                              CHAPTER XL.

Near the Goal.


                              CONCLUSION.

From Illusion to Truth.




                             INTRODUCTION.


It was in the Garden of Gethsemane that the risen Son of God showed
Himself, as a simple gardener, to the penitent sinner. The miracle has
become a pious tradition. It happened long, long ago, and no eye has
ever beheld Him since. Even when the risen Lord walked among the men
and women of His own day, only those saw Him who wished to do so.

But those who wish to see Him, see Him now; and those who wish to seek
Him, find Him now.

The Garden of Gethsemane has disappeared--the hot sun of the East has
withered it. All things are subject to change. The surface of the earth
alters and where the olive tree once grew green and the cedar stretched
its leafy roof above the head of the Redeemer and the Penitent, there
is nothing now save dead, withered leafage.

But the Garden blooms once more in a cool, shady valley among the
German mountains. Modern Gethsemane bears the name of Oberammergau. As
the sun pursues its course from East to West, so the salvation which
came from the East has made its way across the earth to the West.
There, in the veins of young and vigorous nations, still flow the
living streams that water the seeds of faith on which the miracle is
nourished, and the stunted mountain pine which has sprung from the hard
rocks of the Ettal Mountain is transformed to a palm tree, the poor
habitant of the little mountain village to a God. It is change, and yet
constancy amid the change.

The world and its history also change in the passage of the centuries.
The event before which the human race sank prostrate, as the guards
once did when the risen Christ burst the gates of the tomb, gradually
passed into partial oblivion. The thunder with which the veil of the
temple was rent in twain died away in the misty distance; heaven closed
forever behind the ascended Lord, the stars pursued their old courses
in undisturbed regularity; revelations were silent. Men rubbed their
eyes as though waking from a dream and began to discuss what portion
was truth and what illusion. The strife lasted for centuries. One
tradition overthrew another, one creed crowded out another. With sword
in hand and the trumpet of the Judgment Day the _Ecclesia Militans_
established the dogma, enforced unity in faith. But peace did not last
long under the rule of the church. The Reformation again divided the
Christian world, the Thirty Years War, the most terrible religious
conflict the earth has ever witnessed began, and in the fury of the
battle the combatants forgot the _cause_ of the warfare. Amid the
streams of blood, the clouds of smoke rising from burning cities and
villages, the ruins of shattered altars, the cross, the holy emblem for
which the battle raged, vanished, and when it was raised again, it was
still but an emblem of warfare, no longer a symbol of peace.

There is a single spot of earth where, untouched by the tumult of the
world, sheltered behind the lofty, inhospitable wall of a high
mountain, the idea of Christianity has been preserved in all its
simplicity and purity--Oberammergau. As God once suffered the Saviour
of the World to be born in a manger, among poor shepherds, He seems to
have extended His protecting hand over this secluded nook and reserved
the poor mountaineers to repeat the miracle. Concealed behind the steep
Ettal mountain was a monastery where, from ancient times, the beautiful
arts had been sedulously fostered.

One of the monks was deeply grieved because, in the outside world,
iconoclasm was rudely shaking the old forms and, in blind fear, even
rejecting religious art as "Romish." As no holy image would be
tolerated; the Saviour and His Saints must disappear entirely from the
eyes of men. Then, in his distress, the inspiration came that a sacred
drama, performed by living beings, could produce a more powerful effect
than word or symbol. So it was determined in the monastery that one
should be enacted.

The young people in the neighborhood, who had long been schooled by the
influence of the learned monks to appreciate beauty, were soon trained
to act legends and biblical poems. With increasing skill they gained
more and more confidence, till at last their holy zeal led them to show
mankind the Redeemer Himself, the Master of the world, in His own
bodily form, saying to erring humanity; "Lo, thus He was and thus He
will be forever."

And while in the churches paintings and relics were torn from the walls
and crucifixes destroyed, the first Passion play was performed, A. D.
1634, under the open sky in the churchyard of Oberammergau--for this
spot, on account of its solemn associations, was deemed the fitting
place for the holy work. The disgraced image of love, defiled by blood
and flames, once more rose in its pure beauty! Living, breathing! The
wounds inflicted more than a thousand years before again opened, fresh
drops of blood trickled from the brow torn by its diadem of thorns,
again the "Continue ye in My love" fell from the pallid lips of the
Lamb of God, and what Puritanism had destroyed in its _dead_ form was
born anew in a _living one_. But, amid the confusion and roar of
battle, the furious yells of hate, no one heard the gentle voice in the
distant nook beyond the mountains.

The message of peace died away, the Crucified One shed His blood
unseen.

Years passed, the misery of the people constantly increased, lands were
ravaged, the ranks of the combatants thinned.

At last the warriors began to be paralyzed, the raging storm subsided
and pallid fear stared blankly at the foes who had at last gained their
senses--the plague, that terrible Egyptian Sphinx, lured by the odor of
corruption emanating from the long war, stole over the earth, and those
at whom she gazed with the black fiery eyes of her torrid zone, sank
beneath it like the scorched grass when the simoom sweeps over the
desert.

Silence fell, the silence of the grave, for wherever this spectre
stalks, death follows.

Fear reconciled enemies and made them forget their rancor in union
against the common foe, the cruel, invincible plague. They gazed around
them for some helping hand, and once more turned to that over which
they had so long quarrelled. Then amid the deathlike stillness of the
barren fields, the empty houses, the denuded churches, and the
desolated land, they at last heard the little bell behind the Ettal
mountain, which every decade summoned the Christian world to the
Passion Play, for this was the vow taken by the Ammergau peasants to
avert the plague and the divine wrath. Again the ever patient Saviour
extended His arms, crying: "Come unto Me, all ye who are weary and
heavy laden!" And they did come. They threw themselves at His feet, the
wearied, hunted earthlings, stained with dust and blood, and He
comforted and refreshed them, while they again recognized Him and
learned to understand the meaning of His sacrifice.

Those who thus saw Him and received the revelation announced it to
others, who flocked thither from far and near till the little
church-yard of Oberammergau became too narrow, and could no longer
contain the throngs; the open fields became a sacred theatre to receive
the pilgrims, who longed to behold the Redeemer's face.

And, strangely enough, all who took part in the sacred play, seemed
consecrated, the plague passed them by, Ammergau alone was spared.

So the pious seed grew slowly, often with periods when it stood still,
but the watchful eye can follow it in history.

Peace at last came to the world. Purer airs blew. The Egyptian hyena,
satiated, left the ravaged fields, new life bloomed from the graves,
and this new life knew naught of the pangs and sufferings of the old.
From the brutality and corruption of the long war, the new generation
longed for more refined manners, culture, and the pleasures of life.
But, as usual after such periods of deprivation and calamity, one
extreme followed another. The desire for more refined manners and
education led to hyperculture, the love of pleasure into epicureanism
and luxury, grace into coquetry, mirth into frivolity. Then came the
so-called age of gallantry. The foil took the place of the sword, the
lace jabot of the leather jerkin, the smoke of battle gave way to the
clouds of powder scattered by heads nodding in every direction.

Masked shepherds and shepherdesses danced upon the graves of a former
generation, a new Arcadia was created in apish imitation and peopled
with grimacing creatures who tripped about on tiptoe in their
high-heeled shoes. Instead of the mediaeval representations of martyrs
and emaciated saints appeared the nude gods and cupids of a Watteau and
his school. Grace took the place of majesty. Instead of moral law, men
followed the easy code of convenience and everything was allowable
which did not transgress its rules. Thus arose a generation of
thoughtless pleasure seekers, which bore within itself a moral
pestilence that, in contrast with the "Black Death," might be termed
the "Rosy Death" for it breathed upon the cheeks of all whom it
attacked the rosy flush of a fever which wasted more slowly, but none
the less surely.

And through this rouged, dancing, skipping age, with the click of its
high-heeled shoes, its rustling hooped petticoats, its amorous glances
and heaving bosoms, the chaste figure of the Man of Sorrows, with a
terrible solemnity upon his pallid brow, again and again trod the stage
of Ammergau, and whoever beheld Him dropped the flowing bowl of
pleasure, while the laugh died on his lips.

Again history and the judgment of the world moved forward. The "Rosy
Death" had decomposed and poisoned all the healthful juices of society
and corrupted the very heart of the human race--morality, faith, and
philosophy, everything which makes men manly, had gradually perished
unobserved in the thoughtless whirl. The tinsel and apish civilisation
no longer sufficed to conceal the brute in human nature. It shook off
every veil and stood forth in all its nakedness. The modern deluge, the
French Revolution burst forth. Murder, anarchy, the delirium of fever
swept over the earth in every form of horror.

Again came a change, a transformation to the lowest depths of
corruption. Grace now yielded to brutality, beauty to ugliness, the
divine to the cynical. Altars were overthrown, religion was abjured,
the earth trembled under the mass of destroyed traditions.

But from the turmoil of the throng, fiercely rending one another, from
the smoke and exhalations of this conflagration of the world, yonder in
the German Garden of Gethsemane again rose victoriously, like a
Ph[oe]nix from its ashes, the denied, rejected God, and the undefiled
sun of Ammergau wove a halo of glory around the sublime figure which
hung high on the cross.

It was a quiet, victory, of which the frantic mob were ignorant; for
they saw only the foe confronting them, not the one battling above. The
latter was vanquished long ago, He was deposed, and that settled the
matter. The people in their sovereignty can depose and set up gods at
pleasure, and when once dethroned, they no longer exist; they are
hurled into Tartarus. And as men can not do without a god, they create
an idol.

The country groaned beneath the iron stride of the Emperor and, without
wishing or knowing it, he became the avenger of the God in whose place
he stood. For, as the Thirty Years War ended under the scourge of the
pestilence, and the age of mirth and gallantry under the lash of
the Revolution, the Revolution yielded to the third scourge, the
self-created idol!

He, the man with compressed lips and brow sombre with thought, ruled
the unchained elements, became lord of the anarchy, and dictated laws
to a universe. But with iron finger he tore open the veins of humanity
to mark upon the race the brand of slavery. The world bled from a
thousand wounds, and upon each he marked the name "Napoleon."

Then, wan as the moon floats in the sky when the glow of the setting
sun is blazing in the horizon, the sovereign of the world in his bloody
splendor confronted the pallid shadow of the Crucified One, also robed
in a royal mantle, still wet with the blood He had voluntarily shed.
They gazed silently at each other--but the usurper turned pale.

At last, at the moment he imagined himself most like Him, God hurled
the rival god into the deepest misery and disgrace. The enemy of the
world was conquered, and popular hatred, so long repressed, at last
freed from the unbearable restraint, poured forth upon the lonely grave
at St. Helena its foam of execration and curses. Then the conqueror in
Oberammergau extended His arms in pardon, saying to him also: "Verily I
say unto thee, To-day shalt thou be with me in paradise."

A time of peace now dawned, the century of _thought_. After the great
exertions of the war of liberation, a truce in political life followed,
and the nations used it to make up for what they had lost in the
development of civilization during the period of political strife. A
flood of ideas inundated the world. All talent, rejoicing in the mental
activity which had so long lain dormant, was astir. There was rivalry
and conflict for the prize in every department. The rising generation,
conscious of newly awakening powers, dared enterprise after enterprise
and with each waxed greater. With increasing production, the power of
assimilation also increased. Everything grand created in other
centuries was drawn into the circle of their own nation as if just
discovered. That for which the enlightened minds of earlier days had
vainly toiled, striven, bled, now bloomed in luxuriant harvests, and
the century erected monuments to those who had been misjudged and
adorned them with the harvest garland garnered from the seeds which
they had sowed in tears.

What Galvani and Salomon de Caeus, misunderstood and unheard, had
planned, now made their triumphal passage across the earth as a panting
steam engine or a flashing messenger of light, borne by and bearing
ideas.

The century which produced a Schiller and a Goethe first understood a
Shakespeare, Sophocles and Euripides rose from the graves where they
had lain more than a thousand years, archaeology brought the buried
world