"I should not like to disturb you, Countess."
"But you won"t disturb me at all; come, let us have a little chat."
Ludwig Gross laid his hat and overcoat aside, took a chair, and sat down opposite to the lady. Just at that moment a carriage drove up. The strangers who had engaged the rooms refused to the prince had arrived, and the family hastened out to receive and help them. The countess and Ludwig were left alone.
"What were you discussing at so late an hour?" asked the countess.
"Dore sent us this evening two engravings of his two Pa.s.sion pictures; he is interested in our play, so we were obliged to discuss the best way of expressing our grat.i.tude and to decide upon the place where they shall be hung. There is no time for such consultations during the day."
"Are you familiar with all of Dore"s pictures?"
"Certainly, Countess."
"And do you like him?"
"I admire him. I do not agree with him in every particular, but he is a genius, and genius has a right to forgiveness for faults which mediocrity should never venture to commit, and indeed never will."
"Very true," replied the lady.
"I think," Ludwig Gross continued, "that he resembles Hamerling. There is kinship between the two men. Hamerling, too, repels us here and there, but with him, as with Dore, every line and every stroke flashes with that electric spark which belongs only to the genuine work of art."
His companion gazed at him in amazement.
"You have read Hamerling?"
"Certainly. Who is not familiar with his "Ahasuerus?""[3]
"I, for instance," she replied with a faint blush.
"Oh, Countess, you must read it. There is a vigor, an acerbity, the repressed anguish and wrath of a n.o.ble nature against the pitifulness of mankind, which must impress every one upon whose soul the questions of life have ever cast their shadows, though I know not whether this is the case with you."
"More than is perhaps supposed," she answered, drawing a long breath.
"We are all pessimists, but Hamerling must be a stronger one than is well for a poet."
"That is not quite correct," replied Ludwig. "He is a pessimist just so far as accords with the poesy of our age. Did not Auerbach once say: "Pessimism is the grief of the world, which has no more tears!" This applies to Hamerling, also. His poetry has that bitter flavor, which is required by a generation that has pa.s.sed the stage when sweets please the palate and tears relieve the heart."
"Your words are very true. But how do you explain--it would be interesting to hear from you--how do you explain, in this mood of the times, the attraction which draws such throngs to the Pa.s.sion Play?"
Ludwig Gross leaned back in his chair, and his stern brow relaxed under the bright influence of a beautiful thought.
"One extreme, as is well known, follows another. The human heart will always long for tears, and the world"s tearless anguish will therefore yield to a gentler mood. I think that the rush to our simple play is a symptom of this change. People come here to learn to weep once more."
The countess rested her clasped hands on the table and gazed long and earnestly at Ludwig Gross. Her whole nature was kindled, her eyes lingered admiringly upon the modest little man, who did not seem at all conscious of his own superiority. "To learn to _weep_!" she repeated, nodding gently. "Yes, we might all need that. But do you believe we shall learn it here?"
Ludwig Gross gazed at her smiling. "You will not ask that question at this hour on the evening of the day after tomorrow."
He seemed to her a physician who possessed a remedy which he knows _cannot_ fail. And she began to trust him like a physician.
"May I be perfectly frank?" she asked in a winning tone.
"I beg that you will be so, Countess."
"I am surprised to find a man like you here. I had not supposed there were such people in the village. But you were away a long time, you are probably no longer a representative citizen of Ammergau?"
Ludwig Gross raised his head proudly. "Certainly I am, Countess. If there was ever a true citizen of Ammergau, I am one. Learn to know us better, and you will soon be convinced that we are all of one mind.
Though one has perhaps learned more than another, that is a mere accident; the same purpose, the same idea, unites us all."
"But what binds men of such talent to this remote village? Are you married?"
The bitter expression around the artist"s mouth deepened as though cut by some invisible instrument. "No, Countess, my circ.u.mstances do not permit it; I have renounced this happiness."
The lady perceived that she had touched a sensitive spot, but she desired to probe the wound to learn whether it might be healed. "Is your salary so small that you could not support a family?"
"If I wish to aid my own family, and that is certainly my first duty, I cannot found a home."
"How is that possible. Does so rich a community pay its teacher so poorly?"
"It does as well as it can, Countess. It has fixed a salary of twelve hundred marks for my position; that is all that can be expected."
"For this place, yes. But if you were in Munich, you would easily obtain twice or three times as much."
"Even five times," answered Ludwig, smiling. "I had offers from two art-industrial inst.i.tutes, one of which promised a salary of four thousand, the other of six thousand marks per annum. But that did not matter when the most sacred duties to my home were concerned."
"But these are superhuman sacrifices. Who can expect you to banish yourself here and resign everything which the world outside would lavish upon you in the richest measure? Everyone must consider himself first."
"Why, Countess, Ammergau would die out if everybody was of that opinion."
"Oh! let those remain who are suited to the place, who have learned and can do nothing more. But men of talent and education, like you, who can claim something better, belong outside."
"On the contrary, Countess, they belong here," Ludwig eagerly answered.
"What would become of the Pa.s.sion Play if all who have learned and can do something should go away, and only the uneducated and the ignorant remain? Do you suppose that there are not a number of people here, who, according to your ideas, would have deserved "a better fate?" We have enough of them, but go among us and learn whether any one complains. If he should, he would be unworthy the name of a son of Ammergau!" He paused a moment, his bronzed face grew darker. "Do you imagine," he added, "that we could perform such a work, perform it in a manner which, in some degree, fulfills the aesthetic demand of modern taste, without possessing, in our midst, men of intellect and culture? It is bad enough that necessity compels many a talented native of Ammergau to seek his fortune outside, but the man to whom his home still gives even a bit of _bread_ must be content with it, and without thinking of what he might have gained outside, devote his powers to the ideal interests of his fellow citizens."
"That is a grand and n.o.ble thought, but I don"t understand why you speak as if the people of Ammergau were so poor. What becomes of the vast sums gained by the Pa.s.sion Play?"
Ludwig Gross smiled bitterly. "I expected that question, it comes from all sides. The Pa.s.sion Play does not enrich individuals, for the few hundred marks, more or less, which each of the six hundred actors receives, do not cover the deficit of all the work which the people must neglect. The revenue is partly consumed by the expenses, partly used for the common benefit, for schools and teachers. The princ.i.p.al sums are swallowed by the Leine and the Ammer! The ravages of these malicious mountain streams require means which our community could never raise, save for the receipts of the Pa.s.sion Play, and even these are barely sufficient for the most needful outlay."
"Is it possible? Those little streams!" cried the countess.
"Would flood all Ammergau," Gross answered, "if we did not constantly labor to prevent it. We should be a poor, stunted people, worn down by fever, our whole mountain valley would be a desolate swamp. The Pa.s.sion Play alone saves us from destruction--the Christ who once ruled the waves actually holds back from us the destroying element which would gradually devour land and people. But, for that very reason, the individual has learned here, as perhaps nowhere else in the world, to live and sacrifice himself for the community! The community is comprised to us in the idea of the Pa.s.sion Play. We know that our existence depends upon it, even our intellectual life, for it protects us from the savagery into which a people continually struggling with want and need so easily lapses. It raises us above the common herd, gives even the poorest man an innate dignity and self-respect, which never suffer him to sink to base excesses."
"I understand that," the countess answered.
"Then can you wonder that not one of us hesitates to devote property, life, and every power of his soul to this work of saving our home, our poor, oppressed home, ever forced to straggle for its very existence?"
"What a man!" the countess involuntarily exclaimed aloud. Ludwig Gross had folded his arms across his breast, as if to restrain the pulsations of his throbbing heart. His whole being thrilled with the deepest, n.o.blest emotions. He rose and took his hat, like a person whose principle it is to shut every emotion within his own bosom, and when a mighty one overpowers him, to hide himself that he may also hide the feeling.
"No," cried the countess, "you must not leave me so, you rare, n.o.ble-hearted man. You have just done me the greatest service which can be rendered. You have made my heart leap with joy at the discovery of a _genuine_ human being. Ah! it is a cordial in this world of conventional masks! Give me your hand! I am beginning to understand why Providence sent me here. That must indeed be a great cause which rears such men and binds such powers in its service."
Ludwig Gross once more stood calm and quiet before her. "I thank you, Countess, in the name of the cause for which I live and die."