At break of day Hans had hastened to the Cathedral once more to test his work with his critical eye. Just then the bell pealed forth. He dropped his hat, and with folded hands offered a short prayer.
Anyone who has worked for years, in the sweat of his brow, for future and fortune, knows how Hans felt as he stood there in his mute eloquence. His God understood it, too.
Now the crowd surged into the Cathedral, and the critical moment had arrived when the artist gave his work, executed through long, lonely days and nights, freely to the public eye. One last look he cast upon his creation, then he withdrew, and in anxious suspense watched the impression it would make upon the assembled people.
The morning sun sent her full rays directly upon the altar, and an exclamation of astonishment echoed from the high-vaulted roof. Joy and wonder filled each breast. There stood the altar before the people in all its glory. Was it really wood—stiff, hard wood—from which these figures had been carved? Were they not human? And that host of angels that seemed to be singing "Hallelujah," each one so perfectly natural. All figures were life size. The entire work was entwined and crowned with wreaths of artistically carved foliage, the center branch of which reached upward to the arched ceiling.
The untrained eye of the simple villagers could not all at once, drink in such a work. Not one of them had ever beheld the like. They felt there must be some magic in it. They now crowded around the artist, who, modest and deeply affected, felt every eye that beamed upon him. The Mayor stepped forward and heartily shook him by the hand. Each one followed his example, except the Counselor, who leaned sullenly against a pillar.
Marie, who had been permitted to return for this occasion, stood beside her father, paler than ever, but with a heavenly expression in her charming face.
"Do you not notice that one of the angels on the altar resembles Marie?" said one to the other.
"True it is."
"And that another angel resembles the Emperor Maximilian?" said an old man. Like lightning, this news flew from row to row. Marie and the Emperor had been portrayed.
"Yes, my friends," said Hans, calmly and distinctly, "I did that because I know of nothing more beautiful in the world than the Emperor and Marie. God made people in His image, and the sculptor, who is like a creator, has the right to choose those forms which he feels are most like the Image."