"Much--much remains to be done," said the singular stage manager in pitiless self-criticism, resting his head on his hand. "When one thinks of what the Meininger company accomplishes! But of course they work with artists--I with natural talent! Then we are restricted in alloting the parts by dilettante traditional models--and, worst of all, by antiquated statutes and prejudices." The vision of Josepha Freyer rose before him, he keenly felt the blow inflicted on the Passion Play when the beautiful girl, the very type of Mary Magdalene, was excluded. "The whole must suffer under such circumstances! The actors cannot be chosen according to talent and individuality; these things are a secondary consideration. The first is the person's standing in the community! A poor servant would be allowed to play only an inferior part, even if he possessed the greatest talent, and the principal ones are the monopoly of the influential citizens. From a contingent thus arbitrarily limited the manager is compelled to distribute the characters for the great work, which demands the highest powers. It is a gigantic labor, but it will be accomplished, nothing is needed save patience and an iron will! They will grow with their task. The increasing success of the Passion Play will teach them to understand how important it is that artistic interests should supersede all others. Then golden hours will first dawn on Ammergau. May God permit me to witness it!" he added. And he confidently hoped to do so; for there was no lack of talent, and with a few additions great results might be accomplished. This year the success of the Play was secured by Freyer, who made the audience forget all less skilful performers. With him the Passion Play of the present year would stand or fall. The burgomaster's eyes rested with a look of compassion upon the Christ of Doré and the Christ personated by Freyer, as it hovered before his memory--and Freyer bore the test. He had come from the hand of his Creator a living work of art, perfect in every detail. "Thank Heaven that we have him!" murmured the burgomaster, with a nod of satisfaction.
Some one knocked at the door. "At last," said the burgomaster: "Come in!"
It was not the person whom he expected, but Ludwig Gross!
He tottered forward as if his feet refused to obey his will. His grave face was waxen-yellow in its hue and deeply lined--his lips were tightly compressed--drops of perspiration glittered on his brow.
The burgomaster glanced at him in alarm: "What is it? What has happened?"
Ludwig Gross drew a letter from his pocket, "Be prepared for bad news."
"For Heaven's sake, cannot the performance take place? We have sold more than a thousand tickets."
"That would be the least difficulty. Be strong, Herr Burgomaster--I have a great misfortune to announce."
"Has it anything to do with Freyer?" exclaimed the magistrate, with sudden foreboding.
"Freyer has gone--with Countess Wildenau!"