This was the comfort the Wiesherrle had for his sorely tried brother. It was a simple thought, but it gave him strength to bear everything. It is always believed that a great grief requires a great consolation. This is not true, the poorer the man is, the more value the smallest gift has for him, and the more wretched he is--the smallest comfort! To the husbandman whose crops have been destroyed by hail, it would be no comfort to receive the gift of a blossom, which would bring rapture to the sultry attic chamber of a sick man.
In a great misfortune we often ask: "What gave the person strength to endure it?" It was nothing save these trivial comforts which only the unhappy know. The soul lamenting the loss of a loved one while many others are left is not comforted when the lifeless figure of a martyr preaches patience--but to the desolate one, who no longer has aught which speaks to him, the lifeless wooden image becomes a friend and its mute language a consolation.
Beside the altar stood an alms-box. The gifts for which it was intended were meant for repairs on the church and the preservation of the Wiesherrle, who sometimes needed a new cloth about his loins. Freyer flung into it the few coins which the innkeeper had disdained, because he looked like the Wiesherrle, now they should go to him. He felt as if he should need no more money all his life, as if the comfort he had here received raised him far above earthly need and care.
Twilight was gathering, the sun had sunk behind the blue peaks of the Pfrontner mountains, and now the hour struck--the sacred hour of the return home.
Already he felt with joy the throbbing of the pulses of his home, a mysterious connection between this place and distant Ammergau. And he was right: Childish as was the representation of the divine ideal, it was, nevertheless, the rippling of one of those hidden springs of faith which blend in the Passion Play, forming the great stream of belief which is to supply a thirsting world. As on a barren height, amid tangled thickets, we often greet with delight the low murmur of a hidden brook which in the valley below becomes the mighty artery of our native soil, so the returning wanderer hurried on longingly toward the mysterious spring which led him to the mother's heart. But his knees trembled, human nature asserted its rights. He must eat or he would fall fainting. But where could food be had? The last pennies were in the alms-box--he could not have taken them out again, even had he wished it. There was no way save to ask some one--for bread. He dragged himself wearily to the parsonage--he would try there, the priest would be less startled by the "Wiesherrle" than the peasant. Thrice he attempted to pull the bell, but very gently. He fancied the whole world could hear that he was ringing--to beg. Yet, if it did not sound, no one would open the door. At last, with as much effort as though he was pulling the bell-rope in the church steeple, he rang. The bell echoed shrilly. The pastor's old cook appeared.
Freyer raised his hat. "Might I ask you for a piece of bread?" he murmured softly, and the tall figure seemed to droop lower with every word.
The cook, who was never allowed to turn a beggar from the door, eyed him a moment with mingled pity and anxiety. "Directly," she answered, and went in search of something, but prudently closed the door, leaving him outside as we do with suspicious individuals. Freyer waited, hat in hand. The evening breeze swept chill across the lofty mountain plateau and blew his hair around his uncovered head. At last the cook came, bringing him some soup and a bit of bread. Freyer thanked her, and ate it! When he had finished he gave the little dish back to the woman--but his hand trembled so that he almost let it fall and his brow was damp. Then he thanked her again, but without raising his eyes, and quietly pursued his way.
[CHAPTER XXXI.]
THE RETURN HOME
The "Wies" towered like an island from amid a grey sea of clouds. All the mountains of Trauchgau and Pfront, Allgau and Tyrol, which surround it like distant shores and cliffs, had vanished in the mist. The windows in the comfortable tavern were lighted and a fire was blazing on the hearth. One little lamp after another shone from the quiet farm-houses.