"Dear wife," he answered gently, and the wonderfully musical voice trembled with the most sacred emotion, "we will accept whatever God sends--loyal to the cross--you and I, beloved, high-hearted woman! Do not weep, my dove! Being loyal to the cross does not mean only to be patient--it means also to be strong! Does not the soldier go bravely to death for an earthly king, and should not I joyfully peril my life for my God?"
"Yes, my husband you are right, I will be strong. Go, then, holy warrior, into the battle for the ideal and put yourself at the disposal of your brave fellow combatants!" She slowly withdrew her arms from his neck as if taking a long, reluctant farewell.
The burgomaster resolutely approached. "We people of Ammergau must bow to this sacred zeal. This is indeed a grandeur which conquers death! Whoever sees this effect of our modest Play on souls like yours cannot be mistaken in believing that the power which works such miracles does not emanate from men, and must proceed from a God. But as He is a God of love. He will not accept your sacrifice. Freyer must not take the part which might cost him his life. We will find a Christus elsewhere and thus manage for this time."
Freyer fixed his eyes mournfully on the ground. "Now the crown has indeed fallen from my head! God has no longer accepted me--I am shut out from the sacred work!"
The burgomaster placed his wife in his arms: "Let it be your task now to guard this soul and lead it to its destination--this, too, is a sacred work!"
"Yes, and amen!" said Freyer.
***
The ex-countess and the former Christus, both divested of their temporary dignity, verified his words, attaining in humility true dignity! Freyer rallied under the care of his beloved wife, and they used the respite allotted to them by leading a life filled with labor, sacrifice, and gratitude toward God.
"You ask me, dear friend," the countess wrote a year later to the Duke of Barnheim, "whether you can assist me in any way? I thank you for the loyal friendship, but must decline the noble offer. Contentment does not depend upon what we have, but what we need, and I have that, for my wants are few. This is because I have obtained blessings, which formerly I never possessed and which render me independent of everything else. Much as God has taken from me. He has bestowed in exchange three precious gifts: contempt for the vanities of the world, appreciation of the little pleasures of life, and recognition of the real worth of human beings. I am not even so poor as you imagine. My faithful old Martin, who will never leave me, helped me out of the first necessity. Afterwards the Wildenaus' were induced to give up my private property, jewels, dresses, and works of art, and their value proved sufficient to pay Martin for the little house he had purchased for me and to establish for my husband a small shop for the sale of wood-carving, so that he need not be dependent upon others. When he works industriously--which he is only too anxious to do at the cost of his delicate health--we can live without anxiety, though, of course, very simply. I know how many of my former acquaintances would shudder at the thought of such a prosaic existence! To them I would say that I have learned not to seek poetry in life, but to place it there. Yes, tell the mocking world that Countess Wildenau lives by her husband's labor and is not ashamed of it! My friend! To throw away a fortune for love of a woman is nothing--but to toil year in and year out, with tireless fidelity and sacrifice, to earn a wife's daily bread in the sweat of one's brow, is something! Do you know what it is to a woman to owe her life daily to her beloved husband? An indescribable happiness! You, my friend, would have bestowed a principality upon me, and I should have accepted it as my rightful tribute, without owing you any special gratitude--but the hand which toils for me I kiss every evening with a thrill of grateful reverence.
"So do not grieve for me! Wed the lovable and charming Princess Amalie of whom you wrote, and should you ever come with your young wife into the vicinity of the little house surrounded by rustling firs, under the shadow of the Kofel, I should be cordially glad to welcome you.