The epidemic is over. There are many people going about with pale,
haggard countenances.
Since we are not to commemorate the resurrection in the church, the
parish is eager to celebrate the Easter festival in some other manner.
The Saturday preceding Easter is over; the cross on the church tower
shimmers in the evening glow more brightly than usual. This night is to
be transformed into day. A new life is beginning. The people emerge
from their homes in gala attire, and the glare of innumerable bonfires
is seen on the hills. Are any of the dwellers of the forest aware that
at this season the old Germans also lighted festal fires to the Goddess
of Spring?
Who could have conceived the idea? Up there on the height stands a
solitary, ancient fir-tree, which has been wound to the top with dry
branches, moss, and straw.
A short distance away the people have gathered around a little fire,
where they are singing songs. The women are there with baskets, and the
children are playing with gaily coloured eggs.
It is already late in the night; Lazarus is about to light the Easter
torch, when old Ruepel glides through the dark forest and, tearing his
rush cap from his head, cries: "May Jesus Christ be praised, Who on the
cross was raised!"
We are all surprised to see the old man among us once more, and I urge
him to sit down with us and drink a mug of cider.
"Thanks for the honour!" says Ruepel, taking his straw harp from under
his coat; and gazing into the fire, he thus begins to speak: "I come
from far Jerusalem. On Calvary stand the crosses three, but they are
empty now, I see; and in a tomb, just newly made, Christ's body they
have gently laid--His soul has entered into hell. Our ancient sires
have waited long, amid the flames so fierce and strong, till singed is
Abram's hoary hair. And here in this fiery flue is where Moses has sat
for many years, his laws forgotten, through burning fears. Adam, the
curious, and lovely Eve, who wore no clothes, by your good leave, to
horrible torments were exposed. To these has Paradise long been closed.
But through Christ's death, 't is opened now. The thief on the right
told this to me; as for him on the left, I 'd not allow the truth of
whatever his words might be."
"Oh, Ruepel!" the people cry, "if you have nothing else to say, your
words are not inspired to-day." Undisturbed by this sneer the old man
continues: "To view the sepulchre at early dawn, our well-beloved women
forth have gone. A young man sitting by the door they find, and
Magdalen, filled with wonder in her mind, while gently toying with her
golden tresses, his name and age and country idly guesses. He spake:
'If you 'll allow, fair dames, I 'll say, the dear Lord Jesus rose at
break of day.' Then would they, for the honour of their Lord, a
_Trinkgeld_ give him for this gladsome word. But he has hastened back
to heaven's door; I 'd follow him had I my strength of yore."
Again Ruepel is silent. But since no one has understood his reference
to the _Trinkgeld_, he continues: "In the woods does Jesus walk to rest
from sorrow and pain most deep. On the quiet heath a shepherd-lad is
watching by his white sheep. He weeps as he watches, bitterly, and
seeing his deep despair, 'My child, why weepest thou' Jesus asks, 'while
the sun shines bright and fair?' Ah, yes, it shines upon the green sod
that covers my father's grave, and yesterday did the Saviour die on the
cross, and there 's none to save. For who will bid my father arise?'
'See the rocks tremble,' Jesus said; 'the Lord has ascended, my child,
to wake to eternal life the dead.'"
The old man is silent and he gazes into the flames. His hair and beard
are red, like the Alpine glow, in the reflection of the fire. And this
light falls in bands through the trees upon the fresh graves in the
neighbouring churchyard.
A deep silence rests upon the assembled people as if on this Easter eve
they already awaited the resurrection of the dead. Suddenly the old man
raises his head again and his fingers glide gently over his harp-strings
of straw; something like mischief lurks in his face, and as if desiring
to complete his speech, he says with almost a bold voice: "The simple
shepherd shook his head, incredulous was he. The Lord stretched forth to
him His hand, within which he could see the sacred scar--'t was just the
size a groschen piece would be."
Persuasively enough the old man stretches out his empty hand and many a
one lays a _scar_ therein--a pfennig or a groschen piece.
He thanks the people politely for the little presents which they bestow
upon him, and then disappears in the forest.
Grassteiger sends a messenger to seek for the poor singer, that he may
invite him to his table for Easter. But Ruepel is not to be found.
So the night wears on; fortunately it is mild and warm, for no one, not
even the convalescents, can be persuaded to return home.
The position of a constellation shows that it is midnight, the beginning
of Easter day. A flame shoots up from the straw-bound tree and the
towering Easter torch sends its light over the forest valley up to the
starry heavens.
Now the men, women, and children shout for joy; but still farther than
the sound can reach may be seen the glare of the pillar of fire,
proclaiming the glorious day to the surrounding forest land.
And at the same time the women uncover their baskets, that the blessed
breath of Easter may fan the gifts of God therein: bread, eggs, and
meat. Thus our festival bread receives the consecration which Father
Paul cannot administer to it on this day.
Not until nearly morning does the burning tree, with its soaring flame,
which might have been seen in Miesenbachgraben, crumble and fall.
We now return to our huts from this celebration on Easter eve.
From this time on, Andreas, thou art not growing younger. Younger? Who
has taught thee to prate thus foolishly? Count the silver threads in
thy hair, count them if thou canst, thou old man!