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THE HOMES
OF
OBER-AMMERGAU.
^V SERIES
OF
TWENTY ETCHINGS
IN HELIOTYPE, FROM THE ORIGINAL PEN-AND-INK DRAWINGS,
TOGETHER WITH
jSrOTES EROIM ^ DI^RY
KEPT DURING A THREE MONTHS' RESIDENCE IN OBER-AMMERGAU,
IN THE SUMMER OF 1871,
BY
ELIZA GREATOREX.
jMUjsricja::
PUBLISHED BY JOS. ALBERT,
PHOTOGRAPHER TO THE COURTS OF MUNICH AND ST. PETERSBURG.
1872.
1
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PUBLIC UBRAK^
■''''! !•»* «!-]
pntcrcd according to Act of Congress, in the year 1872, by
ELIZA GREATOREX.
Ill the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the Southern District of New York.
F. STRAUB, PRINTER TO THE ROYAL ACADEMY OF SCIENCES, MUNICH, BAYARIA.
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r'.
DEDICATED
TO THE
GEISTLICHER RATH
DAISENBERGER.
Wishing to associate my work Avith the hearts as well
as the homes of Ober-Ammergau, I ask permission
to dedicate it to you, dear Pastor, who, by your
great learning, constant self-sacrifice, and the deep piety
of a loving and gentle heart, have guided the people
whose homes I have here portrayed, during so many
years of your long and successful ministry, towards that
Christ-life whose story they so wonderfully personate.
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PUBLIC LIS-
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EVENING: THROUGH THE TREES.
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\^
I.
THE JOURNEY TO THE PASSION PLAY.
/iL have promised the children that I will write something for them every day while
^(Ji'we are separated. We have been close together ever since we left home in New .York,
^ a year and three months ago. Now I have left them standing on the platform at Munich,
somewhat disconsolate, the words **I wish you would not go, rnother! Do stay with us to see
the return of the Bavarian troops!'* ringing in my ears up to the last moment. But, leaving
them in good care, I am starting off for something that I am glad to be able to see alone— the
Passion Play at Oberammergau. To be sure, my eyes are a little moist , but I console myself
with the thought that, if this is a thing pure and good, that I can accept for myself and
them, it will be charming to write to them about it, and to bring them to see it also, after all
this excitement attendant on the coming home of the troops to Munich, — so sad, so desolate
the city all winter, but now half buried under flags and rich adornments, and deeply stirred,
too, with emotion on the return of the few out of the many brave men who w^ent out just
this time last year. We were in old Nuremberg then; and while I see the groups of these
returning ones by the side of the track, where they have been encamped all night, looking
so happy and at rest, and making themselves every inch bright and clean, in order to take
part in the festal entry into the gay capital, I cannot but think of the time when that sudden
war-storm swept over Germany, giving them hardly a moment of time for partings from mothers
and sweethearts, ^vives and children, under the shadows of old courtways and walls of long
ago. The whole war was to me too terrible. If it is true that in yon mountain village the
people are worthy to represent scenes from the Divine life of Christ, the Prince of Peace, and
with simple and devout hearts to make it their chief religious service, I shall count it but small
loss to have missed seeing the glittering pageantry connected with the welcoming home of the
victorious soldiers.
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July 14, 187 1. — The grey morning and the level plain are bright with peasants
in costume, trudging towards Munich, through fields of potatoe-blossom and rich spreads of
corn with garniture of glowing poppies and blue corn-flower. From a copse close by, a troop
of cavalry rides out. How bright, how inspiring, everything is ! I feel strangely happy, although
you young people are left behind. Here is lovely Stamberg, with the smiling lake, of which
we catch heavenly peeps between the trees, as we pass along the shores of the green water
to Weilheim. But what a crowding and fuss, a rush for seats and omnibus there is when we
get there! I am to sit in the coupe of the post-diligence, and I give a little shiver, indeed,
as I realize that I am all alone, without you children to help me out with my German; but
speak I must to the postman who sits beside me, and as we pass the pretty villages dotting
the plain I venture to ask him questions in quantities, and get along much better than I had
anticipated. We approach Murnau, towards the glorious mountains, shining in the sunlight
far away. As we come closer, what a delicious valley is here! O, happy people, do you know
what a joy you have, or is it because I have not seen for four long summers mountain
sides sloping down to deep green valleys, thick beds of blossom and little winding streams,
where the rushes grow thick, that I feel mine to be so great? At Oberau a cup of coffee
fought for and enjoyed, more confusion, baggage lost or left, and the start to walk up the
great steep hill of Ettal, beyond which lie the valley of the Ammer and the village of Ober-
ammergau. As we stop to rest here and there, I find many pleasant people to talk to,
English, Scotch and Irish, though I think all the Americans must have remained in Munich,
to see the festivities. There is certainly a happy spirit in this mountain region ! The scenery
reminds me of many a climb I have had among the Catskills, back of our dear old Hudson
River at home. My heart warms to God's sunny world and His loving ones in it. From
the bright bit of blue we catch above us, down to the mysteries of the deep ravine on our
left, where the waters leap and sing, my eyes find deep delight, nature wraps my whole being in
a blessed rest, and how much I want you with me to share it. It has been a huge climb.
But here we are at the top, breathing purer air than ever. In a few minutes we are in Ettal.
I am conscious of a splendid pile of buildings, of a great old dome, but my eyes are straining
for the village of Oberammergau. Now we are beside the Ammer, and seemingly quite near
us, on our left, rises the curiously peaked Kofel, the sunlight falling on the high cross that
the people of Ammergau have planted on its summit. In a little turn of the road, on our
right, is a rocky cavern, where we must stop a minute, as we get our first peep of the village
church, with the grey and red-roofed cottages of the village nestling around it. I know
there must be lovely points of view about here ; but we have only a moment, to peer into the
cave in the crag above us, where we can dimly discern a crucifix and shrine, up to which
there is a well-worn foot-path, and lower down is another shrine with the Madonna and Child
in a frame of little round holy pictures, and scribbled all over with the names of ambitious
travellers. Even the Madonna's face is not spared ! What a pity it is that in Bavaria the
people associate sacred things with forms that must shock every sense of the beautiful!
One can but turn away and think it is their best and they believe that they do right. I hear
most musical bells, and from one mountain side come the cows of the village, while from
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the other, across the river, a goat-herd boy drives home his flock, and we go in with them,
to find our resting places, while the sun sets red behind the long straight street, closed to
our view by the church, with its large cross lifted high above the crowd of lesser ones
marking the houses so strongly. Yet I have no pleasure, as I stand at last in full sight of
Oberammergau. All is cold, and stiff, and straight; and I give a great sigh of disappointment
as I acknowledge that there is nothing picturesque! But the door of Plunger's house, one of
the first in the street, opens of itself, and I find comfort after my day's journey.
There seems to be a large family of the Plungers, though I have spoken only to one
young woman, who has been helping me to find my luggage, which went on to the post.
As I go through the village, I feel more hopeful, though it is the oddest place I have ever
seen, the street by which one enters giving no idea of what lies beyond. As we come back
to the Plunger house, and while I am standing in the gateway that leads into a shady garden,
I am introduced to a young countryman of mine, who has been staying some weeks in the
house. I am told that there are very few strangers in the village ; but I have seen three English
ladies by the river side, just opposite the priest's house, painting in water colors, and making
me wish that I, too, could express myself in that way, for it seems so easy in it to do good
things rapidly. We have dinner in the garden. I say we; for my countryman is very pleasant,
and has been here so long that I am happy to talk with him about the place and the people;
and he is very enthusiastic about both. The young woman, Pranziska, and her younger sister
Josepha, — Prancie and Sefie, as they are called for short here, — pass in and out of the garden,
carrying into the kitchen large tubs of water on a pole between them, from the fountain close
by the roadside. I look at their fresh and winning faces, as they bring out our dinner, —
which is simple, but most eatable, in this delightful shade of linden trees, with sweet odors
coming to us from the little flower beds in front of the house, and from the young hop vines
stretching up long poles, — and I hear that the elder girl, this simple, sweet-faced maiden of
twenty-six years, is the Virgin Mary of the Passion Play. I admire, too, her- sister Sefie, who,
with her dark brown hair done up tightly, and clad in short grey petticoat and coarse white
linen bodice, goes about in her blue stockings and strong black slippers, carrying with her
everywhere a bright and most winning smile. But her shapely hands are worn with hard
work, and as I look from her to some of the older women around, and note the fearful change
that toil more than age must bring to these two comely girls, I cannot bear to think of it,
and wish with all my heart, that they w^ere in a country such as my own dear one, where
men do not sit still while women's shoulders strain, and their backs bend as these do here.
I write this in the garden, though now it is after six o'clock supper. The great heat
is past, "and we have watched the people coming in for the festival, some of them to this
house. Two students from Oxford occupy the large guest-chamber, and we have a literary
lady from Plorence, who travelled here alone all night in a carriage from Innsbruck. As we
sit and see the visitors coming freely to the family, and observe with what kindness they are
made welcome, it does seem an out of the world place. The girls are now talking with ladies
and gentlemen, and in honor of them wear dresses. How much better they looked in their
costume! Some Americans come in, and make presents of money, a little publicly, and I am
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somewhat annoyed about it, for it cannot be a good thing to do. But here comes the village
band, and as it starts from the front of our garden we stand up, aud join the throng. First
come the firemen, then the musicians, and now they parade through the streets, to the Passion
Theatre. What a lovely view!
July 1 6.— I have just had my first night of country air and bed in Bavarian Tyrol.
I found everything clean and sweet. I have a plumeau, certainly, but also a fresh red flannel
blanket, on which Sefie herself must have sewn the pure white linen sheet. Declining coffee in
my own room, I go down to the family, and find three sisters and the mother in the kitchen.
It is pleasant to hear their gay **Good mornings," to take from Francie my bowl of coffee, and
carry it myself into the little **living room", where I am met by Tobias Flunger, with a dignified,
but most friendly greeting. I will put myself and my coffee into the corner, with my back
to the stove, and dare to look at this man, who is said to have made in 1850 the most
beautiful **Christus" ever seen in Ammergau. Now he appears a man grave and self-possessed,
of a most interesting countenance, a little pre-occupied, but ready with a pleasant smile to
answer my broken sentences, and to help me out in the effort of expression. He is plaiting
a crown of thorns for the **Christus" of to-morrow, cutting off those that might hurt, and as
I watch him at his strange work, I ask myself, what is this I am to see?
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vj;:\v M<OM 'iiij'; ]-!Ol;se of "Caiai'Iias",
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II.
SETTLING IN THE VILLAGE.
' {'SlJ/uly 1 6. — Dear children! We must give up all idea of our projected summer sojourn
'Jj , i)at Berchtesgaden, and you must come up here to me at once. I cannot write about what I
^have seen and felt to-day ; but I have decided to live among these people, if possible, this
summer, and see how their daily life accords with this marvellous religious service. Remember,
we must live with the people, in order to do this; and I know you well enough to be sure
that you will not grumble about the boiled beef, which will, no doubt, be frequent. There
will be many little discomforts, but also much else to make these seem very small. To-morrow
I begin to sketch, for I have found many picturesque old houses; and the church, the Kofel
and the Ammer, together, give the village a character peculiarly its own. We are to stay
at the house of the Flungers, where I have taken rooms for the summer. They are all so good
and kind, and are always talking of when you children will come and join the house. But
now to my pleasant work. Monday morning: It is but half past six, as I settle myself to
work, in a bower made by the tops of beech and fir trees and young poplars, that stretch
up to and shade the high entrance to the theatre. I have tied back the boughs, that I may
the better see my picture, which is a gay one. The sun is making fireworks round the tall
church spire and the roofs of the houses that cluster about it. Every moment gives fresh
colour to the distant hills, and the Kofel is wide awake atop, and smiles down at the mists
as they creep up his wooded sides. The coffee was made long ago, and men, women and
children are at work in the fields. Very different was last evening, when, the great Drama
over, the crowd gone, I stood here all alone, and thought of the living pictures those peasants,
now making hay down there in the meadows, had painted on my inmost heart during
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that long" day of strange emotion. And while I silently prayed that the great act of devotion
in which I had shared might bring me nearer to the Christ-life, the village looked in the soft
twilight of the lovely valley, a place wherein to rest and to live a better, happier life.
Friday Evening. — On my way down to Ettal to meet you, I stop under the crag
where the shrines are, and where one gets the first glimpse of the village. I have been
thinking over the four days since I last wrote to you, and my first note is, that my great
drawing that w^as to have been taken from the high entrance to the theatre, is a failure, and that
I must not be so ambitious in future. My next note is, that although the people grow more
into my heart each day I am with them, and although the garden is sweeter than ever, there
is a painful feeling of something wrong creeping in. But this may be only my own foolish fears,
or else it may be my bad drawing that is on my mind. There are more wild flowers than
I ever saw before. It seems as if Nature had emptied her whole harmony of colour over
road-side and meadow, beside this sweet river bank, and I only want your fresh young faces,
to tune my spirits to the song of birds and to the laughter of the flowers and the ferns,
that looking down into the clear waters, find out how beautiful they are.
I sit now in the church of Ettal with the children. There are moments in life that
compensate for days of loss! We are listening to the grand old organ, played by the under-
teacher from Oberammergau. Crowds of peasants make the tour of the beautiful little church,
with its saintly skeletons in glass cases, gorgeously arrayed, and pictures painted by Knoller
hanging above them. The peasants press close to the great treasure of the church, the Ettal
Madonna, eager to kiss her hands, feet and face and the infant Jesus in her arms. There
is a legend of this Madonna which I have found. The Emperor of Germany, Ludwig the
Bavarian, went in the year 1327 with his army to Italy, to restore order there, and to be
crowned in Rome as the German or Holy Roman Emperor. But after he was crow^ned, Robert,
the King of Naples, threatened to cut off his retreat; and he therefore made haste to retire
to Germany. The Italians were never very well satisfied with the German dominion, and soon
other forces joined those of Robert's; and when Ludwig reached Milan, that city closed its
gates against him, too. This was in the year 1329. Ludwig was in great distress, not knowing
where to get assistance, or money wherewith to pay his men, when a remarkable event, so
the story tells us, aided in his deliverance out of the difficulty. One day he entered the little
chapel of the monastery of St. Victor, where he was staying, and while praying to the Virgin
for aid, an aged monk appeared before him (some accounts say it was an angel), and gave him
a small image of the Madonna, telling him, that if he would make a vow to build a monastery
for Benedictine monks in the Valley of the Ammer, and place in it the image of the Madonna
for public veneration as soon as he reached Bavaria, he would return home without further
difficulty.
Ludwig promised this, and money coming into his treasury, he was enabled to pay
his troops; and shortly afterwards he left Italy, and began his march homewards. The
Emperor did not forget his vow, and when he arrived at Partenkirchen, he asked to be guided
to this lovely valley of the Ammer; when another miraculous event determined the monarch
in the selection of the place whereon to erect the monastery. After riding up the dreadfully
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steep hill of Ettal, bearing the image in his arms, be was astonished to find his horse fall
upon its knees three times ; and the Emperor took this event as a hint from heaven that here
he should carry his vow into execution. Wicked people assert that the horse was exhausted
with bearing its master up the hill, and fell down on its knees because it could not go any
further. I well remember how the limbs of our poor animal trembled the other day, in merely
drawing a light empty chaise up the hill! But Ludwig had great faith, and in the year 1330
he laid the foundation stone of the convent and church, and made the institution a kind of
asylum for aged knights, and a residence for Benedictine rfionks, the latter of whom remained
in Ettal until the great secularization in 1803.
Many a hard time has the Ettal Madonna passed through, and many a miraculous
escape, too. The convent was repeatedly plundered by hostile soldiers, but the Madonna always
escaped, with at most a few bruises. In the year 1703, when war raged in these mountains,
the image was sent to Munich for preservation in one of the churches there, but it was soon
brought back again to Ettal in triumph, borne on a gayly decorated wagon, accompanied by
immense crowds of people, the clergy and nobles. Its reputation as possessing miraculous
virtues is wide-spread, and even to this day processions of pilgrims come, mostly from Suabia,
to pay their devotions to it, though not in anything like the numbers that formerly came.
Two centuries ago as many as seventy thousand pilgrims are said to havee visited Ettal in
the course of a single year! The peculiar virtues of the image are said to consist in its being
**to the pure-minded as light as a feather, to the impure and haughty weighing a hundred
pounds, but quite invisible to the guilty". The pilgrims earlier believed that the stone from
which the image is made came directly from heaven, and that the figure had proportions more
beautiful than could be made by mortal hands; but art historians have proved that the
image is an excellent work from the school of Andrea of Pisano (who died in 1345), who
w^orked under the immediate influence of Giotto. The villagers of Ammergau perform at
times a very interesting drama entitled, **the Founding of the monastery of Ettal", in which
the whole legendary story of the Madonna is embodied. It was written by the Geistlicher
Rath Daisenberger, who was for many years priest of the village, and who still lives at
Oberammergau, in the enjoyment of all his faculties, doing all be can to promote the interests
of his people whom he loves, and their great play.
The church at Ettal is rococo, of the most decorative description. The under-teacher
led us into the sacristy, where the old furniture of the church, dating from the fourteenth
century, is kept. There are beautifully inlaid cabinets, containing some old vestments, and
a very few relics, for this monastery, once so rich and full of art treasures, has but little
left. Only yesterday Flunger showed me a large portfolio full of engravings of Albrecht
Durer\s, that had come from the monastery years ago. We certainly saw little of art, as
we passed with the crowd into a long vaulted chamber, one end nearly filled up by an
immense stove, curious paintings, proverbs and inscriptions, with maps darkened by age,
hanging on the walls. All around the sides of the room were ranged narrow beds, and at
one end were tables for the overplus of guests, who were busily disposing of the black
bread, cheese and beer. Hungry and thirsty peasants they were, smoking, laughing and
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talking on every side. Now on our way home, we stand, just within the entrance arch,
arrested by the wondrous effect of light, just at this moment flashing over the mountain
beyond. It has been a day of soft cloud and sunshine mingled, and now the sun's rays have
caught the light mists, and for a moment one can believe that some bright spirit has stayed his
heavenward steps, to bless and glorify the landscape. Of the lovely walk home, the warm
welcome of the Flunger. family, who came to meet us, the delight of my young people in
every body, and everything, and the great **fixing up*' of our two rooms to the best advantage,
it would take much time to tell. Now we sit in the garden ; and watch the gathering of the band
just opposite, — a handsome manly group, as I see them through our hop vines, the ever-helping
Kofel in the background, and the sturdy peasants crushing down our currant bushes near by.
Extract from Nora's Note Book. — Sunday Morning, July 2;^. Awoke this
morning to hear canon and their echoes among the mountains. We had hardly left the
garden last night before down came the unwelcome rain; and now the poor people going to
this **living picture gathering", as mother calls it, trudge through the thick mud. We have
not been able to get seats for to day's performance. The band is just starting. It is hard
to keep from going, too. When all is quiet below we go down for our coffee. A sudden
hush comes upon everything. Here in the living-room are the Plungers, the father, son and
two young girls. The father is very attractive, and his manner is full of dignity. He has
now t^en down an old violin from its peg near the door, and tells me he has taken part
in the Passion Play even since 1820, when he was a child, and stood in the tableaux. In
1830 he sang in the chorus; in 1840 he played in the orchestra, on the violin now in his
hands; in 1850 he was the *'Christus;" and in i860, 1870 and 187 1 the **Pilatus". A fine
crayon portrait of him hangs on the. wall. It is a little sad to look at it, so very beautiful
and Christ-like, and then at the real man, so grey and worn.
Sefie, who is one of the Guardian Angels, looks very modest, and blushes a little as
I wonder at the change I see in her ; for last evening her hair was all tightly coiled round her
pretty head; to-day it is in curls, falling down to her waist. Franzisca, the .* 'Mary," is
quietly getting our coffee, and attending to our comfort. The son, who plays in the orchestra,
is rushing around for neck-tie and collar, evidently afraid of being too late. We go to the
gate with them, the girls each carrying a basket with dinner for their father and some of the
guests who will not come home at the **pause." It is very strange to see them so quiet and
. steady going, when they have such wonderful things to do before so great an audience,
but Mother • says that is the reason why the Sacred Drama is so beautifully given by them.
They bring to it working hands held out in love, pious hearts lifted up in faith to their
Divine Lord; and with their lowly peasant life has mingled the dignity of the life of Christ,
whose story they have been born for generations to tell, until their common human nature
has become, during the Passion-Time at least, strangely touched by the feeling of a Sublime
Presence. I cannot yet understand this myself, but I write it down, hoping that I may do so
after we have been in what I hardly like to call a theatre, since mother has told me how
her soul worshipped, while these peasants represented the sufferings and sacrifice of Christ.
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III.
FIRST WEEK OF VILLAGE LIFE.
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■"^Sli/uly 25. — A rainy day! And since it is impossible to get to our work in the open
•^J 1 o^^air, we amuse ourselves, as well as we can, in exploring our home. Francie and Sefie are
^ determined to make our sojourn in their house as agreeable as possible, and invite us to
look over the family treasures of the large Guest Chamber. It is a room full of all sorts of
curiosities. In one corner, is a large bookcase, curtained off with chintz, on the top of which
are arranged wood-carvings, in all stages of progress, figures of Scripture characters, and,
what is Plunger's special work, carved deer, in all positions, and of all sizes. Next in order
comes the grand wardrobe of the family, and this being a rainy day, Frau Flunger gives
permission for us to see its treasures, which Francie and Sefie show us with great' pride.
They begin with the gala dresses of the mother in her younger days, when she was the prettiest
girl in all the country around, as her husband was the handsomest of the men. There were
bodices of salmon-color, embroidered with rich flowers of all shades, and light blue ones
with silver trimmings; there were handsome shawls, and silk brocaded handkerchiefs, of every
hue; but the great gems of the collection were the long silver chains, which fastened the
bodices cross-wise, and were held by large silver hooks. There were rosaries of silver filigree,
with rich beads; one, very costly, had a turquois, which they prized much. These had
belonged to their great-grandmother. As each article was exhibited, we were told to which
member of the family it was to descend. I should like to see these maidens dressed in some
of this finery, but I think that comes rarely to pass. After the wardrobe came the glass
cupboard, with the birthday presents of china, groups of figures, shell ornaments, and flowers.
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Next morning is fine, and we get out to the church. The music is even better than
in the theatre. A good orchestra, composed of several vioHns and three violincellos, with a good
number of wind instruments, well played, and the voices not being strained, as when singing
in the open air, went charmingly in unison. The leader is the schoolmaster, who directs
all the village music, and selects well that which is performed at church. The older priest
is a most venerable looking man. The Catholic spirit is over and in all the service. It must
be a proud heart, however, that cannot consent to worship here, among the happy, honest
and most devout looking congregation. Both the aged and the younger priest seem to be
a part of their people, and of their church. There are no ladies painting by the priest's
house, for a wonder! It begins to rain again, so we give up hope of work, and go home to
our great room to dinner, and then for a long walk in the grey afternoon, with Sefie. Returning,
I sit down in the family room, and chat with the elder people. I find that Flunger studied
art for some years in the Munich Academy under Konrad Eberhard, the sculptor, but the
great life of the city did not suit him ; he returned to his native village, fell in love, married,
and took the position of drawing master in the village. A story is told that once, in later
times, Eberhard visited the Passion Play, and seeing his former scholar, embraced him, and
deeply moved, said that he had never had a scholar who had given him so much true pleasure
as Flunger, by his part in the Passionsspiel. That, he said, was Art in the service of God!
Flunger still likes to talk about that time at the Academy, and remembers his old teacher
with great love.
Another day of rain, but the girls come and say that our neighbor Hans will bring
his zither, and play us some dance music in the evening; when we have much pleasure.
Nora. Nellie and Walter, with Francie, Alalie (an elder sister), and Frau Karl, have a gay
dance, to the pretty music made by the hard, red fingers of Hans. Frau Karl and Malie
dance the peasant dance with much spirit. It was hard work for Hans, but to encourage him
he had a mighty mug of beer at his elbow. Frau Karl sang some merry Tyrolese airs, with
the "jodel," and Francie and Sefie sang the **Edelweiss." I find nothing out of keeping in
their mirth, certainly nothing to shock one's sense of propriety; but there is a simplicity of
home life and harmony through it all. In the morning we must leave our big room to be
scrubbed, and set thoroughly to rights for the company, which may be here on Friday. It still
rains hard, and a crowd is expected this time, as it is the height of the season. Every seat in
the theatre is taken, and our house will, I fear be too full to be pleasant; but we have found
a retreat in the atelier of the village school, where, by permission of Flunger, I can plant my
easel, and we can all study or read in quiet. It is very late when the expected guests arrive,
and in what a torrent of rain! Drenched and forlorn, they must be this wild summer's night.
I hear sounds quite unlike the usual friendly greetings. Several people have arrived, and soon
Sefie runs up to tell us all about the difficulty. A foreign lady, with two pet poodles, and her
husband, had just arrived in a carriage, and all were quite wet through. They were immediately
shown upstairs, and into the large guest chamber, where two snow-white beds had been
made ready for them. The lady was very solicitous about the health of the dogs, and made
a great deal of fuss about her fears that the little brutes would take cold from their exposure;
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and drenched as they were, she insisted in placing them between the clean sheets of one of
the beds, to the horror of the good Frau Flunger, who became very much exasperated at
this insult to her sense of household cleanliness, and orderec^ the dogs to be turned unceremoniously
out of the bed. Fortunately, matters were set to rights, by the dogs having couches prepared
for their reception.
Now begins our first week of work, for the wet weather is happily over. This busy
Saturday morning, the village is alive and full of strangers, and seems another place since
yesterday. I meet few of my own people, as I pass through the crowded, noisy street to my
place by the house of Joseph Mayer. I need all this fresh morning light and hope for my
subject, hard and square, and utterly unpicturesque in itself. I have looked round everywhere
for its best point, and now sheltered from the people by empty wagons of all ages and
shapes, which have been drawn up in corner, I think I have secured it. I need shelter to day,
for one quite loses Ammergau and its people among masses of tourists, some of whom are
rude enough. The sun is kind! As I look resolutely at my picture, it falls full on the house,
and makes most beautiful the vine which, growing thick and green, forms an arbor over the
seat just outside the window, where Mayer is at work; it flashes through the stiff fruit trees
of the garden, and shows bits of the cottages behind them. A young and lovely lady comes
from the house, and sits in my precious little arbor, book in hand. She is soon joined by
Mayer, and as they talk together — she evidently a lady of high degree, he a rare but simple
peasant — he bears the contrast well. Yes! I can now make a drawing of the house as it
is, with the broad sunlight shining full on its inmate.
In the afternoon I am by the theatre, which is thronged with people choosing seats
for the morrow. A motley crowd, surrounds the building. There are sellers of all sorts of
wares, holy toys from the Tyrol, the Madonna and Child most numerous, wax saints in glass
cases, and photographs. There are pilgrims from Jerusalem, selling beads of holy wood, and
crosses of mother-of-pearl, formed of twelve oblong tablets, and in the centre of each a stone,
to represent the twelve stations of Christ's sufferings.. They can speak only a few words in
French, so they trade by writing figures on a slate. Holy pictures and charms of every kind
are to be seen; and eatables there are, too, of various sorts, — cakes, cheese, ham, bread and
beer. As far as one can see along the Unter Ammergau road, come the peasant fruit-
dealers from South Tyrol, with great baskets, or hand barrows, carried or drawn by women,
who often have babies to care for besides, while the handsome husbands, enjoying a smoke,
walk leisurely along, and now and then lend a helping hand! I must draw here on Saturday,
that I may see something of the life outside the theatre. What a chance for a figure artist!
All around the little booths, under the great entrance, the peasants seem devoutly to
believe in the efficacy of the charms they sell. One old fellow lauds rings of lead, with holy
names inscribed thereon, as good for the cure of rheumatic joints. A lady asks the price of
one of them. **Eighteen kreutzers, but they are worth eighteen guldens ten times over,
gracious lady." **Now we know something, you and I," the lady answers, **and we know
that the rings are not worth eighteen guldens." **You don't believe it, my dear lady? Ah!
May God have mercy on you! Poor sufferers from all parts of the world send for them,
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and are made well! May you never have need of them!'* I look in the lady's face, and find
a dear friend, parted from long ago, amidst very different surroundings. She is staying at
Sebastian Lang's, one of the best wood-carvers in the village, and after we have wandered a
little longer, looking at the strange surrounding sights, I go with her to hear ^the violin
played by her host and his young sons, whom he has himself taught. One might go far
before having so great a treat as to see the splendid old man and his boys, and hear them
play national airs and dances. The whole family seem wonderfully intelligent, and aware of
what is going on in the outside world.
Now by the evening light, how delicious my work is! Just across the bridge, with
my face towards the village, and my back to the Kofel, — at this hour in deepest shade, and
sending down from its heights, like a faint spiritual voice from the evening sky, the sound
of hymns sung by pilgrims, as they climb to worship at the foot of the cross, — I have the
merry little river telling of its happiness to the clump of willows that fringe my bit of foreground,
while its ripples play over the church and homestead reflected in its bosom.
Sunday morning, bright and clear. After a solemn service in the church, the children
walk with the orchestra to the theatre. I do not dare to go there a second time, so I carry
my books up the mountain side, meeting on the way the cows coming home for the morning
milking time. There are at least a dozen of them decked with garlands of bright flowers.
My friend the herd tells me that it is the name-day of their owner, and that for each cow he
receives a gift; and the creatures carry their heads proudly, as if they knew it. It is a good
climb before I find a seat, in a place where the sweet summer air brings me the voices of
the singers, clear and soft from the valley down there, where the hearts of thousands of people
worship. I can read but little. My memory is full of the time when, in my own country, I
first read of the Passionsspiel, in Miss Howitt's Art Life in Munich. I remember well how
shocked I felt, that any one could witness such a spectacle; yet there was a fascination in
her description of it, which kept that chapter always in my mind! Eighteen years ago that
must be; and now I am living with, a»d loving, the people who were the chief characters in
the play of that very time.
The smoke curling from many a chimney tells me that dinner time is near, and that
Francie will be at home, perhaps her father also, and ready to talk to me awhile, before they
go back again for the long afternoon. The children come at twelve o'clock, and say nothing
to me of what they think. We eat together in silence, but I see they are touched. When I
meet them, after it is all over, and we walk away into the quiet fields by the river side,
I am glad to hear them say that it was a reality almost too great for them to bear, and
never to be forgotten. The cattle are going out again to pasture, ringing their sweet bells.
All nature appears as though wrapped in soothing peace. We talk of home, and of our
beloved ones there, and tears of longing for their presence cannot be restrained.
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IV.
OUR HOME WITH THE FLUNGERS.
JL▼^llonday brings a new life to us. I hav^e my work in my own room in the house of the
A \\ Flungers. The fountain in front has much to do to-day. The Flunger family and three
' or four neighboring ones are incessant in their demands for fresh supplies ; and it is a
pleasure to see the response of the pure, ever-flowing water. The Flungers, — father, son, Francie,
Sefie and Malie, the girl who helps so much in the fields, — have all gone to the hay meadows.
It is very interesting to notice the people at their ordinary occupations, at their homes and
in the fields, and think of them as they were seen only yesterday, standing before the large
audiences in the Passion Theater. Yesterday* the admired of thousands; to-day, forgetting
fame in their work in the hay-field or on the mountains. In the broad part of the valley, close
by where the Wildbach flows, where the land is divided into many small patches, every
householder of the village possesses one or more lots. Among the mowers are not only the
men, but the women and maidens of the village; and Francie and Sefie swing their scythes
with a grace and ease that show them to be adepts at the work.
The labor of the girls when at home is also very exhausting, especially during this
busy Passion year; for having to attend to so many guests, they do not get to bed until very
late. In ordinary times, too, they are by no means idle, and when there is nothing to be
done in the fields, they help Herr Flunger and Friedrich to carve little picture frames, Francie
sawing out the forms from the rough wood, Friedrich, the father, or Malie carving them, leaving
Barbet to polish the carved frames. Malie is really a remarkable girl, plain and unassuming
as she is. She can do and does the finest parts of the wood-carving; her hand has the
most craft, and everything she touches goes well. She knows how to draw, and begins to
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take an interest in my work, as she finds that I am trying in earnest to make my pictures
like the real places. What a pity it is that hard labor has long ago deprived her of the
youthful freshness and gaiety thg.t she once possessed; for when a child she was much prettier
than her sister Francie. But hard labor is woman's lot in Ammergau, as well a& in so many
other parts of Germany, though perhaps not to such a degree. On the Rhine you will meet
her toiling up the mountain side, groaning under a burden heavy enough for a mule. In the
neighborhood of the Taunus Mountains one meets gangs of half a hundred female day-laborers,
who have to work from sunrise to dark, for a paltry sum of little over thirty kreuzers; and to
keep them at work, a kind of slave-driver has to superintend them. The women of Ammergau
have, however, not so wretched a position as the latter; but they have to do nearly all the
out-door field-work; and they do it with a good will, never thinking for a moment but that
God intended it to be so. The result is that feminine beauty is rarely found in the young women
of the village after they have reached twenty-five; and later in life they become coarse in
form and feature, in feeling and manner, and their original loveliness disappears.
Life is most interesting among these people, if one can adopt their way of living; but
to fret because one has not home comforts would make a hard condition of life. The
children have gone to the hay-field, with a pleasant English party, people who, like us, have
adapted themselves to the ways of the family, and beautify everything by their unselfish
forbearance. I draw in the afternoon by the house of Caiaphas, one of the Langs. It is the roost
brilliantly frescoed edifice in the village. **Caiaphas" passes in and out with stately step; his
face is full of intelligence, and wears a happy, contented expression. His children are very
sweet; the eldest girl, a quiet little maiden of nine' or ten summers, watches over the two
younger ones, and knits her stocking on the bench beside me. Herr Lang takes the part
of Caiaphas with great ability, and having enjoyed a better education than most of the people
of Ammergau, he is a prominent personage in the village. In the dramatical affairs his voice
has great inifuence.
There is a fountain at a little distance from us, and a great gathering of women
about it. I hear loud talking, while tubs and dishes are washed. Money is the great theme;
and I hear quite enough to be sure that there is a gossipy sort of conversation going on.
I look around for a quieter place; but this is the spot, and here I must bide; for there are
three capital bits, front, right and left of me, and the afternoon sun gives wonderful eifects
of light and shade. By this time I begin to find out that there is gossip in the village, and
I must not try to escape the knowledge of it: so I will call the sketch in front of the house
of Caiaphas — **The Gossips' Fountain."
In vain! It is impossible to do anything with the house of **Petrus!" There is not
a bit of vine, nor a tree, to break its utter monotony. I talk with its owner, Jacob Hett,
and he tells me that he will help me in any way he can ; but there is the house, and what
can one do? So I go oif, and idle with the young people at home; but as it begins to rain,
and grows miserably cold, we all go into the living-room, where we find the family, and some
Dutch artists, who have just arrived. Our grand room is by this time occupied by two
elderly ladies, who keep entirely apart, and never see nor speak to the family, unless they
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want something. But we have cheerful company, and Hans plays the zither. We talk with
the Dutch artists, of the great pictures at the Hague, of the wood-carving of the village, of the
monks of Ettal, who did so much for Art, especially in this direction, of former years of the
Passion Play, and the various characters who had performed in it. I think of the party up
stairs, and how much they miss by bringing their city conventionalities with them so far into
the mountains.
We had a time of real pleasure, and in the evening came the English lesson, which
lasted till eleven. Francie was Nora's pupil, Sefie Nellie's. The letters came first — a, b, c —
no sooner learnt than forgotten again: Then came the effort to name objects, cat, dog, cow,
and this was more successful. Sefie was clever at whole sentences, **How do you do?" "Have
you sleept well ?" Then there was great fun when the pupils were put to conversation together.
Francie to Sefie- **You hev plue eis ant brown hair" — Sefie to Francie: **Goot morning, have
you sleept well?" "Pretty well tank you." Teacher: "Now try to say the ///." At this point
I cover my ears, for when teachers and pupils get to work at this one sound, it is too much!
These lessons are given three days in each week, and every night when the young girls go
down stairs, I hear them go over all they have learnt to their mother. Next day I find
that great progress has been made by the girls in their lingual studies, for I am greeted
with, "Good e-ven-ing, are you very tight (tired) to-night?" The great stumbling-block of
the ih is a little removed.
Friday Morning.-^ Still cloudy! So after we have been to the early service in the
church, the girls go out to search for a model, but as all the grown and strong people are
hard at work in the hay-fields, they are obliged to be content with anything they can find.
I go to the post-office to ask for letters, and as I enter the yard, I see the back of Peter's
house, picturesque as it is odd, with the carriage way leading up to the barn of the post-
house. It is a happy discovery, and I lose no time in getting to work, as I must have the
house of the good Peter. Jacob Hett himself carries out my chair for me, and I sit in state
under the great poplar tree, in front of which, but outside the railing, the fruit dealers are
building their stalls, and arranging tempting fruits for to-morrow's throng of customers. The
dialect they employ is harsh; and I cannot imagine a single word of love spoken in it.
Certainly, what I hear around me now must be anything but kindly! When I return home,
I find a studio arranged near the door of the barn, and two old women of the village being
made into pictures by very diligent students. After dinner we all go together to my new
study — the house of the Scribe. The owner is quite in keeping with his dwelling, which is
saying a good deal — for the house is in truth an original study.
Saturday Evening. — As we come home through the village, the outer world is rushing
in to our quiet nest. A lovely evening loses all its poetry in the noise of the travellers, who,
hungry and thirsty, and in need of rest, pass up and down the crowded streets, looking for
their places. I chat with the women outside, who stand with babies in their arms, watching
the new arrivals. Maier's house progresses; to-day I make the acquaintance of his wife and
children. The latter have a little maid called Pinosa to wait upon them, as the mother has
much to do. A crowd passes in and out of the house all the morning. Some push in merely
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from curiosity, others to get autographs, or to ask questions, some few to do a kindness to
Maier by ordering carved work. One lady brings a piece of white drapery for the tableau
of the Resurrection in the play, another an old engraving, which the man's Art education enables
him to value. The door stands wide open all day long, and the wife tells me that her husband
is often kept up till midnight on Saturdays, which is but a poor preparation for the next day's
exhaustion, — a day, too, on which he fasts from all solid food.
Sunday. — It is too crowded to do anything outside the theatre to-day, so I spend my
whole afternoon down by the river, towards Unter Ammergau, and find it really fascinating
there. On this occasion we have a party, some of our visitors being dear friends whom we
found among the throng of new comers. The talk with them about our home has a strange
effect, so utterly is that home in the distance, in spirit as well as in space. The description
of the difficulties they have had to-day in getting food at the Post Inn is really comic. One
of the ladies went into the kitchen, seized plates from a dark corner, washed them at the
pump in the yard, then, armed with a fork, made her way to the cooking stove, and succeeded
in carrying off sausages and potatoes enough for the whole party. Brown bread, cheese, and
beer, were the possibilities, but meat and vegetables were only to be had by people of great
resolution. Every fresh bend of the river gives a new picture, and the one on which I decide
is to be the Going Away from Ober- Ammergau. The theater lies low, at the foot of the distant
mountains, while the river winds around and under the mighty Kofel with a graceful sweep.
But before I make this drawing, there is one I take great pleasure in thinking of. It is the
Churchyard Gate, which stands always open, and through which every morning after early
mass I see the aged Geistlicher Rath Daisenberger pass. I begin to hear his name mentioned
with great love and respect by the people.
Another lovely Sabbath day has come and gone. The morning which we spent in the
garden was still and calm. Not a soul to be seen in the street, except the old men, who,
wearing blue and white badges on their arms, walked up and down the village during the
**Spiel." They are too old to take any part in the representation, so they watch over the
quiet of the place, marching two together, with a very important air, which says, **We also
do something." The play is over at six o'clock; when we go for our evening walk, and look
down from the lovely hill-side, at the back of the Flunger house, in pity for the restless crowd
pouring out of our home. Many come to our garden to have supper, and it is always late
before we go in for ours on Sunday evenings. There is no one this week to join our party,
except our artist friends, who think of the day's sight as we do; and so it forms a bond of
union between us. I remark how full of respect their manner is to the young women of the
house. It is great pain to me to hear all the flatteries adressed to Francie and Sefie, and to
know that they must have their effect, particularly at a time when life is so unsettled with them.
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V.
AN APOSTOLIC FAMILY
,t work in the street in front of the school-house! My subject is the house of the Zvvinks,
v3|gj the owner of which, Matthew Zwink, takes the part of St. Matthew in the Passion Play,
"^ and his son Johannes, that of the youthful St. John. The gri"oup of young pupils around
me are more enthusiastic about the portraits they are taking" in doors, of father and son, than
about the old house that covers them. But I find that the latter has also strong characteristics, —
a roof rugged with age; walls seamed and cracked all over, and bending in and out in quite
a reckless way; the gutters of the roof stretching out to an enormous length beyond the eaves;
and a dilapidated fence, of most independent build, pretending to take care of the pretty
things in the garden. In the distance is the very oldest house in Ammergau. Its interior,
especially the kitchen, is very extraordinary, and contains a deep well, an arched roof, and
a chimney with a long shaft, running up to the sky. I am told that this house is at least six
hundred years old, and has been standing ever since the time when Ammergau was one of
the stations on the great highway of travel for the merchandise from Venice to Augsburg and
the north of Germany, and when all the caravans passing through the valley had to make
halt at Ammergau for the night and over Sunday. I am told that even in the days of the
Romans, Ammergau was a known station on their military road, from Partenkirchen northwards,
and was then known as Coveliacas, a name doubtless derived from the guardian peak of the
village, — our good Kofel. But I am forgetting the Zwinks. As soon as we were visible, the
entire family, consisting of the mother, father, aunt, and the son Johannes, came out to bid us
welcome. The son is a generous-minded youth, of refined and gentle nature, well fitting him
to take the part of St. John in the play. It is pleasant to see the affection of the mother
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and aunt for their boy. The good Matthew tells me, in reply to my inquiries, all about the
remarkable frescoes on the houses of the village, many of which were painted by his grand-
father, between the years 1780 and 1790. He says that the artist was not always allowed
to choose his own subject, this being done by the owner of the house himself, and the results
are very odd. Zwink also painted some of the frescoes in the village church, as well as in
the church at Ettal. After the older Zwink had told me all this, I turned to listen to Johannes,
who spoke of being obliged to fulfil his military duties. He thinks, naturally enough, that the
barracks will be a poor exchange for the mountain climbs and the pure air of his Highland
home. It is, indeed, pleasant to find such kindness ev(ry where. The family have now brought
out chairs and foot-stools, so that we can work more comfortably. I rejoice over our present
felicity, as I contrast it with the martyrdom which we suffered at the hands of rude butcher-
boys and ignorant market-women last summer in the streets of Nuremberg. We are invited
to return in the evening, when there will be music in the house.
Extract from Nellie's Note Book. — This is the King's birthday, and a general
holiday. There was high mass in the church this morning, and I went with Sefie and Francie
into the choir. Francie had to take the part of the principal soprano, in place of Julie Albl.
who, we heard, had suddenly lost her father, the head and principal support of a large family.
Poor Julie! Notwithstanding her great grief, she must occupy her usual place in the
Chorus on Sunday, since it cannot be filled by any other girl of the village. She has a most
beautiful soprano voice, and charms the Passion audiences by the purity and reach of her song.
She is rather a peculiar girl. She became tired of the world a few years ago, and, principally
because she possessed such a beautiful voice, she was accepted in a cloister, in the neighborhood
I of Augsburg. But when the committee were selecting persons to take the various parts in
the Passion Play of 1870, they found great difficulty in selecting a first soprano for the
Chorus, the only person available being Francie Flunger, who was needed more urgently,
! however, to delineate the character of the Virgin. Since strangers are not permitted to take
i any part in the Passion Play, the committee decided upon inducing Julie to return to the
' village. It was not without considerable difficulty and expense, however, that the community
succeeded in inducing the superioress of the convent to give up the nightingale she had secured.
At night we all went to the house of the Zwinks, to hear the promised concert. We
were ushered into a large, low room, in one corner of which stood the great, green porcelain
stove, with a broad bench all round it, where the people sit in the long winter evenings.
About a small table, on which lay some music, the musicians, four violins and a bass, had
already taken their places. Johannes and his parents came to greet us, and gave us comfortable
seats. We were not the only guests. Two women, relations of the family, sat on the bench
by the stove. They were naturally large women, but the plaited skirts, padded waists, and
wide sleeves of their splendid peasant costume, made them appear to be of immense size.
They were evidently tired from the long journey they had made to the Passion Play, and so
we could excuse the little naps they took by stealth, while the music was going on. The
concert was very effective, most of the pieces played being from the masses of Dedler, who
composed and added to the music of the Passion. Before leaving our hosts we had arranged
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a party to go up the Kofel, and to the Biirschling mountain, where the King of Bavaria has
a hunting lodge, called the Linderhof.
I must state something that happened the other day. We had gone to the Zwink house,
to join Johannes and two ladies in an excursion to Altenau, which we had decided must be the
Almenau of "Quits." But the ladies had the bad news for us, that it could not be the same
place, since there is no churchyard there. So we gave up the projected journey, and to make
up for our disappointment, Johannes promised to sit for us, while we drew his portrait. So
we darkened all the numerous windows but one, and were engaged intently upon our work,
when we were startled by hearing a woman's voice, calling out, "Where is St. John? Where
is St. John?" The door opened, and a short, portly old dame, whose tiny black eyes sparkled
from behind her glasses, followed by two pretty young girls, rushed into the room. Frau
Zwink said, very quietly, pointing to our subject, "This is my son Johannes!" The little
old lady stopped short before the object of her search, and she and her daughters had a good
stare at him, for fully two minutes. They were so interested in him, that th6y never thought
of addressing a word to the poor fellow, who had risen from his seat, and stood like a statue
under their gaze. "He's very like his photograph," at last the old lady exclaimed, and turning
round, she left the room, followed by her daughters, as unceremoniously as she had entered
it, shutting the door with a bang. Johannes stood for a minute like one dazed, and then,
when he saw us laughing joined in with good will. This is the way tourists frequently "do
up" the principal players of Ammergau.
The Linderhof. — We have just returned from our excursion to the King's hunting
lodge at the top of the Biirschling mountain. We left the village in the early morning,
each carrying sketch-book, alpine stock, and provisions for the day. We joined the two ladies
and Johannes, and reached the foot of the Kofel just as the mountains became flushed with
the dawn. We had a difficult climb, till near the top, then an easy ascent till we reached
Biirschling, finishing with a hard pull, that lasted till mid-day, when we arrived at the Royal
Hunting Lodge. On the way we saw only one solitary woman, who was carrying provisions
up to the Senner, who lived yet higher up on the mountain, and in whose hut, she told us,
we could have milk, and rest ourselves. But we were already tired, so we seated ourselves,
and enjoyed our lunch, and the lovely view among the mountains, and along the valley,
winding in and out, longing only to reach the snow that seemed so near us, — for it was very
hot, and we found but little shelter. It was so very lonely, that I wondered that any one
could stay there; but I am told that the King is very fond of such quiet romantic spots,
where he goes to escape the cares of government, that must weigh sometimes rather heavily
upon his shoulders, and to spend his solitary hours in reading or in study. We sketched
the scenery, and Johannes made quite a pretty picture of the royal lodge itself, which mother
says is pretty enough to find a place in her collections.
Our visit to the Senner was brief, but Nora, who is fond of such novelties, describes
him "as a perfect beauty for a sketch, — an old man, his name Tony, with shaggy grey hair,
coming down into his eyes, and mixing with his eyebrows, which are an inch long; a beard,
whiskers, and moustache hiding all his face except two little bits of what looked like dark red
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leather drawn tightly over the cheek-bones ; his coat of some knitted stuff, a splendid dirty blue,
torn and patched to a high degree; a well-worn and very dirty, peaked hat, of dark green,
with coarse worsted cord and tassel hanging over the rim, right in front of the forehead: the
picture being quite complete when he took the churn-dash in his hand/'
The return home was very easy and agreeable. We were a happy party, and
enjoyed ourselves freely. When we arrived in the charming valley of Grasswang, we washed
away the stains of travel at the bubbling springs which we found there. The entire valley
is one of the loveliest of the Highlands. Johannes told us that the last King of Bavaria, Max,
inspired by beauty of the scenery, expressed the wish that the Ammergau Passion theatre
should be erected at the entrance of the valley. We had quite a talk as we came along the
valley, and Johannes told us how it was that he came to be chosen to represent St. John in
the Passion Play; how that three others had been considered as elegible for the position, but
that he was finally selected. One of his rivals was allotted the part of the servant of Pilatus,
the other, that of the servant of King Herod who puts the white mantle on "Christus." The
selection of persons for the various roles is done by the vote of all the householders of
the village sitting in committee, under the presidency of the Geistlicher Rath Daisenberger,
and the priest. It is very rarely that a bad selection is made. Johannes told us that he
had never received any dramatic instruction, except from the Geistlicher Rath, and yet he acts
the part of St. John very naturally, and without any effort. He told us that his father (the
present St. Matthew) had taken the part of St. John in the year 1840, that of Peter in 1850,
of James the elder in 18O0, and in 1870 and 1871 that of Matthew; and that his grand-father
had taken the part of the Christus in the years 1800, 1801, 18 10 and 18 15, and of Peter in
1820, 1830 and 1840. The talent for the apostolic roles seems therefore to be hereditary
in the family. Many people think that Johannes will have to be the '^Christus" of the next
Passion Play, in 1880.
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VI.
THE HOUSE OF GREGOR LECHNER.
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JJteTom beside a cottage, in whose shadow there lies a pile of logs on a bit of green road-
^^^side, I look up the street where Gregor Lechner, the "Judas", has his house, the pale
*^ green tint of which make» a severe contrast to the dark reddish-brown one beside it,
which has apparently enjoyed for ages immunity from '^cleaning up/' The usual mound, of
right belonging to the barn-yard, is near the door, but on the top of it grow some brilliant
weeds ; and ^ere is a graceful tree whose shadow falls 'on the sunny porch. It was not easy
to find a seat among the logs, so I went into the house, to make myself known to Frau
Lechner, and to beg for a chair; and I got not only the very best one she had, but also one
of the great **nudels" which she was cooking for the frugal dinner, with the wish that I might
eat it "with a good appetite," which I did. I sat by the work-bench of Gregor Lechner himself,
who was very busily engaged in finishing some carved statuettes, especially one of himself,
in the character of "Judas." His principal work is the carving of the "Descent from the Cross,"
after Rubens' celebrated picture. He is also famed for his carvings of figures for the
"Weihnachtskrippen," being one of the most skillful workmen in the village, as he is perhaps
the best actor, dramatically speaking, and one of the best informed on general and dramatic
subjects.
I had hardly finished my "nudel" before Herr Flunger and the Dutch artists came in.
The latter are delighted with the village, and will sketch here for a week yet. It was very
interesting to hear Flunger and Lechner talk together. A warm affection seems to exist
between these two men, and while they talked about the Passionsspiel, the tears came into
Lechner's eyes, as he told how that on the previous Monday, one of the visitors had said in
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the photograph store, that he wanted the portraits of all the principal players except **Judas",
who, he said, must be a very bad man, or he could not play the part so perfectly. Poor man!
He has indeed much to suffer from the rude criticisms of the ignorant, especially of the peasants
of the neighboring Tyrol, who look upon Judas in the true Middle Age spirit as the incarna-
tion of all that is wicked! Lechner says that he was once stopped on the road between
Unter-Ammergau and his home, by a party of half-drunken Tyrolese, who used hard words
to him, and he thinks would have killed him had be not made good his escape. In former
years, these rough peasants would express themselves very freely about the players, even
while the drama was being given ; and one, who had become excited and indignant that Judas
should betray his Master, stood up in the midst of the audience, and shook his fists at the
betrayer, and shouted out, *lf I could but get hold of thee, thou rascal, I would teach thee
something!" Lechner has given the character of Judas in the Passion Play ever since the
year 1850, with three different persons representing the *'Christus." Though he does not say
so, he seems to remember with most pleasure the time when Tobias Plunger was the principal
character; while he admits that Joseph Maier has the best presence and voice. 'Schauer,
who was the "Christus" of the play of i860, was a very beautiful personification, but he had
not strength of mind to resist all the flattery he received from visitors.
I learnt all this from Lechner, after the others had gone; as also, that his father had
played the part of Judas in the years 1830 and 1840. When I asked him, if he had not
received special instruction from his father, how to give the character to such perfection, he
said. No, he had not received instruction from any one then, but had, as long as he could
remember, lived in the thought of how to do it, and imagining, while watching his father
act, the changes be would make in the representation. H^ said, further, that after the
Geistlicher Rath Daisenberger came to the village, and wrote the part for Judas anew, in
blank verse, he had private rehearsals in the good priest's house for some time, as had all the
principal players, — and that was in reality their only dramatic school. Envious people, he
said, had sent abroad the report that he and others had studied dramatic gesticulation in
Munich, during the winter preceding the play of 1870, but the assertion was entirely false.
Lechner called to mind the fact, that when the celebrated dramatist Eduard Devrient came to
the Passion Play in 1850, he had praised the acting as not excelled by any regular actors,
and had said, **We (actors) can learn much from them."
Lechner has many pleasant memories of the visits to his little cottage of prominent
dramatic personages, who seek up the *7^das" as soon as they arrive in the village, since his
fame is now very great. And yet with all this flattery he is not at all vain. When I translated
him a sentence which I found in one of the large English papers, that **the acting of Gregor
Lechner would be considered brilliant on any court stage of Europe," he said he was very
glad indeed to find that foreigners appreciated him, for he thought that the villagers did not.
He loves to talk of the drama, and thinks with great pleasure, too, of the secular plays that
have been performed by the Ammergauers in previous summers, especially of a Christmas
play about six years ago, when persons came to the village on Christmas Eve from a distance
of over twenty miles to see it. Noticing Lechner's bright little boy, who is one of the genii
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in the second tableau of the play, the **Adoration of the Cross," I asked the father if he
intended that Anton should take his father's present part, when he grew up. **No! No!" he
said, **I will spare Anton the annoyance that I have had to suffer on account of Judas
Iscariot!" Little Anton, too, shook his head, and said **Nein!" One must admire Lechner
much for the self-abnegation that he must condescend to during the play: for while most of
the other principal players have to represent characters higher than their own original natures,
he has to personify a character which he at heart despises. Lechner is one of the most pious
men of the village. He is now tolerably comfortable in his means, owning the house in which
he lives, a few plots of meadow land, and two cows, all of which — house, meadow and cows, —
are attended to by Frau Lechner; while he sits industriously at his work-table, in ordinary
times from half past four in the morning till dusk, or from fifteen to sixteen hours a day,
and all for a sum not exceeding a Prussian thaler!
I left him after this conversation with a feeling of respect and admiration; and will
do the best I can to make the pea-green house a picture for his sake. When I carried home
my borrowed chair, the door of the room was open into the large hall, and I saw Gregor
Lechner asleep at his work-bench. His wife was in the kitchen, so I passed on there, and she
told me that her husband was very tired. He has such a hard part, and on Sundays, when
the story is told, he comes home sometimes quite exhausted. Then she told me, but not
complainingly, that these two summers of the Passion Play have been also hard on her. She
has had no help but that of her little boy. To be sure many good people waited on themselves,
but others would have even warm baths carried up her little crooked staircase, until her back
was weary and her feet would go no more. She laughed while telling me that once the great
tub fell from her hands just as she was half way down, and another time the gentleman up-
set his own India-rubber bath, and the water ran down into her kitchen over everything, and
then he took her fine plumeau to stand on. I asked permission for the children to make a
drawing of her little kitchen, which is a picture of neatness, and she thought this a great
honor. Her "man" and her "boy" are all to her in life, the good woman says, and she likes
to keep the house bright for them.
Wash-day in the Village. —There is a great time among the women every Tuesday
morning, when they bring their washing down to the river's bank. The favorite place is just
opposite the priest's house, in the heart of the village, and the prettiest bit of it all, where
the Ammer runs clear and cold as ice on the hottest summer day; and there the artists
congregate for the two last days of the week. Flunger tells me that he once counted fifteen
of them drawing at the same time. The door- way of the priest's house is the chosen spot, and as
I take my seat there, he, coming up, exclaims, "Dear lady, are you also drawing our Kofel?
If this goes on much longer, there will be nothing of it left. Every one who comes here must
needs try to take it." So, laughingly, I say, I will take pity on the mountain, and on his
fears, and crossing the road towards the pretty garden, I find for myself a picture with more
of the water, and the village. The washer-women, among them two sisters of the good priest,
are so gay as they dip, and splash, and rub, and wring their white linen and red and white
checked plumeau covers, that I long to sketch them, and to make my picture a bright one, but
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my pen will not obey my wish. The children return from school, and, bringing their toys
into the garden where I sit, play about me. I love to have them come to see what I am
doing, and put their plump little hands into mine, unasked, with the utmost simplicity, and the
sweetest air imaginable.
We have a merry party at supper. The artist trio bring in their sketches in pencil
and water-color, and there is a great comparing of studies, and "wonderment" at the odd
things each has found for himself. The lamps are brought out to the long table in the garden
where we sit. Flunger is with us, and we have a very interesting conversation, in which he
joins. I venture to ask how, after so many years of life among the Munich artists, he can
bear the life he now leads? He simply answers, "For me life has always had a heavy
shadow side, and I like better the country than the city shadow. If I can live in my quiet home,
at my peaceful work, I am content."
To-day I take leave, with much pleasure, of my corner opposite the Gossips' Fountain.
It is the one evil spot in the whole village, and the people tell me that the house near it is
truly the only one in which discord reigns. The one woman who lives there goes in and out
the live-long day, with matted hair and disorderly dress, scolding in shrill voice, and with
violent gestures, her unhappy men, who retort angrily. Yet she can be very entertaining.
I feel sure, as I watch her chattering to the women who come to clean and fill their vessels
at the fountain. Heads come close together in earnest talk, and then there is a lingering, and
a turning back again to say another word before they part, with that sinking of the voice
and shaking of the head as they get deep into the conversation, which there is no mistaking,
and which assures me that I have not given my drawing a wrong title!
I have just made the acquaintance of Frau Veit, who has filled an important position
here this summer, from the great trouble she has taken in procuring accommodation for
strangers, to many of whom her kindness has been invaluable at such a time, and in many
cases especially so from her being able to speak French fluently. Her husband follows the
usual calling of the villagers, wood-carving, and they have one of the best shops for it in
their house, which is very old and still retains the name of "The Kastner House," from having
been, during the prosperous times of the Ettal monastery, the depository of its "bread and flour
chest" at Ober-Ammergau. I have decided that this edifice too shall be included among my
Homes !
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THE CLOSE OF THE PASSION" PLAY
jAlt is now drawing towards the end of the Passion season; and while my life and work
H ; >^ • grow more and more absorbing, it seems more difficult to write about them. The crowds
^ increase, the work in the houses is harder, the women have great toil, and the men
are obliged to give up all attempts at wood-carving, while they gather in the scanty harvest.
In our home I find the same kindness to strangers, and the same affection for us. I admire
the character of Flunger more than ever, and greatly enjoy my frequent meetings with Maier.
We invited Frau Maier and her little girl a few days since to make an excursion with us to
Partenkirchen and Garmisch. The day proved charming, aud the beautiful valley ofGrasswang,
along which we went was too lovely for any word-painting of mine. The mountains, reaching
up into the far heavens, wore their glorious robes of blue and snow-white, while their trains of
velvet mossy green were lost in graceful foldings, among the beautiful trees of the valley. It
was a new sensation for us to find ourselves once more in places of fashionable resort, such
as Partenkirchen and Garmisch. After a good lunch, and a sight of many finely dressed
ladies, we turned our faces homewards, satisfied that our own village was the best place in
summer, and that if the scenery was not so fine as that around Partenkirchen, the people
more than compensate for the difference.
It is charming to see in this village the almost universal abandonment of aristocratic
conventionalities. I shall never forget one family — an English clergyman, his lady, sister,
and niece, — who resided for ten days in our house. Refined and delicate in all their tastes,
they did not stand aside as mere spectators of the family life, but shared it as far as was
possible. They brought their pretty sewing into our living room in the evenings, listened with
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pleasure to the zither-playing of Hans and the singing of the Flunger maidens; and in return,
sang for us sweet chorals and English ballads. The children said that the haying parties lost
their charm when they went away, and the women missed the tall, handsome gentleman who
would always help them with their heavy loads through the garden. — Among the Schutzgeister
of the Passion Play, the sweetest face and the most winning manners belong to Josepha
Flunger, our Sefie. Many have been the compliments addressed her, during the summer; yet
she has remained simple and unspoiled until now. This week has, however, been an eventful
one in her life. Her betrothal has been announced in the house and throughout the village,
as is the custom in Germany. Yet, I think Flunger himself is uneasy about the suddenness of the
affair, and gives his consent reluctantly; but he has been overpowered by all the women, his
wife in particular, who is quite taken with the good looks and manners of the young bridegroom,
and with his intention of settling down in the village close by them. The girl is so truly
good and modest, that I trust sincerely he may prove himself worthy of her. We are all
invited to attend the wedding, at Christmas, and the children are to be bridesmaids.
After dinner Flunger came to take his coffee by the table where I sat writing, and
seemed much depressed. I wanted him to take some commissions for carv-ed work, to be done
for me by Christmas; but he said that this was impossible. He told me that the last two
summers have certainly brought to himself and to his family great pleasure, but also great
labor and fatigue. The work in the fields, in all weather, hot or wet, was very trying to them,
when, at the end of each week, they had to return to an unquiet house, irregular meals, and
beds in the hay-loft. The Passionsspiel is in itself most exhausting; and he spoke sadly
of the exposure of his family to all kinds of exaggerated praise, and to temptations to vanity
from people of the world, as well as of the entire breaking up of home life. He looked forward
to all the labor that is to be done around the house and in the fields and woods, and added,
It will be long after the snow comes before we can get to wood-carving again. As I looked at
the man, I thought, How full of dignity and repose his manner, how full of character his face,
and that in his working dress he looks a noble man. He seemed pleased when I told him
how happy I have been in the village, and how much I like his family, the two younger girls
and Malie especially, and that it would give me great pleasure to see them all in winter
at Munich.
The mild days of September are drawing to a close, and we are beginning to think
of saying farewell to the Ammer vale, and of gathering up souvenirs of our summer's sojourn
here. We had so often delighted in rambles over the rocks, especially those ^at the foot of
the Kofel, and we thought that if we could only bring away a bit of the very growth of the
hill itself, it would remind us often, through the dark winter time in the city, of our walks
and climbs and long rests on the soft springy moss. So, enlisting a little guide in our service,
we took a broad basket and an old knife, and followed the road winding round to Grasswang.
There is a sort of valley hollowed out, just where the ascent to the Kofel begins, and where
the goats belonging to the village are guarded by their small herd-boy. Here we found the
finest bunches of ferns and fairy moss-cups, with many a trailing vine worthy of becoming
designs for the daintiest embroidery. We suffered as those to whom fate is too lavish of her
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treasures generally do; for no sooner had we filled our basket with one kind of moss, than
another variety, lovelier and richer, caught our eyes, and tempted our grasping hands; but at
last Ave turned homewards. A little stream ran by the road, and here, deep down in its mossy
nooks, hiding from the light frosts that catch and wilt their unsheltered sisters, grew the
loveliest forget-me-nots. We must have a posy, and our little guide, ready to answer our
asking looks, ventures down close to the water, too close! for with a splash and a tumble,
she is in the stream. But what would be a severe fright to a city child, is only a joke to
our little mountain maid, and with a clever spring and a merry laugh, she is again on dry
ground, her hands filled with the precious w41d-flowers. We get home, and begin to arrange
our treasures, Francie and Malie telling us they know where much finer mosses are to be
had, and that as soon as the field-work is done, they will send us some.
Sunday, September 24. — This morning was most beautiful, and the village all
peaceful when I passed through it on my way to the fields, full now of the pale purple "prophet
of the harvest" or autumn crocus, and where many of the cattle from the mountains now graze.
It was the first Sunday that I had passed this way, and a most extraordinary sight it was, to
see the groups of players in costume come out to rest on the seats behind the theatre. A sudden
rain-storm drove me homewards. I found the church doors open, and a few women, who
had been preparing dinner for their guests, came in to rest and pray for a little while. This
little church has a feeling of home to me now, as it has been long a place of prayer, when
passing on my way to my daily work. I listen to the music of the Passionssplel, — the last that
will be heard for ten long years to come.
Monday. — Yet once more the well known music awoke us this morning. The King
had telegraphed to know if the play^could not be repeated; and the answer was, *'Yes, and
we will give the proceeds to the wounded!" All summer I had resisted the strong desire to
see the play a second time, fearing that familiarity with the people might destroy my first
impression; yet it w^as with great regret that I saw the crowd disparse yesterday, after what
we all thought was the last representation; so, to-day, I decided on venturing to look at it
again. And now I thank the young King heartily for the opportunity of so doing, as, far
from detracting from my first impressions, it has been to me a real and pure enjoyment. All
alone, from the furthest corner of the theatre, I w^atched for the parts I loved the best, the
tableau of the Manna in the Wilderness, the scenes of the Last Supper, and the Betrayal.
And while I recognised each individual of the great crowd, not one sweet or rugged face
brought with it an unpleasant remembrance; but rather', with all the wonderful beauty of
their pictures mingled that of the kindly greetings and gentle deeds of the long summer I
had spent among them. — I am struck with the absence of all ostentation in the character
of the principal men here. I have never heard them boast of their success. They seem to
lose all personal feeling, in that of the honor paid to their drama. They are all delighted
that the King should have honored their play with his presence; knowing that the young
monarch has a high appreciation of the drama.
I have just been to Maier's house, to take coffee with Nora, and Maier and his wife
entertained us for over an hour. They showed us the ring which the Prince of Wales gave to
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Maier; they seem to value it very much, **for the sake of little Johanna," as the mother says,
"who will be proud of it!" Maier is a man who has evidently thought much, and speaks
with great freedom on many subjects. His affection and veneration for his spiritual father
and teacher, the Geistlicher Rath, are very great. His own father died when he was very
young, and he has always had to work hard. I asked him if he liked his work? He said
Yes, and most of all the carving of flowers. His wife and children are his joy; and he never
wishes to leave the village in which he was born. Only yesterday, he refused the offer of
a large sum of money to go to England next summer. It makes one shiver to think of such
wicked speculation. "Only think of it," said his wife, "that would make us rich; but Joseph
would not do it for all the gold and silver in the mountains!" I believe that his life is* a
continual prayer to be made worthy of his position. I was much touched by a remark of .
Walter's, when we spoke of a former "Christus," who must have been a much more beautiful
personation of the character. "Ah!" said the boy, "but he had not the sorrow in his face that
Maier has." And the remark has much truth in it. Later in the evening, Nora and I
went down to the living room, wht-n Maier and his wife sang for us some melodies of the
Tyrol. Afterwards, Maier himself sang a famous Dutch song, with a ' splendid voice. We
talked of the winter, and heard about the gay times of the wood-cutting in the forest and
the dragging it home down the mountains; then of the wood-carving, and how it became the
chief occupation of the villagers. Many orders have been left in the village for work to be
done this winter, and I have been surprised, oh looking over the designs in the different work
shops, to see how much talent the carvers sho\y.
September 29. — The church bells woke us early, and we heard chanting in the
street. A procession soon appeared; first the boys of the village, with banners; then the old
and young men; and after them the old and young women! Their voices, as they recited
their prayers, were full and musical. They were going to Ettal, to give thanks for the harvest.
To-morrow, another procession will come from Unter-Ammergau, and the surrounding country,
and the next day, Sunday, they are all to meet here for a great thanksgiving. The following
Sunday will be the festival of the Geistlicher Rath. One sees how much of the happiness of
the people is bound up with their church life.
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VIII.
THE KING AND THE PLAYERS.
fJsL'here was great commotion in the village two days ago. After the King had attended
ly: the last performance of the Passion Play, and had returned to the Linderhof, he sent to
" the burgomaster an invitation for ten of the principal players to dine at his hunting
villa that evening. At the same time he sent a present of a thousand guldens to the village,
with the command, that it should to devoted to a benevolent purpose. Everybody was in
a flutter of excitement when the King's messenger arrived, and with him the five carriages,
to convey the chosen ones to the Linderhof. It was then arranged that the following players
should represent the community before his Majesty: Joseph Maier (Christus), Jacob Hett (Petrus),
Johannes Zwink (St. John), Johann Lang (Caiaphas), Gregor Stadler (Annas), Gregor Lechner
(Judas), Johann Diemer (the Choragus), Tobias Plunger (Pilatus), Franziska Plunger (the Virgin),
Josepha Lang (Mary ^Magdalene). Prancie, always simple and natural, wore her usual quiet
dress; but it was a pity to see the men, who look so extremely well in their costumes,
disfigured by the tight, old-fashioned black coats and hats, kept for grand occasions. Plunger
alone wore his peasant dress, and preserved his dignified appearance.
It was ten o'clock on a lovely moonlight night when the players returned, in the same
carriages that had been sent for them. Each of them in turn, beginning with the "Mary,"
had ten minutes audience with the King, who expressed himself deeply impressed and touched
by the Play, and said that, as long as he lived, he could never lose the remembrance of it.
Prancie and her father never tired of speaking of the grand repast that was served to them,
with red wine, and champagne and cigars. All returned home with hearts full of grateful
feeling towards their King. The young monarch addressed Prancie, and praised her for her
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conception of the difficult part of the "Virgin," which, he said, she had acted out with graceful
ease and naturalness. He spoke of Schauer, the *'Christus" of i860, whose life in Munich, after
becoming inflated with success, was well known to him. Some of the men went through the
ordeal of the audience with great calmness. Others were too excited to preserve their natural
manner and ease.
Nellie has just come in from the village, and wishes to take my pen, in order to write
something that Frau Lechner has told her about the great reception at the Linderhof: — This
morning I went to finish my study of Frau Lechner's kitchen, and she told me all about the
audience her husband had with the King. On Monday the King came to see the play, attended
by a prince of the house of Hesse, and in great style, his carriage drawn by four splendid
horses. "The King*' said Frau Lechner, "looked neither to the right nor to the left, but sat
quite steady all the time of the performance, and was very deep in his thoughts. He drove
away amidst the cheering of the people, and looked very handsome, as he acknowledged their
greetings. He was so pleased, that the next day he sent a messenger to invite ten of those
who took the principal parts, to the Linderhof, among the mountains. My husband was one
of the favored ones. The King talked for fifteen minutes with him, and asked him, if the
part he took was" not one of the most difficult? Then he asked him, if he \yas married. He
told him he had married twice, and that he had one little boy. Does he take part in the
play? asked the King. Yes, he is one of the genii. What costume does he wear? And when
he heard what it was, he said, Yes, I remember him, and spoke much more, that my husband
did not tell me. He gave them a good feast, and when they had finished, bid them take what
they could not eat home to their wives and children, as a greeting from him. He asked,
too, if our little boy was among the children who came to Grasswang to meet him, and
sang: Long live the King. He sent the head-forester's wife a great basket of flowers, and in
the midst of them she found a splendid set of jewelry."
Just as Frau Lechner was telling me this, Herr Lechner came in. and told me much
of interest. "First of all" he said, "we were shown the dining-room, but seeing the many
beautiful silver things, bouquets, and other ornaments on the table, we thought all this was
merely to look at; but we found that all the viands had to be eaten! When the King called me in
to the audience, I had a very strange feeling about the heart. But his majesty was very cordial,
and when he addressed me, * Ah, Judas!' I felt at once at my ease, and we talked together .
just like two old friends. He praised the performance very much, and then said to me:
* Judas, your .part is one of the most difficult' — *and thankless' I said. — *To the crowd,' answered,
the high-minded young King, pointing downwards; and then putting his hand to his breast,
added, *Not to me; I appreciate it.' *Tell me, Judas,' he continued, 'what kind of a feeling
have you when you find yourself entirely alone on the stage? Do you nor fear?'" Lechner
told him that he did, years ago, but now no more. He was evidently very proud of what
the King had said, and I too rejoiced with him that he had found such appreciation.
But I n>ust not forget the account of the dinner, that Judas has just told me.
While they were dining, the King mounted his horse for a ride, leaving the players to
enjoy the meal alone. After a while a valet entered the room, and informed them, that
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his Majesty would soon return, and would enter the room through the northern door.
•*May we bring out a toast to his Majesty?" they asked. *lt will certainly please him,"
replied the valet; and so, when the King stepped in the doorway, riding- w^hip in hand, he
was greeted with three cheers-, and with two strophes of the Bavarian national hymn, in
beautiful harmony. The King bowed his thanks, "and" adds Judas,, ''his heart was won." He
ordered all the rooms to be opened for the inspection of his "dear Ammergauers" as he called
them, wound two bouquets with his own hands for the "Mary" and the "Magdalene," .ordered
a stock of cigars for the men, and had them entertained for more than four hours, starting for
Schloss Berg, on the Lake of Starnberg, at eight o'clock at night. In the annals of Ammergau,
this day will be marked as the most eventful of all days in the history of the Passion Play.
It rewards the people for all the devotedness which they have shown throughout the
entire summer. They would have been much disappointed, if the King had never attended
the play, and I am very glad he came, as he is a true lover of dramatic art in its purer
forms. He has promised the villagers to attend the performance of some of their secular plays,
such as the "Founding of the Monastery of Ettal" or "Otto von Wittelsbach," and wishes them to-
build a new rehearsal theatre, as soon as possible. He is also going to have a beautiful
marble cross planted on an elevation near the village, wnth Christ nailed to it, and John and
Mary standing at the foot. He also wants to have all the scenes and tableaux of the Passion
Play photographed, and has commanded his court photographer, Herr Albert, of Munich, to
come to Ammergau at once for that purpose.
Extract from Nora's Note Book. — The photographers of the King are at work.
Just now it was drummed out, that all the men, women and children having any connection
with the play should come to the theatre immediately. Little Johanna, Maier's eldest child,
came up to show us the pretty dress she wears in one of the tableaux. I asked her what
she played, and the little thing put up her finger, and turned her head on one side, saying:
"So!" Nellie and I have been living in Frau Maier's rooms for a fortnight past, as some
friends we love very much have arrived from America, and occupy our old quarter3. It was
sad enough here last week, for the baby of six months' old was taken ill on Sunday, and on
Monday became so much worse, that they saw it could not recover. On the day of the King's
visit, the afflicted father had to leave the little one he loved best, knowing it was dying. His
last words were, "God grant that she may live till I come home." But she did not, and his
wife had a sorrowful greeting for him when he returned. I had to leave the room, when I
saw the great grief- of the strong man, who was trying all the time to calm his wife, but
would take no comfort himself. Yesterday the child was buried. The priest was preceded
by the acolytes and a little boy carrying the wooden cross, on which was carved the baby's
name and age, and which was to be placed at the head of the grave. Immediately after the
priest came a very young girl, dressed as a bride, only that her wreath was of white roses.
In her arms she carried the tiny coffin, all covered with white flowers. Then followed the
father, who held his other little child by the hand. When they reached the grave, two
kind looking women came and took the coffin, and lowered it, oh, so tenderly into its last
resting-place. Things have now been put in their places again in the house, and the little
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cradle is carried up to the garret; but still the mother frequently starts, and exclaims, **0h! if it
were only true, that I hear my Rosa's cry for me! But I hear it so plainly, and know it is
nothing, but my own thoughts. Oh ! it is so hard to bear, for I cannot still her when she cries."
The marriage of Maier's brother has just taken place A wedding feast generally lasts
two days, but this was not a very fine one. We went to the church, though it rained hard. First
there was music, then a kindly address by the priest to the pair standing all alone. The
father of the bride and the brother of the bridegroom had seats in the pews on either side,
while the bridesmaids were in the front pews, behind two groups of little children. The putting
on of the ring was followed by the priest taking from his neck a golden band, lined with
crimson, and binding together the right hand of each. Then came the mass, well sung, and
very pleasing; and at the end of all, a goblet of wine was held by the priest, first to the lips
of the bridegroom, then to those of the bride, and then to each of the immediate friends. The
priest gave his blessing, and left the church, followed by most of the people, while the married
couple still knelt before the altar. The bride was certainly the more devout of the two, for
her husband, having finished his prayers, stood up, wiped the dust from his knees, then from
his hat, and stood looking at her, as if wondering when she would be ready. At last he
started off alone, whereupon she crossed herself rapidly, arose, and followed him. The
wedding feast was at the old Post Inn, and when Maier came home this evening, he said
they were all dancing there. '*Herr Maier. why don't you dance, too?" I asked. **Oh, I am
no friend of dancing," he replied, *T would much rather come home, take off my boots, and
make myself and my wife comfortable. I am no longer a man of the world. I must go again
to-night, because I belong to the family ; but it is no pleasure to me ; and I wish it were over.
On my wedding day we came quietly home, and had our dinner just as if nothing had happened ;
and were much happier than if we had danced, and drunk beer?" "Why did or do you not
go, Frau Maier?" I enquired. *T am in mourning, dear Fraulein." "And is not your husband
the same?" "No" she said, "for so young a child only the mother mourns with us."
Extract from Nellie's Note Book. — Nora and I are still at Maier's house, and
being nearer the theatre than when at Flunger's, we take every opportunity of going there,
to see the photographers at work. The rainy season has really set in. This morning, cold
and fresh, we went with mother and "Petrus," and a crowd of folks all dressed for the
"Entry into Jerusalem." How really oriental it seemed! The grouping and the harmony of
colour, — all crudeness toned down by the exposure through the summer, — are qtiite wonderful.
It is a difficult picture, and they try it three times. Even into this hard work the people carry
their earnestness. How bitterly cold it is for Maier and the two thieves in the "Crucifixion" scene!
The children in groups around are as still as death. I do not lose my impression of the
grandeur of the scene, even when the only sound is the monotonous voice of the photographer,
as he counts the time for the pictures. Great as is the desire of the people to finish and be
at rest, there was quite an excitement when the photographers wished to continue their work
on Sunday, and their doing so was immediately forbidden by the priest, for there is a very
careful observance here of the Sabbath day.
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IX.
A PASSION SERMON.
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(jIL write in the churchyard. Yesterday was cold, sad, and stormy. The Passion Play
^^ :: ' at last over, I had a painful feehng of lonehness, a questioning wonder, as to how I
^ should find the villagers" in their ordinary life, and without any weekly excitement to
look forward to. To-day the sun shines warm and bright on the old wall where I rest and
write, and my questioning is at an end, for I have been with the people at their prayer, and
feel how genuine is their piety. May our Father in Heaven bless this little spot!
There was a special service this morning, at the burial of a young maiden, who was
to have been married in three weeks. All the church was in soft shadow, but just where the
school children sat, under the east window, the light fell on their uncovered heads and clasped
hands, and a lovely group they made, and full of promise for coming years, the girls so
neat and modest, the boys so handsome and brave-looking. I watched the congregation pass out:
first the boys and girls, with the teacher at their head, then the grown people, and last of all
the mourners, in their costumes, the women wearing great fur head-dresses,, the. men old
fashioned coats with tight sleeves, and cylinder hats of long ago. There was perfect quiet in
the church all the time of the service. People did not pass in and out, as in other places, but
waited reverently for the blessing of the aged priest, so honored and beloved. Many waited
outside the gate to speak to him ; and the children, even the toddling wee things, ran to meet him.
When I returned home, I was fortunate enough to find in the library of Plunger's
large guest-chamber, a printed copy of one of the Geistlicher Rath's sermons to his congregation,
composed just before the first performance of the Passion Play in the year 1850. It is a
very remarkable effort, because of its perfect freedom from all confessional acrimony. Indeed,
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I am so pleased with it, that I have had it translated, because it gives such a deep insight
into the relation of the aged pastor to his flock. The title is: ** Words of Admonition, by
Pfarrer G. Alois Daisenberger, addressed, on the day before the first performance of the Passion
Play, to the Community of Ober-Ammergau, in the year 1850." The text is taken from the
Gospel of St. John, XIV. 27. *Teace I leave with you; my peace, I give unto you, not as the
world giveth give I unto you.'* At the commencement he asks the question: **What effect
should the representation of the Passion Play produce upon our community?" He answers it
in the following words: —
Devout Hearers! On the festival of Pentecost, Our Lord completed in the Apostles
the work of grace which during the course of three years he had been instilling into their hearts.
The very first sight of the Divine Teacher had made so deep an impression upon them, that
they had immediately believed in Him, and had followed Him. During the three years that
they lived with Him, the unspeakable love of their Teacher and Master, and His miraculous
deeds, strengthened their faith more and more. This faith was, indeed, somewhat shaken by
the fearful events of the captivity, sentencing and crucifixion of the Lord; but it was revived
and gained new power, and became unshakable, when they met again their Risen Saviour,
and saw Him ascend into heaven. Then was fulfilled the promise of Him who had gone home
to the Father! By the descent of the Holy Ghost, the disciples were filled with light from above,
and fitted out with courage from heaven not merely to be firm in the faith themselves, but to
bear this faith unto all nations, and to communicate their conviction victoriously to the Jews
and to the heathen. O, may the faith proceeding from the Father and from Christ, the Spirit
of Light and Power, which lived and worked in the disciples of our Lord after that festival
of Whitsuntide, also inspire us all! May it confirm this whole community, not merely in the
living faith in Christ, and in His divine teachings; but also enlighten and strenghten all, so
that they glorify the name of Jesus the Crucified, and invite thousands of their fellow-men to
the perfect love of Him.
**0, my dear friends! Our community has this year to fulfil a great and sacred mission.
It has, to a certain degree, to take part in the apostolic office. After the Day of Pentecost, the
Apostles went out among men, and preached of Christ the Crucified; they announced His-
doctrines and deeds, His sufferings and death. His resurrection and glorification, showing that in
Him the sayings of the ancient prophets, in Him the types of the Old Testament, had found
fulfilment; and that through Him and none other could salvation be obtained. As to us, we
do not go out into the world to proclaim the name of the Crucified One; but in the course of
the summer thousands will come to us, the pious and the luke-warm in faith, the believers and
the unbelievers; and it will be for us to represent to these thousands, from far and near, the
same things which the Apostles preached, namely, the sacred doctrines of the Divine Teacher,
the grandest examples of His love. His bitter sufferings, His sacrificial death for humanity. His
glorious victory over death and hell, the prophesies and types of the Old Testament fulfilled
in Him. If we work together in holy zeal, determining to exhibit these scenes in a worthy
manner, then with the grace of God there can proceed from this community great blessings
to our fellow men. Through the living remembrance of the Saviour's death for our sakes,
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many pious Christians will be moved and edified in faith, will be • strengthened in love, and
will return home with renewed determination to remain true followers of Christ! Many,
even of the lukewarm and the light-minded, will not be able to dissipate all the earnest impressions
of what they see and hear; and these impressions may become m them the seed-corn of a
zealous Christian life ! The sight of the human nature of the Redeemer, of the bitter torment?
which he bore for the sake of sinners, may perhaps call forth tears of penitence from many
a hardened one; and with God's grace these tears may be the foreboders of an earnest
conversion; and the witnessing of the Passion may become the way by which the Good
Shepherd seeks and finds the lost lambs of the flock. And who knows if not here and there,
some one, led hither as to a secular play by curiosity, or by the desire of being pleased, or,
indeed coming with the intention of laughing at the representation together with its defects in
form and execution, — if not, I say, here and there such a one will depart with totally different
thoughts from those with which he came ; at least something will cling to his soul which, after
a space of years, may germinate and aid in the transformation of his inner life?
'*But, beloved friends, God's pleasure and God's blessing will only then accompany our
work, if we undertake it with pure intentions and holy zeal. Oh, my dear friends, if selfish
reasons, if the niere desire of fame and ' gain were to inspire our actions, no blessing will
rest upon them. In such a case God would look do.wn upon us in displeasure, and our
work would then be an abuse, degrading. to the Most High, sinful and punishable. Then we
should deserve the bitterest censure instead of fame, the severest loss instead of gain! Our
forefathers vowed in times of sorrow to perform the Passion Play, with the intention of
promoting thereby the honour of God, the remembrance of the dear Redeemer, who gave
himself up to death for our sakes ; as also for their edification and that of their fellow-men.
In this pious feeling, and in this only, let us fulfil the vow of our forefathers! Let this
object alone be in our minds! Whether those, who visit the representations of the Passion
Play seek anything besides Christian edification, whether they praise or blame us, is immaterial
to us; if only we ourselves and many of our fellow-men leave the Play, moved and edified,
strengthened anew in true Christian sentiment, then we shall have done all that was to be
accomplished. Let us not desire to shine in dramatical art, — a desire which for simple country
people would be nothing better than ridiculous pride; but let the eildeavor of each be to
contribute as much as he can toward a representation of the Sacred History, which shall be
as vivid and worthy as possible. Let us therefore begin oUr work with a pure intention and
complete it with holy zeal!
*'Each one who has to take a part in the Play, no matter what, is a necessary link
in the chain. Each must be zealous to perform what is entrusted to him, to the best of
his powers, and thus contribute his share to the worthy execution of the whole. You who
have only to do mechanical labors, perform them with industry and attentive exactness! For
you have, though unseen by man, a great task before God, no less than those who have to
represent an important character in the play. You who have to represent persons who hated
and persecuted the Dearest, the Most Sacred, represent those persons in their entire wickedness,
hatefulness and hypocrisy, so that the spectator may be filled with abhorrence at the shameful
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deeds. Thereby you will contribute towards making the innocence, the gentleness, the dignity
of the Redeemer appear in all the stronger light. Through the shadow in a painting the light is
first made prominent! You who represent persons who ridicule and abuse Jesus, in wild
brutality, let your actions be so, that the rude treatment be not exaggerated; but let it be
calculated to awaken horror for the deed and sympathy for the innocent Sufferer. Thus you
will serve as instruments to the glorification of Christ. You who have to represent the disciples of
the Lord and the friends of Jesus, let your whole being believe and venerate the Divine
Master; be attentive to his every word, and deepen your attention and gravity, when he foretells
approaching events; show the most profound commiseration of spirit at his sufferings; and have
brotherly love and friendliness among each other. In you, who gather about the Lord and
Master, there should be found an assembly of the best of men, the most glorious examples for
all Christian communities. Thus let every one cooperate with holy zeal, so that each separate
part of our work, dramatic and plastic representations, the teachings of the songs and addresses,
the sweetness of verse and music, form together one harmonious whole, full of beauty and elevation.
The total impression of the Passion Play will then be elevating and edifying to every spectator who
brings to its witnessing an upright heart, and will serve to strengthen him in his religious feelings.
Thus, what we undertake will become a truly sacred, blessed work, well-pleasing in the sight of God.
**Let us pray that the effect of the representation of the Sacred Story on the hearts
of the spectators may resemble that which the Apostles, after the sending dowm of the
Spirit, effected in the hearts of their hearers, through the announcement of the same events,
eye-witnesses of which they had been. But as in ancient times theApostles influenced men not
only by their words, but also by their upright conduct, so must w^e, if our work is to be
blessed, not only endeavor to give a worthy representation of the Most Sacred on the stage;
but outside the theatre there must be exhibited Christian, moral behaviour. Neither in the scenes
of the theatre, nor in the surroundings, nor in the streets, nor in the houses, nor in the church,
should anything happen that would be vexatious to the visitor. No drunken persons must be
seen ; no enmity one against the other, no insulting speech be heard. Let every visitor find in
us a truly Christian community, where Christian education and Christian feeling prevail; a
community worthy to represent the most Sacred and Holy in a holy manner .... And, oh,
if this community, through the representation of the sufferings and glorification of Christ, be
strengthened in all that is good, as it was with the Apostles through the living remembrance
of their Lord and Master; if this community, through the representation of the Sacred Story,
glorify afar the name of the Crucified, imitating the Apostles, who glorified him among all
peoples, — then hail to our community! The blessing of God will rest upon it! Our pious
forefathers, they who once made the vow before God to perform the story of the Passion will
rejoice in heaven. Pray that it so be! But without God's grace the work of man is as
nought. Therefore let us to-day, the day of the descent of the Holy Spirit, pray earnestly
to heaven for the assistance of the Divine Spirit, in carrying out the work before us. As
once over the assembly of the disciples in the hall of Jerusalem, may the Holy Spirit pour
down upon this community the rich measure of His grace! Amen!"
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X.
THE GEISTLICHER RATH.
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eptember 29. — I have just returned from my first visit to the aged priest who has
'<5' \ \ done so much for his flock, and for the improvement and success of the Passion Play.
He lives in the upper story of one of the simplest houses in the Village. His study-room
is as unpretending as the aged man himself. It is uncarpeted, has a large Dutch stove, a
sofa, a writing table, and a few relics, — that is all. Two boys were reading with him, as we
entered. He raised his hand gently, and they left us. He says that he still teaches the
children, with pleasure, and that their love repays him abundantly for his labor. I was glad
to be able to understand all he said, while he spoke of how he came to settle down among
these people, wuth whom he has had the closest relations for so many years. He told us how
he had first written songs for the children, then composed a little poem for each, as they grew
up, left the village, married, or died. After that, he began to help them to improve their great
Sacred Drama, and finally to compose new religious plays for what they call their **exercise"
in the intervening years. One of his best productions, "The Founding of the Monastery of
Ettal," was performed before King Max, in the small rehearsal theatre of Ober-Ammergau, fifteen
years ago. He has written besides, **Otto von Wittelsbach," **The Bavarians in the Peasants'
AVar," and other pieces which he modestly entitles **Dramatic Scenes from the History of the
Bavarian Fatherland.*' He has also written several Biblical plays, such as **The Death of
Abel,'* **Melchisedec's Sacrifice," **Abraham*s Obedience," ^'Judith," "Naboth;" besides dramas
from the legends of '*St. Agatha" and "Genoveva." He has also arranged and added to
many of the Biblical dramas of Metastasio, and likewise adapted for Ammergau the tragedy
of **Antigone," of Sophocles. Many of these plays have been acted by the Ammergauers,
who seem to enjoy most the drama connected with the neighboring monastery of Ettal.
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Lechner tells me that when the Geistlicher Rath first c^me to Ober-Ammergau, he
was frequently ill in health, but he always thoujarht that the performance of the secular and
religious plays by his people did him more good than all medicine. He has always directed
their plays as long as he has been in the village, and considers the village theatre, when
properly directed, of great value in the culture of his flock. All the people, men, women and
children, love him, for he is untiring in looking after their welfare, material and spiritual.
When the children see him on the street, the smallest will toddle up to him, and kiss his hand,
and the aged priest puts his hand gently upon the little head, and prays in still for God's
blessing upon it. He attended the last performance of the play in 187 1, and was deeply
affected. Tears rolled down his cheeks as he saw the well-known scenes revealed, one by one.
To one of the villagers who tried to get him to leave the theatre, fearing that the emotion
might prove too much for him, he said, **No, I would rather remain here. It is the last Passion
that I shall see in this world.*' ^^-_< ^i^ , f f ^
The Geistlicher Rath is one of the old school of Catholic priests which is said to be
now dying out in Bavaria. He is truly tolerant in all that he says and does, and considers
us all *'Christians." In i860, I am told, he buried two Protestants who died here, with Catholic
ceremonies. Speaking of the school, he said to me. **The girls are at first more apt, but later
the boys leave them behind in study." I asked whether that arose from the girls having more
work to do at home. **No," he answered, "naturally enough they begin about fifteen to think
of other things, and do not give their minds to serious study." Again, after he had thought
for a few moments, he repeated, '*Yes at first the girls have much more talent, but when the
more earnest work begins, they fail." I said, "Alany in the outside world believe that there
is no evil in this village." He shook his head, and replied, **That is indeed wrong! In
Ammergau they are a good people; there is no theft, no drinking, no fighting; but sin and
sorrow, grief and wrong, exist here as elsewhere; and our Father in Heaven has to teach His
children among the mountains, as well as in the great cities by the sea; to teach, and to
forgive them also!" On the eighth of October there is to be a great festival, to celebrate the
fiftieth anniversary of the old man's ordination to the priesthood. We shall remain here to see
the people do him honor.
For three days men, women, and children have been bringing in birch trees and
evergreens for this festival; and in the open place before the churchyard they are making
miles of festoons. An avenue of young birch trees leads from the priest's house to the church,
where they have erected a grand arch. Passing by the young priest's dwelling, which as well
as the shool-house is decorated, to the good old man's home, which they are now beginning
to deck for the evening's serenade and torchlight procession, I have come to make my last
sketch from near his door. It is of the church itself, his happy place of resort for twenty -
six years. A gossiping crowd of women with babies stands by me, and while the men put up
wreaths and festoons and gay bunches of flowers, the happy looking children shout with delight,
and run to gather fresh posies, and the mothers say, **Ah! well they may, for, truly this
is a priest and a father; few like him now-a-days; he helps every one, and is beloved by all!"
Now they have put up the finishing decoration, with flags and inscriptions, and I do not wonder
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at the acclamations of the little ones, when even the good father himself comes out to admire
it. Inside the church they have collected every adornment possible. The aisles and the
chancel are lined with birch trees, joined together overhead by pretty festoons of green,
and the altar is splendidly arranged. I have been there often to-day, not only to see it being
made so beautiful, but also to admire the handsome peasants, who are coming in crowds, and
from miles around, for to-morrow's festival. At six o'clock the church was lighted, and we
heard the Benedictus, the old priest officiating, and wearing pure white vestments. As I stood
up to receive his blessing, it made me happy to think that his seventy-two years of life had
brought him so rich a harvest of love and honor.
In the evening we were allowed tb sit in his house, and wait for the torch-light procession
and serenade. It came up the avenue, followed by a crowd, the musicians alternately playing
and singing. After a little while the aged man came down from his room to where we were
sitting, shook hands with us, his face radiant with pleasure, and then went out and stood on
the steps in front, with hands folded, and eyes cast down. At the end of the serenade, a
little speech was made, they gave three tremendous cheers, and the young men first pressed
forward for his blessing, followed by the older ones. He spoke to them but few words, yet
many even of the men were affected to tears, and the women wept outright. When it was
all over, and he came into the house again, I asked for his blessing on me and mine.
Sunday Morning. — We are at the house again. Groups of little girls in white, with
wreaths of orange flowers, stand near the door, next to them a crowd of young girls, with
wreaths of pink and white roses, who talk merrily while they wait for the procession. The
older men and women stand outside the grand arch, and the boys and young men come up
with the procession, carrying flags, while cannon and music are heard in the distance. Now
the bells ring out joyously. First a society bearing banners, and with uncovered heads,
appears, next the chorister boys, with a magnificent mass book, and then the priests, dressed
in white, and also bare-headed. All stand around the door, and when the old man comes
out, they present to him the book as a gift from his people. They hold over him a canopy,
and conduct him through the long avenue of birch trees, and under the triumphal arches,
over a path-way strewn with rushes and green leaves, to the church, to which we hasten ; but
only Nora and Walter succeed in making their way up to the choir, for the crowd is immense.
It begins to rain, and we feel sorry for the people who have come from a distance and
cannot get in. The procession reaches the church, the canopy is lowered, and I catch a glimpse
of that quiet face, and stand listening to the music of the same mass that was composed for
his inauguration, fifty years ago.
At noon the festival is over, they have brought the honored father to his home again,
with great rejoicing, and Walter tells me a little of his history, alluded to in the sermon that
was preached. In 1823 Joseph Alois Daisenberger was a young man, noted by his superiors
as always active in his duties, and a great friend of children. In 1824 his praise still grew;
in 1825 there was no better priest in the diocese; in 1834 he went as priest and school-inspector
to Murnau, where he remained until 1845. In that year he came to Ammergau being then
well known and beloved by the people, whose united wish it was, — a special one from the
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children being added, — to have him for their pastor. Here he has remained ever since, beloved
and revered by every one.
Monday morning comes in with heavy rain. We sit by the window looking down
sadly into our pleasant summer garden, for the last time. Yes, we must certainly go now.
All is ready, and Hans with his carriage is at the door, the family crowding round with kind
parting words, and Sefie bringing us the last of the autumn flowers, gathered in the rain. But
it is to be only **Auf Wiedersehen," as, after the affairs of the Passion season are arranged,
we hope to see many of our Ammergau friends in Munich. It is only to the village we
now say **Good bye!" and very mournful and quiet it looks, as we drive away in the pelting
rain. Soon it is out of sight, and at last the dear old Kofel disappears, too. And now that
we have quite turned away from our mountain home, our hearts are as heavy and sad as the
dreary autumn storm that comes down upon us while our tired horses rest at the foot of the
great Ettal hill,— the same that I climbed with such eager feet, and so gay a spirit, on that
bright summer day three happy months ago. But to comfort me comes the feeling of the
better trust, the surer faith, I bear back with me, and the thought, that if I never look again
on the homes of Ober-Ammergau, the people have made for themselves a home in my heart.
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XL
OUR SECOND VISIT TO AMMERGAU.
r^Jl^he coldest, saddest winter Munich has seen for many years is over. Our anticipated
^ ): visit to Ammergau at Christmas had to be given up, for sickness and sorrow were
with us. And now, as I sit, and read over what I wrote last summer, I feel weary
and depressed, and think that I can not finish this little work. But a happy thought comes
to me: that again it is the glorious summer time; I know that the flowers are spread thickly
over the meadows of the Ammer valley; I will go there, and see once more all my good friends,
whose visits have been so pleasant to us through the winter. A pile of letters lies before
me, and as I read some of them, my heart is warmed with sympathy. There are letters written
by the daughters of Tobias Flunger, by Gregor Lechner, and by Joseph Maier. I admire the
delicate handwriting of Francie and Sefie and Malie, the sweet, natural poetry of their letters
to my children, and the warmth of feeling and affection their contents evince for us all. How
pleasant, how refreshing these letters are!
Once, dear Sefie wrote: — **My dear Nellie: It is impossible for me to allow your birthday
to pass without showing you in a few lines my deep sympathy for the occasion. You know
I cannot say much, but what I do say is sincere: so I wish you all the happiness you are
wishing for yourself, but, before everything else, health and contentment, many years of life,
to the joy of your family and friends! My dear friend, we have at present as bad weather
here as you have in Munich! It snows the whole day long! Perhaps you know the hopeful
song: *When it snows, when it snows, the snow-white flakes!* It has a beautiful air, which
I hum all day long, as I sit and sew diligently. Sometimes I get such a longing for our summer
guests.'' And then when Christmas came, and sickness was still With us, and we could not
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leave the dreary city, Francie wrote: *' We hoped up to the last to see some of your dear
family in our midst, to spend Christmas with us. But no one came: and I had to be content
with being with you, my dear friend, in spirit. Sefie and I talk so much- about you, and would
often like to spend an hour with you." — Yes, I will go and see tho$e dear people again before
I leave for home!
May 30. — When I left Munich early yesterday (Wednesday) morning, for my last
visit to Ammergau, the Marienplatz was filled with peasant wagons, loaded with thousands
of young birch trees, for the religious festivities and solemn procession connected with the
celebration of Corpus Christi. It was rumored that the King had promised to take part in
the festivities, and great were therefore the expectations for the brilliancy of the occasion.
Much as I should have enjoyed the gorgeous display, I was unable to wait. But I have
been fully compensated for any loss of the sights in Munich, by witnessing the ceremonies
connected with the day in Ober-Ammergau. At every village along the route thither, the people
were busily employed in cleaning up the houses, and planting rows of young birches in the
streets and before the houses, on the way to be taken by the morrow's procession.
It rained heavily as we climbed once more the steep Ettaler Berg. But were we not
rewarded by that peep of Ober-Ammergau under the Kofel? — the picture that we found last
year at sunset, between the burning red rowan trees, which now welcome us back with their
clusters of pure white blossoms. The cow-bells rang faintly from across the fields of deep wet
grass, and surely that was our old Saturday's march we heard as we entered the village.
Yes, to-morrow is the great fete of Corpus Christi in Ammergau. 0.ur welcome to the house
of the Plungers was crowded with strong remembrances of the Passion season, awakened by
the music of the band, which now, without any attendant crowd of tourists, passes into the
church. As we reached the house, the whole family came out to meet us. The only missing
face was that of our dear girl Sefie, now away in Leipsic. wSuch a noisy and happy party
we were, down in the great room, all telling our experiences since last year. Francie had
been for three months in Styria, in Austria, at service in a great Schloss, but she had grown
home-sick, and is now at her* old work, sawing out the patterns for the wood-carving. She
is looking bright and pretty, after the rest of the winter. She shows us lier hard brown hands,
and laughs over the work she does, but says her life is lonely without her sister. They all
speak of Sefie with much love. Poor Francie's face wore a very sad expression when she
was showing us her trinkets, among which was Sefie's betrothal ring. The poor child has had
a most sorrowful experience! **Pilatus" himself interested me most. We seemed to have
awakened him from a dream. He was eager to show us what he had done in high Art,
his carvings . of animals, and a tiny little picture in oils, a moonlight scene, representing
a blacksmith's, shop, which, he told us, he had painted during his leisure hours.
May 31.— This morning we were once more awakened by the firing of the village cannon,
and the music of the village band. For the first time in many days, the sun shines brightly;
and peasants clad in their picturesque costumes have come to join in the festival. The street
is lined with young birch-trees, and strewn with grass and wild flowers. In the church, the
statues and frescoes, the bright banners and flowers, are toned together by the soft green
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boughs that dress the walls All my old friends are there; and as the mass goes on, and
fresh young voices join in the hymns of praise, I see them all in the same spirit of devotion
as when they represented on the stage the life of the Saviour they are now worshiping. —
A little later and the grand procession passed through the streets of the village and over the
meadows of the valley. The children in their spotless white led the way, the young girls
followed, carrying an image of the Virgin Mother, crowned with flowers, the young men bore
the many-colored banners, and in the midst the Geistlicher Rath walked, while the village
priest followed, bearing the Host. The procession wound slowly under the trees, across
the swelling river, into the fields of flowers, and ..rriving on the meadow, stopped before an
altar that had been erected, where the priest read a chapter from the Gospels. Again the
band struck up, the maidens sang, and the old peasants followed, chanting prayers. Altogether
four altars had been erected, and as the procession halted at each, it seemed only a shifting
of scene from flowery meadow and mountain, to picturesque cottages and dear old homesteads.
All the villagers, without a dozen exceptions, took part in the procession.
In the afternoon we paid our visits to the people. In his quiet room, with many books
its best furniture, we found the beloved priest from whom I had learned the power and beauty
that lie in a simple, active life of love. Joseph Maier was coming with his children down the
road from his house, so we stood out in the sunlight, talking with him awhile, and I came
away with my impressions of the man's earnestness of life and character deepened.
The children were singing as I passed to get my sketch of the house of Frau Veit,
and I made my way into the school-room. The teacher was playing the violin, and beside
him stood the Herr Pfarrer. I had a good welcome when the song was over, and the teacher
asked the children to sing their favorite song, **The Nightingale." I left the school quite happy
for the little ones, thinking of them as I saw them in the procession of yesterday, and in the
school to-day. As I came up to the smithy, and saw the groups before it, I thought of the
old Dutch paintings; but as I had to make my way to the interior, in order to get the
best view of my sketch, it was not quite so enjoyable; but Frau Veit helped me through
my difficulty, and I was soon seated in a comer beyond the shoeing of the horses, from
where I could see the little old house, into which so many thousands had pressed last year. In
no other village than this could I have sat in the work-shops or in the middle of the street
so undisturbed. Here I am quite at home, while, beside me, the work of the smithy goes on.
When the horses are shod, the smith sits on the anvil, with a pot of beer and a slice of
buttered bread in his hand. Presently the children come home from school, and two pretty
little ones find their way into the smithy. The grimy man drops his hammer, takes the little
ones up in his arms, saying he has no children of his own, but that many come to visit him.
Before I left, he brought me down a copy of Corneille that a lady had left in his house last
year, but had never written for it. Would I take it with me? he asked. I was going into
the world again, and might meet the lady. He would tell me how I might know her, — she
had golden hair and blue eyes, a husband, three little children, and a black nurse!
Our last evening in Ober-Ammergau was spent in the circle of the Flunger family.
We talked of old times and customs, and wondered where all the Art-treasures of Ettal had
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disappeared to. P'lunger said that he remembered distinctly the great sale there after the
secularization in the year 1803, and had in his possession a large portfolio of the Diirer
engravings bought there at the time. His grandfather had told him of pictures which had
been sold at that time for six kreuzers a piece. Indeed, there was one in the garret which
had been bought at that price: and in the dust there we found an old picture — a portrait of
one of the students, in a gay costume, and sword in hand. The date is 172 1. We also found
a smaller picture, a Dutch landscape with figures, besides an ancient gunstock, and a number
of other curiosities, all from the old monastery. When we descended to the room, we found
some of our village friends waiting to bid us good-bye, some of them with specimens of their
own workmanship, others with a photograph, or a bunch of Alpine roses. And now, as I
write the last lines in my diary, I have said farewell, with a heart deeply moved. I will close
my work with a farewell acrostic to Ober-Ammergau, which I have found in the Strangers'
Book at Madame Veit's. Its author is the Rev. Vincent Eyre, of England: —
"O blest retreat for faith heartfelt and sound.
Banished from courts and cities! In this vale
P^mbosom'd, Christian piety hath found
Refuge in souls which no dark doubts assail.
Amid these mountains shines a Beacon bright.
Making the sceptic's flickering torch obscure;
Multitudes throng to hail the Heavenly light.
Earth hears once more God's wisdom from the poor!
Receive the thanks of one who hath been taught
Great truths that oft lie hidden from the wise;
Adieu ! all ye who have such marvel wrought,
Until the last loud trump shall bid us rise!"
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