Part 37 (2/2)

At that moment the burgomaster's wife rushed in with Anastasia. They had been in the fields and had just learned the startling news of the illness of the husband and brother.

”Pray be calm!” he said, sternly. ”There is nothing wrong with me--nothing worth mentioning.”

The weeping women were surrounded by their friends but the burgomaster, with an imperious wave of the hand, motioned them to the back of the room. ”If you wish to listen--and it is my desire that you should--keep quiet. We have not a moment to lose.” He turned to the men of the parish.

”Dear friends and companions! I have tidings which I should never have expected a native of Ammergau would be compelled to relate of a fellow citizen. A great misfortune has befallen us. We no longer have a Christ! Freyer has suddenly gone away.”

A cry of horror and indignation answered him. A medley of shouts and questions followed, mingled with fierce imprecations.

”Be calm, friends. Do not revile him. We do not know what has occurred.

True, I cannot understand how such a thing was possible--but we must not judge where we know no particulars. At any rate we will respect ourselves by speaking no evil of one of our fellow citizens--for that he was, in spite of his act.”

Ludwig secretly pressed his hand in token of grat.i.tude.

”This misfortune is sent by G.o.d”--the burgomaster continued--”we will not judge the poor mortal who was merely His tool. Regard him as one dead, as he seems to regard himself. He has bequeathed his property to our poor--we will thank him for that, as is right--in other respects he is dead to us.”

The burgomaster took the letter from the table. ”Here is his last will for Ammergau, I will read it to you.” The burgomaster calmly read the paper, but it seemed as if his voice, usually so firm, trembled.

When he had finished, deep silence reigned. Many were wiping their eyes, others gazed sullenly into vacancy--a solemn hush, like that which prevails at a funeral, had taken possession of the a.s.sembly. ”We cannot tell,” the burgomaster repeated: ”Peace to his ashes--for the fire which will be so destructive to us is still blazing in him. We can but say, may G.o.d forgive him, and let these be the last words uttered concerning him.”

”May G.o.d forgive him!” murmured the sorely stricken a.s.semblage.

”Amen!” replied the burgomaster. ”And now, my friends, let us consult what is to be done. We cannot deceive ourselves concerning our situation. It is critical, nay hopeless. The first thing we must try to save is our honor. When it becomes known that one of our number, and that one the Christ--has deserted his colors, or rather the cross, we shall be disgraced and our sacred cause must suffer. _Our_ honor here is synonymous with the honor of G.o.d, and if we do not guard it for ourselves we must for His sake.”

A murmur of a.s.sent answered him. He continued: ”Therefore we must make every effort to keep the matter secret. We can say that Freyer had suddenly succ.u.mbed to the exertion imposed by his part, and to save his life had been obliged to seek a warmer climate! Those who _know_ us men of Ammergau will not believe that any one would retire on account of his health, nay would prefer death rather than to interrupt the performances--but there are few who do know us.”

”G.o.d knows that!” said the listeners, mournfully.

”Therefore I propose that we all promise to maintain the most absolute secrecy in regard to the real state of affairs and give the pretext just suggested to the public.”

”Yes, yes--we will agree not to say anything else,” the men readily a.s.sented. ”But the women--they will chatter,” said Andreas Gross.

”That is just what I fear. I can rely upon you men,” replied the burgomaster, casting a stern glance at the girls and women. ”The men are fully aware of the meaning and importance of our cause. It is bad enough that so many are not understood and supported by their wives!

You--the women of Ammergau--alas that I must say it--you have done the place and the cause more harm by your gossip than you can answer for to the G.o.d who honors us with His holy mission. There is chattering and tattling where you think you can do so unpunished, and many things are whispered into the ears of the visitors which afterwards goes as false rumors through the world! You care nothing for the great cause, if you get an opportunity to gratify some bit of petty malice. Now you are weeping, are you not? Because we are ruined--the performances must cease! But are you sure that Joseph Freyer would have been capable of treating us in this way, had it not been for the flood of gossip you poured out on him and his cousin, Josepha? It embittered his mind against us and drove him into the stranger's arms. Has he not said a hundred times that, if it were not for personating the Christ, he would have left Ammergau long ago? Where _one_ bond is destroyed another tears all the more easily. Take it as a lesson--and keep silence _this_ time at least, if you can govern your feminine weakness so far! I shall make your husbands accountable for every word which escapes concerning this matter.” Several of the women murmured and cast spiteful glances at the burgomaster.

”To _whom_ does this refer, _who_ is said to have tattled?” asked a stout woman with a bold face.

The burgomaster frowned. ”It refers to those who feel guilty--and does not concern those who do not!” he cried, sternly. ”The good silent women among you know very well that I do not mean them--and the others can take heed.”

A painful pause followed. The burgomaster's eyes rested threateningly upon the angry faces of the culprits. Those who felt that they were innocent gazed at him undisturbed.

”I will answer for my wife”--”Nothing shall go from my house!”

protested one after another, and thus at least every effort would be made to save the honor of Ammergau, and conceal their disgrace from the world. But now came the question how to save the Play. A warm debate followed. The people, thus robbed of their hopes, wished to continue the performances at any cost, with any cast of characters. But here they encountered the resolute opposition of the burgomaster: ”Either well--or not at all!” was his ultimatum. ”We cannot deceive ourselves for a moment. At present, there is not one of us who can personate the Christ--except Thomas Rendner, and where, in that case, could we find a Pilate--who could replace Thomas Rendner?”

There was a violent discussion. ”The sacristan, Nathanael, could play Pilate.”

”Who then would take Nathanael?”

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