Part 65 (1/2)

”How do I know--your father didn't say! Perhaps so--they have no one.

Oh dear, this Pa.s.sion Play will be your father's death!”

The shop-bell, pleasantest of sounds to the anxious woman, rang--customers must not be kept waiting, even for a little package of coffee. She hurried into the shop, and Rosel to her aunt Stasi.

This was a good day to the burgomaster's worthy wife. The whole village bought something, in order to learn something about the interesting event which the Gross sisters, of course, had told early in the morning. And, as the burgomaster's wife maintained absolute silence, what the people did not know they invented--and of course the worst and most improbable things. Ere noon the wildest rumors were in circulation, and parties had formed who disputed vehemently over them.

The burgomaster's wife was in the utmost distress. Everybody wanted information from her, and how easily she might let slip some incautious remark! In her task of keeping silence, she actually forgot that she really had nothing at all to conceal--because she knew nothing herself.

Yet the fear of having said a word too much oppressed the conscientious woman so sorely that afterward, much to her husband's benefit, she was remarkably patient and spared him the usual reproach of not having thought of his wife and children, when she discovered that he had given away his boots and coat!--

Thus in the strange little village the loftiest and the lowliest things always go hand in hand. But the n.o.ble often succ.u.mbs to the petty, when it lacks the power to rise above it.

CHAPTER x.x.xIII.

RECEIVED AGAIN.

All through the morning the street where Ludwig's house stood was crowded with people. Toward noon a whisper ran through the throng: ”He is coming!” and Freyer appeared. Many pressed forward curiously but shrank back again as Freyer drew near. ”Good Heavens, how he looks!”

Freyer tottered past them, raising his hat in greeting, but spite of his modest bearing and simple garb he seemed to have become so aristocratic a gentleman, that no one ventured to accost him. Something emanating from him inspired reverence, as if--in the presence of the dead. He was dead--at least to the world. The people felt this and the gossip suddenly ceased--the parties formed in an envious or malicious spirit were reconciled.

”He won't live long!” This was the magic spell which soothed all contention. If he had any sin on his conscience, he would soon atone for it, if he had more money than the rest, he must soon ”leave it behind,” and if he desired to take a part he could not keep it long!

Only the children who meanwhile had grown into tall lads and la.s.ses ran trustfully to meet him, holding out their hands with the grace and charm peculiar to the Ammergau children. And because the grown people followed him, the little ones did the same. He stopped and talked with them, recognizing and calling by name each of the older ones, while their bright eyes gazed searchingly into his, as sunbeams pierce dark caverns. ”Have you been ill, Herr Freyer?”

”No, my dear children--or yes, as people may regard it, but I shall get well with you!” And, clasping half a dozen of the little hands in his, he walked on with them.

”Will you play the divine friend of children with us again?” asked one of the larger girls beseechingly.

”When Christmas comes, we will all play it again!” A strange smile transfigured Freyer's features, and tears filled his eyes.

”Will you stay with us now?” they asked.

”Yes!” It was only a single word, but the children felt that it was a vow, and the little band pressed closer and closer around him: ”Yes, now you must never go away!”

Freyer lifted a little boy in his arms and hid his face on the child's breast: ”No, _never_, _never_ more!”

A solemn silence reigned for a moment. The grief of a pure heart is sacred, and a child's soul feels the sacredness. The little group pa.s.sed quietly through the village, and the children formed a protecting guard around him, so that the grown people could not hurt him with curious questions. The children showed their parents that peace must dwell between him and them--for the Ammergau people knew that in their children dwelt the true spirit which they had lost to a greater or less degree in the struggle for existence. The _children_ had adopted him--now he was again at home in Ammergau; no parish meeting was needed to give him the rights of citizens.h.i.+p.

The little procession reached the town-hall. Freyer put the child he was carrying on the ground--it did not want to leave him. The grown people feared him, but the children considered him their own property and were reluctant to give him up. Not until after long persuasion would they let him enter. As he ascended the familiar stairs his heart throbbed so violently that he was obliged to lean against the wall. A long breath, a few steps more--then a walk through the empty council room to the office, a low knock, the well-known ”come in!”--and he stood before the burgomaster. It is not the custom among the people of Ammergau to rise when receiving each other. ”Good-morning!” said the burgomaster, keeping his seat as if to finish some pressing task--but really because he was struggling for composure: ”Directly!”

Freyer remained standing at the door.

The burgomaster went on writing. A furtive glance surveyed the figure in his coat and shoes--but he did not raise his eyes to Freyer's face, the latter would have seen it. At last he gained sufficient composure to speak, and now feigned to be aware for the first time of the new-comer's ident.i.ty. ”Ah, Herr Freyer!” he said, and the eyes of the two men met. It was a sad sight to both.

The burgomaster, once so strong and stately, aged, shrunken, prematurely worn. Freyer an image of suffering which was almost startling.

”Herr Burgomaster, I do not know--whether I may still venture--”

”Pray take a chair, Herr Freyer,” said the burgomaster.