"And that of Dathen the court preacher," added Klaus.
"Be quiet good folks," now said Erastus. "Do not say anything that you might regret should you be ever heard by the Magistrate." The speakers already began to look about them in terror. "Get thee to thy tavern, Klaus, and attend to thy guests. No one has heard thee, but do not help to make matters worse."
The crowd in the market became visibly greater. Men poured forth from every house, and the voices sounded like the humming of a swarm of bees. Here Erastus remarked two of the bitterest of the nuns of the Stift at Neuburg, who were exciting the people by telling them, that the calvinistic church council was responsible for all this oppression. "Only come out to us on St. John's day," he heard Sister Anastasia, a withered up yellow old maid say, "then can you dance in the mill, and we shall soon see if the Calvinists dare prevent our good people from enjoying a proper amusement." The host of the Hirsch was relating in a side street to an astonished crowd of young villagers, that Olevianus intended closing all public houses; Parson Willing was making his way through the crowd with a ready smile, letting a word here and there be heard against the Professors. At the corner of the gable-house opposite the church, Erastus saw the baptist Werner standing, looking down from some raised steps, with socratic irony on the mob. He also met Xylander in the crowd, whose jolly brown eyes gleamed with pleasure at the turmoil going on around him.
"What are the people crying about?" he asked Erastus.
"If they only knew themselves. Crying seems to be to them the great object of life." Even the haggard philosopher Pithopöus, who overtopped by a head all his neighbours, was threading his way through the throng to his usual Tusculum. The cause of the concourse did not appear to him worthy of inquiring. What did it matter to him, that those ants swarmed. He only thought to himself: "Mankind would have been more supportable, had the Deity set a limit to the quantum." As the great man reached the Hirsch, Parson Willing whispered to him: "Philosopher! the movement is taking place, let us endow it with thought." Horrified at such familiarity, the Aristotelian knit his brows, but had not quite come to an end with this awe-inspiring performance ere the nimble Parson had ascended the front steps leading to the Hirsch and requested silence by signs and gestures. "The town preacher wishes to speak," was now heard on all sides. "Silence, silence for Parson Willing."
"Beloved Countrymen! Palatines! Citizens of Heidelberg!" began the Parson in a stentorian tone, his wrinkled face beaming with humor, whilst at the same time he rubbed his hands together with that soaping movement peculiar to him in the pulpit.
"He washes his hands in innocence," said the Baptist Werner to his neighbours.
"I have only asked for a hearing, my dear friends," cried the Parson, "to beg you to return quietly to your homes." A mocking laugh followed those words evidently spoken ironically. "Remember," continued the Parson, "that it is Saturday, and that Olevianus wishes to study his sermon of to-morrow, and if you make such a noise it is impossible for him to prepare himself and you know that a Professor must learn everything by heart before that he can speak in public." A fresh burst of laughter followed. "Thus you can plainly see, my dear children that you must be quiet. You also know well that Herr Olevianus is a pompous man, and that in the whole land none, but those he will, dare snort." A hail-storm of abusive words was now heard on all sides. "Then remember likewise that another clerical gentleman dwells in the neighbourhood. Parson Zankus ..."[2] "Zanchius," corrected the tall Aristotelian in his magisterial voice.
"Well, I mean the little mannikin, who always begins a row, and then weeps in the pulpit; I cannot keep all their foreign names in my head, but he is just now taking his midday nap, so as to be better able to spy out at night, who may be tippling over much, therefore be still, else he will wake up and begin to cry. You know very well what is prescribed by the new discipline of the Church."
"No, we know nothing about it, we want no Church discipline," was shouted on all sides.