"This misfortune is sent by God"--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 assembly. "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 God forgive him, and let these be the last words uttered concerning him."
"May God forgive him!" murmured the sorely stricken assemblage.
"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 God, and if we do not guard it for ourselves we must for His sake."
A murmur of assent answered him. He continued: "Therefore we must make every effort to keep the matter secret. We can say that Freyer had suddenly succumbed 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."
"God 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 assented. "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 God 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.