"Oh, he is such a spectacle, ill, half starved--in rags, an Ecce homo! I thought my heart would break when I saw him."
"Aha--so Nemesis is here already."
"Oh! do not speak so. Such a Nemesis is too cruel! I do not know what has befallen him--I could ask no questions, but I do know that Freyer has done nothing which deserves such a punishment. You can have no idea of the man's condition. He is lying at home--unable to move a limb."
The burgomaster shrugged his shoulders. "What have I to do with it? You know that I never sympathize with self-created sorrows."
"You need not, only you must help me obtain some means of livelihood for the unfortunate man. He still has his share of the receipts of the last Passion Play. He was not present at the distribution, but he played the Christus from May until August--to the best of my recollection his portion was between seven and eight hundred marks."
"Quite right. But as he had run away and moreover very generously bequeathed all his property to the poor--I could not suppose that I must save the sum for a rainy day, and that he would so soon be in the position of becoming a burden upon the community!"
"What did you do with the money?"
"Don't you know? I divided it with the rest."
Ludwig stamped his foot. "Oh, Heaven? that was my only hope! But he must have assistance, he has neither clothing nor shoes! I haven't a penny in the house except what we need for food. He cannot be seen in these garments, he would rather die. We cannot expose him to mockery--we must respect ourselves in him, he was the best Christus we ever had, and though the play was interrupted by him, we owe him a greater success and a larger revenue than we formerly obtained during a whole season. And, in return, should we allow him to go with empty hands--like the poet in Schiller's division of the earth, because he came too late?"
"Yes." The burgomaster twisted his moustache with his thin fingers: "I am sorry for him--but the thing is done and cannot be changed."