"How do I know--your father didn't say! Perhaps so--they have no one. Oh dear, this Passion 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 noble often succumbs to the petty, when it lacks the power to rise above it.
[CHAPTER XXXIII.]
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 lasses 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?"