The Play of Death (The Hangman's Daughter, #6)

by Oliver Pötzsch

For a long time, the patricians in particular had been in favor of dealing more harshly with the lower classes, as many of them felt that the old traditional values were being threatened.

it’s faith. By that I don’t mean faith in our dear Lord—people believe in you, Magdalena. They trust you. You listen to them, and that’s what makes you a good healer.”

“These foreigners have been a thorn in my side for far too long. I’ll speak with the abbot about whether we can deport at least some of these families.

Franz Würmseer nodded enthusiastically. “The foreigners hardly pay any taxes and have more children than people like us have, and now it’s not even safe anymore to walk down the street. If we’re not careful, the foreigners will take over the town before long.” “But that’s just nonsense,” said Georg Kaiser. “They pay their tithes just like the rest of us, and still not one of them has a seat on our council, none of them has—”

“We’re just as much Oberammergauers as you are,” the boy with the freckles called after them. “Remember that.”

It’s easy to blame everything on people who have nothing.

“I have suggested several times in our meetings that it’s time for the city to do a better job of exercising our ancient rights. Lechner is an emissary of the Bavarian elector. For far too long we have allowed him to do as he pleased here. Do we really want our once so proud city to be ruled by Munich?”

Simon could not suppress a smile. These people really believed they could pacify the Kofel with their little gifts. On the other hand, were these sacrifices much different from the blessing of the Easter ham or the lights in the window celebrating the Feast of St. Lucia in December? Did he really have a right to ridicule the faith of these people?

we’ll have to take the matter into our own hands,” Würmseer growled. “For ages we’ve lived here as a proud people. We drove off the Romans, and after them so many other intruders. We’ve asserted our rights against every feudal lord, and we won’t let ourselves be squeezed out by these homeless vagabonds. The valley is full.”

“Lord, I am not worthy to receive you, but only say the word and I shall be healed.” But the Lord spoke not a single word; He remained silent.

“Don’t worry, we’ll find another Judas,”

“Wait for me!” shouted Jesus Christ from up on the stage. “That bastard has it coming to him.”

“Filthy laborers have settled in our valley like ticks and bugs. They come from far away because they’ve heard of our beautiful valley, but they don’t fit in here—they speak differently, dance other dances, sing other songs. But above all, they are lazy and bring evil into our valley.

“Many of you know we have tried everything to stop the decline of our valley,” he continued. “We were making progress, even if we broke certain laws. What else could we do if these laws limited our ancient, guaranteed rights?

Salt can kill, yet without salt, there is no life. It really rules the world . . .

“He must have a powerful guardian angel, or perhaps it’s that death is afraid of the hangman.”

Father said it was unchristian—we couldn’t earn money carving figurines of our Savior and at the same time line our pockets with ill-gotten gains.

“You’ll see . . . In his old age our hangman will become a crotchety old Calvinist.”

Perhaps all books have something magical about them, she thought. Just letters on a page that turn into images, scenes, and conversations in our minds.

It is important to emphasize that outbreaks of xenophobia like those described in this novel were and are still possible everywhere, not just in the Ammer Valley. History repeats itself, and it appears that we rarely learn the lessons of the past. Perhaps interest in my novel will provide not just excitement and entertainment but an opportunity to rethink some of this.