THE PASSION PLAYAT OBERAMMERGAU, 1880.
We have seen the great Passion Play, and the day is nearly over which we have anticipated so long, and to which every plan has been made subservient, since we crossed the ocean. And now, while the streets are full of people and the twilight shadows are falling over Mt. Kofel, where the tall cross shows so conspicuously, I sit down to write my impressions of the wonderful drama, which, during the summer, has attracted nearly 100,000 visitors to this little, quiet, old-fashioned town, among the hills of Bavaria. The high and the low, the rich and the poor, the titled lord and the lowly peasant meet here together, jostling side by side, sharing the same fatigue and discomfort, and deeming neither toogreat a price to pay for the object they have in view.
Before speaking of the play in detail, it may not be out of place to say something of the way to reach Oberammergau, and of the town itself; and so, first, the journey there.
Nearly all the Americans and English who visit Oberammergau, make Munich their starting-point; consequently the city is at this season crowded to its utmost capacity, and reminds one of Philadelphia during the Centennial. Naturally a great deal of anxiety is felt by the tourist with regard to his pilgrimage to the valley of the Ammer, especially as he hears such exaggerated accounts of the difficulties to be encountered on the way, and he is at times half tempted to give it up as something unattainable. When we reached Munich, on Friday, August 20th, and made inquiries at our hotel as to the probability of our getting tickets for August 29th, we were looked upon as lunatics for entertaining such a thought.
It was impossible under any circumstances to procure a place for the 29th, we were told by the clerk. There would be at least 6,000 people there, with accommodations for 2,000, and our only way was to wait quietly at the hotel until Sunday, the29th; then take Gaze’s tickets, which were to be had in the office for forty-five marks each, and go to see the play on Monday, as it was sure to be repeated.
Gaze, let me say, is an enterprising English tourist agent, who has opened a hotel at Oberammergau, and advertizes to board and lodge you for two days and carry you to and from the railway station at Murnau, where you leave the cars, for forty-five marks, which are equal to $11.25 of American money,—a pretty good price, it seemed to us, to pay for two days’ board and a drive of sixteen miles; but we accepted it as inevitable, and settled down quietly to wait, until Providence threw in our way an English clergyman, who changed our plans entirely.
“Don’t believe one word they tell you at the hotels,” he said. “They wish to keep you here as long as possible. Don’t listen to them. Don’t touch a Gaze ticket. Don’t touch a Cook ticket. Don’t touch anybody’s ticket, but just run your own canoe.”
On second considerations I am inclined to think he did not use that last expression, which I believe is purely American, but that was what he meant, and he went on to say: “Write to the burgomaster yourself and ask for the highest priced tickets.You’ll not get them, but you will get something. Neither will he answer your letter, but your name will be recorded and remembered when you prefer your claim. Go on Friday by the early train to Murnau, where you will find hundreds of carriages waiting to take you to Oberammergau, and once there, get a place for yourself at half the sum charged by Gaze or his agents.”
We followed the Englishman’s advice and wrote to the burgomaster, and on Friday took the train for Murnau, distant from Munich sixty miles, and from Oberammergau sixteen. Here we expected our troubles to commence, for we doubted a little our English friend’s story of the carriages waiting for us there; but he was right. There were hundreds of them,—vehicles of every kind,—some good enough for a princess, and some which looked as if Eve herself might have driven in them, had driving been one of her pastimes. I even noticed a cow and a horse harnessed together, but I hardly think they were there for the purpose of getting passengers. At all events we did not take that establishment, but chartering one, which had a pair of strong looking horses, we were soon started on what proved to be the pleasantest drive we ever experienced, and one we shall never forget.
There are two routes from Murnau to Oberammergau,—one through the little village of Oberau and up the famous Mt. Ettal, which is so steep and long that passengers are obliged to walk up it, or as a writer has expressed it, “Rich and poor have to struggle with the steepness of Mt. Ettal for over half an hour, while a pair of the best horses are struggling hard to draw up an empty carriage.” Marvelous stories are told of people who have had the apoplexy, and of horses which have died toiling up this hill, and as none of our party had a fancy to try it, we chose the other, and to my mind the pleasanter route of the two. It is a little longer than the one through Ettal, but the road winds alternately up and over hills neither too long or tiresome, and down through grassy valleys fresh from a recent shower and sweet with the perfume of new mown hay, and into which little brooks came tumbling from the mountains which shelter Oberammergau and which are always in view. Long before we reached the town I singled out one tall peak which from its peculiar shape attracted my curiosity and which I found to be the far-famed Kofel, on which the cross is erected and which bends over the little hamlet as if in benediction. For this peak the people have a kind of superstitiousreverence, and when asked to repeat their play in America, they replied, “We would do so gladly, but we must bring our Kofel with us.”
As we came down into the valley and passed through Unterammergau our way lay through a long avenue, bordered on either side with trees of mountain ash, whose clusters of scarlet berries gave a bit of coloring to the picture, and thus enhanced its beauty. I wish I could convey to your minds a correct idea of the loveliness of that valley, and make you see it, as we saw it that summer afternoon, when the sunlight fell so softly upon the steep hillsides where the grass was green and smooth as velvet, and little feathery wreaths of mist were floating on the mountain tops, reminding one of the patches of snow seen in midsummer in the Alps of Switzerland. Through the valley the Ammer runs swiftly, making sundry turns and windings, as it goes singing on its way toward the deep ravines, which lie beyond Unterammergau. At the end of the ash-bordered avenue we crossed a little bridge and were at last in Oberammergau.
It is not a pretty town, or a clean one either, notwithstanding that a writer from whom I have before quoted, says, that “it is the cleanest town in the Bavarian Alps.” Not having seen all the towns inthe Bavarian Alps, I am not prepared to dispute the assertion, but if Oberammergau is the cleanest, what must the others be? The streets are very narrow and crooked, and wind here and there in a crazy kind of manner very bewildering to the stranger, who constantly loses his way. But there is never any difficulty in finding it again, as the church, with its peculiar dome, not unlike a Turkish mosque, is a good landmark, as is also Gaze’s hotel, which stands very nearly in the center of the town. This last building looks as if it might have been an old barn before it was converted to its present use. It is very noisy around it, and dirty, too, in the extreme. The streets do not look as if they were ever picked up, and the open sewers are simply a nuisance to the eye and an offense to the nostrils, as are also the stables, of which there are quite as many as houses. Every dwelling has its barn, where the cows and horses are kept, and every barn has its manure heap, piled and boarded with great care, and standing close to the street, and oftentimes under the very windows of the houses. The fleas are everywhere, and attack you at all points, and travel over you until you feel like tearing your hair in utter desperation. And yet we have been told by some that they have not seen a flea. Truly theirlot was cast in a more fortunate locality than ours.
The houses of Oberammergau are for the most part small, old-fashioned and peculiarly shaped, and very few have flowers or trees in front. They stand mostly in the street, as it were, and are neither homelike nor inviting in their outward appearance. Of course there are exceptions to this rule, and we noticed several places where it would be a delight to stay. But these had probably been engaged for weeks, and when we drove to one of them which had a pretty yard in front, we were received with a shake of the head. At last, however, we found rooms in a sort ofdependenceto a restaurant near Gaze’s hotel, and though the stables were here, and more smells than poor, abused Cologne ever boasted, and though directly under our window there was a beer garden, where I knew the peasantry would probably spend most of the night, we concluded we were fortunate to get even such quarters, and tried to feel contented and cheerful, until in walking about the town we came upon a tiny little cottage standing in a patch of turnips, with the muck heap behind the house instead of in front of it. There were some boxes of flowers in the window, and the face of the old lady who sat on a bench by the doorwas so pleasant and attractive that we accosted her, and were told that “we could have the upper floor if we liked,—would we step in and look?”
There were but four rooms in the whole house, two below, the kitchen and the living room,—and two above, but these were scrupulously clean, and so odd-looking and delightful every way, that we decided at once to take them. Now, men are supposed to be more courageous than women, but the head of our party proved the contrary in this instance, and did not hesitate to say that alone and unprotected he dared not face the woman with the tumbled hair and dirty hands, who had smiled so blandly when we took the rooms we were about to give up. He must have help, he said, for though the Oberammergauers have the reputation of being very heavenly in their dispositions, he suspected our late hostess might be an exception to the general rule, and with her voluble French and German and English, all utterly incomprehensible, prove more than a match for him. So we went in a body, and I, as the one most interested in the change, undertook to explain to her very meekly that though her rooms were excellent in their way, and she herself everything to be desired in a landlady, I was afraid the beer garden under my window might disturbme, and we had found rooms in a quieter part of the town, where I should be more likely to sleep. I might have spared myself the sweetness and apologies, for they were lost upon her. With fierce gestures and flashing eyes she poured out a torrent of words, which, as nearly as I could judge, meant, that of all the mean people it had been her fortune to meet, we were the meanest and the worst; that her beer garden was as still as the grave, and if I could not sleep over it, the sooner I got out of her house, the better; then, taking Mr. Holmes’s traveling bag, she hurled it into the hall in a fashion which made Walter turn pale, and showed that she meant business. It was in vain that I tried to appease her; I only made matters worse, as she grew more furious and looked as if fully capable of taking me up bodily and throwing me from the window into her beer garden, the cause of the trouble. So we hurried away with our bags and bundles and were soon in possession of our new apartments, to which we ascended by means of a step-ladder, shutting the trap door behind us.
What funny little rooms they were, with scarcely space to turn round or stand upright! We had but one sheet, and our covering was a feather bed, while one towel served for the day. There werelittle bits of windows which opened like doors, and our looking-glass was about a foot square. There were madonnas and saints and crosses on the wall, and presses which smelled of mint and musk, and boxes and drawers, and curiosities of various kinds, but the linen was white as snow, and the bare floor was clean as soap and water could make it, as was every part of the house, and with a deep feeling of thankfulness for our good luck, we disposed of our baggage as well as we could, and went out to see the town.
The next day, Saturday, was the day for the arrivals, and from early morning until night they poured steadily in, until the town was full as it could hold. Where all the people staid is a mystery. In our little cottage the family slept in the woodshed, while on the night preceding the play, some of their friends slept on the floor of the living room. A full description of the variety of accommodations would fill a volume. Some of our friends reported no sheet at all upon their beds; others slept on pillows of hay, while others again boasted two sheets and a lounge, with preserves and cake for supper. It was very amusing to watch the new arrivals and see the fastidious lady hold high her silken skirts and glance ruefully at her daintyboots, as she was set down before a door which did not look very inviting; to see, too, the Tyrolese peasant woman, who had walked into town with her basket of provisions on her arm, and with no idea where she was to sleep. She had no anxiety with regard to her wooden shoes, nor did she hold up her cotton gown, for it was already above her ankles and expanded by a hoop, such as was worn years ago. Her home was far up among the Tyrol mountains, and she had come miles to see the play; but she was brisk as a bee, and after greeting her acquaintances, whose costumes, like her own, were of most wonderful fashion, she started with them across the meadow and up the steep declivity, in the direction of Mt. Kofel to say her prayers before the monument.
This is a marble group, representing a scene from the crucifixion—Christ upon the cross, with his mother and John standing on either side. It is the gift of the present king, Ludwig of Bavaria, to the Oberammergauers, in commemoration of the play of 1870, which he witnessed. It is said to be the work of Halbig, of Munich, and as a work of art is very beautiful. As it is very large and stands high, it attracts the attention at once, and hundreds of the tourists climb the hill to examine it, whilemost of the peasantry go there to pray before it, kneeling, some upon the ground and some upon the wooden benches placed there for that purpose. The view from the monument is very fine, and of itself repays one for the fatigue of the ascent. Leading from it to the village is a higher and dryer, though longer road than the one across the meadow, and this we took on our return, following it until we reached the Church of Oberammergau.
It stands very near the swiftly running Ammer, in which some peasants were washing their clothes when we crossed the bridge and entered the church yard, where the curious crosses and headstones which marked the graves of the dead made us linger a while to examine them and read the names and dates upon them. It would seem that almost a third of the persons buried there were Langs. Indeed, the Lang family is a very large one in Oberammergau. The burgomaster is a Lang; St. John is a Lang; Mary Magdalen is a Lang; Caiaphas is a Lang, and several of the singers are also Langs.
The church itself is not very large or pretentious outwardly, and we were surprised to find so much ornamentation inside. There was too much gilding, it seemed to us, and the effect was rather tawdry than otherwise. There were a few good pictures,and under a glass case in an angle near the altar is the skeleton of a woman, elaborately and richly dressed, but looking ghastly and horrible to those unaccustomed to such sights. The church is chiefly interesting as being in one sense the training school for the Passion Play. With its ceremonies, its processions, its music and its singing, it prepares the actors for the parts they take, and keeps the scenes of the betrayal and crucifixion constantly in their minds. Its pastor, the good and aged Daisenberger, should be mentioned here as being closely identified with the play as it now appears upon the stage. He was the son of a peasant and is now eighty-two years of age. His youth was spent in the monastery of Ettal, with Othmar Weiss, who revised the old Passion Play and adapted it to more modern ideas. In 1845 Daisenberger became the head of the church in Oberammergau and made many changes in the play, striking out whatever he thought objectionable or absurd, and materially elevating its tone. He has also written several plays of a more secular character, which are repeated during the long winter months and constitute the only amusement of the little town. At these dramatic representations he directs and arranges in person, and when he is gone, his place cannot well be filled.The selection of the actors for the Passion Play devolves upon a committee of forty-five householders, with Daisenberger at their head, and the election takes place the last week of the December previous to the play. All the members attend divine worship first, as they never do anything without a prayer for guidance, and this it is which makes the great drama seem so sacred and holy. To them it is not to be lightly entered into, and the characters are chosen from the best citizens, whose lives are known to be perfectly upright and without reproach.
Precisely at seven o’clock on the evening preceding a play, the actors assemble at the extreme end of the village, opposite the house of Tobias Flunger, the Christus of 1850, and there form a procession, which, headed by the band playing a lively tune, marches through the principal streets to the meadow near the theatre, where they disband and return to their several homes. It has been said that there is no rest in Oberammergau on the night before a play, but we did not find it so. It was very quiet around our cottage, and after ten o’clock scarcely a sound was heard till morning, when at five o’clock the booming of the cannon planted at the foot of Mt. Kofel awoke the slumbering peopleand told them that the business of the day had commenced. The first gun was followed by several others in quick succession until everybody was awake. The actors—and, including the musical characters, there are nearly five hundred in all—hurried to the church, where mass was performed, as a preparation for what was to follow, while the visitors hastened to get their breakfasts, so as to be at the theatre when the doors opened.
There are but few reserved seats, and as these are taken weeks in advance, our tickets merely entitled us to seats in a certainplatz, or division, without designating any particular spot.
The theatre is plain and unpretending outwardly, being built wholly of boards, with no attempt at ornament of any kind. Inside it is also very simple and has evidently never had much money expended upon it. Its auditorium is 118 feet wide by 168 feet deep, and it occupies an area of nearly 20,000 square feet, and is capable of seating an audience of from 5,000 to 6,000 people. There are visible to the spectator five distinct places of action. First is the proscenium for choruses and processions, and as this part of the stage is not under cover, the singers are always exposed to the weather, and stand, a part of the time, with the sunshining directly in their faces. When it rains they have no alternative but to bear it, and we were told that they sometimes sang with umbrellas over their heads.
The second place is the central stage for thetableaux vivantsand the usual dramatic scenes; the third and fourth, which are reached by stairs, are the palace of Annas and the palace of Pilate, while the fifth represents the streets of Jerusalem.
Thus there is plenty of room, and never any undue crowding, even when hundreds are on the stage, as in some of the tableaux. In front of, and facing the theatre proper, is the long area occupied by the spectators and divided into compartments varying in price from eight marks ($2) to one mark (25 cents). The eight-mark seats are reserved, and have backs, but all the others are simply benches, with nothing to lean upon, and those nearest the stage, in the one-mark places, have no cover of any kind; consequently, when it rains or the sun is very hot, those unfortunate enough to be in that locality are neither comfortable nor happy, especially as umbrellas are not allowed to be raised on account of those behind, whose view would be obstructed. And yet, in default of getting any thing better, these places are eagerly sought after,and some stand through the entire play rather than not see it.
The broad space overhead is left open for the sake of the beautiful landscape, which adds greatly to the effect. Casting your eye over and beyond the stage, you see directly in front the quiet valley, with the Ammer flowing through it; to the right are steep hillsides clothed with grass, and dotted here and there with trees of fir, while to the left and farther back Mt. Kofel lifts his cross-crowned head, and looks down upon the play. A more lovely background could not be devised, and when the eye was tired with the scenes upon the stage it was such a rest to let it wander away to the green fields beyond, even if it did detect a wicked Oberammergauer fishing complacently in the river, unmindful of the commandment respecting the Sabbath day. Perhaps he thought he was quite as well occupied as we, and others may think so, too, but these have never seen the Passion Play, and do not know how forcible is the lesson it teaches, or how real it makes what before has seemed so misty and vague to those who cannot easily grasp the man Christ and make him seem human and life-like.
By half-past seven the theatre was full of eager, curious people, gathered from all parts of the world, and from every station in life, from the nobility ofaristocratic England down to the lowly peasant of the Tyrol. Even royalty is sometimes represented, but the “blue box” set apart for it was vacant to-day, for the Duke of Edinburgh, though expected, it was rumored, did not come, and only Lord Houghton and Lady Stanley and Lady George Gordon drew the eyes of the curious in that direction. At last, the booming of the cannon was heard again, and then over the waiting thousands there fell a hush of expectancy, while the orchestra played a sweet and simple overture. Could we then have looked behind the curtain which shut the stage from us, a novel and touching sight, such as is not often seen upon the boards of a theatre, would have met our view. Five hundred people kneeling in silent prayer and asking God’s blessing upon what they were about to do. Again the booming of the cannon was heard, followed quickly by the third and last. It was eight o’clock; the curtain was drawn, the chorus of singers appeared upon the stage, and the “Passion Play” we had come so far to see, had commenced.
As most of our readers know, the Passion Play is performed in fulfillment of a vow made by the people in 1633, when a fearful pestilence was ravaging the villages in the valley. For a long timeOberammergau was free from the plague, owing to the strictness of the sanitary precautions; but it was brought to them at last by a laborer, who had been working in an infected district, and who succeeded in entering the town to see his wife and children. In a day or two he was dead, and so rapidly did the disease spread, that in thirty-three days eighty-four persons belonging to the village died. Then it was that the terrified inhabitants met together and made a solemn vow that if God would remove the dreadful scourge they would perform the Passion Play every ten years. From that time there were no more deaths in Oberammergau, and the play was acted the following year, 1634. The decaded period, however, was not chosen until 1680, and since that time the play has been performed every ten years, with more or less interruptions. It must, however, have been known to the peasantry of Bavaria before 1633, as history speaks of it at a much earlier period. Since 1634 it has undergone many changes and modifications and been stripped of much that was absurd and offensive. Once the devil was a constant actor upon the stage, and used to dance around Judas during the temptation, and when at last the betrayer hanged himself, a host of demons rushed upon him, as if to bear him away toendless torment. Later, too, the spectators were wont to groan and hiss when he appeared, and even pelt him with dirt and stones, so that it was difficult to find a man with sufficient nerve to take the part ofJudas. Now, however, this is changed, and the good taste of the Geistlicher-Rath Daisenberger, is perceptible in every part of the play. In 1870 the play was broken up by the Franco-German war. Forty of the Ammergauers were called into the Bavarian army, and among them Joseph Maier, theChristusof that year. When the news of peace reached the valley, fires were lighted on every mountain top from the Adenwald to the Tyrol, and the villagers resolved to give a repetition of the play by way of thanksgiving. It was a great success, and thousands of tourists went to witness it, all of whom were loud in their praises of Joseph Maier, whose acting cannot be excelled, and who, after the burgomaster, is looked up to by the peasantry as a man second only in importance to the good Daisenberger himself. But of him I shall speak more particularly by and bye. I wish now to describe the opening scene, which heralded the beginning of the play.
The chorus of Schutzgeister, or Guardian Angels, as they are called, is a peculiar feature ofthe Ammergau stage and adds greatly to the interest. The chorus consists of twenty-six singers, and the leader is styled the Prologue, orchoragus. Immediately after the third and last cannon they appear, thirteen on a side, and march slowly and solemnly into line. Their dresses are of various colors, and over them a white tunic or colored mantle is worn, giving them a picturesque and oriental appearance. Among them are several young women, some of whose faces are very pretty and sweet, and they seem to feel that it is a religious duty rather than a pleasure to stand thus before the five thousand pairs of eyes gazing so fixedly at them. Each act of the play is preceded by one or twotableaux vivants, as symbols or prophecies of scenes in the life of Christ, and it is the part of thechoragus, or chief singer, to describe these tableaux and the lesson they are intended to teach. This he does in song, his companions taking up the chorus at intervals, and making the whole very impressive and interesting, especially as some of the solos are finely rendered, in voices clear and sweet, if not highly cultivated. The song or recitation ended, thechoragussteps backwards and with half the singers marches to the left of the stage, while the other half retire to the right, where they stand motionlessas statues, while the curtain is withdrawn from the inner stage, and the tableau is exposed to view for two or three minutes, while, watch as closely as you may, you cannot detect the slightest movement in the mass of humanity so artistically grouped together.
The first tableau represented Adam and Eve being driven from the Paradise, which lay in the background, while, conspicuous in the center of the garden, was the tree of life, laden with fruit, and among its branches, the tempter, in the form of a serpent, was coiled. The second tableau, which follows immediately after the close of the chorus, revealed a large cross planted on a rock, with crowds of children dressed in white kneeling around it in a worshiping attitude. The prayers the children are supposed to be saying, are sung by the chorus, who retire from the stage, and the first act of the great drama commences.
Shouts of rejoicing and notes of glad singing were faintly heard, seeming at first so far away that one could easily believe they came from the green hilltops, seen over and beyond the theatre; nearer and nearer they came, until the long procession appeared in view, and the shouts and singing grew louder, as the thronging crowds, carrying palms intheir hands, welcomed to Jerusalem their master. Then it is that you seeJoseph Maier—the central figure of the play—the one on whom every eye is fixed whenever he appears, and the sight of whom makes your heart throb faster as you remember that the scenes you look upon were once a reality, when Jerusalem opened wide her gates, and her streets resounded with the loud hosannas of the multitude doing honor to the man riding in their midst. A betterChristusthan Joseph Maier could not have been selected. Tall, finely formed, with a sad, pale face, and long, flowing hair, he impresses you at once, and your first thought is what a splendid looking man, and how well fitted for his part—a conviction which deepens as the play progresses, and you watch him in all the varied situations he has to fill. Not a trace of self-consciousness is ever perceptible in his manner, which is always dignified and self-possessed, like one who feels himself the master. His voice is clear, and full, and rich, and you find yourself constantly listening for it, especially toward the last, when the musical tones are full of anguish or tender expostulation and disappointment, as he says to his sleeping disciples: “Could ye not watch with me one hour?”
As a general thing, he was well sustained.Judas was inimitable, and considering the character he had to take, may almost be said to be better than Joseph Maier himself. With the latter every heart was in sympathy, while for Judas there naturally could be but one feeling, and that of indignation, but so powerfully was he tempted by the artful Pharisees, and so hard and long did he struggle against the temptation, and so bitter was his repentance when the deed was done, that you have only a deep sympathy for him as he stands alone by himself and gives vent to his remorse. I can see him now so plainly as he walked the stage, wringing his hands in his despair, and catching at his long gray hair as he lamented his folly, and with bitter cries mourned for the dear friend he had betrayed. You do not see him hang himself, but you see him make a rush at the mountain ash, placed there for that purpose, and which hardly looks as if it would sustain him. But the curtain falls in time to shut out any inconsistencies, and poor Judas “goes to his own place,” and is seen no more.
Next toJudasin point of acting comes rash, impetuous and cowardlyPeter, who, even if you did not know the story, would impress you as a loving, true hearted man, sure to weep bitterly over thedenial called forth by fear, and to be among the first to seek the tomb of the risen Saviour.
John, the beloved, was a little too tame and quiet for the part he took, whileMagdalenwas an utter failure. One great feature of the play was the perfect self-forgetfulness of the actors, but this did not apply toMagdalen, whose self-consciousness was so apparent and whose voice was so unnatural and peculiar that we were sorry when she appeared and glad when she left the stage. Her personal appearance was quite contrary to one’s idea of theMagdalen, to whom the old masters always gave long, flowing hair of a reddish or golden hue, for hers was dark and so short and thin that to wipe one’s feet with it was an utter absurdity. She might, of course, have called in art to her assistance, and worn hair of wondrous length and thickness, but such deceptions are unknown to the Magdalen of Oberammergau, whose locks were all her own, as were the few attractions she possessed. The Madonna, on the contrary, was excellent, with a fair, sweet face, which would lead us to question the propriety of selecting so young a person for the mother of Christ, if we did not know that the Bavarian peasantry believe in the perpetual youth and beauty of the Virgin Mary. The parting scenebetween the mother and her son before he goes up to Jerusalem is very touching and sad, for Mary’s heart is wrung with dismal forebodings of some evil which will befall her child, and her voice is full of pathos and entreaty, while with infinite love and tenderness he bends over her trying to reassure and comfort her. This is the third act, and after the supper in Simon’s house, where Mary anointed the Saviour’s head, and Judas was filled with horror at the useless expenditure of the three hundred pence.
The second act, of which I omitted to speak, represented the high priests in session, and consulting together how to secure the person of Christ. Conspicuous among these wasCaiaphas, who was admirably represented by one of the Langs, and who never for an instant forgot the part he was acting, or ceased to be other than the proud and despotic man thirsting for the blood of the lowly Nazarene.
In the fourth act we had the temptation of Judas, and in the fifth the institution of the Lord’s Supper, when Christ washed his disciples’ feet, and foretold that one of them should betray him. Next we saw the Garden of Gethsemane, over which the shadows of night hung darkly, and where the Saviour, in hisgreat agony, prayed for the cup to pass from him, if possible; while, a little apart, his disciples were sleeping heavily. In the distance and gradually approaching nearer, the sound of loud, excited voices and hurried footsteps was heard, as the Roman soldiers, with the Pharisees and chief priests, approached, led by Judas, who even then seemed to hesitate before giving the kiss of betrayal. The text of the history is here followed very closely, and ends with the captivity of the Saviour, who is borne away by the soldiers.
By this time it was nearly twelve, and an intermission of an hour was given, in which the spectators hurried to their lunch and were again in their places by the time the cannon in the meadows announced that the drama was about to be resumed.
As in the morning we followed the Saviour from his entry into Jerusalem up to his betrayal, so in the afternoon we followed him to his crucifixion and death, and saw him first before Annas, then before Caiaphas, and then before Pilate, who strove so hard to save him, and who, hoping to awaken the sympathy of the people for the man whose life they sought, ordered Barabbas to be brought forth and placed side by side with the noble captive. Where they picked up Barabbas is a marvel. With longgrey hair, which looked as if it never had been combed, and a face from which you instinctively recoiled, he was led upon the stage by a halter or chain,—a marked contrast to the calm, quiet dignity of Joseph Maier, who, bound and bleeding from his recent scourging and the crown of thorns, stood beside him before the rabble thirsting for his blood and crying out, “Give us the Nazarene and let Barabbas go.”
Matters now are hurried on with great rapidity, and as the end comes nearer and nearer, the hush which all along has pervaded that vast concourse grows more and more profound, and the tension to which the peoples’ nerves are strung reaches its climax, when in the fifteenth act you see the long procession winding its way up to Calvary, with the white-faced, worn-out Saviour tottering under the weight of his heavy cross, while the brutal soldiery urge him to greater speed, and the infuriated mob rend the air with their shouts of hatred and derision. Then the tears which have so long been kept back overflow, and the heart throbs with a keen sense of love and pity and sympathy, not forJoseph Maier, but for the man Christ, to whom this, which now is only acting, was once a terrible reality, and who really trod the weary road to Calvary, and bore notonly the ponderous cross but the sins of the whole world. Every one was more or less affected, and the silence of the audience was almost painful in its intensity, though broken occasionally by a suppressed whisper or low cry, as the crowd increased and the boisterous shouts grew louder and the mob hurried the Saviour on, until from sheer exhaustion he fell upon the ground, and the cross was finally laid upon the shoulders of Simon of Cyrene, who conveniently appeared with a carpenter’s basket on his arm. This ascent to Calvary is, I think, more effective and affecting than the crucifixion, which is, however, a most marvelous piece of acting, and seems terribly real as you gaze at the central figure upon the cross, and fancy you see the death struggle from the beginning, until the white, worn face drops downward, and you are glad with a great gladness that all is over.
Thenceforward there is more stir among the people, and the tired ones, who have sat so long, unmindful of fatigue, change their positions and breathe more freely as they wait for the scene of the resurrection. This, some critics say, might be omitted—that the play is long enough without it; but I hardly agree with them, for what would the crucifixion avail without the rising from the dead?And when at last the rock is rolled away and Jesus is alive again and speaks to the loving Mary, you experience something of the same thrill you feel on Easter morning, and your thoughts go back to the dear home church across the sea, where you have so often heard the Easter bells and joined in the Easter songs. Loudly and joyfully the singers take up the chorus, “He is risen, He is risen,” and if your tongue were tuned to their language you would almost join them in their exultant strains. But a tableau representing the ascension is to follow, and you sit quietly till that is over; then, singing the final hallelujah chorus, the Schutzgeister slowly retire from the stage and the play is over, and we leave the theatre with a feeling that we have witnessed something which for all time to come, will, like some earnest, heart-stirring sermon, repeat itself over and over again in our minds, until we are made better by it.
THE END.
THE END.
THE END.
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTESP.48, changed “Adelaide said, ingly” to “Adelaide said, jingly”.Silently corrected obvious typographical errors and variations in spelling.Retained archaic, non-standard, and uncertain spellings as printed.
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