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Copyright 1909, by C. E. Zimmerman Co.—No. 7
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THE JACKBON ARGUB.
MISS INEZ DAUGHTRY
Writes Interestingly of the
Passion Play
AS SEEN BY HER ON HER
TRIP ABROAD.
[Notk.—The first part of this interesting
letter appeared in last week's Argus, it being
impracticable, on recount of Its length and
the demand for advertising space, to publish
the entire letter iu one issue.]
After supper three of the girls
came to my room to listen while I
read the account of the Passion
week in the life of our Lord. As’
I closed the book and stood in the
window, gazing up at the white
cross, dimly outlined on its crag
above, and the church, a dark mass
looming opposite, my thoughts
turned to these mountain people
and the origin and significance of
their play. Prom the earliest times
the Bavarian Tyrolese have been a
play-loving people. Wood-carving
has been their chief means of sup
port and play-acting almost their
sole diversion. Long before Caspar
Schusler broke the quarantine and
brought the death-dealing plague
to the village, they had been giving
miracle and passion plays. Secure
in their remote mountain fastness,
untroubled by the outside world,
theirs was a faith almost primitive.
So, when they gathered and poured
out their hearts to the Creator in au
agonizing cry for deliverance, prom
ising to show forth His sufferings
and death to a careless world, they
did it in earnestness and faith.
And, believing, they received.
Prom that hour the dread destroyer
staid his hand, and the Oberarn
mergauers kept their vow.
Very early the next morning, just
as Praulein Koff tapped on my door
to wake me, there came across the
valley the sound of bells. Silver
chimes were ringing out the call to
morning prayer. 1 rose and again
stood in the window. Prom all di
rections, through the crooked streets,
across the wet fields, came the play
ers, filing into the church, where
they engaged in iirayer for the
blessing of God upon the play
about to begin. It was raining
steaddy when, a little after seven,
we made our way to the theater.
At the boom of a cannon the doors
were opened and the building was
rapidly filled. A motley crowd
gathered. The curious, the earn
est, were there; rich and poor,
priest and layman ; those who came
to scoff and would doubtless remain
to pray; representatives of
nationality, who had been drawn
across seas and continents, impell
ed by the influence of One the great
army of the martyred, whose name,
of countless others, sounds today
down the vista of centuries.
While people were finding seats,
greeting acquaintances or sitting in
eager exfieetation, I glanced over
my English-German copy of the
play. In the words of Father
Daisenbarger, who wrote the Y>res
ent text, “The representation of the
Passion is arranged and performed
on the basis of the entire Scrip
tures.” Instead of simply setting
forth the story as it stands in the
New Testament, he has connected
it, incident by incident, with the
types and prophecies of the Old,
illustrating, by tableaux from it,
each event in the Passion. I also
noticed something distinctly classic
about the play. The old Greek
chorus has been revived, and with
it a speaker of prologues.
While these things were taking
place in the theater I knew that
behind the lowered curtain were
assembled the five hundred actors
of the play, kneeling about their
director or the village priest, repeat
ing with uplifted hands, “Unser
Vater.”
Promptly at eight the first notes
of the overture from the orchestra
filled the house; and just as these
strains died away the chorus ap
peared, walking with slow, meas
ured steps from either side of the
proscenium, meeting with the Pro
logist in the center. The curtain
of the temple-like structure in the
open stage then rose and disclosed
the first tableau, “Adam and Eve
driven from the garden,” while the
chorus sang of humanity’s banish
ment from Eden’s joys. Another
tableau followed. Kneeling on either
side, in adoration of the cross, were
the exquisitely posed figures of
young girls and little children,
while the chorus softly and rever
ently intoned a prayer of thanks
giving for God’s mercy in past dire
extremity. This tableau over, the
chorus had hardly disappeared be
fore the sounds of a strange clamor
were heard, a noise of singing and
of joyful acclamation, and the cur
tain rose upon a truly marvelous
scene. Through the streets of Je
rusalem came pouring throngs of
men, women and children, their
costumes showing the warm, bright
colors of the East, waving palm
branches and shouting “Hosanna
to the Son of David.” The sound
of tumult soon resolved into a song,
a hymn of praise sung bv five hun
dred voices. The crowd parted,
placing palm branches on the
ground, and in the distance ap
peared the youthful John, the be
loved disciple, leading a small don
key upon which was seated the
Christ, whose countenance seemed
a counterpart of the one which
become so familiar through paint
ing and sculpture. Looking upon
the noble, beautiful face of this
Christus as he slipped from the
donkey and stood with hands out
stretched in blessing, whatever
scruples I may have had at seeing
the Sou of God impersonated by a
mortal creature gave way to a per
fect sympathy with him. As lie
turned from the t,emple to find it
filled with money-changers, sellers
of sheep and doves, lie indignantly
reproached the priests and guardi
ans, saying, “My house shall be
called a house of prayer, but ye
have made it a den of thieves.”
He overturned the money-changers’
tables, and opened the cages of
doves. The birds, thus set at lib
erty, fjew out and upward, above
the heads ©f the excited dealers,
across the open stage and into the
sky. Converting a small rope into
a whip of cords, Jesus drove out
the angry traders, rudely cutting
short their lamentation. Then,
amid acclamations from the chil
dren and indignant mutterings of
the priests, He retired with Ilis dis
ciples to the inner court of the tem
ple, there to pray to the Father,
leaving the Sanhedrim to meet and
take action in the matter of this
Nazarine whose teachings threat
ened the religion of their fathers.
Thus began the Passion Play, with
the principal actor at Jerusalem,
thd scene of the greatest act of self
sacrifice the world can ever know.
Throughout the entire play 1 was
impressed with the perfect staging.
The artistic massing of many fig
ures in a small space, the well-bal
anced tableaux and the wonderful
glow and richness of Oriental col
oring were astonishing when I re
membered that the actors, the di
rector, the author of the text of the
play, the composer of the music,
the designer and executor of the
costumes, were all peasants of Ober
ammergau. The play admits of no
artificial lights, no powder or paint,
no false wigs and beards, none of
our modern stage trappings. The
actors simply grow into their roles
by merging their own individuali
ties into the characters they repre
sent. And the result —who will say
it is not remarkable?
One of the many beautiful inci
dents brought out was the anoint
ing of the feet of the Master by
Mary Magdalene, in the house of
Simon at Bethany. But most hu
manly touching of all was the scene
of the leave-taking between Jesus
and His mother. Nothing could be
more infinitely pathetic than this
wonderfully pictured struggle be
tween human affection and divine
resignation. “My son, when shall
I see thee again?” the afflicted
mother asked. “There, beloved
mother, where the Scripture shall
be fulfilled: ‘He was led as a lamb
to the slaughter, yet he opened not
his mouth.’ ” And full of signifi
cance was the reply. When next
she saw her son He was fainting
under the weight of the cross,
crowned with thorns and urged for
ward by the pitiless multitude.
Shortly after this affecting parting,
the Master and His little company
again in Jerusalem, an envoy of
the Sanhedrim sought out Judas,
laying before him a proposition so
alluring that his weak nature was
not proof against it, and he agreed
to betray his Lord for thirty pieces
of silver. Then followed his fine
monologue in which he considered
his action and almost repented, but
balancing the certainty of material
gain against the probability of con-
tinued poverty and possible perse
cution, he resolved to play his ap
pointed role and departed to find
Jesus. Among the twenty-six tab
leaux which formed the connecting
link between the two divisions of
our Scriptures, the two which ush
ered in the Last Supper were most
striking and most fitly presented
here. The first was the “Fall of
manna in the wilderness”; the sec
ond, “Return of the spies from the
land of Canaan,” carrying colos
sal bunches of grapes. It will
readily be seen that these typified
the bread and wine of the new cov
enant. When the curtain rose upon
the scene of the Last Supper it dis
closed a picture affecting enough to
touch the most worldly, and beau
tiful enough in its artistic concep
tion for the inspiration of any ar
tist. Indeed, it strongly reminded
me of Leotiar do da Vinci’s great
picture which 1 had seen in Milan.
There had been a steady downpour
all the morning, but now, as the
Christ glided with gentleness, dig
nity and grace from one to another
in Ilis ministrations, the clouds
lifted and a ray of sunlight cast a
brightness around His head. The
exquisite blendings and shadings of
color were like old stained glass in
some of the cathedral windows we
have seen, or the canvases of the
Italian masters. During the Sup
per Judas slipped away and was
next seen driving his bargain with
the Sanhedrim. Then followed the
agonizing hours in the Garden of
Gethsemane, where, forgotten by
all earthly friends, the Redeemer
cried in anguish, “If it be possible,
let this cup pass from me!” and an
angel came and ministered unto
Him. The first half of the play
closed with the leading of the Son
of Man to prison.
At 2 o’clock we again assembled,
called u])on to witness scenes so
harrowing that I cannot remotely
approach a true description. The
frenzied despair of Judas when,
having awakened to a realization
of his infamous deed, he entreated
with the priests and elders to spaie
the life of the pale Gallilean, and,
being scornfully refused, departed
to end his miserable existence in
the field bought with blood-money,
shows him to be' without question
the finest actor in the Passion Play.
I do not believe there could be a
finer conception of the part than
that given by this humble painter
of Oberammergau. The mock trials
before the high priest, the
ing of the prisoner, the moving rep
resentation of Peter’s denial, the
sending of the prisoner back and
forth between courts of injustice,
showed more clearly than I had
ever before understood what meant
the suffering from the human point
of view of the wonderful sacrifice
of the Lamb of God who taketli
away the sins of the world. A
climax was reached when Jesus
stood, at last, by Pilate’s orders,
before the enraged mob which had
been aroused and incited by Annas
and Caiphas. The Roman Gov
ernor, knowing with what enthu
siasm the prisoner had been greeted
by this same people a few short
days before, and anxious and de
termined to liberate the accused
one, had’ hoped that pity would be
awakened in their hearts by the
sight of this patient, suffering,
thorn-crowned Jesus. Pointing to
Him, who stood robed in the garb
of mock majesty placed upon Him
by the Roman soldiers, a scarlet
robe upon His bleeding shoulders,
the crown of thorns deeply wound
ing His forehead, a reed in His
hand, Pilate cried in tones that be
spoke his own admiration and be
lief in the divine mission of the
Man of Sorrows, “Behold, the
Man!” Strange was the contrast
of this wild, savage mob clamoring
for innocent blood with the wor
shiping, praising multitude who
crowded Ilis way on the triumphal
entry to Jerusalem a few short days
before. In answer to Pilate’s shock
ed question, “Shall 1 crucify your
King?” they cried, “Crucify Him!
II is blood be upon us and our chil
dren!” and were ready to drive
Him to Golgotha the moment the
Governor, having washed his hands
in the presence of the multitude,
broke a staff and flung it in the
midst of them, exclaiming, in great
bitterness, “Now take Him hence
and crucify Him!”
On the way to Calvary, in the
, midst of those whose pleasure it
was to see Him suffer, Jesus again
(continued on page 4.)
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