Castellinaria, and Other Sicilian Diversions

by Henry Festing Jones

We were then in the house of the Madonna, and S. John came and told her and the other Maries all that had happened to her son. Each of the holy women carried a handkerchief and the lamentation became monotonous.

Judas had received the thirty pieces of silver and began his remorse by taking them, in a red purse, back to the priests, who scoffed at him and turned him out. His rage and despair were extreme and gave the audience an opportunity to relieve their feelings by laughing.

Before the last scene Gregorio in his ordinary clothes came on and told the audience the programme for the next day. He also apologised for presenting the Passion with marionettes, he usually performs it with living actors, he himself being the Nazarene. This year, however, he did not feel strong enough to undertake the part or to get all the other actors together; and he appealed to our consideration and begged us to accept marionettes.

In the days when Giovanni Grasso acted in his own Machiavelli theatre, before he went on tour and acquired his world-wide reputation, they used to do the Passion there also, and he was Judas. Sometimes he doubled his

part and did Annas as well, or Pilate or the good centurion, making any necessary alterations in those places where his two characters ought to have appeared together. It would be a great thing to see Giovanni as Judas, but I suppose he will never do it again.

I noticed that all the figures had been newly dressed and painted for the occasion and the pupils of their eyes were freshly varnished to catch the light. About the soldiers there was still some reminiscence of paladins, but the principal characters had been prepared with due regard to the works of the great masters—though here again I suppose they were really following the traditions of the theatre as preserved by the pictures. The figures gained by hiding their legs, but Joseph of Arimathæa and Nicodemus had not this advantage. They were princes and were like Shakespearean young men of the brilliant water-fly type, such as Osric. Misandro was also a prince. He was a swaggerer and behaved as badly as any paladin, but he was not a buffo. When they do the Natività at Christmas a buffo is permitted, he accompanies the Shepherds as their servant, and I should like to see him. Misandro was all in golden armour, as fine a figure as one could expect a Prince of Judæa to be. He had a contrast in Claudio Cornelio the good centurion. Claudio was left alone with Christ and confessed his faith, while a bright light from the cinematograph box illuminated the stage as though to signify that if we believe, all will become clear. The most successful of the figures was Pilate. He was in black with a red sash and his robes fell in folds of great dignity.

The words were all declaimed either from memory or extempore, and there were several speakers. The one who had most to do did it with a great deal of energy, especially as Judas and Misandro. Gregorio spoke for Christ and a woman spoke for the women and the angels.

The Christ was of course a failure, in art all Christs are failures, even the Christ in the chapels at Varallo-Sesia, even the Christ in the pictures by the masters. The Child

Christ may be a success, at least we can sometimes fancy that that baby might become the Saviour of the World, he reminds us of those babies we have all seen in real life with a look in their eyes as though they had solved the riddle of the universe. But the Man Christ does not convince; we only tolerate him because we have been brought up to acquiesce in the convention. The Christs of pictures and statues are not, however, such failures as the Christ at Ober-Ammergau; by keeping still and not trying to appear so real they leave more to the imagination. If all these fail how can a marionette be expected to succeed? Hiding its legs when it moves is not enough. Gregorio knew he was attempting the impossible and did his best to save the figure from being worse than it might have been, but the result was rather as though it were all the time apologising for having undertaken the part. He made it move very little and very slowly, so slowly that the action of the drama was interrupted. He allowed it no gestures, except an occasional raising of the hand. He spoke for it only the few words given to Christ in the gospels. When it caused a miracle, there came a great light, as when the good centurion confessed his faith, and there was music. When it entered, the drum beat a Saracen rhythm and there was music again. By these means the figure was detached from the others and appeared as though belonging to another world. When the marionettes do the Orioles play at Palermo, Christ speaks much more than the words from the gospels and is treated more like one of the other characters, at least nothing is done to suggest that they are giving the Passion with the part of Christ as nearly omitted as possible.

The music at Catania was faint and scrappy. Gounod’s Meditation on Bach’s First Prelude occurred frequently, but it seldom got beyond the first ten or twelve bars, sometimes not beyond the second or third. And there were similar short references to some of the more sentimental melodies of Bellini and Verdi. It was not intended to distract the