From the Lakes of Killarney to the Golden Horn

by Henry M. Field

But all these scenes of darkness and sorrow, of guilt and sacrifice, are now to find their culmination and their explanation in the death of our Lord, to which all ancient types converge, and on which all ancient symbols cast their faint and flickering, but not uncertain, light. As the scenes approach this grand climax, they grow in pathos and solemnity. Each is more tender and more effective than the last.

One of the most touching, as might be supposed, is that of the Last Supper, in which we recognize every one of the disciples, so closely has the grouping been studied from the painting of Leonardo da Vinci and other old masters with whom this was a favorite subject. There are Peter and John and the rest, all turning with an eager, anxious look towards their Master, and all with an indescribable sadness on their faces. Again the scene changes, and we see our Lord in the Garden of Gethsemane. There are the three disciples slumbering, overcome with weariness and sorrow; and there on the sacred mount at midnight

"The suffering Saviour prays alone."

Again the curtain falls, and the chorus, in tones still more plaintive and mournful, announce that the end is near. The curtain rises, and we behold the Crucifixion. Here there are thirty or forty persons introduced. In the foreground are three or four figures "casting lots," careless of the awful scene that is going on above them. The Roman soldier is looking upward with his spear. The three Marys are at the feet of their Lord; Mary Magdalen nearest of all, with her arms clasped around the cross; Mary, the mother of Christ, looking up with weeping eyes; and a little farther Mary, the wife of Cleophas. The two thieves are hanging, with their arms thrown over the cross-tree, as they are represented in many of the paintings of the Crucifixion. But we scarcely notice them, as all eyes are fixed on the Central Figure. The man who takes the part of the Christus in this Divine Tragedy, has made a study of it for years, and must have trained himself to great physical endurance for a scene which must tax his strength to the utmost. His arms are extended, his hands and feet seem to be pierced with the nails, and flowing with blood. Even without actual wounds the attitude itself must be extremely painful. How he could support the weight of his body in such a posture was a wonder to all. It was said that he rested one foot on something projecting from the cross, but even then it seemed incredible that he could sustain such a position for more than a single instant. Yet in the performance of the Passion Play it is said that he remains thus suspended twenty minutes, and is then taken down, almost in a fainting condition.

Some may ask, How did the sight affect me? Twenty-four hours before I could not have believed that I could look upon it without a feeling of horror, but so skilfully had the points of the sacred drama been rendered thus far, that my feelings had been wound up to the highest pitch, and when the curtain rose on that last tremendous scene, I was quite overcome, the tears burst from my eyes, I felt as never before, under any sermon that I ever heard preached, how solemn and how awful was the tragedy of the death of the Son of God. So excited were we, and to appearance all in the building, that it was a relief when the curtain fell.

As if to give a further relief to the over-wrought feelings of the audience, occasioned by this mournful sight, the next scene was of a different character. It was not the Resurrection, though it might have been intended to symbolize it, as in it the actor appears as if he had been brought back from the dead. It is the story of Joseph, which is introduced to illustrate the method of Divine Providence, by which is brought "Light out of Darkness." We see the aged form of Jacob, bowed with grief at the loss of his son. Then comes the marvellous succession of events by which the darkness is turned to light. Bewildered at the news of his son being in Egypt, at first he cannot believe the good tidings, till at length convinced, he rises up saying "Joseph my son, is yet alive; I will go and see him before I die." Then follows the return to Egypt, and the meeting with him who was dead and is alive again, when the old man falls upon his neck, and Joseph's children (two curly-headed little fellows whom we had the privilege of kissing before the day was over) were brought to his knees to receive his blessing. This was a domestic rather than a tragic scene, and such is the natural pathos of the story, that it touched every heart.

The last scene of all was the Ascension, which was less impressive than some that had gone before, as it could of course only be imperfectly represented. The Saviour appears standing on the mount, with outstretched hands, in the midst of his disciples, but there the scene ends, as it could go no further; there could be no descending cloud to receive him out of their sight.

With this last act the curtain fell. The whole representation had occupied three hours.

Now as to the general impression of this extraordinary scene: As a piece of acting it was simply wonderful. The parts were filled admirably. The characters were perfectly kept. Even the costumes were as faithfully reproduced as in any of those historical dramas which are now and then put upon the stage, such as tragedies founded on events in ancient Greek or Roman history, where the greatest pains are taken to render every detail with scrupulous fidelity. This is very extraordinary, especially when it is considered that this is all done by a company of Bavarian peasants, such as might be found in any Alpine village. The explanation is, that this representation is the great work of their lives. They have their trades, like other poor people, and work hard for a living. But their great interest, that which gives a touch of poetry to their humble existence, and raises them above the level of other peasants, is the representation of this Passion Play. This has come down to them from their fathers. It has been acted among them for two hundred years. There are traditions handed down from one generation to another of the way in which this or that part should be performed. In the long intervals of ten years between one representation and another, they practice constantly upon their several parts, so that at the last they attain a wonderful degree of perfection.

As to the propriety of the thing: To our cold Protestant ideas it seems simply monstrous, a horrid travesty of the most sacred scenes in the Word of God. So I confess it would appear to me if done by others. Anywhere else what I have witnessed would appear to me almost like blasphemy; it would be merely acting, and that of the worst kind, in which men assume the most sacred characters, even that of our blessed Lord himself.