THE PASSION PLAY AT SELZACH.

Otago Witness, Issue 2253, 6 May 1897, Page 49

THE PASSION PLAY AT SELZACH.

BELIiBAVIA.

Selzach is a quaint little village at the foot of one of the best-known peaks of the Juraa —the Hazenmatt. We made a day excursion there from Lucerne, in order to see the Passion Play, which we had been told ran

much on the same lines as tbe world-* renowned one at Ober-Ammergau. We had not seen Ober-Ammergau, therefore personally could not draw comparisons — but what we saw at Sslzsch served to convince us that a Passion Play i 3 the moot reverential and pathetic of representations of our Saviour's Life, Death, and Resurrection, and not to be looked upon as otherwise than a religious devotional exercise by both onlookers and performers.

The Adoration of the Cross formed the opening tableau of the afternoon performance — a number of youthfnl figures tastefully grouped round a cross, prettily draped and picturesquely posed. Then came the chorus on to the stage, 10 women and 10 men, with draperies of scarlet and white. These appeared at intervals during the performance, wearing always the same drapery until the Bcene of the' Crucifixion — they then wore black. They sang melodiously and with ease and precision, filing off and on the stage with well-drilled exactitude of movement.

We were agreeably surprised to find we were not only to witness tableaux and listen to a prologue during this part of the play. In the scenes of the Accusation of Jesus, Jeaus before Caiaphas, of Jesus before Pilate, and Jesus crowned with thorns, we had dialogue and acting of a high order. For the most part Jesus stood dumb before his accusers, but when at last he spoks in answer to Pilate, who accused him of saying he was the Son of God, the sweet pathos of the tones in which those words " Thou hast said " were uttered made us marvel with awe. On the oonntenance of thiß village watchmaker pßrsonifyicg Him who died for us was_ a look of divinity, of sweet, sublime patience and suffering, touching beyond all words. No description of the expression of his features could ever convey to a reader tho soul-felt sublimity and grandeur of the man's whole bearing during the closing scenes of Christ's sufferings and death. Tbe look which he cast on Pilate when that potentate turns to the messenger who brings, him news that his wife " has suffered much in a dream because of him," was eloquent of pity for his accusers. Pilate then, in the presence of th& multitude, washes his hands of the affair, and Christ is led away and Barabbas released. Barabbas was a loathsome-looking ruffian — the Selz^ch people evidently look upon him as " all bad," and so have characterised him here. I thought to myself as I looked: " This might be Beelzebub, the very Prince of Davils." »

Beneath the weight of the Cross, crowned with thorns, spit upon and mocked, we presently saw Christ fainting beneath his load on the way to Golgotha. The crowd press him sorely, the agony of his suffering is written in his deathly pallor and in his griefstricken eyes. They have cried out that he is to be crucified ; they have demanded of Pilate he shall go to his death ; and their will is granted. Bearing his cross he taken tbe road to Golgotha. Simon, the Cyrenian, pressss forward. The curtain falls. We know that Simon took the cross from him — but we are haunted by the agonised face on which the curtain descended. His meeting with his mother brings tears to our eyes. We can feel for her. This Virgin Mary is a woman and a mother. The parting from him whose divine mission she acknowledges, but whom, because be was born of her, she loves with an* intensely human love, tegs at her heart-strings with a force that well -nigh overpowers her. She is heart-broken.

We decided that M. Keener, the Christ we had come to reverence so highly, mußt be a very strong mas. During the scenes relative to the crucifixion he was on the cross 20 minutes. To speak of this to people who have not seen such a play is to often draw from them tbe exclamation, " Horrible ! Horrible ! " But it is not so. The intense reverence of the whole thing is so sublime, no feeling of horror is compatible with it. The hands and feat appeared nailed. We seemed to be looking on the actual scene of Christ crucified — save in one respect. He was alone, the two thieves who were crucified with Him were not visible. Whether or not the limits of the stage, or the difficulty of finding men willing to occupy such a trying, position, was answerable for this we do not know. At the foot of the cross knelt Mary Magdalene, and close by stood bis mother, the centre of a sorrowing group.

You might have heard a pin drop in that vaßt hall, in which some 800 people were assembled. They were looking at Christ crucified. It was solemn and awe-inspiring — a representation of what had once actually occurred. A quiver like a sigh — the sigh of pent-up emotions — ran through the audience as the drop-scene descended. The descent from the cross reminded us of Rubens celebrated picture in the cathedral at Antwerp. We saw the body placed in the sepulchre, and waited in silence for the resurrection. It came. At the mouth of the tomb stood Christ, looking in very truth as one risen from the dead — and down, down came the clouds, wrapping him in their glory, until to

the softest strains of music he vanished slowly from view, and the disciples fell on their knees in worship. It was all over. The gentle sounds of people stirring from their seats roußed vs — but there still remained a feeling of awe and solemnity which had been induced by what we had seen. Quietly everyone left the building. — Belgravia.,

ST. BERNARD AND ITS DOGS.

We made way through the pastures of the Plan de Proz strewn with great boulders. Then we entered the rocky defile of the Pas de Marengo. The mountains were closing all about us. Cold and keen and sharp grew the air. Snow was everywhere. We crossed over the Drance to the wild and desolate pass of the Grande Combe. D3ep snow lay upon the road through which the little horse struggled bravely. We were fortunate, for very often the .road is impassable to vehiolep, and travellers have- to wade in the best way they can through many feet of snow, finding LhemEelves sometimes half buried in an avalanche. The atmosphere is icy cold. We are approaching the tops of the mountains, and if there is any wind it blows over the snow fialds that cuts you in two. We passed through a tunnel made on account of these avalanches, and once on the other side, above us, cold and grey and lon6ly, stood the farfamed monastery. It was about 5 o'clock and still broad daylight. Anything more desolate-looking could not be conceived. Our arrival was not expected, and not a creature was to be seen ; neither monk nor dog. It was distinctly depressing. A few more struggles through the snow on the part of the horse and we reached the entrance. As we did so two or three dogs came forward. Wo touched the head of one of them and he snarled and snappad, and just grazed our glove. This was our welcome. After that we did not attempt to make friends. And there was this characteristic about the dogs of St. Bernard, that they did not seem to wish to make friends with anyone. We thought they weie kept on short rations, and this possibly makes them slightly aavage. It was almost as though they were above the friendship of man, and existed only for their high mission— the searching and saving of life. Whatever the cause, the dogs disappointed us.

No one came forward to receive us. We had not dashed up to the entrance with the commotion of a coach and four, but silently, stealthily through the snow, with no more sound than the messenger of death. Our driver went into tho cold stone hall and a loud bell echoed through the building. In a few moments one of the brothers appeared in a black robe with cowl thrown back— one of the canons, as they call themselves, the clavendier of the establishment. He greeted us with great hospitality, and said we were the only visitors who had arrived that day. They had not expected any. By some oversight our arrival had not bean telephoned from Proz. The dogs were restlessly moving about. We mentioned the unfriendly welcome we had received from one of them. " They are out of condition," replied the monk. "It is their feeding hour too, and this makes them savage, even with each other. I fear that our dogs are considered by the outside world as a species of canine angel. They have a romantic mission to perform, appealing strongly to human admiration. But thoir nature is vary much that of all degs. We do not train them to ba the companions of man, reserving all their sympathies for their work. It is quite true," in answer to a question, " that you mmb be a little wary of the St. Bernard, magnificent as he is. Everything depends upon the breed ; and where there has been a flaw in the disposition of the ancestor, he is capable of treachery. Especially is he sometimes given to attacking the hand that feeds him, the master whom of all others he should defend with his life." * " It certainly is not fche reputation he bears in the world," we returned. " Bat yonr doge look a little dilapidated. Have they been ill 7 " " Indeed they have," returned the monk pathetic illy. "They have had an epidemic we could not master. We have lost noarly all, and have only eight dogs left. Next year and the year after we hop's to bring them up again to something like their proper number." Thus talking he led tbe way into the great dining room set apart for visitors — a. very dreary room. The whole place was perish- , ingly cold. There was not .a spark of fire anywhere ; nor did they attempt to light any. So far they fell short in their hospitality. We had never felt anything like the freezing atmosphere ; never anything so penetrating, so Icy, so deathly. A long table ran down two sides of the room, Round the fireplace was a large circle of empty chair 3, intensely melancholy-looking. This was the fireplace of which we, had read many a description. An enormous chimney piled up with huge blazing logs that crackled and flamed and cheered the circle of travellers, said those descriptions. What we beheld in reality was a very small grate capable of holding a handful of coals— the crackling faggot and the blazing hsarth were dreams of the imagination. We should have been thankful even for the handful of coals, and expected to see it appear ; but they made no attempt to light it, and we perhaps erred in not makirg the request. The monk then conducted ua up the cold staircase, through dungeon-like passages, equally built of stone, to our bedrooms. Small windows looked out upon a snow world ; here, too, the atmosphere was freezing. — " The Valley of the Phone," by Charles Wood, F.R.C.S., in the Argosy.