stand during their recital, and yet more by the curious device which the framers of the Ammergau drama have adopted to throw life into these moralising allusions to the ancient preludes of the Christian history. As they touch on the events of the Old Testament, which appear to bear more or less nearly on the evangelical incident about to be represented, they open their ranks-the curtain of the theatre draws up, and discloses at the back of the stage the event to which the recitation refers, exhibited in a tableau vivant, composed of the peasants, who, down to the smallest children, remain fixed in their attitudes till the curtain falls over them, again to rise and disclose another of like kind, arranged with incredible rapidity, again expounded, and again withdrawn from view, whilst the chorus proceeds with its task of didactic exposition. These tableaux, which thus form an integral part of the choral representation, are repeated at the beginning of each. scene, and, though often so remotely or fancifully connected with the main action of the drama as rather to clog its progress, yet powerfully contribute towards the variety and the continuous flow of the performance. They are of the most unequal interest. Some such as the rejection of Vashti, corresponding to the rejection of Jerusalem; the insult of Hanun to David's ambassadors, corresponding to the mockery of Christ; and the elevation of Joseph in Egypt, contrasted with the mock elevation of Christ in the hall of Pilate-are tame both in conception and execution. But others-such as the appearance of Joseph to his envious brethren, Adam labouring in the sweat of his brow, the gathering of the manna in the wilderness, and the carrying of the grapes, corresponding respectively to the councils of the Sanhedrim, the Agony, the Last Supperare at once touching and graceful, even when most childlike in ideas. In all, the immobility of the figures, sometimes consisting of hundreds, is most remarkable. In all, the choral odes derive from them a combination of pictorial and poetical representation as singular as it is effective. The fine passage in which, after the false kiss of Joab by the rock of Gibeon, the rocks of Gibeon, and through them the surrounding rocks of the Ammergau valley, are invoked to avenge the treachery of Judas, is a stroke of natural pathos, which whilst it exactly recalls the analogous allusions in the choral odes of Sophocles, could be reproduced nowhere but on a scene such as that which is here described. (3.) After the first prologue, and the first tableau (which represents the expulsion from Paradise), begins the regular action of the drama, which, alternating with the choral odes and tableaux, proceeds with unflagging continuity (only broken by one hour's rest in the middle of the day) from eight in the morning till four in the afternoon. This untiring energy of action is, no doubt, a powerful element in sustaining the interest, and reproducing the animation of the actual story. The first part begins with the Triumphal entry, and closes with the capture in the garden of Gethsemane. (1) The first scene introduces us at once to the Chief Figure in the sacred story. The wide stage, with the passages approaching it, is suddenly filled with the streaming multitude of the Triumphal entry, of all ages, chiefly masses of children, mingled together in gay costume, throwing down their garments in the way, and answering, with jubilant shouts, to a spirited ode, which, in this instance rising above the ordinary music of the rest of the lyrical pieces, is sung by the exultant chorus.1 Hail to Thee! hail! O David's Son ! In God's great name Thou comest nigh, To hail its Lord. Hosanna! He who dwells in heaven Send from above all help to Thee! Hosanna! He who sits on high Preserve Thee everlastingly! This and the following literal translations are given as specimens of the lyrical parts of this rustic drama. Blessed be the life that springs anew In David's house, in David's race; To glorious David's glorious Heir, All nations, bring your songs of praise! Hosanna! to our King's own Son, Sound through the heavens far and wide! Hosanna! on his Father's throne May He in majesty abide ! Hail to Thee! hail! It is amidst this crowded overflow of human faces, that there appears seated on the ass, the majestic Figure, known at once by the traditional costume of purple robe and crimson mantle, but still more by the resemblance to the traditional countenance of the Redeemer. Of this appearance, a gifted eye-witness in 1850 wrote that, from that moment, in her imagination, "This "living representation would take the 66 place of all the pictures and statues she "had ever seen, and would remain indel 66 more ibly impressed on her mind for ever." In every such representation, of whatever kind, the Ideal Person will still, to every religious and every cultivated mind, remain unapproached, and therefore unprofaned. But each will, in proportion to its excellence, exhibit some aspect of the Divine Original, in a form more impressive and intelligible than has been obtained by any previous study or reading. That which, in the character now brought forward, most strikes the spectator as with a new sense of the truth of the Gospel narrative, is the dignity and grace with which the Christ moves, as it were, above the multitude and above the action of the drama, although bearing the chief part in it. It is felt that from this one character is derived the true tragical interest attaching to every other person and incident in all the subsequent scenes. On the common mass of the audience the same impression appears in a less conscious, but a still more certain, form, through the increased stillness which pervades the theatre whenever this Figure appears. But this pre-eminence is maintained, not by any acting, rather by the absence of acting. The clear distinctness of the words which are uttered makes them heard and felt, without the slightest approach to declamation. Every gesture implies a purpose, and yet there is not a shade of affectation. The disciples, the priests, the money-changers, the children, press around, and yet the figure of the Christ remains distinct from them all. Few have ever read the sacred narrative without a sense of the difficulty of conceiving how He, who is there described, could have passed through the world, as in it, and yet not of it. It is one advantage of the Ammergau representation that it gives us, at least, a glimpse of the possibility of such a passage through, yet above, the world. To dwell on all the details in which this idea is carried out would be superfluous to those who have seen the spectacle, and unintelligible to those who have not. It is enough here to say, that amidst all the changing scenes which follow, and of which some notice will be taken as we proceed, the identity of character in the first appearance is never lost. (2) As the Christ is the character in the drama, where the effect is sustained by the absence of all art and the independence of all the agitations of human passion, so the next most important character is that on which most effort has been bestowed, and in which the play of imagination and dramatic invention has been allowed the freest scope. It would be a curious inquiry to ascertain how far the conception of Judas Iscariot is traditional, or how far derived from the fancy of the last revisers of the drama. It is a certain and an instructive fact, that in the modernisation of the spectacle this internal development of motives has taken the place of the demons which the earlier machinery reproduced in outward shape as Judas's companions. This accommodation to what may have been thought modern prejudice is in every sense as it should be: it is not only a more refined, but a more scriptural representation of the history of the Traitor; and the coincidence of the two, as thus brought out in the drama, is well worthy of the attention of the theological student. But the particular mode in which the motives of Judas are conceived is peculiar, and must be stated at length. into which he is goaded by their calm He is conspicuous amongst the Apostles, not only from the well-known red beard and yellow robe (as of envy), with which he always appears, but from his prominent position, always pressing for ward, even beyond Peter himself, the restless, moving, active, busy personage of the whole group. The scene of the breaking of the box of precious ointment is worked to the utmost. The silent profusion of the Magdalene and the eager economy of Judas are contrasted from the two sides of the stage in startling opposition. From this moment a monomania, a fixed idea of replacing the 300 pence, takes possession of his mind. He shakes his empty money-bag. He recurs to the subject with a pertinacity bordering, and apparently meant to border, on the ludicrous. The thirty pieces of silver are represented as an equivalent for the loss. He is filled with nervous apprehensions as to the destitution of himself and his companions, if their Master should imperil Himself at Jerusalem. In this state he is left alone to his own thoughts, and, in a scene perhaps too elaborately drawn out, he rushes to and fro between the distractions of his worse and better nature; until the balance is turned by the deputation from the chief priests suddenly entering, playing on his delusion, getting round him, and entrapping him into the fatal compact. The absorbing passion is brought out forcibly once more, when, with a greediness of the actual coin, truly Oriental, and (if. not suggested by some travelled or learned prompter) wonderfully resembling the Oriental reality, he counts over the silver pieces in the presence of the high priests. But the compunctions of conscience are never wholly repressed. The deadness of the grasp with which he takes the hands of his accomplices in the compact is very expressive. The shuffling agitation during only by a piercing shriek as the curtain fell; the Last Supper; the outbreak of remorse before the Sanhedrim; the frenzy No other personage is so lifted above the incidents of the drama as to claim a separate notice. But if none of them rise above the general action, none of them fall below it, with the exception of the female characters. In former times, as in the ancient classical drama, these characters were all sustained by men; and the failure of the present practice well illustrates the reasonableness, almost the necessity, of the ancient usage. Not to speak of the inferiority of the conception of their parts perhaps in themselves more difficult the inadequacy of any ordinary female voice to fill the immense theatre in the open air is painfully felt; and the fulness and distinctness of the speeches of the men brings out forcibly the contrast of the thin, shrill voices of 1 It is a curious fact, and confirms the remarks made above, that the circumstances of Judas's death have been, and are gradually being, softened down in the representation. First, the devils who carried him off were dropped; then the swine devouring his entrails; next, in 1850, his death was indicated now, in 1860, the curtain falls, and the shriek is not heard. the women who have to act the parts, happily less prominent in the drama than might have been expected, of the Virgin Mary, the Magdalene, and Martha. Possibly, the peculiar accent of German women, especially in the lower classes, may conduce to this result on English ears, beyond what would be the case with their own countrymen. (3) In accordance with this prominence of the character of Judas, the one event round which the whole of this portion of the drama revolves, perhaps out of proportion to its place in the sacred narrative, is the Betrayal. The first preparation for it occurs in the first scene of the entry into the Temple, through the intervention of an element, the importance of which must be ascribed to the fancy of the framers of the drama. It would almost seem, as if with a view of bringing home the moral of the sacred history to the minds of the humbler classes, for whom the representation is chiefly designed, an intentional emphasis had been given to the incident of turning the buyers and sellers out of the Temple. The incident itself is brought out with much force in the loud and solemn utterance of the words, "My house is called a house of prayer"-the sudden overturning of the table of the moneychangers the live pigeons flying off into the open air above the heads of the spectators the wild confusion and dispersion of the traffickers themselves. Immediately afterwards are heard their cries of "Revenge, revenge!" and throughout the subsequent scenes they are made the malignant and ingenious agents between the Sanhedrim and Judas. (4) A large proportion of this part of the drama is occupied by the debates in the Sanhedrim. In these debates, a larger scope for the dialogue is given than in any other part; and from this circumstance, as well as from the difficulty of following in a foreign tongue arguments not founded on familiar facts, or couched in familiar language, the length to which these debates are carried is perhaps the only part of the spectacle which produces an impression of wearisomeness. But for the common spectators this interlude, as it may be called, of ordinary life and speech may be a seasonable relief; and to the stray visitor there are two or three points exhibited in these scenes too remarkable to escape notice. He cannot fail to be struck by the prominence (not indeed. beyond the strict warrant of Scripture) given to the fact that the catastrophe of the Passion was brought about by the machinations of the priesthood; that Christ was the victim of the passions, not of the people, or of the rulers, but of the hierarchy. The strange costume, as well as the vehement and senseless reiterations of the arguments and watchwords of the leaders, present (unintentionally, it may be, but if so, the more impressively), the appearance of a hideous caricature of a great ecclesiastical assembly. The huge mitres growing out into horns on the heads of the high priests present a grotesque compound of devils and bishops. The incessant writing and bustling agitation of the scribes are like satires on high dignitaries immersed in official business and intrigue. What may be the parts assigned to the lesser personages in the Sanhedrim it would be impossible to describe without the opportunity of more closely following the thread of the dialogue. But Annas and Caiaphas stand out distinct. Caiaphas is the younger, more impetuous, more active conspirator. Annas, clothed in white, and with a long white beard, represents the ancient, venerable depository of the Jewish traditions. "rejoices that he has lived to see this "day, when the enemy of the customs "of his fathers will be cut off. He "feels himself new-born." He gives to the traitor the assurance "that the "name of Judas shall be famous for "ever in the annals of his country." The whole scene suggests, in its own strange fashion, that of the Council in Milton's Pandemonium. But, as by the great poet in the fallen archangels, so in the apostate priests, there is kept up by the simple dramatist and performers of He Ammergau, something of the dignity and grandeur of a former and higher state. (5) The scenes which represent the Feast in the house of Simon, and the Journey from Bethany to Jerusalem, require few remarks. The solemn, and, in a manner, regal appearance of the Christ, surrounded and fenced off by the constant circle of the Twelve, each with his staff in his hand, recalls what doubtless was one main peculiarity of the journeys recorded in the Gospel narrative. The parting from the Virgin mother and the friends of Bethany on the way to Jerusalem, is touching and simple. It forms one of the few exceptions to the failure of the female parts before noticed, and it is accompanied by one of the most affecting of the choral odes, on the search of the beloved one in the Canticles. Where is my love departed, The fairest of the fair? Mine eyes gush out with burning tears Ah! come again! ah! come again! Beloved one! oh! why tarriest thou By every path, on every way, Mine eyes are strained to greet thee; My heart leaps forth to meet thee! "Soon to thy side he comes once more For whom thy soul awhile must yearn; No cloud shall ever shadow more The joy of that return." (6) The scene of the Last Supper is the one of which the effect on the audience is the most perceptible, and of which every detail most firmly rivets itself in the memory. From the first appearance of the band of sacred guests at the table in the upper chamber, till its dispersion after the joint recitation of a prayer or hymn, the whole multitude of spectators is hushed into breathless silence, deepening into a still profounder stillness, at the moment when the sacred words, To a so solemn in the ears of any Christian audience, introduce the institution of the sacrament. There is probably no point in the spectacle where a religious mind would naturally be more shocked than by this imitation of the holiest of Christian ordinances. There is none, however, where this feeling is more immediately relieved, both by the manner of the imitation, and by the demeanour of the spectators. critical eye, two or three points of special instruction emerge from this strange mixture of dramatic and devotional interest. Although the aspect of the actual historical event is in this, as in all pictorial representations, marred by the substitution of the modern attitude of sitting for the ancient one of reclining, yet the scene reproduces, with a force beyond many doctrinal expositions, the social character of the occasion out of which the Christian sacrament arose. Nor is there anything (or hardly anything) in the form in which that first origin of the sacrament is represented, which attaches itself peculiarly to the special tenets of the particular Church, under whose auspices this drama has been preserved. The attitude of the Apostles in receiving, and of their Master in giving, the bread and wine of the supper, far more nearly resembles that of a Presbyterian than of a Roman Catholic ritual. The cup is studiously given, as well as the bread, to all who are present. The dignity and simplicity of the Chief Figure suffices to raise the whole scene to its proper pitch of solemnity. One only slight interruption to the complete gravity of the transaction, is the sudden flight of Judas from the supper, which, like most of the details of his character, blends, as has been already observed, something of the grotesque even with the most sublime and tragical parts of the story. (7) The wild and touching prelude of the chorus to the scene of the capture in the garden of Gethsemane has been already noticed, and is, with its living accompaniments, amongst the most expressive parts of that class of represen tation in the spectacle. The scene itself |