By Way of Oberammergau

Extract

Clear as a picture the play stood out. Its divine and human pathos cut the September air. The immense crowd was hushed. It was strange, this stillness and awe in so vast and modern a throng. The reason was not far to seek. For, from the first solemn moment when the Greek chorus was seen slowly taking possession of the stage, and the grave and gentle figure of Anton Lang stood forward as Coryphaeus to address the audience priestlike, there was one all-pervading impression. It might not mean the same to all, yet it was a play which concerned those present. Not merely a great human drama, fit as those of Shakespeare or Greek or German to evoke the Catharsis and lose the rapt soul in a sea of beauty and wonder. Such plays are valued for their power, not for their essence, nor for any fact they pre-suppose. Here, all knew that something was portrayed which claimed the undying gratitude and the deepest reverence of each man and woman.

Impressions, no doubt, were of the vaguest. We would not care to answer for the number of those in the audience whose beliefs exactly coincided with those of the actors. Yet, though the logical conclusion and the gift of Faith might be lacking, there were, at least, many Pilates—(Pilate as he is portrayed in this play, lovable before, pitiable after his great weakness)— many who felt that here they had to do with One who was more than other men, One for whom the vague word ‘divine’ had been waiting through the dawn of history, to alight in the fulness of time upon this Elect of men.