A SPANISH PASSION PLAY.

Evening Star, Issue 3882, 3 August 1875, Page 3

A SPANISH PASSION PLAY.

At Baeza there are wealth and stateliness, and the processions of Holy Week are second only to those of Seville in grandeur. The awful solemnity, the picturesque beauty, and the startling strangeness of the scene to be beheld there on Good briday must, we imagine, surpass those even of the Passion Play at Ober-Amrnergay, because of the terrible reality of the place and the manner of h- the centre of an immense square, thronged with thousands of people, and the actual processes of the execution, which are all gone through to the accompaniment of the hear'-rending Passion music' in the face of the multitude in many hued dresses standing in the full, golden sunlight, hemmed in by the low-roofed houses, with the snowcapped ridge of the Sierra for their outer boundary. Through this brilliant crowd, all still and silent, comes a row of men, twodeep, robed and hooded, and bearing large candles, and they clear a pathway for the first procession of the condemned. The King of the Jews, delivered to the people, is borne by four patients ; the derisive robe of his mock royalty is rich claret-color, gorgeously embroidered in gold; a crown of thorns is pressed down upon his brow, and his hair (real human hair) dappled in blood, falls over his shoulders, “He has fallen upon one hand from exhaustion, his nead droops a little, his nostrils are slightly widened, as of one who pants for breath : mute reproof,{utter weariness, uncomplaining suffering are all in his face.” The figure passes slowly up the square, severing the thronging populace, and is followed by one hundred Homan soldiers, marching two and two, some mounted on fiery Andalusian chargers, some on foot. These are “ The Centurion’s Guard.” The band steps to one side, the Koman soldiery form round the Condemned, the penitents once more clear a way, and Saint Veronica comes

to • make her lowly obeisance, and, stooping down, to wipe the sweat and dirt and blood from the Lord’s face.” As she does so, the handkerchief is rolled up by means oi a spring, and another appears in her hands, with the image of Jesus upon it. Now comes the Virgin Mother, and the foreigner, looking out from a balcony upon the crushed up crowd cannot discern one covered head or single standing figure. The image of the Virgin is a marvel of art. “ Her arms move, she wipes her eyes, her pale face is expressive •f simple, sheer, unapproachable grief; and as the many bands play the most plaintive strains of Bach’s Passion music, at the most wailing note she draws near, and puts her arms round the neck and across the breast of her fallen, fainting, and bleeding son.” So the first procession of Holy Friday passes out of sight, amid an orderly, eager crowd, and when it has vanished the prisoners, manacled indeed, but free) in a sense, during the blessed hours, walk about the city, and solicit alms. A little before nightfal', with the same crowds, lights, aud music, come the final scenes. Through the way cleared by the penitents comes the Saviour, and wa hes Peter’s feet; the attitudes beautifully expressed, and the music exquisite. Then he comes, praying in the Garden of Gethsemane; a figure bowed with anguish, amid real shrubs, dexterously lighted. Again he is bound to a pillar, and the fearful scourging is represented with a realism almost too

dreadful to be borne. Then he carries his cross, fainting, lacerated, weary beyond all telling. Night has fallen now ; the crowds are denser, the Plaaa is all dark ; bub in the centre are moving forms, and the blaze of lighted candles. Profound silence reigns, so that the night-wind, blowing in fitful gusts from the mountains to the southward, can be distinctly heard. For the last time a way is cleared for this“ Now the Christ was raised aloft, in that dim, silent, but teeming Plaza, nailed upon the cross—a public spectacle, his dying figure barely lit up by the torch of a penitent or a ruthless soldier. Little, thin, red streams of blood flowed down from hia nailpierced hands, ororsing each other at the wristband passing to the armpit, and thence trinkling down the side:-, and soaking in gore the linen cloth at the waist. It was too frightfully real. The two thieves were on either side, and beyond them stretched the long line of penitents, whose lighted candles shed a fitful ray over the whole. ’ When the scene was finished, a troop of children with silver wings went by, carrying banuo s inscribed with the words (in Latin), “ For our salvation he hath died.” Then passed the CentU‘ion’s Guard, and the Virgin Mother, with the dead Christ in her arms; and a hush of awe fell upon the crowd, as the cleared space remained quite empty for a wh'le. At ten o’clock a beautifully illuminated glass coffin was borne along the pathway, bordered Kit ihA _ . . * J _

by the kneeling crowd, and in it lay a figure, with pale peaceful features, wrapped in a llrien o windin g*sheet. When Mary of Magdala, Sfc. John, and St Veronica have followed the glass coffin, all is over, and the 3 , p ! edl ! y and noiselessly deserted. Th ®. Watch has begun, to be maintained until it shall be exchanged for the noisy congratulations and rejoicings of Easter Day. —‘Spectator.’ J