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make some mighty appeal to the emotional nature of the man in the street, an appeal that will result in his becoming wiser and better and nobler, an appeal that will bring him nearer to God and make of him more of a man?”

The Passion Play of San Francisco is the answer to that question. Believer and unbeliever agree on this, the Catholic monk devoted to a life of self-immolation and service, and the fool that says in his heart, "There is no God," are here at one -in all the history of the world, Christ— whether considered as man or as Man-God

is the hero transcendent. What is truly heroic tears at the heartstrings, every man of the red corpuscle thrills at the recital of deeds of heroism. It is purely an emotional appeal; but emotion, and not reason, rules the world.

This consideration it was that gave the San Francisco Passion Play birth. To better man, I must appeal to the emotional in man; the emotional nature thrills at the touch of the heroic; the supreme hero is Christ, and the story of his life is the tale of heroism most exalted. Therefore, the Passion Play will touch man's emotion most intimately and will aid him to become truer to himself and his God. Such, substantially, was the way Father Josaphat formulated the motives for what is destined to be remembered by all who know him as the masterwork of his life.

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This conception of the scope of the sacred drama is by no means new. same underlying principle was the inspiration of those canonized playwrights of the Christian Church, Gregory the Roman the Roman bishop, and Hroswitha, the German nun, and the basis of the elaborate sacred pageants which, in various forms, flourished for long in Italy, France, Spain, Germany and England. Even to-day it is the inspiration of the decennial passion plays produced at Oberammergau and in the Tyrol. But, in Father Josaphat's case, though the idea was not original, the application of it was both novel and new.

Americans are vastly different from Germans and Tyrolese. And in San Francisco, more even than in self-centered and provincial New York, worldly interests and sophistication are apparent. We are not isolated mountaineers and unassuming peasants. A passion play in a

remote German village is one thing; a passion play in a bustling, cosmopolitan American city is quite another. This particular aspect of San Francisco's Passion Play demands emphasis.

In the construction of his sacred drama, Father Josaphat followed, along general lines, the play which has made Oberammergau famous. From the German drama he adopted the unique and impressive device of a triple stage; that is, a central stage flanked by two smaller stages. the main stage was enacted the life story of Christ; on the stages at right and left scenes were depicted from the Old Testament. The Old Testament scenes were chosen with a view to emphasize the symbolism of the sacred drama and to portray, in a manner at once vivid and convincing, the relation between the types and prophecies of the old dispensation and their fulfillment in the life of the Savior.

In the fourth act of the first division of the production, for instance, while on the main stage was depicted the Last Supper and the betrayal of the Master by Judas for thirty pieces of silver, on the flanking stages were presented the sacrifice of bread and wine made by the Priest of the Most High, Melchisedec, and the bartering of the boy Joseph by his brethren. Similarly, in the scene which, for dramatic intensity and depth of appeal must be regarded as the climax of the production, which culminates with the Savior, stripped and agonized, hanging on the cross, the flanking stage to the left presented a wonderfully impressive tableau of the brazen serpent which Moses held aloft to the Israelites as a symbol of their salvation.

Each production of the Passion Play consumed four evenings. This in itself is an indication of the extensive scale on which the drama was performed. The cast consisted of more than 400 performers, not including a chorus of 200 voices and an orchestra of 40 pieces.

To give, in anything like adequate phrasing, one's impressions of this superb triumph of Christian piety and dramatic art, is totally out of the question. Not even the hardened and facile dramatic critics of the San Francisco dailies were able to record their opinion in a manner approaching coherence. Like all really great appeals to the emotions, the San Francisco

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Passion Play cannot be described; it must be seen-and lived.

One thing, however, is certain. To anyone who, with an alert mind and an open heart, witnessed that sacred pageant, all merely theatrical presentations must henceforth appear tawdry and hollow. The utter absence of conventional stage tricks, the naturalness and sincerity of the surprisingly well-chosen cast, the simple and dignified appositeness of the scenery; above all, the magnitude and magnificence of the production-these things carried carried with them such an impressiveness and conviction that, for the time being, at least, even the agnostic most spiritually colorblind must have struck his breast with the centurion at that appalling climax, and like the centurion made that spontaneous confession of faith: "Indeed, this was the Son of God!"

In San Francisco's Passion Play we had, among other things, the drama divorced from the theatre. From scene to scene the production gripped with soul-searching intensity; but there was present nothing whatever of the theatrical atmosphere. The simple purple curtains which draped the stages had little in common with the gaudily decorated "rag" of the modern playhouse, and nothing at all with the hideous advertising curtain which is an affront alike to the aesthetic sense and the sense of humor. And the orchestra, instead of being planted in front of the stage, were banked at the rear of the auditorium, behind the audience. The atmosphere was not theatrical. Rather, it was ecclesiastical in the best sense of the word.

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What helped very materially strengthen the production and to chisel the stage pictures in the memory was the musical accompaniment. The score was of a composite nature, and was brought into unity by Father Peter Huesges. To him is due the unqualified success of the orchestration. From the masterpieces of Gounod, Palestrina, Handel, Mendelssohn and Rossini, Father Huesges made careful and appropriate selections. To these he added some of his own really unusual compositions, and blended the whole into a score that proved fully equal to the occasion. The music was an integral part of the production. Neither the orchestra nor

the chorus obtruded itself into undue prominence, but both, observing harmony with the dialogue and the tableaux, added to the artistic and devotional aspects of the production.

For the production was both artistic and devotional. devotional. From neither viewpoint was it deficient, and from neither viewpoint was it overdone. The ultra artistic nauseates and the ultra-devotional annoys. The artistic triumph of San Francisco's Passion Play was attested by the wrapt attention of the audience and by the almost palpable stirring of the profoundest emotional depths observable as the play approached its matchless climax. The devotional thrall of the drama was not less in evidence. There is little exaggeration in the statement that men who came to scoff remained to pray, and whatever exaggeration there is refers only to the scoffers. Few, if any, of the vast audience were present through unworthy motives, curiosity brought scores; and it was precisely on such persons that the play seemed to have the deepest effect.

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One reason of the success of the Passion Play in San Francisco was its novelty. But that alone does not suffice to explain its unprecedented triumph. Novelty might, indeed, prompt a man to drop in on the play for one night, that he might say he had seen it; but it was something more than novelty that lured veteran theatregoers from musical comedy and American melodrama and French comedy and "advanced" vaudeville for four successive evenings. Witnessing San Francisco's Passion Play was an experience at once unique and uplifting.

Once I heard of a man with a hatred of heroes and hero-worship who was persuaded to visit the tomb of Napoleon. He had no use for Napoleon. The remarkable Corsican he regarded as an upstart and a trickster, a man devoid of ideals, of manhood, of greatness. But he visited the tomb of Napoleon. He went with a scoff on his lips; he came with his head bowed.

Well" queried a friend.

"Well," returned the hero hater, "I've changed my mind. You know the low opinion I have always had of Napoleon. That opinion is mine no more. Napoleon was a wonderful, wonderful man.”

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