Bavarian bargain with lighting manager

Joanna Moorhead continues her account of the 1990 Passion Play at Oberammergau with a look at the ceremony that surrounds the performance
PERHAPS so that God has the clearest view, the stage of the hangar-like, concrete theatre of Oberammergau is open to the skies. It is only fair, after all, that he should be able to watch the performance: the ten-yearly production is mounted to keep the human side of a bargain which, by virtue of it being put on at all, God has already honoured.
It was in July 1633 that the village council of Oberammergau gathered in their church to try to, thrash out an agreement with the almighty. More than 80 Oberammergauans had already died of the black plague which was sweeping Bavaria at the time, and the atmosphere in the village must have been one of fear and dread. Everyone knew how terrible it was to die of the plague, and how quickly the disease spread. Only a miracle could save them with the infection now within their community, and only God could perform a miracle.
The idea of promising to perform a regular passion play if they were spared was not an original one: there are records of several similar pacts being made by towns and villages threatened by plague at around the same time.
What was different about Oberammergau was that both parties respected the agreement. The village lived on (not a single inhabitant died of the black death from the day of the vow onwards), and the play has been performed virtually every decade since.
At first the play would be put on just once each play year, usually in the village graveyard, and the only spectators would be locals who did not themselves have a part. But over the decades its fame spread, and by the early 19th century it was well-known outside Bavaria. Between 1830 and 1840 the number of spectators more than doubled, rising from 13,000 to 35,000; 30 years later, in 1870, the future King Edward VII of England was among those who trudged across Europe to take his seat for what was becoming the world's best-attended amateur production.
In 1900, 174,000 people watched a total of 46 performances; this year, nearly half a million visitors will watch the curtain go up on the 39th time the play has been put on.
They will come from all over the world, but especially from northern Europe and from America. There has been some interest from people in Australia, too, this year, according to the German Tourist Office. Most visitors stay just a couple of nights in the village, with the whole of the intervening day spent at the theatre: the performance, which begins at 9 am, lasts until 5.30 pm — though that does not include a three-hour break for lunch, to keep local publicans and hoteliers happy.
The season, which began with the opening last week, continues until the end of September, with showings on Mondays, Wednesdays, Fridays, some Saturdays, and Sundays — 95 performances in all. Play days in Oberammergau see the village awake early, with coaches arriving from as early as 7 am. Some visitors stay in hotels in the village itself, but more are accommodated in nearby Ettal and Unterammergau.
By 8 am the area outside the auditorium is thronging, with nuns armed with flasks of tea and blankets jostling with lads in lederhosen. Before making their way past the elderly men who sit guarding each entrance, many people stop to browse at the carvings, some sadly rather gaudy, which seem to represent the only other industry in the town.
Inside the theatre, a buzz of excitement grows as the 4,500 spectators take their seats, pausing to take in the huge stage, with its sandstone facade which forms the backdrop to the play. In the centre, blue velvet curtains are drawn across the
"stage within a stage", the recess where the tableaux vivant which precede each act are
shown.
Rising above the backdrop are trees heavy with green !eaves, and those seated on the left of the auditorium have a view of a fir-clad mountain, one of the many which rise above the little town. And then there is the broad expanse of sky, scarred perhaps by the jet trails of passing aircraft, which provides constantly-changing scenery to the action below.
For whatever the elements provide, rain, shine, hail or snow, the Oberammergau show goes on. There is no artificial lighting on the stage, so the weather adds its own particular character to the proceedings. If will beam down on the whiterobed Christ during one of his moments alone at the front of the stage, and you may pause to consider that not many theatres have God as their lighting 'manager.
Who is wearing the white robes of Christ is an issue which is. likely to have fuelled Oberammergau gossip for at least the last nine years. It is difficult to overestimate the effect the passion play has on the village: how many mothers there, delivered of a little boy, must from time to time smile down on their infant and wonder whether they are many parents watch their little girls at play and try to imagine them on stage, clad in blue, as the Virgin Mary?
Virgin Marys, until this year at least, have been restricted to unmarried women of the village. As a result, in the hope of securing the role, many marriages have been postponed, engagements lengthened. This year, though, sees the end of the tradition of virgins only for the part — Elizabeth Petre, 38-yearold mother of two, has been chosen to take it. of possible actors for the role, the lifting of the rule means the old anomaly of a 40-year-old Jesus speaking down from the cross to his 21-year-old mother, as happened in 1984, can be dispensed with.
Not everyone, though, has seen Elizabeth Petre's performance as a breakthrough for women. Since she was chosen for the part, in March last year, she has had to live with obscene phone calls, and has even been spat at in the street. Her treatment at the hands of fellow inhabitants of this most Christian of villages (another requirement for players is that they must be believers) shows the uglier side of this pretty-asa-picture-postcard place with its bright, fresco-decorated wooden houses nestling in the shadow of snow-capped peaks. Were it not for that fateful day in 1633, the peaks would probably provide the major source of income for Oberammergau, which already nets some income from skiers.
It would not, however, be enough to make it a wealthy
1632: The Black Death, or plague, then sweeping Europe, descends on Oberammergau. Within months 84 inhabitants are dead 1633: One Sunday after mass, the villagers decide to make a pact with God: if they are saved from the dreaded disease, they vow, they and their descendants will perform, every 10 years, a play of the Lord's passion and death. From that day on there are no new cases of the plague in the village.
1634: The first Passion Play is performed 1680: It is decided to bring the play forward to the start of each decade 1770: The Prince-Elector of Bavaria bans the play, though villagers continue to perform it in private 1820: Music is given a bigger role in the play, performed by the local orchestra 1950: New text, revised by Prof Eugen Paps!, comes into use 1984: The play's 350th anniversary is celebrated with a special performance 1990: Further revision of text to downplay elements offensive to Jews. First married woman chosen to play the Virgin Mary
town: the snow is not very dependable in Bavaria, and serious sportspeople tend to go elsewhere. All of which leads some cynics to suggest the villagers of Oberammergau have done rather better than they bargained for in making their vow.
Visitors to this year's passion play might find useful the guide book Oberammergau 1990, by David Housley (Egon Publishers Ltd, Royston Road, Baldock, Herts SG7 6NW, price £3.25 post free).