heard, and, in the midst of a great throng of people, we see three
crosses borne by prisoners. Jesus beholds his mother. Suddenly he
faints, under the weight of the cross. The rough soldiers urge him on.
Simon of Cyrene, a sturdy passer-by, who is carrying home provisions
from the market, is seized by the soldiers and forced to give aid. At
first he refuses. "I will not do it," he says; "I am a free man, and
no criminal." But his indignant protests turn to pity, when he beholds
the Holy Man of Nazareth. "For the love of thee," he says, "will I
bear thy cross. Oh, could I make myself thus worthy in thy sight!"

The closing scenes of the Passion Play, associated as they are with all
that has been held sacred by our race for nearly two thousand years,
are thrilling beyond comparison. No one can witness them unmoved. No
one can forget the impression made by the living pictures. In
simplicity and reverence, the work is undertaken, and it awakens in the
beholder only corresponding feelings. Every heart, for the time at
least, is stirred to its depths.

When the curtain rises, two crosses are seen, each in its place. The
central cross is not yet raised. The Roman soldiers take their time
for it. "Come, now," says one of them, "we must put this Jewish king
upon his throne." So the heavy cross, with its burden, is raised in
its place. We see the bloody nails in his hands and feet; and so
realistic is the representation, that the nearest spectator cannot see
that he is not actually nailed to the cross. There is no haste shown
in the presentation. The Crucifixion is not a tableau, displayed for
an instant and then withdrawn. The scene lasts so long that one feels
a strange sense of surprise when Christus Mayr appears alive again.

Twenty minutes is the time actually taken for the representation. "It