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THE MARRIAGE AT CANA
Introduction
In the nineteenth century an
Englishman by name of Smith published a book containing illustrations
of a number of Italian religious festivals. This, for example,
(photo 10) is a picture of a rite which is still performed in
Sicily to this day--in Piana dei Greci, to be precise. Here we
see Christ's entry into Jerusalem--you can see him here under
the palm branches, surrounded by revellers.
The scene reminds one of Bacchus-Dionysus's
descent into hell. Dionysus was a Greek god of Thessalo-Minoan
origin, dating from some fifteen centuries before Christ.
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Photo 10. "Palm Sunday".
Popular print (19th century)
It is said that he so loved
mankind that when a demon came to earth and stole the springtime
(in order to carry it off to hell and enjoy it all for himself),
Dionysus decided to sacrifice himself on mankind's behalf: he
mounted a mule, went down to hell, and paid with his own life
in order that humanity might have their spring back.
Anyway, fifteen centuries later
we find Jesus Christ, coming to earth as a god and seeking to
give mankind back their spring. That springtime was, as I have
said, man's dignity--a theme that we shall return to later, in
another of the pieces I shall perform. And at the heart of the
Jesus story we find traces of Bacchus, the god of happiness--of
drunkenness even--a jolly, boisterous kind of god.
There is, by the way, nothing
unusual about this grafting of one god onto another; it is a
familiar characteristic of popular religions.
So, the key character in this
jongleur piece is a drunkard. He tells how he went to a wedding
feast, and got drunk on wine that had been made by, actually
created by, Jesus Christ. Jesus Christ becomes Bacchus; at a
certain point he is even shown standing on a table and addressing
the wedding guests: "Enjoy yourselves, people; get drunk;
have a good time." The important thing is to be happy. Don't
wait for heaven after you die, because heaven can be here on
earth too. Exactly the opposite of what they ram down your throats
when you're kids... that you have to suffer on earth... that
it's a vale of tears... that not everybody can be rich, because
some people are destined to be poor, and anyway your reward will
come in heaven... so relax, and behave yourselves, and don't
kick up a fuss... That's more or less the line of argument.
The philosophy that Jesus puts
forward in this jongleur piece is quite the opposite. He says:
"Get drunk, people... Go ahead, let yourselves go!"
This piece actually involves
two characters: the drunkard and an angel. While the angel--or
rather the archangel--tries to present the prologue of a religious
performance piece, within the traditional style of the genre,
the drunkard is bent on mischief. He wants to interrupt the show
and tell of how he got magnificently drunk at the Marriage at
Cana. The angel speaks in an aristocratic, elegant, polished
Venetian dialect; the drunkard on the other hand speaks in a
strong rustic dialect that is crude and highly coloured. I perform
this as a solo piece, but not because I'm an exhibitionist: we
tried performing it with two actors, but we found it didn't work.
You see, almost all these texts were written to be performed
by one person. The jongleurs almost always worked on their own;
we can see this from the fact that, in the text, things that
happen tend to be indicated by the actor splitting himself between
two parts, and by allusion, so that the full comic and poetic
weight of the piece is heightened by the free play of imagination.
In this piece, you have to
use your imagination. Not like when you're watching TV: in order
to save you straining your brain, they feed you all the details,
all the particulars, and you just sit there, mind half asleep...
maybe have a little nap, maybe fart a bit... and the next day
you're all fresh and ready for work, all ready to be exploited
again.
So: when I'm on this side of
the stage (He points to stage left) I shall be tbe angel,
with his fine, aristocratic gestures; when I am over there (He
points to stage right) I shall be the drunkard.
[For as long as the angel
is on stage, the image in photo 11 is projected onto the backdrop.]
Photo 11: A Cimabue angel
from Assisi (late 14th century)
ANGEL: (To the audience) Pay
attention, kind people, and I shall tell you of a true story,
a story which began--
DRUNKARD: I would like to tell
you a story too, about a drinking session, a glorious binge...
ANGEL: Drunkard!
DRUNKARD: I want to tell you...
ANGEL: Silence... Not a word!
DRUNKARD: But I--
ANGEL: Silence... I am the
one who's supposed to give the prologue! (To the audience)
Kind people, everything that we are going to tell you will be
true, utterly true, and is all taken from books and from the
Gospels. Nothing resented here is created from--
DRUNKARD: I want to tell a
story too, and mine is not imaginary either. I have just been
on such a magnificent bender, such a binge, that never again
do I ever want to get drunk again, lest I forget how magnificent
it was. It was a bender like you've...
ANGEL: Drunkard!
DRUNKARD: I would like to tell...
ANGEL: No... You're not telling
anything... Alright?!
DRUNKARD: Ah, but... I...
ANGEL: Ssssh!
DRUNKARD: But I... No?
ANGEL: Kind people, everything
that we are going to tell you is wholly true. Everything comes
from books, and from the Gospels. The little imaginary material
that we have added...
DRUNKARD: (Very quietiy) I'll
tell you about my wonderful binge afterwards...
ANGEL: Hey! Drunkard!
DRUNKARD:I wasn't doing anything...
I only moved my finger.
ANGEL: Well don't move your
finger!
DRUNKARD: But I don't make
any noise with my finger!
ANGEL: You're making a noise...
Brrrr!
DRUNKARD: How can I make a
noise with my finger?! Alright! I'll do it with my brain... I
shall think and think and think, and with my eyes... And they
will understand...
ANGEL: No.
DRUNKARD: But I don't make
any noise with my brain...
ANGEL: You do make a noise!
DRUNKARD: I make a noise with
my brain? Heavens above! I must really be drunk! Holy Mary!
ANGEL: Don't breathe!
DRUNKARD: What, aren't I allowed
to breathe? Not even through my nose? I shall burst!
ANGEL: Burst, then!
DRUNKARD: Ah, but if I burst,
then I'll make a noise, eh?
ANGEL: Ssssh... !
DRUNKARD: But I...
ANGEL: Everything of what we
are about to tell you is true, everything has come from books
and from the Gospels. The little imaginary material that we have
added...
The DRUNKARD creeps up on
the ANGEL and pulls out one of his feathers.
DRUNKARD: (Very quietly,
miming making the feather fly) Oh, what a pretty coloured
feather!
ANGEL: Drunkard!
DRUNKARD: (He starts, and
mimes swallowing the feather. He coughs) Eh... But...
ANGEL: Ssssh... !
DRUNKARD: Eh... But I... no...
ANGEL: Everything that we are
going to tell you will be entirely true; everything comes from
books and from the Gospels... (The DRUNKARD creeps up on the
ANGEL aguin, and pulls out other feathers. He mimes admiring
them. He fans himself and struts about. The ANGEL notices)
Drunkard!
DRUNKARD: Eh... ? (Throwing
the feathers in the air) It's snowing!
ANGEL: Will you kindly leave
the stage?!
DRUNKARD: I wouid quite willingly
leave, if you wouid care to accompany me, because I am not capable
of putting one foot in front of the other without falling down
and banging my nose on the ground... If you wouid be so good
as to accompany me, then I shall tell you about this beautiful
drinking session I had...
ANGEL: I am not interested
in your drinking session... Out! Out, or I shall kick you off
the stage!
DRUNKARD: Ah? You'll kick me
off?
ANGEL: Yes, I'll kick you off...
Get out of here!
DRUNKARD: Kind people! Did
you hear that? An angel who wants to kick me out... Me! An angel...
(Aggressively, turning to the ANGEL) Come on, then, my
big angel... Come and kick me off if you dare! Because I'll pull
out all your feathers, like plucking a chicken! I shall pull
out your feathers one by one, from your backside too... from
your arse... Come on, my big chicken... Come on!
ANGEL: Help... Don't touch
me! Help! Murderer... !
He flees.
DRUNKARD: Me, murderer? Did
you hear that? He called me a murderer! I, who am so good that
goodness pours out of my ears... and spills all over the floor,
and you could almost slip on it... And how could I not be good,
after that wonderful drinking session that I've been on? You
know, I never imagined that today was going to end up so beautifully,
because it began so wretchedly and miserably. ..
You see, I was invited to a
wedding, a marriage, in a place near here, called Cana... Cana...
In fact, in days to come they're going to talk of it: the Marriage
at Cana. I was invited, as I say... I arrived, and there was
all the whole table ready for the wedding feast, with all the
food arranged on it... and nobody had sat down to eat yet. They
were all standing up, and stamping around the place, and cursing.
There was the bride's mother.
She was crying... There was the bride's father. He was banging
his head against the wall, in a foul mood.
'But what's happened, what's
happened?' I asked.
'Oh the shame of it...'
'Has the groom run off?'
'The groom is that fellow over
there, swearing more than anyone.'
'Well, then, what's happened?'
'Oh the shame of it... We've
just found out that an entire vat of wine, a barrel of wine that
was prepared especially for the wedding banquet, has all turned
to vinegar. We're in a right pickle!'
'Oh. Oh... All the wine turned
to vinegar! How terrible! I've heard it said that a rained-on
bride is supposed to be a lucky bride, but being rained on by
vinegar would make her the kind of bad luck you'd want to keep
away from'
And everyone was crying and
cursing, and the bride's mother was tearing her hair, and the
bride was crying, and the bride's father was banging his head
against the wall.
At that moment, a young fellow
turned up, a certain Jesus, the one they've nicknamed... the
'Son of God'. And he wasn't alone, no! He was accompanied by
his mother, whom they call the Madonna. A fine figure of a woman!!!
They had been invited, and
had turned up just a little late.
Anyway, when this Mrs Madonna
found out what a state everything was in, what with the wine
being turned into vinegar and all, she went over to her son Jesus,
son of God (and also of the Madonna) and said: 'You, my son,
who are so good you who do such wonderful things for everybody
see if you can manage to get these poor people out of the mess
they're in.'
No sooner had the Madonna spoken
to him, than all of a sudden everyone saw a sweet, sweet smile
spread across Jesus' lips. His smile was so sweet that if you
didn't watch out, it would make your kneecaps fall off and drop
on your toes! What a sweet smile! When she finished talking,
this young fellow gave his mother a kiss on the nose and said:
'Kind people, could I have twelve buckets full of good clean
water?'
In a flash, twelve buckets
arrived, full of water, and when I saw all that water all together
at the same time, I felt a bit queasy. I felt like I was drowning,
by heaven! Everyone fell silent, almost like being in church
for the Sanctus, and this Jesus twirled his hands about a bit,
snapping his fingers, and began to make signs over the water,
the kind of signs that only sons of God make. I was standing
a little bit away from the scene, because, as I said before,
looking at water makes me nervous, and I wasn't even looking.
I was just leaning to one side, all sad, and all of a sudden
I caught a whiff in my nostrils of a smell that was unmistakably
the aroma of crushed grapes...
You couldn't mistake it, it
was wine! Heavens, what wine. They passed me a cup of it, and
I put it to my lips and swallowed a drop. Heavens! Oh Oh Ye blessed
in purgatory, what a wine! I had no sooner swallowed it when
I got the taste; a bit bitter at the back, a bit sharp, almost
spicy in the middle; it sent out a deep red sparkle, a glow,
a wine without mould or froth, a wine of at least three years
standing, a golden vintage! And it slips down your gullet, gurgles
down to your stomach, spreads out a little, stays there for a
bit, and then, wallop, comes rolling up again, up your gullet,
in great waves, and the flavour hits your nostrils and spreads
forth. A wine to stop a man in his tracks even if he were passing
on a race-horse!
'It's spring,'he shouted. What
a wine! And everyone began to clap Jesus. 'Well done, Jesus!
You're divine!'
And the Madonna! The Madonna,
his mother, was beside herself with happiness and pride at having
a son who was so clever in bringing forth wine from water. Within
a very short time we were all drunk. There was the bride's mother,
dancing; the bride was in festive mood too; the bridegroom was
leaping about; the bride's father was still in front of the wall,
in a wicked mood, banging his head against it... because nobody
had told him!
Jesus got up on a table, and
began pouring wine for everybody: 'Drink, good people, be happy,
get drunk, don't save it till later, enjoy yourselves!'
And then, all of a sudden,
he remembered his mother: 'Oh holy mother! Oh Madonna! Mother,
I forgot, excuse me! Here, here's a drop for you too; drink a
bit yourself.'
'No, no thank you, my son,
thanks all the same, but I cannot drink, because I am not used
to wine. It makes my head spin, and afterwards I start saying
silly things.'
'But no, mother, it can't do
you any harm. It will only make you a bit happy! This wine can't
do you any harm; it's a pure wine, this, a good wine... I made
it myself!'
And just imagine, there are
still some damoed rabble going around saying that wine is a creation
of the devil, and that it's a sin, and that it's an invention
of the most diabolical order. But do you think that if wine had
really been an invention of the devil, that Jesus would have
given some to his mother to drink? To his very own mother? Because
Jesus had so much love for his mother that even I don't have
for all the grappa in this world! I'm sure that if God the Father,
in person, instead of leaving it so late when he taught Noah
this wonderful trick of crushing the grape and bringing forth
wine, if instead, right from the start, he had taught Adam, even
before Eve, then we wouldn't be in this wretched state of a world
that we are in now. We would all be in Paradise! Your health!
Because on that wretched day when the wicked serpent came to
visit Adam with the apple in his mouth, and told him: 'Eat the
apple, Adam! It's sweet and good... Apples are sweet and red!!',
then all it needed was for Adam to have a good big glass of wine
near him, and... whoosh... he would have given a good kick to
every apple on earth, and we would all be happy in Paradise!
That was the dreadful sin,
because fruit was not created to be eaten, but to be trodden
and crushed; because from crushed apples you make a good cider;
from crushed cherries you make good sweet grappa; and as for
the grape, it would be a mortal sin to eat it! Because with the
grape, you make wine. And I am sure that those who have been
good and honest in their lives... for them, Heaven is going to
be made all of wine!
What do you mean, that's blasphemy?
No, I am not blaspheming! You know, I dreamt once that I was
dead. One night I had a dream that I had died, and I dreamt that
they came to take me away. They took me to a terrible place,
where there were a lot of deep basins, and inside each basin
there stood one of the damned - poor souls! They were submerged,
standing up in a great sea of red liquid, which looked like blood.
And I immediately began to cry: 'Oh God! I am in Hell!' Miserable
wretch, sinner that I was! And while I was weeping, they took
all my clothes off, and began to wash me, rubbing me down and
cleaning me to such an extent, with hot and cold water, that
I have never been so clean in all my life, not even at Easter!
Once I was good and clean,
they put me into one of those big basins, with its red liquid.
Glug... glug... glug... And that red liquid rose up to my lips.
I shut my mouth, but one of the ripples... splosh... came back
at me... and went up my nose. Ooof! And I swallowed a great gulp.
I was in Paradise. . . !!! It was wine, and immediately I realised
that this wonderful invention had been created by God the Father,
especially for the Blessed (because everyone there was Blessed)
so that the blessed ones would not have to make too much effort,
in the sense of having to lift up their glasses to drink every
time, and then have to wait for them to be filled again. Instead,
he took all the blessed ones, and immersed them all, right up
to their ears, in huge glasses of wine, standing there, so that
it came up to their lips, and all they had to do was open their
mouths to say: 'Good morning, gentlemen,' and... glug... And
I began to sing: 'My beloved is so fickle...' Glug... glug...
Help... I'm drowning... Glug... What a lovely way to drown!!!
Glug... Glug... Glug... Glug...
Mistero Buffo translated by Ed Emery in Dario
Fo Plays 1. Methuen Drama, London. 1992
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