In the tiny Swiss town of Bach am Irchel, in random, non-consecutive years, the villagers present an outdoor theater production. The theme might be a piece of their history, or a favorite literary piece from Swiss history. This year was the former. They presented a story from the tumultuous days of 1799, when Napoleon’s Directorate was re-organizing governments all over Europe, including in Switzerland. The production was beautifully costumed, set with rustic period buildings, and included not only a cultivated garden grown especially for the theater piece, but also it had a fine cow and her cute calf - which had a crucial plot role. And the story had horses, ridden and driven. And it had muskets, and earplugs for the smokey bangs.
Maria’s husband, being government expert in charge of such things, had been asked about the use of weapons in the theater production. He thought the piece sounded interesting, so he and Maria went to see it; they liked it a lot, and recommended it to us. In fact, Maria made us a gift of the tickets, for Better Half‘s birthday. So we went last night.
The weather forecast was bad. And right on schedule, it started to rain mid-afternoon. Then it poured, buckets and shovels, and cats and dogs. For hours. We drove to the site. It was raining and everyone had on slickers and plastic covers and their emergency raincoat from the little packet, that the bank gave them that one time. We slogged through the puddles to the stands, and found our seats: front row, the ones that had been warned to “bring rain gear,” because the roof might not protect you. An older woman in costume with a wicker basket of towels offered us one to dry the puddles on our chairs. Passing people dripped their streaming umbrellas all over our laps. And one fellow of the cast, in bare feet and bare legs, brought a basket of potatoes from the garden behind the “village square”, that was the setting for the production. He washed his taters in the fountain, though he could have just set them out for the rain to do it.
And then, miracle of miracles, a watery sun peeped out. The rain drizzled away, and just as the play started, the rain ceased, and stayed gone until after we were driving away later. Praise the Lord. It had been nip and tuck whether the production would be canceled, but we got divine intervention.
So the story began. It was about the effects of foreign occupation on a village, with troops quartered in local homes, and demands on the villagers. The story was in Swiss German, with some French when Nappy’s troops arrived, and later some broad Austrian-German accents, when the Austrians arrived. Humorous miscommunications ensued. Shots were fired. Repressions were perpetrated. And a little romance developed, that turned tragic, when the girl’s calf was going to be turned into veal steaks. But the ending had a twist and an ended happily.
Raising the Liberty Tree.
Village dance. All the music was live, by good musicians.
The “Mayor of Zürich” giving historic background information.
The Frenchies have arrived, and are firing in the hills. Those muskets are loud.
Those swords are real.
So is the cannon.
The big general arrives.
All ends well. Huge ovation.
The calf was not made into steaks.
The horses were applauded.
The romance blossomed. And everyone left happy.
If you want to read about it yourself:
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