Visitors for the Chalet School

by Helen McClelland

  Pamela greeted this little performance with amused giggles, but Patricia only smiled vaguely. She seemed very much preoccupied with a letter that had arrived that morning. And it wasn’t from her mother, as Pamela had noted when she handed round the mail at breakfast, wondering for an idle moment who could be writing to Patricia from Edinburgh. Not that she was ever likely to be told. Patricia tended to keep things pretty much to herself.

  The journey from Munich to Spärtz was uneventful, and late on the Saturday afternoon the Grange House party arrived at the Chalet School. The climb up the snow-covered mountain path from Spärtz had taken most of the afternoon, but when they finally reached the Tiernsee they were rewarded for their exertions: the dark red winter sun was beginning to sink and, as the sunset colours reflected on the snow, the mountains and lake were glowing with the soft radiance of a stained-glass window.

  ‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen a more beautiful sunset,’ Patricia said to Joey that night at Abendessen.

  ‘Glorious, wasn’t it?’ Jo agreed. ‘We were able to watch it from the class-room windows, but it must have looked heaps more wonderful from outside.’ And she added, laughing, ‘but of course, we arranged it all specially, you know, just to welcome you back to the Tiernsee.’

  ‘Joey, was that model theatre your work?’ Pamela called across the table. ‘Jolly good for you! I thought it was absolutely spiffing.’

  The Chalet girls had spent the whole of that afternoon arranging their Hobbies Club exhibition. As the new school hall was being used continuously for rehearsals, they had set out the various exhibits on tables in the big class-room. One table was allotted to each form, and each table identified by a placard bearing an assumed name, chosen from Greek mythology. When the Grange House party arrived, they were given barely enough time for Kaffee und Kuchen before being whisked off to see the show. Miss Bruce and Miss Mortlock were persuaded to act as judges in the competition, and they had quickly reached their decision: the first place and the staff’s cup went to ‘Pegasus’, the pseudonym chosen by the Fifth Form; especially commended had been Frieda Mensch’s collection of dolls in national costume, including a particularly charming Tyrolean couple, and Joey Bettany’s marionette theatre.

  ‘Didn’t it take you simply ages to make it, Jo?’ Joan Hatherley was asking.

  ‘Not really,’ Joey assured her. ‘But of course I did have a lot of help,’ she added modestly.

  Patricia had been looking round at all the tables. ‘I don’t see Elisaveta anywhere,’ she said now. ‘What’s happened to her, Joey? Not ill, I hope?’

  Joey’s face sobered. ‘Poor ’Veta! No, she’s all right herself — at least, I hope she is — she’d been having a go of bronchitis, but it wasn’t that. You see, her grandfather took ill very suddenly. Elisaveta was summoned back to Belsornia in a terrible rush. It’s quite a story, I don’t mind telling you — at least, it’s too long a story for now, so I can’t actually tell you at the moment! No, we haven’t heard any more news yet.’ This last was in answer to an enquiring look from Pamela.

  ‘I’m very sorry.’ Patricia’s sympathy was obvious from her voice and expression. ‘I do hope he’ll be better soon.’

  Joey said no more. For some reason she could not have explained, she had a presentiment that the King, Elisaveta’s grandfather, was not going to recover from his illness, and she knew that the Princess had shared her foreboding. However, Madge had particularly requested her not to talk of the matter, so she made haste now to change the subject.

  As soon as Abendessen was over, Bette and Gertrud set off for Le Petit Chalet, where they were to supervise the Juniors for an hour. Meanwhile Miss Durrant and her team of backstage helpers departed to the hall, for a final discussion of certain important arrangements involved behind the scenes in the pageant. One sequence in particular demanded great speed and clear thinking from the helpers. For, as Miss Durrant had stressed to them at their very first meeting, now many weeks ago: ‘Somehow we have to create an impression that multitudes of people are travelling to Bethlehem. And, since a number of girls are in the special choir, we don’t have an enormous cast to draw on. So we’ve simply got to find some way of changing costumes and so on like lightning. You’ll have to put your thinking caps on,’ she exhorted them, ‘and use your imaginations!’

  Not surprisingly, perhaps, it was Miss Durrant herself who came up with the first idea (that of the adaptable cloaks, which Joey had described in her letter to Patricia). But, to everyone’s astonishment, it was the quiet, almost self-effacing, Luigia di Ferrara who produced the second great brain-wave. ‘Could we not use masks to show the different characters?’ she had suggested. ‘As they do in carnival time in Venice. It is surely quicker to change masks than to change clothes, is it not?’ Luigia had sounded rather diffident, but the enthusiasm that greeted her idea left no room for doubt about its success.

  Yet another ingenious proposal followed, this one from Rosalie Dene. ‘What about using those old screens as backgrounds for the tableaux? No, I didn’t mean we’d move them around, they’re horribly heavy. But couldn’t the art classes make suitable pictures to cover them, Miss Durrant? On large pieces of paper, and very simple. They could just be attached with drawing pins, turnabout for the various scenes.’

  ‘What an absolutely splendid idea, Rosalie!’ Miss Durrant’s response was instantaneous. ‘And there’d be no need to pin them up in turns, they could all be attached beforehand, one on top of the other in the proper order. Then all that’s needed for a scene change is for someone to remove the top picture. I’ll see about it tomorrow.’

  And as the weeks went by, Miss Durrant’s team became more and more expert in helping the cast with their lightning changes. At first there were minor accidents, as when Lisa Bernaldi was given a modern soldier’s mask when she was actually meant to be a stately medieval lady. Or the time Ilonka Barkocz, who was looking after one of the screens, removed two sheets at once, with the result that the galley-slaves in the tableau were shown against a pleasant rural background of yellow cornfields. But these episodes were soon forgotten. And this final evening before ‘curtain-up’, there were only a few small points that Miss Durrant wanted to go over. ‘And I do want to thank you all, girls,’ she said warmly, when they were making their way back to the common-room to rejoin the others. ‘You’ve all worked splendidly and I’m sure everything will be a great success.’

  For those not involved in backstage activities, the evening passed quietly, and everyone was sent early to bed. There were no protests about this, for the Chaletians were tired after their long day — it had included three strenuous rehearsals as well as the exhibition — and the Grange House girls were beginning to feel the effects of their climb up the mountainside in the frosty air.

  Next morning, Frühstück was at 8.30 instead of the usual Sunday time of nine o’clock, for a very full programme lay ahead. Today there would be no Mass at the little Catholic Church, but after breakfast informal services were held in the school for both Catholics and Protestants. Then the Chaletians went off to the hall for a quick run-through of one or two points in the play with Mrs Russell, who had arrived the previous evening and would now be staying at the school until the end of term.

  Mittagessen was at twelve o’clock, and afterwards the Chaletians were sent to rest for an hour, while the Grange House girls sat in the common-room and read or chatted quietly. For the time being there was peace in the school. But by half-past thirteen a buzz of anticipation could be heard. There were sounds of doors being opened and shut, footsteps on the stairs and excited voices, quickly subdued, in the hall and corridors.

  The big class-room was being used as a preliminary dressing-room, since the green-room beside the stage was reserved for the many quick changes during the performance. There was also an area screened off at the back of the hall, where those waiting to make entrances through the audience could sit unobserved. This group was under the supervision of Matron, crackling with starched efficiency.
Any attempt at whispering or giggling was ruthlessly quelled; Joey, who had muttered something about ‘fearing the ancient Mariner’ and his ‘skinny hand’, was treated to a sharp rebuke that reduced her to instant and continued silence.

  Soon after fourteen o’clock Miss Maynard came to escort the Grange House party to the hall, which was now beginning to fill with visitors. A number of people had come from the villages round about, for this was the third year that the Chalet School had given a Nativity play and their performances had gained a high reputation locally. There were also some of the school parents who either lived near Briesau, or were sufficiently energetic to cope with the climb up to the Tiernsee from the valley.

  The hall was gay with decorations of coloured paper and sweet-smelling fir- and pine-branches. A tall Christmas tree stood near the door; it was glittering with tinsel and small glass ornaments, but there were no candles on it. There were, however, four lighted candles on a big wreath woven from fir-branches, which stood on a table at the other side of the door.

  ‘That’s a jolly sort of decoration,’ Joan commented as they went into the hall. ‘I haven’t seen one quite like it before.’

  ‘Oh, that’s an Advent crown,’ Pamela explained. ‘Fräulein Hässe told us about them. She got terribly enthusiastic one day in a German lesson and started telling us at great length all about Christmas in Germany. Funny, because she’s usually such a dull old stick. Anyway, there’s one candle on the crown for each Sunday in Advent; last week three candles would have been lighted, but today’s the fourth Sunday so they’re all lit.’

  Mrs Russell and Mademoiselle Lepâttre were standing at the front of the hall to welcome the guests as they arrived; Miss Maynard then showed them to their seats, giving them a programme, which included the words of the three carols the audience would be asked to sing with the choirs.

  ‘Sit next to me, do please!’ hissed Joan out of the corner of her mouth to Patricia. ‘I just can’t bear to be beside Veronica if she’s going to make her usual fatuous remarks.’

  ‘Perhaps it would be a kindness to Veronica as well; save her from the remarks you’d probably make,’ Patricia murmured austerely, although her eyes were twinkling.

  The Grange House group seated themselves in the two rows Miss Maynard had indicated and found that just behind them were Herr and Frau Dobler from the Stephanie, with whom they all exchanged friendly greetings. The younger members of the hotel staff were also there, and a beaming Liesel came up to show Patricia her left hand with its beautifully healed scar.

  At last everyone had arrived. Miss Denny, who was staying at the school to help with the music, sat down at the piano. The violinist and cellist took their places, and Mr Denny waited in readiness either to conduct the choir or to take the flute part in the instrumental accompaniments.

  At a signal from Miss Wilson that all was now ready back-stage, Mrs Russell stood up and explained to the audience as she did each year, that there would be no applause either during or after the performance; she also drew their attention to the words of the carols printed in the programme.

  The lights everywhere were turned off. The audience waited expectantly.

  CHAPTER XXVI.

  THE CHRISTMAS PLAY.

  FROM somewhere far off in the silent darkness came the ringing of many bells — faint at first, gradually louder, then dying away. And now voices, distant but clear, could be heard singing:

  Ding dong merrily on high,

  On earth the bells are ringing.

  Ding dong, verily the sky

  Is riven with angels singing:

  GLO — O — O — ORIA in excelsis Deo!

  The sound grew nearer. Then, as the leaping triumphant refrain was repeated, the doors at the back of the hall were thrown open; lights and music streamed in; and the singers, dressed in white and each carrying a lighted candle, came slowly down the aisle between the seats and moved in procession to stand below the stage, facing the audience.

  In the second and third verses the instruments joined the voices; and here Mr Denny had written an accompaniment that managed to create the impression of carillons ringing from a multitude of bell-towers.

  It was a joyful opening, and no one hearing it now could have guessed how much trouble it had caused during rehearsals. To keep those florid ‘Glorias’ of the chorus in tune, while walking slowly forward, had proved exceedingly difficult for the young singers. At one rehearsal Mr Denny, in his desperation at the way the choir’s pitch kept getting flatter, had come near to tearing out his considerable amount of hair. (It had not gone unremarked by the Grange House girls that Mr Denny’s hair actually reached over his collar. Patricia had thought with grim amusement how horrified her mother would be to see any man — ‘even a musician’ — with hair of this length.)

  When the carol ended, the instrumentalists continued playing while the choir moved into the green-room. Here they quickly blew out their candles and put the candlesticks down on a table in the corner. Mademoiselle was so nervous at the idea of the girls carrying lighted candles, that she had only been persuaded to allow it when Miss Wilson volunteered to stand by and make sure personally that every candle was properly extinguished.

  Joey’s nose wrinkled as the smell of snuffed candles began to pervade the room. But there was no time for her, or anyone else, to complain. Already the flute could be heard, quietly playing the melody of the next carol, ‘This is the truth sent from above’; and the singers had immediately to move towards the positions they were to take up on stage, or in the hall.

  The curtains were drawn back and, as the choir started to sing, some of the girls moved across the stage and down into the extreme right-hand corner, outside the proscenium arch; here they arranged themselves in a picturesque group, the tallest girls on the outside. During the next verse a similar group took their places in the left-hand corner.

  Meanwhile two other groups had been moving slowly into the hall, taking up positions to right and left, in front of the stage. By the end of the final verse the girls, in their long white draperies, were forming a living frame for the pictures about to be presented on the stage.

  A few of the choir remained in the wings; they were to move occasionally into the green-room, to give the impression that the singing was coming from afar. This last group included Joey who, having an exceptionally beautiful voice, was to be the principal soloist.

  The audience had learned from the programme that there were four main sections in the play: the Fall, the Waiting, the Coming, the Adoration.

  In previous years, the Nativity plays performed had always been extremely simple, but this year Madge Russell had sought for something rather different. For the first time they had a hall with a proper stage, and this made it possible to aim at a more spectacular presentation. But she had also been anxious to preserve the essential simplicity of a Mystery play. Joey had described the result to the Grange House girls as, ‘something between a Christmas pageant and a carol service’. She added, ‘but I s’pose we use more carols than you’d have in a service. Only we don’t sing all the verses, of course.’

  Madge’s plan was to present the Christmas story, beginning with the Fall of Adam and Eve and the promise of a Saviour, in a series of mime and tableaux. During and between the scenes there would be a variety of Christmas music, and the scenes were also linked by very short spoken commentaries — some taken from the Bible, others written by the girls themselves.

  The latter idea also represented a new departure; for up until now Madge had always written all the material herself. ‘But I feel it would be good this year to involve the girls more directly,’ she had confided to Mademoiselle during one of her visits to the school in early October. ‘I shall try the idea first with my English literature group. But it might also be fascinating to see what the little ones could produce. I’ve always found their ideas most revealing when we have our quiet talks on Sundays.’

  And, in the event, both Madge and Mademoiselle — not to mention Miss Ann
ersley, who was now taking over much of the work with the Senior English classes — were delighted with the results. The only problem had been that of choice, since time allowed for only a few of the girls’ commentaries to be used. In the end it was Bette Rincini’s brief paragraph on the story of Adam and Eve that was chosen to accompany the opening tableau. This, when the curtains parted during the singing of ‘Adam lay ybounden’, showed the barred gates of Paradise, sternly guarded by the angel with the fiery sword — a dramatic role much relished by Deira O’Hagen, and for which her dark hair and striking good looks fitted her admirably.

  Following this scene, the verses in which Isaiah foretells that ‘there shall come forth a rod out of the stem of Jesse’ were spoken with quiet sincerity by Rosalie Dene, and the choir continued the theme with the beautiful sixteenth-century ‘Es ist ein’ Ros’ entsprungen’.

  To symbolise the long waiting down the ages for the Messiah’s coming, there were tableaux of captives languishing in prison; workers in the fields praying for rain; men leaving their weeping wives to go to war; and galley-slaves groaning at their oars, while their overseer (Gertrud Steinbrücke doing her best to appear cruelly unrelenting) brandished a whip. Here, again, the story was complemented by the singing — first, the plainsong ‘Rorate Coeli desuper’, then part of the old English ‘O come, O come, Emmanuel’.

  In the third section the audience were charmed by the account of the Angel Gabriel’s coming to Mary. This had been written, entirely without assistance, by the Juniors, and was delightfully narrated by ten-year-old Amy Stevens and little Robin Humphries. The children had used some quaint turns of phrase, and the audience almost laughed to hear that ‘Our Lady jumped when she first saw this great big angel. He was like a tall, beautiful mountain. She said: “Oh, you did give me a fright. Go away, please!” ’ But there was no doubt that, for the listeners as well as for the children, the familiar story came to life in a new way. The carol which followed, ‘Es steht im Himmel ein Lindenbaum’, is an old German Christmas song, telling of the Annunciation, and it was new to all the English listeners. Afterwards came the ‘Cherry Tree Carol’, and here Mary and Joseph were shown making their way to Bethlehem. Then the innkeeper — a part Evadne Lannis had been allowed to take over, much to her delight — was seen turning the weary pair away from the crowded inn and, in the next tableau, leading them out to the stable.