And He bearing His cross went forth . . .
St. John 19:17
Promptly at 9:30 p.m. on Good Friday last week, a grotesque lump of a man emerged from the medieval Roman Catholic church in Corsica's olive-growing village of Sartène. Barefoot, masked in a blood-red hood with eye slits, the bent figure staggered under the weight of a massive oak cross. From his right ankle dragged a clanking, 31-lb. chain. And from under the hood came an anguished, muffled chant: "Perdonno, mio dio . . . Perdonno . . ."
Thus, as it has every spring since the Middle Ages, began one...
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