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| The Defeat of Comus, by Sir Edwin Henry Landseer |
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
After the sun set west of Central Park, the play began. The evening star was high in the sky, and the stage was well-lit by the lights of the Delacorte Theater. Usually tickets to Shakespeare plays were free in the summertime, but tonight's event was special, and it was necessary to buy a ticket to attend. The seats were completely full on this evening. This obscure play was a very special event, probably arranged with a lot of money, and it attracted a lot of people who heard about it though word-of-mouth.
He sat in a seat in the upper eastern corner, and this allowed him to see beyond the stage to Belvedere Castle in the distance, the starlight twinkling in the surface of Turtle Pond. Yet more importantly, he had a good view of the audience from his vantage point. In the very front sat his target: a wealthy African count---or so everyone believed. He was tall, bald, and all of his attention was focused on the act in front of him. Surrounding the count sat a dozen servants. They were men dressed in evening suits, keen and aware of everything around their master. Outside of that group sat a small gathering of high society. Many were older men in their suits with very young wives dressed in evening gowns. No doubt, they were there for the count, and not the play. Several of the women did not look at all comfortable with their surroundings, though he could tell that many of them tried to humor the count and enjoy the performance. Outside of that core were what appeared to be professors, young academics, and other eccentric types intrigued by obscure, avant-garde trends.
The play was originally called A Maske, and it was specially made for the cultivated and erudite Bridgewater family, to be presented at Ludlow Castle on Michaelmas Night in 1634. However the play eventually came to be known simply as Comus years later. The operatic "Puritan masque" was written for a family that, at that time, had been struggling with scandals of despoiled innocence as well as possibly witchcraft. And so, the script involved an innocent and chaste young girl trying to find her way through a forest after being separated by her brothers. The darkness of the night seems impenetrable and ominous. And then, she comes across the sorcerer, Comus.
According to the program, Comus was an impure reveler like his father, the god Bacchus, and he had taken up after his mother, the goddess Circe, who took pleasure in transforming men into half-animal creatures. The performance centered around Comus' efforts to tempt the lost girl, that she would give in to his seductive charms. With his necromancer's wand and a glass filled with magical potion, Comus urges the lady to drink from his cup and give in to his enchantments, that she may be transformed and join with the rest of his beastly quarry.
The count was entranced with the performance. It could have been only him watching the show. He noticed no one else around him. Toward the end of the play, the girl's brothers entered the scene, threw down Comus's cup, and rescued their sister. After an act of sea nymphs dancing to baroque music, there was a final eulogy by the lady's Attendant Spirit, and then the play had ended. When the lights went out, and there was a brief pause, the count stood from his seat immediately and clapped loudly. Shortly after followed his attendants, and then followed the nobility that surrounded him. The cast came out onto the stage, and the count's attendants tossed up flowers to the actors as they graciously bowed to their benefactor who used his money and influence to make the play possible. Many of the blue bloods were looking at the count, smiling with him and then turning to the actors to cheer them.
The performance over, the next part of the evening would be crucial. He had to follow the count at a distance, but keep close enough to perhaps hear what was being said. His life was in jeopardy. If he were caught, the count would go beyond all natural law to make sure he was punished. He had to stay calm and keep a clear head so he could take notes later. So much hinged on what he would find out tonight.
The retinue followed the count, and several of the admirers tried talking to him. But the count was always quiet. He allowed his chief servants to speak for him. This servant acknowledged the nobles, and with his white-gloved hands, he gestured for them to follow the count outside of the theater.
Keeping up with the count would be difficult without a car, but he had to try his best. Carefully slipping through the crowd, he made his way outside to find the count and his train strolling out to West Drive. There, parked in the street stood a train of horse-drawn carriages. It was obvious to him they waited for the play's benefactor. The count boarded his carriage with his few closest men. No other person was there to visit with him. The tall, dark man sat still and solitary, staring forward thoughtfully---as though he were looking beyond the world itself. The remaining servants and some of the rich filled the rest of the carriages. Then, they took off at a leisurely pace.
He sat in a seat in the upper eastern corner, and this allowed him to see beyond the stage to Belvedere Castle in the distance, the starlight twinkling in the surface of Turtle Pond. Yet more importantly, he had a good view of the audience from his vantage point. In the very front sat his target: a wealthy African count---or so everyone believed. He was tall, bald, and all of his attention was focused on the act in front of him. Surrounding the count sat a dozen servants. They were men dressed in evening suits, keen and aware of everything around their master. Outside of that group sat a small gathering of high society. Many were older men in their suits with very young wives dressed in evening gowns. No doubt, they were there for the count, and not the play. Several of the women did not look at all comfortable with their surroundings, though he could tell that many of them tried to humor the count and enjoy the performance. Outside of that core were what appeared to be professors, young academics, and other eccentric types intrigued by obscure, avant-garde trends.
The play was originally called A Maske, and it was specially made for the cultivated and erudite Bridgewater family, to be presented at Ludlow Castle on Michaelmas Night in 1634. However the play eventually came to be known simply as Comus years later. The operatic "Puritan masque" was written for a family that, at that time, had been struggling with scandals of despoiled innocence as well as possibly witchcraft. And so, the script involved an innocent and chaste young girl trying to find her way through a forest after being separated by her brothers. The darkness of the night seems impenetrable and ominous. And then, she comes across the sorcerer, Comus.
According to the program, Comus was an impure reveler like his father, the god Bacchus, and he had taken up after his mother, the goddess Circe, who took pleasure in transforming men into half-animal creatures. The performance centered around Comus' efforts to tempt the lost girl, that she would give in to his seductive charms. With his necromancer's wand and a glass filled with magical potion, Comus urges the lady to drink from his cup and give in to his enchantments, that she may be transformed and join with the rest of his beastly quarry.
The count was entranced with the performance. It could have been only him watching the show. He noticed no one else around him. Toward the end of the play, the girl's brothers entered the scene, threw down Comus's cup, and rescued their sister. After an act of sea nymphs dancing to baroque music, there was a final eulogy by the lady's Attendant Spirit, and then the play had ended. When the lights went out, and there was a brief pause, the count stood from his seat immediately and clapped loudly. Shortly after followed his attendants, and then followed the nobility that surrounded him. The cast came out onto the stage, and the count's attendants tossed up flowers to the actors as they graciously bowed to their benefactor who used his money and influence to make the play possible. Many of the blue bloods were looking at the count, smiling with him and then turning to the actors to cheer them.
The performance over, the next part of the evening would be crucial. He had to follow the count at a distance, but keep close enough to perhaps hear what was being said. His life was in jeopardy. If he were caught, the count would go beyond all natural law to make sure he was punished. He had to stay calm and keep a clear head so he could take notes later. So much hinged on what he would find out tonight.
The retinue followed the count, and several of the admirers tried talking to him. But the count was always quiet. He allowed his chief servants to speak for him. This servant acknowledged the nobles, and with his white-gloved hands, he gestured for them to follow the count outside of the theater.
Keeping up with the count would be difficult without a car, but he had to try his best. Carefully slipping through the crowd, he made his way outside to find the count and his train strolling out to West Drive. There, parked in the street stood a train of horse-drawn carriages. It was obvious to him they waited for the play's benefactor. The count boarded his carriage with his few closest men. No other person was there to visit with him. The tall, dark man sat still and solitary, staring forward thoughtfully---as though he were looking beyond the world itself. The remaining servants and some of the rich filled the rest of the carriages. Then, they took off at a leisurely pace.
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