ABSTRACT

There he sits. Ancient. Naked. Alone on stage. Our sense of decorum tells us not to look; but our curiosity gets the better of us. We sneak a peek. Time has not been kind to this old man. It has made a mockery of his body. So much so, we feel compelled, once more, to look away. It is as though his very flesh was weeping for the long lost muscle and sinew of his youth. His skin is milk white, suggesting that it is phlegm rather than blood that now courses through his veins. From a certain angle, this old fellow resembles some evolutionary misstep: half man, half overgrown amphibian creature. Two young apprentices enter and, as our scene ensues, slowly dress this half-toad, half-man. They begin with a variety of white undergarments, followed by an ornate robe, matching floor-length cape, vestments, and, the crowning touch, a miter. Slowly before our eyes, this feeble evolutionary misstep has become God’s representative on earth, leader of the Holy Roman Empire, Pope Urban VIII.