Word: canings
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Dates: during 1950-1959
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...basement, directly below Faust's vocal soul-struggles, Mephistopheles (Basso Nicola Moscona) paces nervously, dressed in evening clothes, redlined Inverness cape, with top hat and cane. Three grips stand ready at the trapdoor platform. Another maestro, with a score on his lap, sits near by. Mephistopheles clears his throat, begins la-la-la softly. The maestro, straining to hear the orchestra, says, "Ready!" and Mephisto steps onto the platform...
...paper streamers upward into sight of the audience. The basement maestro makes an abrupt pronouncement: "Up with him!" The stagehands lift the platform and Mephisto into the air. The audience first sees him sitting on the arm of the chair that screens the trapdoor, nonchalantly swinging his foot and cane. Meanwhile, behind the rear study wall. Marguerite (Soprano Nadine Conner) is climbing a narrow set of stairs to a platform, aided by a stagehand...
...Intentions. At 16, Adolf carried an elegant, ivory-tipped, ebony cane, and "put his trousers carefully under the mattress so that the next morning he could rejoice in a faultless crease." He had a strange attraction for women, who forever gave him encouraging glances or even sent inviting notes, but he was an unbending prude. One night he dragged the embarrassed Kubizek off to inspect Vienna's red-light district, and later lectured for hours on the evils of prostitution. Not much better than prostitution, in his opinion, was the cosmopolitanism of the Austro-Hungarian monarchy. Even then...
Jovially, he descended to join the celebrators. Partially paralyzed from a cerebral stroke, he got about with the aid of a gnarled black cane or the arm of an aide, but even in feebleness he had a courtly air. He worn, as he always does, well-cut Western clothes. His small bronze face sat satisfiedly behind round black spectacles that looked, in a certain light, as if they had been painted on by Bobby Clark's makeup man. Beneath a hesitant growth of gray mustache^ his round mouth was flattened into a broad grin. "What would you like...
Westward out of Caracas, a speeding convoy of official limousines and patrol cars snaked down the winding, concrete Pan American Highway. From the back seat of a Cadillac limousine, a short, rotund man in khaki took in the fleeting sights: trucks piled high with sugar cane, drowsy town plazas seared to a dry-season brown, the jet air base near Maracay, and scenic Lake Valencia, a shimmering turquoise in a chartreuse valley. But most of the time Colonel Marcos Pérez Jiménez, President of Venezuela, eyed a low, sleek, two-seater Mercedes-Benz sports car that rolled...