Courtesans   He doesn’t pick them for their brains. But they’re so pretty — no wonder he chooses them to beautify the court. The hats! The hair! They glow onstage, they embody the feminine in his lordship’s eyes. They get titles, too — Countess of the Constabulary, Duchess of Justice, Lady of Night, Mistress of the Privy Chamber. The air is thick with their perfume, and each is scheming, whispering into her patron’s ear. Those smiles and curtsies are not what they seem, and in the glittering ballroom scenes, fear pervades the dance. By the end of Act V, only the luckiest will be alive.     © Michael Fleming Dummerston, Vermont January 2026