Biennale
A Comic Opera
Libretto
Wendy Steiner
1
Dramatis Personae
Kate, U.S./international, 30; beauty secrets editor of a women’s magazine
Bianca, Italian, early 40s; beautician on a cruise ship
Caterina Sforza (1463-1509), Duchess of Forlì and Imola, early 40s
Sandro, perhaps Italian, artist, 35
Sergej, Russian sailor on a cruise ship, 50
Niccolò Machiavelli (1469-1527), Italian philosopher-statesman, 50
Sandro Botticelli (1445-1510), painter of the Primavera, 35
William Shakespeare (1564-1616), English playwright, 50
Only four performers are required for these roles, since all characters except Kate have
multiple identities and as a group they constitute the Chorus:
Caterina Sforza = Bianca
Sandro = Sandro Botticelli
Shakespeare = Sergej = Machiavelli
[Spoken text, black; sung text, blue.]
2
Act I
Overture
An ocean liner sails through the Grand Canal, its smokestack so tall that the Cathedral of
San Marco behind it looks like a toy. We see it next docked by the canal in early
afternoon sunshine. Down the gangplank walks Kate, a young woman in sunglasses with
an elegant bag slung over her shoulder. Bianca, a 40-ish, plump, pretty woman in a
beautician’s smock, rushes out of the ship calling “Signorina Caterina, Signorina
Caterina.” (These words can be heard over the music, but everything else in this vignette
is in dumb show.) Kate stops and turns to Bianca, who addresses her in an agitated
fashion. Kate pats Bianca’s arm reassuringly and gives her face a quick, professional
once-over. Then she fishes a cosmetic tube out of her bag and presses it into Bianca’s
hand, waves aside Bianca’s thanks, and continues down the gangplank.
Kate steps off the ship onto the Riva Schiavoni, which is thronged with tourists and
souvenir stalls. Obviously preoccupied, she threads her way through the crowds, passing
San Marco Square and continuing on until the Riva rises in an arch over a small
intersecting canal. Taking a deep breath, she walks down the steps under the arch to the
bank of the canal and stands alone looking into the water. At last she comes to a
decision, closes her eyes, and makes herself a vow. Then, looking immensely relieved,
she climbs back up to the Riva and looks about her, taking in the scene as if for the first
time. In front of her is a huge poster: an arrow pointing up the Riva with the words “LA
BIENNALE DI VENEZIA.” Kate sets off in the direction of the arrow.
3
Scene 1
Half an hour later, Kate enters the Giardini of the Venice Biennale, a crowd scene filled
with international art professionals and tourists. The three singers other than Kate are
generic crowd members in this scene, making up the Chorus. Kate joins in occasionally,
drawn into the contradictory emotions of visitors to the Biennale. Maybe the orchestra is
seated on stage as part of the crowd, too.
Chorus: Every second year
The art world turns,
And you are there.
Pavilions fill with art,
Giardini swarm with crowds,
And you are there.
It’s so exciting
To be in this scene—
Celebrity sighting!
You watch the throngs of people
Watching throngs of people
Watching art.
And you are there.
Every second year
The art world’s hot,
4
And you are there.
The TV cameras roll,
The art reporters troll,
And you are there.
No one’s ashamed here
To gawk and stare.
That’s why they came here:
To watch the ones to watch
Becoming ones to watch—
Becoming names,
And you are there!
But every second year
This place gets too hot—
Too hot to bear.
It all seems just a game;
A stupid grab at fame;
There’s nothing for you there.
It can be killing
To be in this scene.
Jostling and milling,
You watch the dealers and curators
Cultivate collectors
5
Cultivating names.
Why are you there?
Still, every second year
The art world turns,
And you are there.
Though you said last Biennale
Would be your final Biennale,
You are there,
What makes it thrilling
To be in this scene?
A secret desire:
That in this scene of new imaginings,
Two years of new imaginings,
An image calls your name,
And you are there.
6
Scene 2
A short time later: in one of the massive Arsenale galleries, Kate is staring at a huge
installation of Venetian glass, undulating wire, neon, and winking halogen pin spots.
Scattered over the floor and piled up in curves and corners are hundreds of hand-sized
crystal spheres. The installation’s overwhelming size and constantly changing light make
it impossible to take in from a single vantage point, and Kate, fascinated, is walking
around it and in and out of its complicated recesses. From the outside, the piece
resembles a gigantic machine of some sort or an esoteric model of the cosmos.
A few yards away, a video monitor is running a pre-recorded interview with Sandro, the
creator of the installation. We see shots of his face intercut with shots of the installation,
but we do not hear what he is saying until Kate leaves the installation and stands in front
of the monitor. Each stanza in the interview has Sandro repeating an unheard
interviewer’s question and then responding. He sounds by turns excited, nervous, and a
little troubled. He is trying to answer the questions honestly, but can’t fully articulate the
new direction his art has taken.
As Kate watches the video, the real Sandro, casually dressed and attractive, watches her
from a doorway across the length of the gallery. (NB: their positions onstage will
reverse in the Finale.)
7
Sandro [in the video]:
What all this means?
Too soon to tell. You see,
The installation here—
“The Music of the Spheres”—
Is something new for me.
What caused the change?
The sense of something wrong:
You play around in art;
Then suddenly you stop.
The urge to play is gone.
It happens fast—
One day you win a prize
For playing well in art.
Next day, you stop the playing.
Something in you dies.
A tragedy?
Oh, some might call it that.
Things happen. Then it’s time
To try out something real
8
And drop the pantomime.
Next thing you know—
You’re making a new start,
Trying to connect
With people through your art,
Instead of playing a part.
How to connect? [The real Sandro begins walking toward Kate.]
I call out someone’s name
And tell them that I care.
And if they do the same,
I offer them a dare.
And then—
[The real Sandro touches Kate on the shoulder. She jumps.]
Sandro: Are you an artist?
Kate [startled, flustered]: Me? No. Are you?
[Sandro laughs.]
Oh—of course you are. You’re the guy…the artist…in the video.
9
Sandro: Come in.
Kate: Excuse me?
Sandro: Won’t you come into my art?
Kate [to herself]: I can play this game.
[To Sandro]: Thanks, don’t mind if I do.
[Drawing Kate into the installation, Sandro addresses her with theatrical intimacy and
urgency; it is impossible to tell whether he is using the artwork as a pretext to flirt with
her or whether their interchange is programmed into the installation. Kate, skeptical
about Sandro’s seriousness to begin with (“I can play this game”), finds his words
baffling and his quasi-flirtatiousness off-putting. But against her better judgment, she is
obviously intrigued by both Sandro and his installation.]
Sandro: This work is an appeal to someone special,
The only someone who can grasp what it might mean.
My life, it says, begins and ends with knowing you,
All times before and after are a dream.
So tell me, Lovely: what is it that moves you?
10
Does all this crystal lacework shake you, dear?
I need to know if art evokes your passion.
Or is it drama? Do you like Shakespeare?
You won’t regret this perfect world I offer,
Though perfection isn’t all that it appears.
I’ll speak your name as no one ever spoke it.
I’ll treat you to the music of the spheres.
This work is an appeal to someone special,
The only someone who can grasp what it might mean.
My life, it says, begins and ends with loving you,
All times before and after are a dream.
[A pause, with Sandro looking expectantly at Kate. The details of the interior of the
installation have fused into an intense glow and, as if magically, Kate and Sandro are
back outside it in the gallery.]
Kate [puzzled, but trying to be polite]: Uh, pretty.
Sandro: Pretty?
Kate: The light…it’s kind of dazzling.
11
Uh…like lace?….Pretty.
Sandro [disappointed:] You don’t like it.
Kate [struggling to find something positive to say:]
Oh, no. It’s just…a little overwhelming….
The glass, the lights, the lace,
And you there talking about dreams….
The title’s smart:
“The Music of the Spheres.”
I studied about that in Art History…
And Intro…to Shakespeare.
[Giving up:] Look, you said there was only one person who would grasp what this might
mean.
Sandro: I hope there’s one.
Kate: Isn’t this a lot of trouble to go to
For just one person.
Sandro: Do you think you
Could be that person?
12
Kate: Me?
Sandro: I was watching you.
You spent a lot of time
Looking.
Kate [reliving her previous mood]: I felt something…
Special….
But then—
Sandro: Maybe we could talk it over...
Over coffee….
[Looking around, realizing he has to get back to his installation:]
Oh…tomorrow?
Kate [still caught up in the mood of “something…special”:]
Maybe….Why not?
Sandro: [keeping an eye on the installation:]
Your e-mail?
I’ll send details.
Kate: Okay. It’s: secrets@woman.com. [Maybe the address is projected?]
13
[On hearing the address, Sandro gives Kate an odd look, but needing to get back to the
installation, he turns and leaves her. Kate is flustered.]
Scene 3
Early that evening in a cabin aboard the cruise ship: Kate is in bedclothes, her laptop
lying open on a table. Bianca in her beautician’s smock has just entered in high
excitement.
Kate [roused from her thoughts]: Bianca! Oh, how did it go?
Bianca: Fantastico! It was fantastic! He asked me! Sergej asked me! He proposed!
Kate: Oh Bianca, that’s wonderful!
Bianca: And it’s all because of you!
[The computer beeps “You’ve got mail,” and Kate jumps, glances back to check
who the message is from, and then sighs. Bianca finally notices her agitation]:
Signorina Caterina! What’s the matter?
14
Kate [taking a deep breath]: I met a man today.
Bianca:
A handsome man?
Kate:
Oh yes,
A man called Sandro, with a lovely smile.
I saw his artwork at the Biennale,
He seemed quite taken with me, for a while.
He said he’d set a meeting over e-mail,
So we could have a coffee and talk art.
But when I left, I’ll bet he found some other woman,
No doubt, by now they’re…[sarcastically] talking art.
Bianca [shaking her head ruefully]:
Ach, men!
Kate:
Ach, men!
Kate, Bianca [Kate ruefully, Bianca now voluptuously]: Ach, men!
[A parody of girl-talk: jokey, catty, libidinous, self-ironic:]
Kate: Was it that brand new scarlet lip-gloss that I wore today,
15
Or the frosted poppy polish on my toes?
A week of ocean breezes turned my cheeks quite pink,
Bianca: Though blusher does the same, and no one knows.
Bianca: Fresh wind and water open up your facial pores,
And shipboard yoga fills your lungs with air.
Kate: Atlantic sunshine’s all it takes to show the goldEn highlights in your golden-highlit hair.
Kate: Perhaps it was the Jimmy Choo’s I chose today,
Or all those months of salad greens and soy,
Bianca: Or the mascara lengthening out each lash into
A secret weapon ready to deploy.
Kate: Who knows? I cannot tell. But when I heard him saying
All that nonsense about art and dreams and lace,
I found myself quite happy to be there with him,
He’s no da Vinci—but I liked his face.
He asked to meet tomorrow over coffee,
He promised me an e-mail with details.
He said good-bye, and turned to greet the next in line there,
And suddenly the whole thing just seemed stale.
16
I left the Biennale then and crossed a bridge,
Where earlier today I’d made a vow:
I’ll never trust another man to love me,
I did that once; I’m too smart for that now.
Those women in the gallery can play his game.
He’s giving one his art-talk as we speak.
I wonder if she’ll get his spiel on Shakespeare?
[As if seeing her:] She’s radiant—
Bianca [supportively]:
That’s blusher on her cheeks.
[Both of them picturing the scene in the gallery:]
Kate: She’s taken care her hair is bright with highlights,
And bleached her teeth a blinding shade of white.
Bianca: She stands quite well for someone wearing Jimmy Choo’s—
Those four-inch heels will kill her by tonight.
Kate: But I don’t care. It’s all the same to me, you know.
His installation doesn’t work—as art.
And anyway, I made myself a pledge today.
No way another man will break my heart.
17
Bianca: I think those secrets could have been what made him look,
And talk and smile and flirt and play his game.
Kate: After so many years spent lost in hopeless loving,
My trust in men is gone; they’re all the same.
[A knock at the door ends the scene.]
Scene 4
Kate’s cabin, as before: Bianca opens the door a crack, exclaims, throws it wide open,
and embraces Sergej passionately. Kate pulls her dressing gown tighter, unprepared for
the intrusion and maybe a little envious of the kiss. When it’s over, Bianca realizes she
has let a strange man into Kate’s bedroom.
Bianca [to Sergej]: Caro mio, this is the lovely lady I told you about: Signorina
Caterina.
Kate [formally]: Congratulations, Sergej! I wish you and Bianca every happiness.
Sergej [walking boldly to the bed, kisses Kate’s hand; then in a Russian accent]:
Thank you, beautiful lady Signorina Caterina. I am happy, happy man—today,
very, very happy man. Is happiest day of life.
18
Bianca [beaming proudly]: Caro!
[Unable to keep up her brave front, Kate sighs, and Bianca looks toward her
sympathetically. Then suddenly Bianca thinks of a way to cheer Kate up]:
Bianca: Sergej, remember that little story you once told me, the one about Ivan
Ivanovich?
[Smiling naughtily, Sergej nods, then waits, unsure what Bianca wants him to do.
Bianca, with a big grin, makes an encouraging “Go ahead, go ahead” gesture, pointing
toward Kate. Sergej shrugs his shoulders and prepares to sing.]
Sergej [relishing the role of storyteller]:
Ivàn is country boy who comes to city
To visit with rich cousin, Alexèj.
Alèxej makes big party full of comrades,
The vodka flows—Ivàn gets wild and gay.
But soon Alèxej has to yell at Ìvan.
“You can’t behave like that,” Alèxej says.
“You can’t just jump on girls you meet at parties.
“Girls like to talk before they go to bed.”
19
“Talk?” said Ivàn. “I never talk to women.
“I have not clue of where to start.”
“Talk about culture,” Àlexej advises,
“Recite some poetry; discuss some art.”
Ivàn gives up—no girl is going to like him—
And sits on park bench, groaning sighs.
Pretty girl comes by, and sees him kvetching,
Asks: “Has someone dear to you just died?”
Ivàn gives look at pretty girl who stands there.
Here is chance to change bad luck.
He asks, “You like Shakespeare?” Girl says, “Yeah, sure.”
“That’s great! Me, too,” says Ìvan. “Now let’s fuck.”
[Kate laughs.]
Bianca [pleased to have cheered Kate up]: Sergej, go now please to my cabin. The
Signorina and I must speak a few words in private.
Sergej [bowing to Kate]: Good night, Signorina Kate.
[To Bianca, extravagantly:]
How silver-sweet sound lovers’ tongues by night,
20
Like softest music to attending ears!
Adored Bianca, I with flutt’ring heart
Will tune my fluting till you next appear.
[Bianca and Kate look at him in amazement. Exit Sergej.]
Bianca: Isn’t he wonderful!
Kate: It’s almost enough to renew your faith in men.
[Kate goes to her laptop, presses a key, and exclaims]: Oh!
Bianca [leaning over the laptop to read]:
To: secrets@woman.com
From: music.of.the.spheres@biennale.edu
Kate: Sorceress Kate, with witching eyes,
Priestess of secrets and feminine wiles,
Meet me for magical, tragical trials.
In the càfé, at eleven, enlightenment lies.
Bianca: Madonna mia, now there is a talker!
Kate: But what is he saying?
21
Bianca [slow reprise, parsing each word for meaning but also mocking the extravagance
of the language. As she leans over the computer, it casts a glow on her face, as if
she were a fortune-teller leaning over a crystal ball]:
Sorceress Kate, with witching eyes,
Priestess of secrets and feminine wiles,
Meet me for magical, tragical trials.
In the café, at eleven, enlightenment lies.
[Mischievously, in a fortune-teller’s voice]:
He casts a spell meant just for you, my lady.
This magic incantation seals your fate—
[Laughing:]
Unless all women at the Biennale
Are sorceresses by the name of Kate.
[Resuming spoofish fortune-teller voice:]
I see a future rich in lovers’ pleasures.
True happiness and passion lie in store—
And something else I see—but it is clouded,
A mystery that promises still more.
Accept this invitation, Signorina.
This e-mail message flashes out your fate!
22
The Venice Biennale holds the answer.
[Again falling out of fortune-teller mode in mockery:]
Its coffee shop is where your future waits.
Kate [laughing with Bianca, but then with some apprehension as she types the e-mail]:
Okay….I’ll keep this date.
I should be running from a man like you:
You’ll use your art to break my heart in two.
23
Act II
Scene 1
Eleven the next morning in a café at the Biennale just outside Sandro’s gallery: Kate and
Sandro are seated at a table drinking espressos.
Sandro [laughing]: So—your name is Kate!
Kate [puzzled by his laughter]: Yes….?
Sandro: Another Caterina! It’s the story of my life…my art, too. I have whole series
called “Caterina”: “Caterina I,” “Caterina II”….
Kate [trying to sound casual]: Is she—is Caterina—your…uh…someone you love?
Sandro: “Love” doesn’t begin to cover it. Caterina is my fate, my dark lady, la belle
dame sans merci.
Kate: Oh, I see.
Sandro [laughing]: No, you don’t! Caterina’s not real—not anymore at least. She’s
a character, a terribly evil character, from Assassin’s Creed II.
24
Kate: From where?
Sandro: Assassin’s Creed II? The video game. You don’t know it?
Kate: No.
Sandro: Oh, you should. It’s fantastic. I used to play it every day...before I gave up
playing games. Caterina defeated me every single time. She drove me crazy.
Kate: But you love her?
Sandro [bashfully:] She’s sort of…my dream woman.
There was a countess of Forlì,
Called Caterina Sforza.
So beautiful, so filled with grace,
Her luminous face, her form was.
At fourteen years, a budding bride,
Botticelli painted her portrait. [Images of CF start appearing in café.]
At twenty-three, a warrior queen,
Machiavelli envied her forces.
A scientist before her time,
In touch with cosmic powers sublime,
25
Her beauty secrets still trouble the minds
Of men she enthralled with her magic:
She is my muse.
Kate: That’s my specialty, too, you know:
Beauty exclusives…the secrets of the stars!
I am a keeper of the deepest secrets—
Winged angels fell in bringing them to earth—
And women ever since have prized this wisdom,
An ancient science of the highest worth.
How to cure wrinkles, make a home a haven,
Look cool and elegant in any mood,
Raise happy, well-adjusted children,
And find your own true love and keep him true.
Once every month I publish all my secrets
In magazines five million women read,
And every month the secrets still are secrets
However many times they’ve been revealed.
They’re perfectly renewable resources,
26
Forever known, yet somehow always new.
Their magic flows from nature’s deepest forces.
They hold out hope, and laugh at hoping, too.
Sandro: I don’t think I understand.
Kate: Sorry, I don’t mean to be mysterious—hmm, maybe I do! I’m the beauty secrets
editor at Woman—you know, the magazine?
[Sandro laughs. Kate bristles:]
I never understand why men treat what I do as a joke.
Would anyone expect you to make beautiful art without training?
Sandro: Maybe not.
Kate: So why should women be expected to make themselves beautiful without
training? There aren’t even charm schools anymore.
Sandro [naughtily]: And so you teach them your charms.
Kate [naughtily in turn]: You have no idea the charms I’ve practiced. In fact, just before
I left for Venice,
I walked around my house and gathered up
The bits and pieces that I couldn’t bear:
27
A baby tooth I’d lost when I was thirty,
A key chain that a lover used to wear,
A brooch he gave to show me that he loved me,
A locket where I kept his faithless hair.
I threw the bits and pieces in a bubbling pot,
According to an ancient recipe,
And boiled them up with twenty pounds of artichokes,
And ate the hearts of artichokes with tea.
And presto! Now my house was safe to walk in:
No bits and pieces tugging at my heart.
No radioactivity to flee from:
Those artichokes—their charms are powerful art.
Sandro: Artichokes…?
Kate: Oh yes, artichokes can make you feel much better…about life.
Sandro: About life? [Receiving no reply:] It’s okay. You can tell me.
Kate [calmly at first, but with increasing sadness]:
Sometimes when you lose a love
28
You lose much more:
You lose all hope of loving.
Sometimes when he’s closed the door
The door won’t open
Anymore: he took the key.
Sometimes you can’t feel the present
In the press
Of deadening memories,
Those lingering odds and ends of love
That do their best
To bury you in loneliness.
Then you use whatever secrets
You possess
To put your house in order.
Even artichokes will do,
If they can rescue you—
If they can put your house in order.
29
[More upset than she had realized, and embarrassed at having revealed so much, Kate
gets up from her chair to leave.]
Sandro: Wait! Maybe my art could help you...put your house in order. [Handing her
a glass ball that he has taken from his installation]: Please take this. I’d love to show
you the glass furnaces on the island of Murano...where my installation was made.
Kate [wanting to get out of this]: You must be dying to get back to your Caterina.
[Backing away]: Good-bye, Sandro. [Unconsciously turning the glass ball round and
round in her hand, she notices that it is giving off a glow. Softening her refusal]:
Thank you for the pretty crystal ball.
It will be handy…for my charms and all.
Sandro [not giving up: like a Svengali intoning a spell]:
Enjoy the Biennal’, magician Kate.
Murano’s sad, sweet mysteries await!
[Exit Sandro. As the music takes over, Kate sits down again and sinks her face in her
hands.]
[N.B. From here to the Finale, we are in Kate’s fantasy. The
stage directions indicate passing time, but this is fantasy time;
real time is suspended.]
30
Scene 2
During the prelude to this scene, the viewpoint in the projections is from a vaporetto
approaching the Faro stop on the island of Murano. The lighthouse gleams white
against the clear lapis of the Venetian sky. All along the quay are store windows and
stands displaying glass chandeliers, bowls, goblets, vases, trinkets. Glass birds fly
overhead and glass pebbles edge the shore. Afternoon sunshine glints on the glass and
dapples the waters of the lagoon in a kaleidoscope of colors. The setting is over the
top—extravagant as a dream. Sandro is waiting on the landing as Kate alights.
Sandro:
So happy to meet you, Kate.
So grateful to see you’ve come.
Kate:
Is this your hundredth date, Sandro,
Since the Biennale’s begun?
Sandro:
No! It’s my only date in Murano.
I’ve made just one:
With you, Kate. With you.
[He leads Kate to a stone parapet by the glittering water and the two of them sit down.
The aria is full of pathos and at the same time, it is almost a parody of operatic
melodrama.]
Sandro: It is my fate—there is no doubt, it seems—
That I must die.
31
Not in a week perhaps, or even months,
But it is clear that I will never see
Another Biennale.
I’ll feel just fine throughout this time.
That is great luck.
I will not waste away or suffer pain.
One day my heart will simply cease to beat
Before next Biennale.
You must not sigh, sweet Kate. In life we know
Such things may happen.
I have achieved much that I wished to achieve:
My work was even chosen for a prize
In this year’s Biennale.
I am past grieving now; it’s an old truth:
We all must die.
My only sadness is not to have loved,
Not to have known what love might be,
But only Biennales.
Oh, lend me your heart, dear Kate. I’ll treat it well—
32
Why would I not
When I have chosen you to love for life?
Please choose me, too, and I will give you something
Better than a Biennale.
I’ll hear you, Kate. I’ll listen to your life,
Care who you are.
I’ll tell you my life, too, and share my heart.
Our months of love will be more beautiful
Than any Biennale.
I’ve chosen you, dear Kate, because you feel
Through art, as I do.
In you, the sweetest secrets find their home.
And there I long to lodge my deepest dreams,
Not in a Biennale.
Enter my heart, dear Kate. Please say that you’ll
Be mine for life.
Though life for me is days and months, not years,
How many will have known a love like ours
Before next Biennale?
33
Kate [drawn to Sandro, but fearful]:
Today I felt your artwork calling to me, Sandro,
As no art has before.
I sensed a voice that cried out to my waiting ear.
I could not tell the source.
Was it your art that sang my name
Or was I singing to myself?
Or could it be that someone in the world
Who knew me better than myself
Was singing for me?
And now I hear your sadness singing to me, Sandro,
As no one’s has before.
It makes a call that cannot be ignored,
However dread the source.
Whenever love has sung my name,
I’ve heard loss singing there, off-key.
Should I once more be willing to try love,
This gift you’re holding out to me,
This hope of beauty?
Sandro: Oh Kate, do you think you could love me?
34
Kate [dazed]: I want to, Sandro,
But love is hard.
I don’t understand it—
Neither do you:
The only woman you’ve loved
Is a dream—
That Caterina.
Sandro:
I’m trying something else—
Making a new start. [echoing video]
Kate:
With flashing lights
And lacework?
And flirtation in your art?
Sandro:
No…yes!
I haven’t grasped it quite,
But I’m on the right….
[Aha moment:] That’s it! We’ll take classes!
Kate:
Sandro:
What?
We’ll study love!
35
At the Venetian Academy!
Kate:
What’s that?
Sandro:
The Venetian Academy of Love!
Founded by Caterina Sforza.
Kate [disappointed:] Oh Sandro, why can’t you be real?
Sandro: I am being real! There it is! [gesturing to the lighthouse]
Kate [looking at the blank lighthouse]: Where?
I don’t see any Academy.
[During Sandro’s aria, he and Kate will enter the lighthouse, where to their amazement
everything inside—walls, opulent furniture, books, carpets, tapestries, paintings, etc.—is
made of glass, colored and clear, in endless varieties. The style is Renaissance, but the
gleam and translucency of the material make the effect otherworldly—enchantingly
beautiful and at the same time disorienting.
Once inside, Kate and Sandro will stop at a doorway, over which is engraved:
ACCADEMMIA DELL’AMORE DI VENEZIA. The door mysteriously opens to reveal,
at the end of a dim corridor, a fantastic glassblowers’ forge where bubbles of glass
wobble and swell on the tips of pipes blown by artisans standing over a roaring fire.]
36
Sandro: It lies at crossroads, Kate:
Wherever paths converge
And leap apart in laughter.
This school’s a turning gate
Connecting art to life
And life to what comes after.
Here students go to class
In secret passageways
Where past and present merge.
They learn of fear in yearning
And the sweetness of desire
Warmed by a glassblower’s fire.
Lit by the love of learning
In this rare academy,
Sages train the heart.
This school is Venice, Kate,
A theater of memory,
A place that some call art.
[Reprise of preceding stanza as duet between Kate and Sandro.]
37
[The act concludes with this couplet, varied as a duet between Kate and Sandro, who
appear as if transported back to the Renaissance:]
Sandro: How sweet to study love, my Caterina.
Kate: How deep love’s secrets lie, my Alessandro.
38
Act III
Scene 1
The doorway from the previous scene: during the Prelude, Kate and Sandro are waiting
beside a sign on a footed stand that reads: STUDENT ORIENTATION. Suddenly
Caterina Sforza appears. Whether speaking or singing, she has a plummy, Julia Child
voice—unshakably cheerful and agreeable-sounding, but with an iron will and utter selfconfidence. During her aria, a glass bubble swells from a pipe in the forge room into the
hallway and continues to expand until by the end of the aria it reaches the doorway.
Caterina:
Dear students of love,
You already know
All about love.
Everybody does:
Love never feels quite safe,
Love almost always fails,
Love tears you up and spits you out
And feels a lot like jail.
And yet,
There’s nothing we
Yearn for more…
Than love.
39
[With the glass bubble about to engulf her, Caterina calmly snaps her fingers and it
bursts, leaving exploded fragments of Machiavelli’s study floating in the air. The
formidable philosopher-statesman is sitting at a desk, attempting to write in the midst of
the flying debris, including his classic treatise, The Prince.]
Caterina:
Frightened,
Some try,
To deny love.
Exhibit A:
Machiavelli.
Emotionless as flint,
All softness made him wince.
But by the time I’d done with him
He knew I was his Prince!
[In the course of Machiavelli’s aria, Caterina enters his study (his thoughts), teasing him,
draping herself seductively over him, etc. Sandro looks on enthralled. Kate is
disgusted.]
Machiavelli [singing the words he is writing down]:
There was a countess of Forlì
40
Called Caterina Sforza.
With smiles and guile she worked her wiles
On Medicis and Borgias.
Virago, beauty, temptress, sage,
She was my Prince.
Countess Caterina trained her troops,
A woman flouting danger,
She held her own ’gainst kings and popes
And all who sought to tame her.
She bore eleven children whom
She raised in courtly splendor,
She wed three husbands whom she loved,
And loved a dozen men more.
With smiles and guile she worked her wiles
On Medicis and Borgias.
Virago, beauty, temptress, sage,
She was my Prince.
Within the walls of Imola,
She built a secret space:
A garden filled with rarest herbs
And plants with magic grace.
41
Here eye of newt she gathered up,
And horny claw of owl,
And scales of loathsome lizard tails,
And wings of beetles foul.
[An image of Caterina Sforza’s book of recipes, Gli Experimenti, floats by, its pages
flipping from recipe to recipe. Machiavelli speaks the following in his dry fashion as if
he were conjuring up a spell of his own]:
These she distilled to their refractions
In bubbling alembic contraptions,
Inducing alchemical reactions,
Conducive to love’s satisfaction.
[In the following, Sandro starts at hearing Kate’s words from 2,1, spoken by Caterina.
Kate gives him an “I told you so” look. Machiavelli, unaware of the by-play, continues
writing.]
Caterina:
I am a keeper of the deepest secrets—
Winged angels fell in bringing them to earth—
And women ever since have prized this wisdom,
An ancient science of the highest worth.
Machiavelli: The men who met this mystic lady
42
Never forgot her haunting ways.
Even this cold philosopher,
Cannot forget her daunting gaze.
I am too sly for love,
I am too dry for love,
But were I to die for love,
I’d die for her.
She was my Prince.
[Machiavelli and his setting vanish; return of doorway. Another bubble begins
expanding toward Caterina. She beckons seductively to Sandro, who gives a “Do you
mean me?” look, and then, suddenly deprived of will, walks toward her. Kate watches,
indignant. Just as the bubble is about to engulf Sandro, Caterina bursts it, causing
fragments of Botticelli’s painting studio to float about. The enormous Primavera settles
onto a wall, and Sandro takes up an imaginary brush and palette and proceeds to paint
it.]
Caterina:
Stymied by love,
Some try…
Art.
Exhibit B:
Botticelli,
A different proposition
43
Altogether:
Enthralled above all by beauty,
He had no choice but to choose me,
And though only twice he amused me,
Forever I was his muse!
[As Sandro sings, Caterina simulates the poses of the various female figures in the
Primavera as if she were Botticelli’s model.]
Sandro:
There was a countess of Forlì,
Called Caterina Sforza,
Most beauteous, she, infused with grace
Her luminous face, her form was.
At fourteen years and newly wed,
She bade me paint her portrait.
At fifteen years and great with child,
Again she sat before me.
I nevermore looked on her face,
Yet look I on no face but hers.
I nevermore would paint her face.
Yet paint I no face but hers.
She is my muse.
44
Others have shown her grace in art, [numerous paintings float about]:
From Titian to Bellini,
Leonardo, Michelangelo
Raphael, Di Credi.
But none but I have shown her heart,
For none but I have known it.
And no fair dame has known my heart;
I am Caterina’s poet.
I nevermore looked on her face,
Yet look I on no face but hers.
I nevermore would paint her face.
Yet paint I no face but hers.
She is my muse.
[Caterina snaps her fingers and the doorway setting returns. Sandro, released from his
spell, hurries back to Kate, who receives him icily. He doesn’t understand why she is
upset.]
Caterina:
So Students,
There you have it:
Deny love
And love conquers you;
45
Lose love
And you could
End up an artist.
Scene 2
As before: Caterina in front of the doorway with Kate and Sandro. Another bubble
begins to swell from the forge into the hallway.
Kate [angrily to Sandro]: Do you think she’ll give us back our tuition?
Caterina:
I heard that.
Kate:
Sorry, Contessa,
But I already know all that.
Caterina:
Of course you do.
I told you:
Everyone knows
All about love.
46
Kate:
Does that mean you’ll refund
Our tuition?
Caterina:
Maybe—
After the intermission.
Sandro:
So there’s nothing to learn
At the Academy of Love?
Caterina:
I didn’t say that.
Kate:
Caterina:
No?
Oh my dears,
It’s one thing
To know about love,
It’s quite another thing
To know love.
Only by loving can one learn
What makes love worth it.
Kate:
But I have loved.
47
It wasn’t worth the pain.
Caterina:
Ah, Kate dear,
You need to try again,
It might be hard,
But you’ll have genius on your side:
Yours Truly, and the Bard.
Exhibit C:
Shakespeare,
Love’s genius,
A know-it-all
Who learned it all…
From me!
[Caterina bursts the bubble, and Shakespeare appears surrounded by flying fragments of
his London rooms: a writing desk, quill and inkwell, Tudor woodwork and plaster walls,
and portraits of him, most prominently the Cobbe portrait with its exquisite lace collar.
Images of Caterina Sforza, including the Di Credi portrait and figures from the
Primavera, join the floating debris of his room, along with title pages of his plays on cue.]
Shakespeare: To write a drama,
You make a trip
And take a dip
48
In local color.
To write a drama,
You travel far
To get a feel
For foreign ways.
But when it’s Venice,
The trip’s a trap,
And you’re the sap
Who’s got to pay.
I went to Venice,
To find a merchant [The Merchant of Venice floats by.]
With a pound
Of flesh to wager.
I went to Venice,
To find a Moor [Othello floats by.]
Who killed his wife
In his distress.
But this was Venice,
And so instead
I lost my head
To a countess.
49
I don’t lack lovers.
Perhaps I boast,
But I’ve had lovers
By the score.
I don’t want lovers,
Especially those
Now dead a cen-tury or more.
But this dead lover,
Caterina Sforza,
Has shattered my defenses
To the core.
I saw her picture: [the third grace from the Primavera floats by.]
A pretty blonde
In flimsy gauze
With graceful legs.
I checked my guidebook:
A warrior-prince,
An alchemist, [Gli Experimenti floats up.]
The entry said.
I read Machiavelli: [The Prince floats up.]
“Virago, temptress,
50
Beauty, sage,
Magician Kate.
I toured Murano:
Found out a school
That she inspired,
And like a fool,
Attended courses:
And now her force is
Interfused
In every play
That I produce;
And every day
I cannot choose
But rue my fate:
Magician Kate!
She is my muse now—
Why should I need
A muse imbued
With secret spells?
I am the sage here,
Dramatic magus,
51
Potent poet,
King of kells.
The world’s my stage now,
And I its lord,
The ruling genius
Of my age.
But how I ache now.
Condemned by fate
To love and hate
Magician Kate!
[Shakespeare collapses into the chair at his writing desk, sinking his head into his hands,
as Kate did at the beginning of the fantasy sequence.]
Caterina:
Dear students,
Here’s how the Bard
Became a teacher!
[Now we see portraits only of the older, balder Shakespeare among the floating debris,
especially the canonic engraving from Shakespeare’s First Folio. As before, relevant title
pages of his plays float by on cue. Among the many images of Caterina in the mix are
some of her as an older woman.
52
Shakespeare raises his head from his hands and begins to write his final play, The
Tempest. Caterina stands behind him with her hands on his shoulders and leans over to
read what he is writing. Though she clearly disapproves, she never loses her infuriating
composure. Shakespeare is not able to see Caterina—she is inside his head— until the
last part of the scene, but from time to time he uneasily senses her presence.]
Caterina:
Ah Will—enough! When will your quill
Leave off this shrill and silly stuff?
You had that odious Hotspur state: [Henry IV, Part I floats by]
“I care not for thee, Kate.”
You made Petruchio break
The spirit of another Kate, [Taming/Shrew floats up.]
Yet here I am, still. Vile rhymester!
You’ll be obsessed with me forever!
Shakespeare [muttering:] “I care not for thee, Kate.”
Caterina:
Oh, stop that scribbling! Do you hear me?
[Shakespeare throws down his quill, pushes his chair back, and stands up furiously. At
last he sees Caterina.]
Shakespeare: You! What did I do
53
To deserve this fate?
Virago, temptress, beauty, muse,
Magician Kate: gimme a break!
You’re sucking the air out of the room.
Caterina [imperturbable]: Hush, hush, dear Will. I’m doing nothing of the kind.
We all know you’re a genius, the greatest
Playwright of any age or nation, [Shakespeare obviously agrees]
Whereas I’m just a minor countess
Destined to turn up in a twenty-first-century video game.
But together we can do wonderful things.
I’ve got a dynamite plot for you.
Shakespeare: You have?
Caterina: Yes! You’ll love it. It’s about a pair of star-crossed lovers. [Romeo &
Juliet floats by.]
Shakespeare: [disgusted]: Ugh—I care not for thee, Kate.
Caterina: No, no—not those star-crossed lovers.
These ones are different.
They’re a lot like us:
Unlucky in love, but interested
54
In looking into the problem.
So, they enroll in our academy.
I teach the girl the way to a man’s heart
Through my secret recipes,
And you teach the boy the way to win
A woman’s heart through your poetry.
What do you think?
Shakespeare [intrigued by the proposal]:
I’ll teach the boy how pretty words
Will touch a lady’s heart.
He’ll ask, “Do you like Shakespeare?”
And she’ll tremble at his art.
It has a graceful ring, I think:
It should be just the ticket:
He’ll ask “Do you like Shakespeare?”
And avoid all sticky wickets.
He’ll ask “Do you like Shakespeare?”
When he wants to try his luck,
She’ll answer, “Yes,” and he’ll reply,
“Me, too. So now let’s—”
[Caterina snaps her fingers, Shakespeare vanishes, and she is back in front of the
55
doorway with Kate and Sandro.]
Caterina:
Students of love,
Your orientation
Is over.
Take a break now,
Go eat some cake now,
Or undertake now
To look at art.
[ominously:] But make no mistake now:
Accept your fate now:
You will be back
In a fraction of an hour!
Upon your return here
Be ready to learn here:
What makes love worth it.
56
---Intermission---
57
Act IV
Scene 1
The setting is a lecture theater decorated entirely in artichokes. The extent of the
repetition becomes apparent only gradually, element by element, as the scene unfolds:
pendant lights in the shape of artichokes, wallpaper in an artichoke pattern, plaster
artichoke finials, moldings as rows of artichokes, artichoke paintings, artichoke stained
glass, etc. To one side is a podium where Caterina will do her teaching, assisted by
Shakespeare. Kate and Sandro sit in student desks, facing them.
A PowerPoint presentation will appear on the back wall of the stage. Caterina is
equipped with an impressive laser pointer that looks a little like a weapon from Star
Wars. Slide changes are indicated with asterisks (*). The resemblance of Caterina’s
voice to Julia Child’s is crucial in this quasi-cooking lesson; even in her rare spoken
moments, there is a sung quality to her words. She is in her element, intoxicated with her
cleverness at having appropriated Shakespeare’s area of expertise, drama, for the
teaching of women’s secrets, casting her students in a play that amounts to a grand
synthesis of male and female arts.
Caterina:
You’re back. I told you you would be,
Didn’t I? [She laughs smugly.]
So here we are. [Another laugh.]
58
Ah—team-teaching with the Bard!
How I love this Academy!
[The demonstration begins, Caterina in charge and Shakespeare her grudging coteacher.]
Shakespeare [to Kate]:
This is your moment, gentle lady,
The culmination of long weeks of sighs
And sleepless nights and eager hopes.
[To Caterina:] Let’s hope she’s up to it.
Caterina:
She will be fine. She will be fine. [*menu, a Renaissance book page]
The menu you have scripted, Kate,
Is simply divine.
Act One:
Artichokes—such fun!
Act Two:
Yum! Speckled trout, mange-tout.
Act Three:
Homemade apple tart—oh my!
To die for!
59
[“To die for” strikes an unfortunate note (literally) given Sandro’s situation, and Kate
looks toward him anxiously.]
Shakespeare: Three acts—bah!
A script is one thing,
Mistress Kate;
Drama is another.
Caterina [to Kate and Sandro]: Oh, what does he know?
My dears, you may take my word for it:
[Suddenly an imposing culinary magus]:
No hidden wisdom lies as deep,
No magic spell can raise such heat,
No mystic alchemy can beat
This tested recipe:
Artichokes à l’Aristotle!
[*PPT title screen: Artichokes à l’Aristotle
by Caterina Sforza
Virago, Muse, Magician
Founder, Venetian Academy of Love
Caterina snaps her fingers and Shakespeare suddenly takes on the persona of a TV
announcer.]
60
Shakespeare: This ancient, secret female lore
Brought to you live,
Through the revelations of—
The Venetian Academy of Love! [flourish]
Caterina [using her laser pointer and pausing long enough on each slide for her
audience to take it in]:
Dear Students—and Colleague:
After exhaustive research in the fields of:
Ancient tragedy, [*Aristotle’s Poetics, with border of artichokes]
Narratology,
[*Roland Barthes with diagram of dissected artichoke]
And Aphrodisiotics, [*artichokes on the half-shell]
I have concluded that:
The Artichoke is the Most Narrative of Vegetables.
[*text in stone over entrance to Caterina’s walled garden]
[All but Caterina gasp at the revelation.]
61
Scene 2
As before, but Caterina and Shakespeare now address the audience, with Kate and
Sandro illustrating Caterina’s lesson. Maybe they are in Renaissance attire. Their desks
have become a dinner table with the following props (either real or mimed): two plates,
each with a globe artichoke; a dish of pistachios; a bottle of white wine in a cooler; and
an empty bowl for discarded artichoke petals. The PPT slide of Aristotelian tragedy
stays up, with headings lighting up (*) as appropriate.
As Shakespeare sets the scene, Kate and Sandro mime it in a stylized fashion: a doorbell
sounds; Kate gets up to answer; Sandro gives her a peck on the cheek and enters the
room with a bouquet that Kate inserts mechanically into a waiting vase; the two sit down
at the dinner table.
[*Introduction lights up.]
Shakespeare:
Footlights dim.
‘Tis evening.
Doorbell rings.
Quick greeting.
Flowers—
In the vase.
Players—
In the chairs.
62
Act One—
The only act— [sarcastically]
Begins.
[*Introduction goes pale; *Rising Action lights up.]
Kate [explaining what “you” do when you serve a man a first course of artichokes]:
First bite:
You pluck a petal
Off the base
And run your teeth
Over the underSide. [She does so.]
Caterina [as if giving away a secret]:
Foreshadowing
The pleasure
Of the heart
To come!
Shakespeare [pontificating]:
Anticipation
Can make
63
Or break
A play.
Sandro [referring to himself in the third person]:
He does the same.
He takes a bite. [running a petal over his teeth]
Kate [playfully, one petal after another]:
And you
Sandro:
And he,
And he
Kate:
And you
Kate, Sandro [increasingly rambunctiously]:
Pluck the petals,
Suck the petals,
Chuck the petals. [Rhythmically pitching petals into the bowl]
Shakespeare [as Kate and Sandro take turns pitching a petal into the bowl with each
word]:
The pace
64
Accelerates,
Aided by
Crisp
Cold
White
Wine.
Kate: How about some:
Dialogue!
Caterina [to Shakespeare, flattering, flirtatious]:
Some dialogue,
Perhaps not quite
Shakespearean,
Dear Will,
But still,
Quite pleasing
In the guise of
Verbal appetizer.
Sandro [seductively]:
Food in place of love?
That’s not for me.
65
Th’Academy
Is clearly not
What it’s cracked up
To be.
Kate [playing at disagreement]:
Oho, my friend!
Beware.
The deepest power
Men know
Is the awesome
Might of
Artichokes!
Caterina [to Shakespeare]:
Ah well,
The first course of true love
Never did run smooth.
Shakespeare [in directorial mode]:
As an aside,
To put a momentary
Brake upon
66
The surging action,
She offers him:
Pistachios.
Contrast!
Complication!
Caterina: And so it goes,
The rising action:
A scrape of petal pulp,
A nutty crunch,
A splash of wine
And words.
Kate: Your turn now: [meaning herself, as if teaching the women in the audience]
[Addressing Sandro:] I know
A reality show
You’d like:
I call it [tossing a petal into the bowl with each word]:
America’s
Next
Top
Lover.
Ten gorgeous guys
67
Competing for the prize:
Full tuition, room, and board
At the Venetian Academy of Love.
Shot live
In Murano.
The lucky winner
Gets the chance
To interview and then seduce
Every female visitor
To the Venice Biennale:
Adventure of a lifetime!
Sandro: He laughs—
[sentence suspended during the interruption]:
Shakespeare: He has no choice: it’s in the script—
Caterina: He wrote the script.
Shakespeare: He did?
Caterina [to audience, smiling]: You see? Magic!
Sandro:
—and reaches out his hand
For a pistachio.
In doing so
His fingers land
Quite near the glass
That’s standing
68
Kate:
By your hand.
Your eyes look up,
Sandro: His eyes look down,
And follow out the line that rises
Kate: Languidly
Sandro:
From her left hand,
And up her arm,
Kate:
Your shoulder,
Past your neck, to where
Sandro: Her cheekbone meets
Her earring…ear.
Caterina: A little histrionics
Might be indicated here.
Kate: You feign dismay: [meaning herself]
[Addressing Sandro:]
69
Surely you didn’t
Mean to say
That men worldwide
Are driven wild
By Caterina Sforza!
Sandro [to the audience]: He holds his ground.
[Addressing Kate:]
That is precisely
What I mean to say!
[To audience:]
To make his point,
His finger jabs the air.
Kate: You feel it touch your hair.
You notice that
Your legs have crossed.
Sandro: He’ll cross his, too. [He demonstrates.]
Caterina, Shakespeare [making an announcement]:
For the first time,
You can bite
Right through
A petal.
70
Shakespeare [dismayed]:
The bowl is heaped
With ruined petals.
Caterina: There will be more,
I assure you.
Shakespeare: There is no choice?
It’s in the script?
Caterina:
Who wrote the script?
Shakespeare [confused]: Did I?
[Caterina laughs wickedly.]
Kate: You pitch a stub in
Sandro: And he grabs
Kate:
Your hand.
You freeze.
71
Sandro:
He lets it go.
Kate: You see
The glasses need
Refilling and
You
Sandro:
Lean across,
Kate, Sandro: Brush knees.
Caterina, Shakespeare [another announcement]:
No petals left,
Except
A little coronet
Of half-transparent leaves
Above the choke.
Kate: You ease it off,
You bite the tiny tips
Gingerly.
72
Shakespeare [dismissively]: This is just a minor episode.
Caterina: But vital to evoke
The pleasures of
The artichoke.
It also serves to stoke
The tension and foreboding
Needed to provoke
The terror soon unfolding,
And the pity it is molding,
And the whole dramatic coding
Of which Aristotle spoke.
[*Rising Action goes pale; *Crisis lights up]
Shakespeare & Caterina [in alarm]:
Crisis: the choke! [scary music]
Sandro: He takes a spoon to it.
Kate: You grasp the prickly barbs
And pull. They’re anchored
In a dome of pulp.
73
[Mischievously:] If you were all alone,
And very hungry,
You might risk prickles
For this pulp.
Shakespeare: No, no, the time is past
For retardations.
The plot will brook
No more digressions,
No delays!
[*Crisis goes pale; *Climax lights up]
All:
Climax!
The heart!
Sandro: Meticulous,
He slices his
With fork and knife.
Kate: You can’t hold back
To save your life.
You hold the stem,
74
You bite the cap.
You taste.
No waste,
No pain,
Just artichoke:
Heart
Of artichoke.
Sandro: He likes it, too—
Reeeeally!
Caterina [addressing the audience as she points at Kate and Sandro]:
Observe:
The knees are joined.
The warmth of shins
Registering
Through hose and trousers,
Respectively.
Feet touch.
My!
Whatever happened to their shoes?
Sandro: He with his clear, deliberate fork and knife:
75
This heart might take a while.
Kate: You with your greedy hands and eager mouth:
I hope this takes a while.
Kate, Sandro [joyous]: Aaaaaaaaaaah!
[*Climax goes pale; *Falling Action lights up.]
Kate, Sandro [dismayed]: Aaaaaaaaaaw!
What?
Over already?
Gone so fast?
And nothing left [*Falling Action goes pale; *Dénouement lights up]
Except for—
Strings? [violins?]
Caterina: Quickly, quickly: [Kate and Sandro clear the table and begin cooking.]
Clear the plates,
Change the scene,
Delay the
Dénouement.
76
[*Dénouement fades. With the plot suspended, the *headings flicker randomly.]
Sandro: He helps,
Lingering
In the tiny kitchen.
It wouldn’t do
To lose his train
Of thought, his edge.
Standing
At her back
In the tiny kitchen,
Kate: Behind your shoulder.
Sandro: He’s standing very near
Kate: Your shoulder.
You sauté trout
And steam mange-tout.
Sandro: He leans in close
To sprinkle in
His seasoned words
77
Amidst the sizzling.
Kate: You hardly
Hear him.
Fish
Swim
In
Dish.
Sandro: Wine,
Iced
Light
Dry
White—
Wi…ne?
[Kate and Sandro abandon the food for a kiss that goes on until indicated.]
[Brief pause. *Catharsis flares up for a second or two.]
Caterina: Apple tart, anyone? [Caterina and Shakespeare dig in.]
78
[In the pedagogical summary, the headings light up in sequence as named (beginning
with the unannounced Introduction). The kiss is still going on.]
Caterina, Shakespeare:
The artichoke is
The most narrative
Of vegetables.
It starts out [*Introduction]
Perfect on a plate,
But all too soon,
That happy state
Gives way to
Mayhem.
Rising action, *
Crisis of choke, *
Climax of heart— *
Ah, lovely heart!
No sooner tasted
Than wasted. [*Falling Action lights up]
Then dénouement! *
Stem, strings,
Dirty dishes.
Catharsis— *
79
If you’re lucky.
[The diagram fades; all that remains is the image of the atomic bomb-shaped artichoke
heart—perhaps now turned sepia. The kiss ends and Kate and Sandro stand apart, lost
in reverie.]
Caterina: But—ohhhhhh—
The memory of the heart!
The memory of the heart
Transforms the tragedy.
The memory of the heart
Is what the clever charts
Of Aristot’ and Barthes
Cannot evoke.
Sandro:
Despite the awkward start,
Kate:
The pain of Cupid’s dart,
Caterina:
The choke-and-crisis part,
Shakespeare: The pathos plays impart:
Sh, Sandro: All of dramatic art,
Ca, Kate:
The menu at the start,
Sh, Sandro: The progress through the chart,
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Caterina:
Even the apple tart,
All:
Are there just to evoke:
The memory of the heart!
Caterina:
And therein lies the art
Of artichokes.
[Caterina looks at Shakespeare triumphantly. He, making no attempt to hide his disdain,
snaps his fingers, and the scene changes to the Globe Theatre, looking artichoke-like (as
it in fact does).]
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Act V
Scene 1
The Globe Theatre, as before.
Shakespeare [gesturing grandly]:
Students of love, I offer you—
Not globe artichokes—
But the Globe Theatre,
A sphere resounding in cosmic music.
Here you will experience the play of poetry,
Not the seduction of a plot.
[The scene switches to Shakespeare’s “classroom,” the twilit bank of a canal, with the
red-tiled roofs and spires of Venice visible against a spectacular rococo sunset. A low
bridge arches toward the bank from a palazzo across the canal. A celebration is in
progress inside: lively dance music wafts through the windows, blazing with light. As
the darkness deepens, the moon becomes increasingly brilliant and stars and planets
appear in the sky.
Shakespeare [beckoning to Caterina in directorial mode]:
My dear Contessa, could you stand over here please, beside me?
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[At once actor and director, Shakespeare takes Caterina’s arm. They mime lovers on a
romantic stroll in the moonlight. He holds her hand, assists her across obstacles,
whispers in her ear. She hangs on his words.
[A mimed speech follows (the one Sandro will soon recite, mimicking Shakespeare’s
movements). Shakespeare gestures in turn at the moonlit bank, the starry sky, and the
sound of music emanating from the palazzo. Then he helps Caterina sit down and joins
her, putting his arm around her shoulders. As they stare up at the sky, the music grows
ethereal, and later somber. By the close of the musical interlude, Shakespeare is gazing
into Caterina’s eyes with great sadness.
[The music ends and Shakespeare and Caterina snap out of their theatrical roles and
stand up.]
Shakespeare: Go ahead, Sandro. Now you tell Kate about the moonlight.
[Handing Sandro a playscript]: Here’s your script.
[Shakespeare moves Sandro and Kate to their places on the stage and then stands to the
side with Caterina to give them room to enact the scene he and Caterina have just
mimed. Kate and Sandro appear somewhat awkward as theatrical lovers.]
Sandro [taking a deep breath]:
How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank!
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Here will we sit and let the sounds of music
Creep in our ears: soft stillness and the night
Become the touches of sweet harmony.
Sit, sweetest Kate. Look how the floor of heaven
Is thick inlaid with patines of bright gold:
[Stars and planets gleam out gorgeously in the sky, and Sandro and Kate stare up in
wonder. Sandro continues in growing transport, and soon Shakespeare is beaming.]
There's not the smallest orb which thou behold'st
But in his motion like an angel sings,
Still quiring to the young-eyed cherubins;
Such harmony is in immortal souls;
But whilst this muddy vesture of decay
Doth grossly close it in, we cannot hear it.
[Shakespeare stands up triumphantly, his point made—QED. He helps Caterina to her
feet and dusts himself off, acting as if the lesson were now over, a complete success. Kate
and Sandro stand, too: Sandro transported by the lesson and his love; Kate still not sure
what she is supposed to have taken from Sandro’s speech.]
Shakespeare [seeing Kate’s confusion]: What?
Caterina [clearing her throat]: Ahem. Will, dear, could I take a stab at this?
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Shakespeare [petulantly]: Go right ahead.
Caterina: Now then, Sandro. Explain to Kate what you just said.
Sandro [coming down to earth with difficulty]:
Basically—[Shakespeare groans], uh, basically,
What I said was that the moonlight
Was, uh,…very special tonight—
And that this quiet bank is a fine place
To sit and listen to music. [gesturing toward the sound coming from the palazzo]
And then…oh yes: I said that
Planets make music, too,
But it’s a music only angels hear,
Because they don’t have bodies…or die,
The way humans do.
Caterina: Did you get that, Kate?
Kate: Sure, but what does it have to do with anything?
Sandro: That music—it’s the music of the spheres, Kate! That’s the name of my
Biennale installation!
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Shakespeare [to Kate]: An inspired work! It provided you a glimpse of the very
principle of beauty that gives order to the cosmos.
Kate: It did?
Shakespeare, Sandro:
The universe is ordered art,
Math’matical and beautiful,
A planetary harmony:
The music of the spheres.
Like strings of lyres and sounding viols,
The orbs strike chords in strict proportion,
The planets are bands of angels chorusing,
Choiring in silent harmony.
They sing with shy, beguiling charm
Inspiring a tuneful universe:
A world of sound that none can hear,
The music of the spheres.
Caterina [objecting]: A secret music
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Shakespeare [insisting]:
orderly.
A music ordered
Caterina:
secretly.
The sweetest secret, cosmically,
Shakespeare: The order of
Caterina:
The secret of
Ca & Sh:
The music of the spheres. [etc.]
[Kate has been by turns caught up in the music and compelled by Caterina’s objections.]
Caterina [sighing; to Kate]: A pretty notion, the music of the spheres—but it lacks
a woman’s touch. The secret truth about the cosmos, my dear, is that at its heart,
the cosmos is cosmetic!
The music of the spheres,
That cosmic order,
Rests on a secret art:
Cosmetic awe.
The cosmos at its heart
Is pure cosmetics:
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An artifice that angels
Use to draw.
Love at its heart is cosmic
Fashioning,
An art that looks like nature,
But is not,
A music in our hearts
That’s tuned to magic,
A sleight of hand that angels
Use to draw.
[Shakespeare, disagreeing, snaps his fingers in magisterial fashion. The canal bank
disappears, and all are back on the stage of the Globe Theatre for the next scene.]
Scene 2
The stage of the Globe is now a mess of huge props: 1) Sandro’s Biennale sculpture; 2)
a blown-up copy of Caterina’s book, Gli Experimenti; and 3) a hanging mobile
composed of giant lipsticks, Jimmy Choo’s, nail polish bottles, lacy underwear, mascara
wands, etc., together forming a quasi-model of the heavens. Kate and Sandro look
around in amazement. Shakespeare looks distressed.
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Shakespeare [in dismay]: Good God! My stage is littered with anachronisms!
Caterina [gesturing to the mobile of beauty products]:
These may seem new, but they are very old,
As old as charms and circling dance and beauty’s alchemy.
[Gesturing to her book of secrets]:
These may seem old, but they are always new,
As new as Sandro trying to cheat death with his art.
Shakespeare [addressing Sandro and gesturing toward the Biennale installation]:
This may seem new, but it is very old,
As old as stars and circling spheres and cosmic harmony.
[Gesturing at the Globe Theatre around them]:
This may seem old, but it is always new,
As new as Kate discovering love because of art.
[Picking up one of Sandro’s crystal globes from the installation and putting it into
Sandro’s hand]:
This is the gift your art will offer.
Caterina [waving her hand over the little globe, which flashes out dramatically]:
Her love will refashion it for you.
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Shakespeare [guiding Sandro’s hand with the globe into Kate’s]:
Your love will put her world in order.
Caterina: Her love makes that order ever new. [More dramatic flashes as Kate turns
the globe over and over in her hand.]
Shakespeare: Tell me, Kate, do you like Shakespeare?
Caterina [appalled]: Will! [To Kate]: Don’t answer him!
Shakespeare [ignoring Caterina, carried away]:
Of course you like Shakespeare!
When Sandro recites my poetry,
Her world falls into order.
That’s why love’s worth it.
Sandro [to Kate]: Maybe my art can help you…put your house in order!
[Kate and Sandro look deeply into each other’s eyes.]
Caterina: Oh, please!
Shakespeare: Beware, Mistress Kate. Soon she’ll be having you believe artichokes
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are more powerful than art.
Kate [injured]: Oh!
[Sandro pats Kate’s hand consolingly.]
Caterina:
Will, I’ve welcomed you into my academy.
Why won’t you allow me a place in your theater?
Shakespeare: You’re here, aren’t you?
“Muddy vestures of decay” everywhere you look!
But artichokes…the memory of the heart!
You take high art and turn it into an appetizer!
Just for once, Caterina, be serious.
Caterina:
I? Not serious? Oh Will.
I am what makes life serious—
Whereas you spend your life
In playhouses.
Shakespeare [gesturing to the Globe around them, beseeching]:
Ah, Caterina, listen! Can’t you hear the music
Of the spheres?
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Sandro:
Sandro, Shakespeare:
Ah, listen, sweetest Kate!
Won’t you come into my art?
You won’t regret this perfect world I offer,
Though perfection isn’t all that it appears.
I’ll speak your name as no one ever spoke it.
I’ll treat you to the music of the spheres.
[From here on, the speech Sandro has learned to recite is abstracted into sound and
image correspondences. An animated visualization of this sound patterning swirls
around and above the characters, turning The Globe into a techno-astrological-musical
installation.
Theoretically, any character or combination of characters can sing any line. The
dramatic situation is as follows: Sandro is trying to make Kate hear the music of the
spheres before he dies; it takes a while, but Kate eventually succeeds; Shakespeare thinks
poetry promotes love by creating transcendent experiences beyond mortal limits; and
Caterina, in touch with the dark secrets of nature, knows that death (most immediately,
Sandro’s) is inevitable. Though they sing at cross-purposes, the overall effect should be
hypnotic and mesmerizing. The asterisks indicate “stanza” breaks, when singers move to
the next phrase in the source speech.]
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Sandro: How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank.
Caterina [skeptically]: How sweet?
Shakespeare: Sweet moonlight sweet.
Caterina:
Sleeps sweet?
Shakespeare: Sweet moonlight
Sleeps and sweet
Sandro [to Kate]: On banks
Of moonlight,
Kate:
Sweet?
Caterina:
On banks of sleep?
On sleeps?
*******************
Shakespeare: Here will we sit—
Caterina:
Here sit?
Shakespeare: And let the sounds—
Caterina:
Sleep sounds?
Shakespeare: Sweet sounds
Sandro:
Of sweetest
Music.
Shakespeare: Sit, sweet.
Sandro [to Kate]: Sit sweetest, sit.
Sandro, Sh: Music
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Creeps here,
Creeps here
In ears.
Sweet ears
Sleep creeps
In ears
In here.
******************
Shakespeare: Soft stillness and the night,
Kate [excited]: Moonlight!
Sandro:
Still night.
Soft night,
Caterina:
And stillness!
Sandro:
Stillness and the night
Become the touches, [“Become” = “suit” as well as “develop into”]
Caterina [to Kate]: Touch the stillness.
Sandro:
Become the touches, sweet,
Become the
Sweetest touch
Kate:
Sweet touches!
Sandro:
Sweet, of
Harmony.
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***************
Shakespeare: Caterina, sit. [Caterina is not amused and remains standing.]
Sandro [taking over]:
Sit, Kate.
Sit sweet
Still sitting, sit—
In stillness,
Here in still,
Soft stillness here.
Hear stillness here
In ears.
Kate:
Still harmony
In ears?
Sandro:
Still,
Music
In our ears.
Kate & Sandro: Sounds!
Caterina:
Still.
Sounds still—
Sandro:
Of sweet.
Sleeps creep,
Sounds creep here,
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Moonlight sounds
In stillness,
Soft still touches
Of become.
Shakespeare [to Caterina]: Be sweet
Sandro [to Kate]: Be soft
Kate:
Becoming
Sweet,
Becoming harmony,
Sweet harmony,
Sandro:
Still sweet
In stillness.
*****************
Sandro:
Kate, look!
Shakespeare: Look how the floor of heaven
Is thick inlaid,
Sandro:
Angel-inlaid, Kate.
Look!
Behold’st?
Sounds!
Kate:
Look with ears?
Caterina [disdainful]: Touches with sounds!?
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Sandro:
Hear with stillness
Behold motions
Sweet
Shakespeare: With patines
Patina, Cat’rina. [Still trying to mollify her.]
Sandro:
Planets,
In patterns
Kate:
Of bright gold?
Caterina:
Night gold.
Kate:
And light,
And moonlight?
Sandro:
Behold’st?
******************
Shakespeare [indicating Sandro’s glass globe in Kate’s hand]:
There’s not the smallest orb which thou behold’st
Sandro:
Small orb behold’st?
Kate:
Small touches
Of become,
The smallest orb.
Shakespeare: But in his motion—
Sandro [to Kate]: Behold’st his motion?
Like an angel?
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Like an angel—
Sings!
Caterina:
Still angel sounds
Smallest in singing
Sounds.
Sandro:
Sounds creep
In ears,
Sweet quiring sounds, [=choiring]
Still quiring
Young-eyed
Quiring eyes
Like cherubim.
Shakespeare: Caterina cherub, [Caterina still cold to him.]
Sandro:
Sweet angel Kate.
Kate [registering inklings of something wonderful]:
Sounds,
Music quiring,
Still,
Young-eyed
Quiring light
And quiring.
Eyes inquiring,
Angels quiring
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In choirs,
Still eyed
In moonlight!
*****************************
Sandro [stumblingly]: Such harmony
Sweet harmony
Is in im-…
Harmony is in im-…
In im-…
In immortal,
Kate,
In souls,
Such souls
In harmony.
Kate:
In mortal souls?
***************
Caterina:
But whilst,
Behold’st?
This muddy vesture—
Sh [mitigating]: Muddy sweet.
This mortal,
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Muddy,
Music
Catrina:
Of decay—
In vesture
Shakespeare: Angel-inlaid decay.
Caterina:
Invested
In decay
In vesture
Muddy
Sandro [sad]: Doth close us.
Close us in.
Caterina:
Grossly, doth
In clothes
Doth grossly close—
Enclose
In vesture gross:
Behold’st?
Sandro [to Kate]: Behold’st
Motion?
Behold’st the smallest orb?
Behold’st music!
Hearest moonlight!
Kate:
Touches…
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Smallest sounds of orbs,
Sweet, soft, still…
Singing!
Caterina:
We cannot
Shakespeare: Can
Caterina:
Not!
Cannot
Shakespeare: Hear.
Singing we
Caterina:
Muddy we
Grossly we
Cannot!
Sandro [pointing to the glass globe in Kate’s hand]:
Hear it.
Here, sit here,
Ears,
Hear it!
Sit.
Hear it.
Music.
Kate [turning the globe in her hand]:
Sweet music.
Spheres.
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Hear sweet here.
[Sandro raises Kate’s hand and as she holds the globe aloft, an extraordinary radiance
emanates from it. He stands back from her, walking several steps away across the
space.]
Sandro [with urgent, exhausted sweetness to Kate, across the space]:
Here!
Hear it.
Hear motion here.
Hear stillness here.
Kate, Sandro: Still
Quiring
Soft stillness
Sings here.
Hear, sweet—
In harmony
Ears, sleeps.
Hear stillness
In our sleeps,
In quiring
Kate:
Music! Hear!
Sandro:
Hear, angel Kate.
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[All stand transfixed by the unearthly music and the light pouring out of the glass globe
in Kate’s hand. The visual projection of the music of the spheres encircles the
characters. But suddenly, Caterina snatches the globe out of Kate’s hand and a laser
beam flashes out of it, zapping Sandro like a figure “killed” in a video game. The stage
goes black, except for the projection, which continues until the unearthly music stops.
Finale
Return to real time: the café at the Biennale from the end of 2,2, with Kate slumped
at the table, her head in her hands. She looks up and shakes her head, coming out of the
daydream. The little glass ball is glowing on the table. She picks it up and hurries out of
the café. At the entrance to the gallery, she sees Sandro standing across the room beside
his installation. He notices Kate and smiles warmly, singing as she approaches.
Sandro: This work is an appeal to someone special,
The only someone who can grasp what it might mean.
My life, it says—
Kate [interrupting]: Today I felt your artwork calling to me, Sandro,
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As no art has before.
I sensed a voice that cried out to my waiting ear.
I could not tell the source.
Sandro: My life, it says—begins and ends with knowing you.
Kate [needing reassurance]: Was it your art that sang my name
Or was I singing to myself?
Or could it be that someone in the world
Who knew me better than myself
Was singing for me?
Sandro [in answer]: My life, it says—
Kate [as if learning his song]:
My life, it says—
K & S:
begins and ends imagining you,
All times before and after are a dream.
FINIS
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