Am I blind for having knelt and lied? Or for not having knelt long enough?


The opening scene takes place on the final day of Galileo's life, in 1642. This opening scene frames the rest of the opera. All the scenes that follow — which we have already discussed — come from this moment of recollection; we imagine what Galileo would have turned over and over in his mind as he assessed the events of his life. His trial. His beloved oldest daughter. His scientific experiments. A walk in the garden with the future pope. A moment of discovery, in church with his child. The invention of his telescope. And a moment in his childhood, watching his father's opera.


There is no end to the list of things I cannot see. Her straw hat in the bottom of the boat. The rose. The telescope.


(Did you know that it's a myth that Galileo became blind by looking too long at the sun through his telescope? In truth, his many drawings of the sunspots he could see were created by projecting the telescope image of the sun onto a piece of white paper, where they could then be traced. Galileo was most likely blind due simply to cataracts and old age.)


Scene 1 is a monologue, full of longing, tinged with regret. But also, to the end, insistent that he knew what he knew; that he was right. It closes with the line he was famously supposed to have uttered after his recantation (an utterance that, however romantic, is almost certainly a myth): eppur, si muove. And yet, it moves.


The earth in all its heavenly glory around the sun was turning. Around the burning sun, the earth was turning. Now, in ignorant darkness, still I say it turns.



 

Okay, so first of all, Scene 8 might be my favorite. (But when I write about Scene 2 I might tell you that one is my favorite. Forgive me. I just don't know, you guys).

In this scene, Galileo and his young daughter sit in church, listening to the priest recite Mass. Maria Celeste (her given name was actually Virginia; she became Maria Celeste when she entered the convent) asks Galileo, "Father, what does the Latin say?" Galileo translates for her. "It says, 'Every word of the Bible is sacred, as though descended from heaven.'" The priest continues to deliver the Mass, and Maria Celeste begins, haltingly, to translate the Latin herself. "The Lord laid down the foundations of the earth, that it not be moved forever."

Meanwhile, Galileo has become distracted. As the Mass goes on, Maria Celeste notices the change in the focus of his attention and asks him what he's looking at. "I am looking at the light," he tells her, and then asks her to look up and tell him what she sees. "It's only the chandelier swinging like a pendulum," she answers. He asks her which takes longer, the pendulum swinging a small distance, or a large one, and when she responds -- that presumably it would take the pendulum farther to cover a long distance -- he gently corrects her. No matter how far the pendulum travels, he says, it takes the same amount of time. "But how can you know?" she asks, and he explains that he uses his pulse to time each swing. He comments on the deep and utter perfection of God's world, and remarks that observation of the world is another way of praising the lord.

Overheard in a recent rehearsal:

Kevin: "Whatever the most amount of fire I can have, I want that."
Jennifer: "Like maybe a torch in a bucket?"
Kevin: "A torch in a bucket… maybe."
Lindsay: "Fire Bucket -- that's my nun name."
Jose: "Sister Fire Bucket."

I watch the cast use a table rack, swiped from our physical plant room, as a makeshift gondola, which involves Nick Nelson and André Chiang sitting on chairs on a platform about 4 1/2 feet long, facing each other. The constraints of the fake gondola are such that the two guys are seated nearly on each other's laps, and a ripple of laughter spreads through the cast when they're finally set.

Some costume pieces were added today: petticoats for the ladies, and cloaks and caps for the two Inquisitors. Nick has a black velvet cloak, trimmed at the neck in gold. They are AWESOME.

Meet the Director: Kevin Newbury

I recently sent members of the cast a few questions to answer for you, blog readers. Kevin graciously told me all about the fun and the challenge of working on modern shows like Galileo. Let's not ever break it to him that it doesn't stop raining in Portland, OK?

In the meet and greet, you told us you like to listen to the music of Philip Glass and John Adams for fun, in your own home. You mentioned, too, that you're 'definitely the person to talk to if you want to get into this music.' What would you say to someone who might be interested in developing an appreciation for composers like Glass and Adams?