Shakespeare in Love Page #13

EXT. THE RIVER. VIOLA'S BOAT. NIGHT.

WILL has climbed aboard VIOLA'S boat and is tearing open

the letter. What he reads causes him great pain. He

collapses into the stern seat next to VIOLA.

WILL:

Oh, Thomas! She has cut my strings! I

am unmanned, unmended, and unmade,

like a puppet in a box.

BOATMAN:

Writer, is he?

WILL turns on him savagely

WILL:

Row your boat.

EXT. THE RIVER. VIOLA'S BOAT. NIGHT.

WILL turns back to VIOLA. They have their conversation

intimately, disregarding the lack of intimacy. The

BOATMAN is hardly an arm's length away, but they ignore

him.

WILL:

She tells me to keep away. She is to

marry Lord Wessex. What should I do?

VIOLA AS THOMAS:

If you love her, you must do what she

asks.

WILL:

And break her heart and mine?

VIOLA AS THOMAS:

It is only ours you can know.

WILL:

She loves me, Thomas!

VIOLA AS THOMAS:

Does she say so?

WILL:

No. And yet she does where the ink has

run with tears. Was she weeping when

she gave you this?

VIOLA AS THOMAS:

I … Her letter came to me by the

nurse.

WILL:

Your aunt?

VIOLA AS THOMAS:

(catching up)

Yes, my aunt. But perhaps she wept a

little. Tell me how you love her,

Will.

WILL:

Like a sickness and its cure together.

VIOLA AS THOMAS:

Yes, like rain and sun, like cold and

heat.

(collecting herself)

Is your lady beautiful? Since I came

to visit from the country, I have not

seen her close. Tell me, is she

beautiful?

WILL:

Oh, if I could write the beauty of her

eyes! I was born to look in them and

know myself.

He is looking into VIOLA'S eyes. She holds his look, but

WILL belies his words.

VIOLA AS THOMAS:

And her lips?

WILL:

Oh, Thomas, her lips! The early

morning rose would wither on the

branch, if it could feel envy!

VIOLA AS THOMAS:

And her voice? Like lark song?

WILL:

Deeper. Softer. None of your

twittering larks! I would banish

nightingales from her garden before

they interrupt her song.

VIOLA AS THOMAS:

She sings too?

WILL:

Constantly. Without doubt. And plays

the lute, she has a natural ear. And

her bosom--did I mention her bosom?

VIOLA AS THOMAS:

(glinting)

What of her bosom?

WILL:

Oh Thomas, a pair of pippins! As round

and rare as golden apples!

VIOLA AS THOMAS:

I think the lady is wise to keep your

love at a distance. For what lady

could live up to it close to, when her

eyes and lips and voice may be no more

beautiful than mine? Besides, can a

lady born to wealth and noble marriage

love happily with a Bankside poet and

player?

WILL:

(fervently)

Yes, by God! Love knows nothing of

rank or riverbank! It will spark

between a queen and the poor vagabond

who plays the king, and their love

should be minded by each, for love

denied blights the soul we owe to God!

So tell my lady, William Shakespeare

waits for her in the garden!

VIOLA AS THOMAS:

But what of Lord Wessex?

WILL:

For one kiss, I would defy a thousand

Wessexes!

The boat scrapes on the jetty of the DE LESSEPSES' house.

The bump throws THOMAS into WILL'S arms. He holds her

round the shoulders. His words have almost unmasked her.

The closeness does the rest. She kisses him on the mouth

and jumps out of the boat.

VIOLA:

Oh, Will!

She throws a coin to the BOATMAN and runs towards the

house.

BOATMAN:

Thank you, my lady!

WILL:

(stunned)

Lady?

BOATMAN:

Viola De Lesseps. Known her since she

was this high. Wouldn't deceive a

child.

WILL gets out of the boat.

BOATMAN (CONT'D)

(reaching under his seat)

Strangely enough, I'm a bit of a

writer myself.

The BOATMAN produces his memoirs in manuscript.

BOATMAN (CONT'D)

It wouldn't take you long to read it,

I expect you know all the booksellers

. . .

But WILL has gone.

EXT. DE LESSEPSES' GARDEN. NIGHT.

WILL drops over the wall into the garden and without

hesitation starts climbing up to her balcony.

INT. DE LESSEPSES' HOUSE. VIOLA'S BEDROOM. NIGHT.

WILL comes in through the window, just as VIOLA enters by

the door. They stare at each other across the room.

WILL:

Can you love a fool?

VIOLA:

Can you love a player?

They run together and fall into a passionate kiss.

WILL:

(springs back)

Wait! You are still a maid and perhaps

as mistook in me as I was mistook in

Thomas Kent.

VIOLA:

Answer me only this: are you the

author of the plays of William

Shakespeare?

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