Page 4 of Love, Will

I entered the room but left the door open, planning a quick escape route should the conversation turn against me. I figured if I ran before he sacked me, I could still remedy things through the mercy of his son. Burbage took a deep breath, inhaled, kept the air in his lungs as much as he could and released it slowly. He then looked at me and sighed.

“It’s good,” he finally said.

I felt like the heavens opened, and I could hear the angels playing their harps. A hot flash invaded my entire body as if I was Dante and just walked into the Inferno. My mind did not seem to remember the differences between heaven and hell at that particular moment, my sole focus on those words.It's good.

“Tha…thank you,” I muttered, barely audible.

“We’ll play it next week.” He opened his purse and put six shillings on the table. I hesitated.

“Take it. It’s good,” he said again, reassuring me.

I took the coins from the table, one by one, trying to fathom what was happening. With each coin that I took, my hand got heavier, as if marking my statute as a playwright, the weight of the money installing my new lifestyle.

“Thank you,” I said again, softly.

“Now go eat.” He pushed me out of the door and closed it behind me.

That moment forged my future and only two years later, London knew me as William Shakespeare, actor and playwright. Seeking advice from Burbage and other writers, I learnt more about composition, rhyming and character development and used those new findings to make my work more appealing to the public. I createdTitus AndronicusandHenry VI, which have both been played over 20 times that year. I enjoyed walking by the bridges and harbor and listening to traveler stories; craving the exotic and became infatuated with the idea of Italy. I never knew why until I completedTwo Gentlemen of Verona. Through it, I found that piece of heaven they call true love.

It was the 27th of June 1591 and we had just finished actingTwo Gentlemen of Verona. Since both myself and Richard Burbage were the youngest in the Queen’s Men available to play that month, we took the roles of Proteus and Valentine and I must admit; we had a delightful time portraying the two best friends as we ourselves had become as close as brothers. The cheers of the public let us know that the success of the play was imminent, so we celebrated the same way as every night, at the local tavern. It had become a sanctuary for the lost souls of the playwrights and actors.

The theatre was emptying, and Master Burbage shared our coins for the week. I earned double the pay that evening for both the acting and the creation, to which Richard portrayed himself as reacting harshly, coming back to the role of Proteus he had just finished acting. I started mocking him back, but he seemed to enjoy this charade, so we started walking towards the theatre exit talking as if we were Proteus and Valentine.

“You, my dearest friend, could not make a pillow feel satisfied in bed, let alone a beautiful lady like Julia,” Richard shouted towards me, pushing the exit doors.

“He must do. He convinced a beautiful lady like Julia to follow him across the country and pretend she was a man,” we heard a young voice close by.

We both turned abruptly to see a stylish young man slowly walking towards us, with a tall posture and a raised chin. Judging by the outfit he wore, he must have been one of the high lords, as his velvet jacket looked impeccable and he wore a dark blue satin robe.

“Apologies, my lord,” Richard hurried to say. “We were unaware there still was audience inside the theatre.” He bowed, and I did the same, both weary of the situation and the young Lord who seemed to have no problem being in our company and joyfully walking towards us.

“No need,” he answered almost regally. “I am the one who should be apologizing. I sat here in hope to meet the playwright. I was told by Florio he was one of the main characters,” the young man responded with glee and slight curiosity, as though he wanted to uncover the writer himself.

I felt relieved. John Florio was one of my friends. We met at the tavern once and he was so drunk he started singing in Italian. Because of my fascination with the country, I started conversing with him and found out he was a linguist and the Italian tutor of an earl. We spent a good few hours that night, so we continued the tradition and met every couple of weeks in the same tavern to discuss life and travels. He was one of my major references in the play we had just finished acting.

“William Shakespeare, my lord. At your service,” I said, while bowing as low as my tired knees allowed.

“Henry Wriothesley, Third Earl of Southampton,” he introduced himself and took a small bow as well, which was highly uncustomary for a lord to do in front of a commoner.

“Richard Burbage, my lord,” my friend introduced himself, almost embarrassed by his total exclusion.

“Delighted to meet you both,” the lord replied and for a moment I remained fascinated with his soft lips, the way his mouth curled and uttered the words, his voice a melody to my tired ears.

“How can I be of service, my lord?” I asked eagerly. It was the first time someone from the high class had even taken an interest in my plays, and if they did, they most definitely did not stand and wait for me to come out of the theatre.

“I was hoping we might have a brief conversation on your play tonight, if it is not too much trouble, Master Shakespeare.”

My bones shook at the title. “Master.” He was well aware he was using a title I did not possess, but did it anyway, showing me respect. Higher than expected. Higher than I deserved.

My voice trembled. “Of course, my Lord. It would be my honour,” I said while maintaining my position of reverent salutation.

“There is absolutely no need for that.” He smiled. “I am barely eighteen. I am not deserving of the title yet,” he said, almost as a joke.

Both myself and Richard remained stunned and too scared to react. The young Lord was addressing me as if we had the same rank and, dare I say, with admiration. It looked like he wanted to impress me. That could not be right.

There were a few seconds of silence, as none of us had been in such a situation before, but luckily, Richard, being a more experienced actor, knew how to improvise.

“In that case, my Lord, I will take leave of you and allow the conversation you have been most patiently awaiting,” he said as if he was on stage and bowed slowly again. The young Lord seemed to agree and only made an approving gesture with his head, not looking in Richard’s direction. Richard nodded and slowly retired, taking care while placing his steps, as if he did not want to make any noise that would affect the situation he left me in.

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