Page 7 of Love, Will

Dear Master Shakespeare,

I am grateful for the invitation you extended and have thoroughly enjoyed the tour. The world of the theatre is fascinating. As I have accepted your invitation, I am now bound to make one myself. I would be delighted to have Master Shakespeare over for supper tomorrow night. It would be my pleasure to keep discussing your plays.

In hope you will accept,

Henry Wriothesley

Third Earl of Southampton

The thought of dining with an Earl stunned me and I spent most of the evening thinking about topics to discuss and themes that could seem interesting for his Lordship and would not make him regret sharing his supper with the company of a commoner.

This was a great honour, one that was not standard norm and happened seldom in the theatre world. Of course, we performed at court and we were in the presence of the Queen and other lords, but there was always a clear distinction of ranks made clear to us. We were to be the center point of the room only when performing, and even then, we had to take care that our moves on the stage do not affect the Queen and we could never turn our backs to her. As soon as the play finished, we bowed and left or were escorted to the back of the rooms, leaving Her Majesty and the lords in their own good company.

That I had been addressed as an equal and invited to dine at the same table as the Earl of Southampton was a greater honour than one could have hoped for. Especially an actor who dreamt of being a playwright and only released a few works.

But there I was, walking through the streets of London on a Sunday afternoon, preparing for the unthinkable and imagining every situation that could happen in order to prevent myself from offending or being a dull conversationalist that would disappoint the Earl’s expectation and the entire world of theatre. Thus, I arrived at the Earl’s house in London; I was later to find out he had another residence in Titchfield.

Haunted by thought and fears, there was one emotion I could not contain, excitement. At the news that I would spend the entire afternoon in the presence of the Earl, that he would dedicate his hours to me and I could bask in his presence and admire him from up close. That those stolen glances could now turn into direct gazes, since I would only be seated a few feet from him.

A guard opened the doors for me and escorted me through several rooms that looked so beautiful I could not have imagined them in my most succulent dreams until we finally stopped in the waiting room by a fireplace. One of the maids came and served me a glass of wine and invited me to sit and wait for the Earl’s arrival.

I could not help but admire the tapestry, the chairs and the carvings of the fireplace itself. It all seemed from another world and I was even afraid to sit down and let my rugged pants ruin the fine sutures of the fabric. I realized then, if I did not know it already, that the Earl came from a different world than mine and I felt scared and intimidated. Even annoyed that I was made to wait there, in a room that probably meant nothing to him but I couldn’t even dream about owning someday.

Alas, I substituted jealousy with a more productive feeling and remembered every single detail for potential use in my plays. I created a character, a Duke, Orsino who lived in a place just like this and he would fall in love with….

“Master Shakespeare, welcome. Please accept my apologies for the delay. Some documents needed immediate attention.” the Earl appeared at the doorstep and interrupted my thinking. He was dressed in burgundy, with matching embroidery on his shirt’s sleeves and red shoes. His pants were black velvet, and he looked like one imagines a prince does. The Earl portrayed a very fine image. He had long, wavy, blonde hair that flowed like rays of sunset over his shoulders, beautiful green eyes that complemented his sweet cheekbones with fine lines of rose. If one were to look at his face for more than a few seconds, he could be confused with a beautiful maiden that radiated joy, just like a warm summer’s day.

“Not at all, my lord. Please do not trouble yourself on my account,” I politely answered.

“Shall we proceed to the dining room?” The Earl invited, his body slightly fidgeting as though he carried a bag of nerves.

“Of course.” I smiled and hurried closer to him.

“Please, follow me.” He returned the smile and showed me towards another door, which opened at his command with the wave of a hand.

The room was enormous and highly decorated with paintings of his ancestors and distant family. There was a massive portrait of himself, by the other side of the door, right above the head of the table, so when he sat, his guests would see his reflection behind him. It offered the host grandeur and command over his guests, but in the Earl’s case, the portrait was so beautiful, showing his reflection in such a calming way, that it gave me joy.

The table awaited full of fruits, pastries, dried meats, many cheeses and bread. The silverware shone, the crystal of the glasses sparkled and I wondered how I would make it through such an abundant meal without making a fool of myself in front of the Earl.

These fears vanished hastily once a second cup of wine was served. Until that moment, we talked about food, the difference between regional cuisine and my mother’s pastries, which I will brag about until the moment I die. There will not be a better pastry on earth to culminate the buttery flavour achieved by Mary Shakespeare. We then talked about theatre and the portrayal of love. The Earl was in favour of having a female presence on stage that was not represented by young boys with trembling voices and fake bosoms.

“Unfortunately, my Lord, tradition requires only men on stage, or else many of my friends will be left without work and they don’t have the looks to pose for painting,” I joked.

“But the romance, the moment of the kiss, it’s just so...bad.” He burst into a laughter caused by an overindulgence of wine. I could not help but study the crimson that slowly overpowered his cheeks, offering his features the blandest dash of peach.

He was enjoying himself, which could only mean I proved a pleasant conversation. The Earl took another sip of wine and seemed to drift away from our topic. Possibly the idea of a kiss on stage reminded him of something more important.

His sweet features changed abruptly, his smile wilting like a rosebud when the first frosty night hits. Something troubled him. It became visible, and I took a chance and invited discussion in hope to ease some of the burden.

“My Lord is troubled. I can sense it, even through the lovely wine,” I said swiftly, trying to make my note seem unimportant and easy to ignore should he want to.

“I was merely thinking about the actors, what you said. Them being paid to kiss other men on stage, fulfilling such an act out of duty and imagining the strength one would need to do such a thing every day.”

“Do not trouble yourself, my Lord, we are all good friends and practice the plays several times. As you know, we have to do six different ones per week, so they don’t get to have their pretty lips kissed every single performance.” It did not seem such an impediment to me. It was part of us winning the coin and none of the actors were troubled at rehearsals from portraying a maiden or faking a kiss.

“Of course, I was only imagining one doing it every single day and night for the rest of his life. Out of duty, to produce heirs.” The Earl’s entire posture transformed, his presence dimmed like the candles from our table; becoming small, extinct, afraid.

“Allow me to assume my Lord is not talking about theatre any longer.”

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