Page 35 of The Two Wills

Wherein Willy Hughes first meets Mistress Rose Williams, also known as the Black Rose or the Dark Lady.

In the old age, black was not counted fair,

Or, if it were, it bore not beauty’s name;

But now is black beauty’s successive heir,

And beauty slandered with a bastard shame.

—from Sonnet 127

Within the tour’s first month we had traveled from Leister to Oxford and then back to Leister, to great success. By the time we had arrived in Dover, the Poet was finishing his first draft of The Most Excellent and Lamentable Tragedy of Romeo and Juliet. It was most thrilling to watch how he put together this new play, while at the same time tutoring me in reading. He’d teach me one of Juliet’s new speeches, and then when I’d act it out for him, he’d rewrite it to adjust the sounds that did not please his ear. Seeing the passion with which he did this—and how his eyes would stare at me when we created together—made me grow more in love with him.

I felt certain that after our conversation the night of my debut, the Poet would reveal more of his own longing. Instead, he behaved as if our conversation had never even happened. Worse, just after arriving in Dover he began sending me more sonnets about my beauty and the tragedy of my refusal to marry and conceive an heir. God’s teeth! I thought. Has the man no eyes? No sense? Is he ignoring all about which we spoke? I refused to surrender. He might forget those moments when our bodies were close, when he looked at me in that way he did, but I did not. I would not.

In more hopeful news, my reading improved greatly with the Poet’s help. Learning the new play and deciphering those wretched baby-making sonnets was an outstanding way to learn. As I grew braver with my vocabulary, I even started to offer alternate words for Juliet’s speeches that felt better in my mouth. At first, the Poet would good-naturedly grumble something like, “Doesn’t fit the pentameter” or “Egads! I’d rather diddle the Pope’s balls!” But later, as he saw that I understood both the character and his rhyme, he grew most open to what I had to say. In truth, he rarely discouraged me (or any actor) from making suggestions and occasionally, he’d shout, “Huzzah! Well, done! That’s a thousand times better! I shall make it my own!”

When he’d say such things to me, my heart would glow like a thousand candles, and I’d think, Oh, but soft, if only you’d make me and my body your own.

Alas, in a matter of weeks, he said Romeo and Juliet was ready to present to the sharers, and that my reading ability was good enough that our daily tutoring sessions could end.

“So, we won’t be meeting no more … erm … anymore?” I asked, trying to suppress the ache of my disappointment. “Not ever?”

“Of course we’ll be meeting, lad. Not as often, surely, but I’ll still need you to test out a speech or two of course. You’ve a fine understanding of the rules of English now, and if you have any questions per the pronunciation or meaning of a word, just seek out your master, Augustine.”

Needless to say, this was not the response I wanted, but still, I did not give up hope.

When the master of the book announced who would be reading the new roles in Romeo and Juliet, the company appeared stunned. It wasn’t only that I, the newest apprentice, would be playing the leading role of Juliet—my triumph as Queen Anne had planted the seeds for that news. The real surprise was that my former rival, Alexander, would no longer be playing women’s roles at all but instead become a regular player of men’s roles—as a paid hired man. This was a great joy to Alex, as it would be for any apprentice. He would begin his professional career with the role of Tybalt, Romeo’s piss-angry friend—the part suited Alex perfectly. The Poet had also requested that Alex cover the role of Romeo during the period of creation, so as not to tax our leading actor Richard Burbage with all the restructuring and setting the stage movements. Burbage, being a genius, would simply step in the morning of the performance and dazzle everyone—as usual. Later, the Poet would rewrite again to suit any changes Burbage wished to make.

Otherwise, it was the usual casting of the other company members, with the Poet playing the smaller roles of Chorus and Prince Escalus. (The Poet never took too big of a role in his own plays, since he would often mangle the lines, being more focused on the audience’s reactions to his play and how he might improve it.)

And so, the real work of putting the new play together began.

“Take the scene again from the beginning,” the Poet commanded Alex and me. “And, God-a-mercy, please don’t jump on each other’s words. I suffered over those rhymes, and I’d like to hear them!”

To feel more inside my role, I donned a rag atop my head, as Augustine had showed me, to simulate Juliet’s long hair. (They would only allow us to wear the expensive horsehair wigs during actual performances.)

JULIET:

What man art thou that, thus bescreened

in night,

So stumblest on my counsel?

“Not bad, Hughes,” the Poet declaimed. “Remember, she has a hunger for the handsome young lad. True, she is innocent. But young ladies, just like we men, are wantons no matter how virginal appearing. Thanks be to Our Creator!”

All the players and Ed Knight stomped their feet and laughed with forced, manly lasciviousness. I did all I could not to roll my eyes, having seen more than one of these men playing hide-the-kicky-wicky with each other down by the Thames at night.

“Let’s move on!” the Poet called out. “From your line, Alex!”

ROMEO:

By a name

I know not how to tell thee who I am.

My name, dear saint, is hateful to myself,