The Bard and I A novel by Bronwen Welsh Copyright 2008 An orphan boy is rescued from poverty by England's greatest playwright and discovers the joy of playing women's parts on stage and off

The relationship between Julian the boy player and William Shakespeare develops further

Part 3

Since my disastrous visit to Will’s lodgings I waited long days and sleepless nights to see what his reaction would be. Although I longed for some word - any word, when a note finally did arrive in his script, I sat for a long time holding it in trembling hands before daring to break the seal. Relief flooded through my body when I realized that far from a curt note dismissing me, it was a summons to attend the theatre early the next morning for an announcement about Will’s new play.

I was up before dawn to break my fast and was one of the first to arrive at the theatre, hoping for a word with Will before the others arrived, but it was not to be. Several of the players commented that I looked pale and ask if I was sick with some malady. We all stood around in the groundlings area before the stage. Finally Will and Dick Burbage appeared on the stage and called for silence. I tried to catch Will’s eye but it seemed to me he looked away.

“I have completed my new play,” announced Will “The Tragedy of Hamlet, Prince of Denmark.” There was a murmur from the assembled players, and then Will gave us a short summary of the play’s theme.

“Now I shall announce those who will play the parts,” he began. “Dick has suggested that I play Hamlet at least for a while, since it is a long part, and I at least should know the words!” There was general laughter at this.

Will started to read out the name of each character and who would play it. There were many parts and as the list rolled on and my name was not mentioned, a chill beset me. Was this to be my ultimate humiliation? The boy who played Juliet to such acclaim, overlooked for his new play?

“And finally, the part of Ophelia, daughter of Polonius, to be played by Master Julian Moss,” Will announced. I was so relieved that I took it in good part when Will continued “Alas that means you have to die again Julian.”

Everyone laughed and even I managed a smile. Now all was activity as parts were handed out and the players formed into little groups discussing their roles. It was some time before I finally managed to catch Will alone. My heart was racing, and I would have wished myself anywhere else, but this I knew had to be faced.

“Will,” I began, trembling. “I want to tell you how sorry I am at my importune visit to your lodgings. It was so stupid of me…” I felt my cheeks burning once more at the thought of it.

“Julian,” Will’s voice was gentle. “It takes courage to do what you now do, and I think all the more of you. Indeed, I was impressed with your quick wits when confronted by Anne. The ability to improvise when necessary is a great weapon in a player’s armory.” He reached out and took my hand, looking into my eyes. “I know my feelings, but yours were not known to me before that day.”

"But what of Anne? Surely she knew?" I said.

Will smiled. "Dear Julian, you have much to learn about married life."

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small paper.

“I wrote this for you, please read it in private.” Someone called for him.

“I must go,” he said “Bye the bye, Anne returned to Stratford this morning.”

I had to prepare for my first scene, so it was some time before I could extract Will’s paper from its hiding place in my gown to read it. He had written a sonnet and once more his words transported me, even as they do to this day

‘A woman's face with Nature's own hand painted
Hast thou, the master-mistress of my passion;
A woman's gentle heart, but not acquainted
With shifting change, as is false women's fashion;
An eye more bright than theirs, less false in rolling,
Gilding the object whereupon it gazeth;
A man in hue, all 'hues' in his controlling,
Much steals men's eyes and women's souls amazeth.
And for a woman wert thou first created;
Till Nature, as she wrought thee, fell a-doting,
And by addition me of thee defeated,
By adding one thing to my purpose nothing.
But since she prick'd thee out for women's pleasure,
Mine be thy love and thy love's use their treasure.’

For a long time I read and re-read Will’s sonnet, committing it to memory for I knew I must return the paper to him. Those words are in my heart even to this day. Then I fell to thinking about his parting remark about Anne returning to Stratford. Was he suggesting that I visit his lodgings again or merely that it was the reason why I had not heard from him? I pondered over this for some days but dared not risk his wrath if I had mistook his meaning.

Will’s play was another resounding success — how could it not have been? We played opposite each other in several scenes, and my skills were stretched for I had to appear to go mad but cause the audience to grieve for me rather than be amused. This time I did not die on stage but I still heard a sigh from the audience when Queen Gertrude described Ophelia’s death.

‘There is a willow grows aslant a brook,
That shows his hoar leaves in the glassy stream,
There with fantastic garlands did she come
Of crowflowers, daisies, nettles and long purples.....
Here on the pendant boughs her coronet weeds
Clamb’ring to hang, an envious sliver broke,
When down her weedy trophies and herself
Fell in the weeping brook. Her clothes spread wide,
And mermaid-like awhile they bore her up,
Which time she chanted snatches of old lauds,
As one incapable of her own distress
Or like a creature native and endued
Unto that element. But long it could not be
Till that her garments, heavy with their drink,
Pulled the poor wretch from her melodious lay
To muddy death."

Even now I cannot hear those words without shedding a tear.

One day when we had a break in rehearsals. Will came across me sitting alone and quietly weeping. He sat beside me and quietly asked what ailed me? I sighed and said I was thinking of my parents. I had never visited their grave and only knew from my uncle of the churchyard where they lay, in the village of Wallingford south of Oxford. Will sat beside me and put his arm around me, and I nestled my head on his shoulder.

“When the play is over, then we will go together and seek out where they sleep. How would you like that lad?”

I turned to him and smiled through my tears. If I had dared, I would have kissed him at that moment.

Hamlet finished its run a few weeks later and Will sent word to my lodgings that I should be ready for our trip upon the morrow. I put together a few clothes in a bag, and on a whim and not through any sense of surety, I packed my silk shift, some silk stockings, slippers and my little bag of makeup.

Will arrived in a small carriage with just a coachman at dawn the next morning and soon we set off at a spanking pace towards Wallingford. We changed horses halfway and arrived in the small town in the mid-afternoon. Will booked a room at the local hostelry and then we set out for the church. The churchyard was large and not well maintained in some areas and after a fruitless search, Will found a verger and asked directions to my parents’ grave. Grumbling, he consulted a large book and pointed us in the right direction. We found the grave, overgrown with weeds and marked only with a wooden cross with the words ‘Sac’d to ye mem’y of John Moss and his wyf Mary’ in fading letters inscribed on it.

“Oh Will!” I gasped, tears welling up.

“I will leave you a while with them lad.” said Will and left me there kneeling at the grave side. I began to pull up the weeds and clear the slight mound of the grave. Then I lay there on it for a while, sobbing my heart out. I looked about me, wanting some flowers to put on the grave, and wandered into a nearby copse where I found some sweet wild flowers and gathered them up to make a posy for my parents. I sat down for a while on a grassy bank and exhausted by emotion soon lay down and drifted into a deep sleep. It was there that Will anxiously searching found me. Years later I played Titania in ‘A Midsummer Night’s Dream’ and Will told me the lines he wrote which were inspired by that moment.

‘I know a bank whereon the wild thyme blows,
Where oxslips and the nodding violet grows
Quite over-canopied with luscious woodbine,
With sweet musk-roses and with eglantine:
There sleeps Titania some time of the night’

Opening my eyes, I looked up into his face, full of concern, replaced by — was it love? I took his outstretched hand and rose to my feet. Gathering my flowers we walked back to the grave and I placed them gently there.

“I want to give them a proper headstone,” I said to Will, and he promised that next day we would find a stonemason. Then we returned to the inn where we were staying and had a meal before repairing to our room.

The room was small but cozy, with a fire in the hearth. There was but one bed present, and I felt that at last I had all the signals that I needed. Will said he would take a cup of ale before retiring and after he had gone, I stripped off my doublet and hose and slipped on my shift, drawing the silk stockings up my legs and tying them with pink garters. Then I brushed out my hair and applied my makeup at which I had now become expert. Ready at last I waited with a fast-beating heart until there was a gentle knock on the door.

“Come in,” I said softly, and then Romeo entered to greet his Juliet with a gentle kiss.

My darling Will, you are long gone, and I now pass the time until I join you, remembering and taking comfort from these words I write, even though I must eventually destroy them. That night is forever in my heart for it was the first time I gave myself to you, my body and my soul and even now they are yours. To be enfolded in your strong arms and feel your lips upon mine; to join our bodies as one, this was to fulfill all my desires. Only when all our passion was spent did we sleep in each other’s arms, and when the dawn 'in russet mantle clad, walked o’er the dew of yon high eastern hill’ then was our passion re-ignited, and we gave ourselves to each other once more.

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Epilogue:

Julian’s memoirs end abruptly at this point. I suspect that part is missing, which is not unusual. One has only to think of the Victorian diary of the Rev Francis Kilvert, parts of which was destroyed by his widow and another relative. Did Julian pass away suddenly? It may be so for it seems he did not have sufficient forewarning to destroy that last part of his memoir as he intended.

A copy of Julian’s will accompanied the memoir. It appears that he was quite wealthy when he died. The majority of his estate was left to his ‘great and good friend’ John Barlow, player of the King’s Men (the name adopted by the Lord Chamberlain’s Men when James 1st came to the throne). Other items which are of interest are that he left ‘my gowns and other attire to the King’s Men for their use in plays and masks’. Might we deduce from this that Julian preferred female attire throughout his life? It is interesting to speculate on whether he was dressed thus when he chanced to meet Lady Jane and their daughter in Hyde Park, and was John Barlow his companion on that occasion?

There was also provision for work by a stone mason in Wallingford, and finally he willed his memoir to Lady Juliet Mandeville who we now know was his daughter. Was this an attempt to reach out to her from beyond the grave? Did she read the memoir or did it lie unopened in the box where it was recently found? We shall never know.

Recently I made the journey to Wallingford and found the churchyard where I was sure Julian lay with his parents. I wanted to lay a posy of wild flowers on his grave and found some oxslips and violets nodding in the spring breeze in a hedgerow close by. I knew Julian would like that. The graveyard was well kept and a short search of the church records by the verger pointed me in the right direction. I stood there for a while before laying my posy on the grave. The engraving in the stone was weathered but I was able to make it the text:

Sacred to the Memory of John Moss
And his wife Mary
And also their son Julian

“All the world’s a stage
And all the men and women merely players”
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Author’s note: The above is a work of fiction. Others have speculated on incidents in William Shakespeare’s life, which for all his fame is not known in detail. His sonnets in particular were addressed not only to a 'dark lady' but also to a young man, as for example in Sonnet 20 included in my story. I trust my small contribution does not give offence to those whose admiration for the world’s greatest playwright is only matched by my own.

I only recently saw the film 'Shakespeare in Love' and was quite amazed at similarities between it and my story. I would like it known that these similarities are co-incidental since my story was written three years before I finally saw the film.