by L E Pembroke
She smiled and with just the slightest hesitation, she said. ‘You choose the scene we will play, dear Will.’
He knew every word of the manuscript, how often had he heard them spoken? How frequently it had been said that up until the time of his creation of Romeo and Juliet’s story of devastating and overwhelming love there had never been another like it. They said, it was and always would be the greatest love story ever told. He was not so certain as the Greek playwrights of ancient time knew a thing or two about tragic love.
‘We will begin at the second act when Romeo, after his first meeting and brief word with Juliet, is loath to return to his home. Eros has struck him a piercing blow. Romeo lingers beside the wall that surrounds the Capulet estate.’
*
Romeo: “Can I go forward when my heart is here?
Turn back, dull earth, and find the centre out”
He leaps over the wall. Juliet enters and stands on the balcony above.
“But soft! What light through yonder window breaks?
It is the East, and Juliet is the sun!
Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon,
Who is already sick and pale with grief
that thou her maid art far more fair than she,
Be not her maid, since she is envious;
Her vestal livery is but sick and green,
And none but fools do wear it; cast it off,
It is my lady; O, it is my love!
O that she knew she were!
She speaks, yet she says nothing. What of that?
Her eye discourses; I will answer it.
I am too bold; tis not to me she speaks,
Two of the fairest stars in all the heaven,
Having some business, do entreat her eyes
to twinkle in their spheres till they return.
What if her eyes were there, they in her head?
the brightness of her cheek would shame those stars
As daylight doth a lamp; her eyes in heaven
would through the airy region stream so bright
that birds would sing and think it were not night,
See how she leans her cheek upon her hand!
O that I were a glove upon that hand,
That I might touch that cheek!
Ay me
O speak again, bright angel! for thou art
As glorious to this night, being o’er my head,
As is a winged messenger of heaven
unto a white-upturned wond’ring eyes
Of mortals that fall back to gaze on him
When he bestrides the lazy-pacing clouds
And sails upon the bosom of the air.
Ismene picks up the book, she blushes just a little, she is aware that William is expressing his feelings towards her. Slightly hesitant, she begins reading:
Juliet: O Romeo, Romeo! wherefore art thou Romeo
Deny thy father and refuse thy name!
Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love
And I’ll no longer be a Capulet
Romeo: Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at this?
Juliet: ‘Tis but thy name that is my enemy
Thou art thyself, though not a Montague,
What’s Montague? It is not hand, or foot,
Nor arm, nor face, nor any other part
Belonging to a man, O, be some other name!
What’s in a name? That which we call a rose
By any other name would smell as sweet,
So Romeo would, were he not Romeo called,
Retain that dear perfection which he owes
Without that title, Romeo, doff thy name;
And for that name, which is no part of thee,
Take all myself.
Romeo: I take thee at thy word,
Call me but love, and I’ll be new baptised;
Henceforth I never will be Romeo.
Juliet: What man art thou that, thus bescreened in night,
So stumblest on my counsel?
Romeo: By a name
I know not how to tell thee who I am,
My name, dear saint, is hateful to myself,
Because it is an enemy to thee,
Had I it written, I would tear the word
Juliet: My ears have not yet drunk a hundred words
Of that tongue’s utterance, yet I know the sound.
Art thou not Romeo and a Montague?
Romeo: Neither fair maid, if either thee dislike.
Juliet: How camest thou hither, tell me and wherefore?
the orchard walls are high and hard to climb,
And the place death considering who thou art,
If any of my kinsmen find thee here.
Romeo: With love’s light wings did I o’erperch these walls;
For stony limits cannot hold love out,
And what love can do, that dares love attempt.
therefore thy kinsmen are no stop to me.
Juliet: If they do see thee, they will murder thee.
Ismene puts down the book and leans back in her chair. ‘William, this was not a good idea, it breaks my heart to read these words with you, words that make me dream impossible dreams. I cannot continue.’
‘Ismene, you are tired. I will leave and give you time to rest.’
‘Rest, I do not need. Your words have stirred in me memories and desires that cannot be fulfilled. Let us speak of other matters. Tell me everything about your life, your home, your family. Tell me when you will leave Venice and return to England.’
‘I have no plans to leave Venice; while ever you desire it, I intend to stay. Ismene, I know you sense my overwhelming love for you. How can I explain this miracle? I am your captive while ever I live.’
‘I feel the same, but Will, I have a husband and I suspect you have a wife.’
‘The mother of my children is a stranger who does her home care duty in Stratford-on-Avon while I, for fifteen years, have made my life in London. I visit my home and family for a few weeks each year. Ours is not an unusual story, our marriage was forced upon us by my impatience to bed her. I was never impatient to wed her. Seventeen years ago, I mistook lust for love and now I am thirty-six years and know the difference. I know that loving is caring and I want only to care for you.’
‘My time is short. As each day passes I am aware that my heart is weakening. And, my doctors are honest with me. The fever I had as a child has done irreparable damage to my vital force. They tell me to prepare myself for the end. I thought I had accepted that with equanimity, almost looked forward to it. But then you walked into my life - too late.’
‘Why do you say “too late?” It is not too late for love. We may have many thousands of minutes together and every moment will be a joy to us. Each morning when you open your dear blue eyes, I will be there and when you close them to rest, the last image you see will be mine. “The World will be our oyster.”
‘If only that could be. “The world will be our oyster.” I have heard that said before, in one of your earlier plays, I think. Yes, I recall it was on a visit to London. My husband and I were in your city on three occasions.’
‘And, we did not meet, how cruel life can be. Yes, indeed, I did write those words. “The Merry Wives...” I do believe.’
‘Dearest Will, you and your plays have given me such happiness. How fortunate am I to have found you and your sincere love in the last few months of my life. I think I must be blessed.’
Her eyes began to close. ‘It is time for me to rest. I resent every moment I sleep and we are parted, but perhaps we will meet in my dreams.’
‘I will be here when you waken.’
*
William stayed in Venice until the depths of winter; every day he was in her home. Every night he was in his rooms writing the story of the tragic passion of Othello. He was tempted to call his villain, Giovanni, but he could not bear to see the man’s name, in perpetuity, on his pages, so he named him Iago instead.
He had no wish to tell Ismene of Iago
’s hatred and his wicked conniving to play upon Othello’s jealousy which brought about the deaths of both husband and wife. Yet, it was necessary for him to continue his current work to distract his mind from what was becoming increasingly obvious - the imminent death of his beloved. The story, of the deep love shared by the protagonists of Othello, a love poisoned by shafts from the malevolent, stony-hearted and vicious villain, involved him totally every evening. Writing it made time seem to pass quickly. He immersed himself in the story that ends in tragedy just as he knew his own love story with its inevitable tragic loss, would do in the very near future. How well he understood the terrible jealousy experienced by Othello. It was no different from the jealousy he had felt knowing Ismene had once loved her husband. The knowledge of her former lover gave fire to his story. He knew it. The story of Othello would be one of his greatest.
The story of the general who came from Morocco was not one he would ever discuss with Ismene. He wanted her days to be full of laughter and merriment, fun and frolicking. Days not unlike those in his Athenian story of A Midsummer Night’s Dream.
On some occasions, overcome by eagerness to see her again, he arrived too early. He went to her room and stayed there, holding her hand, until at last, she opened her eyes.
‘How much time have I wasted?’ She frowned and often asked, always annoyed that an hour or two of their precious time together had passed in sleep. And, when he bent forward to caress her face and kiss her lips, he invariably asked. ‘Where will we go today?’
She inevitably answered promptly having been thinking of the plays with which she had become most familiar. She might say, ‘I believe we should spend our day in The Forest of the Ardennes. I have a penchant to visit France again.’
‘How I wish I could take you to my own Forest of Arden, “the greatest of all in Britain.” However The Ardennes will have to suffice.’
‘Today, I will be Rosalind again, I am in a merry mood. You, Will, will be my worthy Orlando.’
‘Of course, I could never play a different role than that of Rosalind’s lover.’
So they begin the romp of “As You Like It” Although, sadly they might take many days to arrive at the romantic conclusion, for Ismene was fading fast. She must take care, her breath is so easily taxed.
At another time “As You Like It” might be out of favour with Ismene.
William would suggest. ‘Why not go to Illyria and become embroiled with the confusion that reigns amongst all the players there. We could both do with a hearty laugh.’
They rarely left the house that winter. Occasionally, they took her in the sedan chair to the sea and she looked eastward towards Greece. ‘I would have liked to see my home again.’ She wept softly and then straightened up. ‘Why do I complain? We have one another. God has been good to us.’
‘Let us return to your home, the wind is biting. This afternoon I shall read to you of the Athenians and how the fairies intruded into their lives with their magical love potions on “A Midsummer Night.”
Ismene, as she grew more easily tired, favoured the romances. No longer did she wish to be reminded of the greed and aggression of kings and nobles. William and Ismene lived together in a world of romantic fiction.
He never again spoke of her husband and she also never mentioned him. Despite having stated, in their early days together, that she did not blame her husband for leaving her, she nevertheless, had been deeply hurt that Giovanni’s love for gaiety and fun was infinitely greater than his love for her. That fact was something she no longer dwelt on, was no longer of any importance to her. All her thoughts were with William. He made sure that Ismene was never alone as she slid into the last hours of her life.
One morning towards the end of March, her spark of life appeared to disappear. They sent a message. Fearing what he would find, he raced to her home at seven that morning. The servants stood aside as he pushed into her bedroom, and took her cold hands in his.
Her heavy eyelids flickered once, twice and finally opened.
‘We will meet again, my darling Ismene.’
Her voice was a whisper. ‘I know, I am certain of it.’
Again her eyes closed - for the last time.
He stayed alone with her for more than an hour. He racked his memory seeking the words he wanted to say for the preservation of her soul.
Knowing the inevitability of her death, William had been grieving almost since the day they first met five months before. He walked out of her room without looking back. Tears coursed down his cheeks, no words came to his mind. What could be said about William Shakespeare and Ismene Savelli? Their love had been a secret, pure and spiritual. Theirs was a love few people were privileged enough to experience. He had received new and great knowledge. For the first time in his life, at the age of thirty-six years, he became truly aware of the wonder of perfect, selfless love.
It was time to go, time to begin his life again, time to meet his daughter, if that were possible. Had she too discovered perfect love in her desire to devote herself to God? In one way, he hoped so. In another he wanted her back in New Place, back amongst her family. He wanted to hear her laughter, perhaps see her married to some fine young man. He wanted his older daughter to be a companion to him as he drifted into middle age and waited for his end and his reunion with Ismene.
ACT 3 - 1
She looked through the grille and watched as he walked away. She felt no sense of loss because she believed she had been given the greatest gift one could ever receive - life worshipping and serving God Almighty. Susanna possessed nothing but the clothes in which she stood.
One of the nuns took her arm and led her to her cell - a small, almost bare, windowless room furnished with a low narrow bed and a prie-dieu. Her postulant uniform hung on two wooden hooks on one wall under which, on the floor, was folded the coarse underwear and black stockings worn by all inhabitants of the nunnery. The habit of a postulant was far simpler than that of a novice or fully-professed nun.
While the nun waited with her face discreetly turned away, Susanna quickly removed her shoes and stockings, gown, under-skirts and silk under-garments. She eagerly changed into the shapeless coarse underwear and into a simple, undyed, high-necked, long, loose-sleeved gown in a natural grey shade. It was tied at the waist with a girdle. On her head, she wore a short grey veil.
Sister packed up the new postulant’s former clothes into a bundle and began to depart. She spoke a few words in Latin which Susanna interpreted as an instruction to go, when the bell rang, to the chapel at three that afternoon for Divine Office. During her interviews with Mother and the Novice Mistress Susanna had been shown the chapel. She thought she knew how to get there, although would have liked the opportunity to check the layout of The House. Suspecting it would be frowned upon if she wandered about aimlessly until the bell tolled, Susanna remained in her cell. She was curious to see her appearance in her uniform, but naturally there were no mirrors to encourage prideful gazing. So Susanna turned to the Prie-dieu to seek God’s help and to express her gratitude that she’d been granted this opportunity to love and serve Him for the rest of her life.
In the interviews, the nuns had clearly spelt out that she was on the verge of taking the three main vows - that of poverty, chastity and obedience. They asked her if she was certain this was what she wanted and pointed out that discipline within the Order was strict and punishment rigorous. She must be willing to renounce all aspects of her worldly life, with no reservations or exceptions. Susanna was eager to do so.
Life in the convent was not always hard for her, but there were times when she wished desperately for convivial conversation. For much of the day the nuns worked in silence to allow for unimpeded contemplation. The Augustinian nuns, being an enclosed, contemplative order, spent a great deal of time in silent prayer. St. Augustine’s prayers, chosen by monks and nuns many hundreds of years before, were repeated daily by all members of the Order.
They gave Susanna a copy of a book called the Book of Ho
urs and explained that all nuns - postulants, novices and those fully-professed - used this book as a guide for what prayer they were to use at specific times of the day and night. Despite knowing that this was a Contemplative Order, Susanna was surprised that the prayer schedule, known as The Divine Office, took up so much of her time. Certain prayers were said alone in one’s cell, the remainder in the chapel with all members of the Order. Those times in the chapel, were the most spiritually uplifting times of the day for Susanna. How she loved the communal chanting and singing. She felt privileged to be a future Choir Sister and sorry for the Lay Sisters who were busy with cleaning, cooking, making ale, wine and honey and growing vegetables on their allotment, next door to the main house. Lay Sisters provided all the food consumed by the nuns and also for any poor who came begging. They did not have to make the same commitment to prayer and contemplation as the Choir Sisters - they had no time for that.
The Silences were the most difficult times for Susanna to endure. Always gregarious as a young girl, she soon began to make up for her enforced isolation by occupying part of her contemplative time with thoughts completely alien to a devout nun. In doing so she was breaking the rules and was obliged to confess her sins to the Novice Mistress who then gave her a suitable penance. Some extreme individuals wore a hair shirt for penance or even self-flagellated. But, the usual penance was confinement to one’s cell and extra prayers. The most difficult and lonely time for Susanna was The Great Silence. No sound was heard in the convent after Compline at six in the evening until after Prime and breakfast at six in the morning. It was so easy to let one’s memory of family fill the lonely, silent hours. Would her grandmother and Uncle Gilbert be proud of her? What would her mother feel about her vocation? At this time of year the days at home would be short and cold, but within their new and splendid home - New Place - all the open fires would be blazing; nobody would be cold and shivering as she was here, each night wrapped only in her thin blanket.
The Divine Office, for the Choir Nuns, novices and even postulants, was comprised of eight periods of prayer. They commenced at two in the morning and Susanna found that the most difficult of the twenty-four hour routine. That was Night Office and was followed by Lauds (also difficult) at five in the morning, Prime at breakfast, Terce at nine, Sext at lunch, Nones at three in the afternoon, Vespers between four and five and concluding with Compline at six. Susanna was not the first postulant to fall into a deep sleep during the Night Office and again at Lauds.
