Voices from the Past

l

ry 3,

ing vague roads and paths. Somewhere, in the thick of the woods, we roused an elk. The animal crashed into a ravine, and disappeared. We saw fox and squirrel, ravens, an owl. The

, but soon found out that we were lost. It was a tedious ride before Francesc

riage. Cecchino began to sing and whistle. There was sunlight. Evening clo

gan the

ancesco yelled at

ry 7,

y, flighty. Her sallow features defied changes in light and shade. I wanted to impart a special quality to

'm busy. When I'm late, you fuss at me. Scowl. To-morrow is the Spring Ball, yes, yes, it's tomorrow!" And

favorite jewels, her rubies, her pe

," she wo

nted her jewelry-when she

ks on her jewels," he

Duke, to present the finished por-trait. He

ovico for seven years. Everyone said the Duke loved her profoundly. He also adored

How long was h

d autumn into her hair, painted it into the juniper tre

twen

erstanding my tedious brush strokes, praising my skill. A woman of scientific

o time, and I would try to memorize the contours of her face, the coloring of he

I respected his concepts as cartographer. She could be rude, blunt. She tried to sail to the New World.

r... I have saile

ather's maps. This was forty-five years ago, w

l

ry 10

ferent with Cecilia's portrait: the

Always in agreement. Soft-voiced. Fond of poetry. Music. Enjoyed eating, sipping wine, walking, flowers. When we were in bed together, she k

at all of my model

ry much alive...here he comes, trotting across the floor

l

ary 2

h, Austrian, Swiss, two or three British, a Greek potentate; the majority will be Parisians and the chateau people. I

will walk a few steps down the center aisle of the banquet room, growl

le body ached), and I could

floored; there were Swiss dancers and yodelers;

lo sleeps

l

rua

girl is singing, in the

nes piq

es chato

uillent l

piquent

a boy of six or seven, way back in

in hand we walked, at sunset time...she liked to sing as she worked in

on scraps of paper, a flowering geraniu

de me happy...grapes made me happy, the clairette, pinkish and very s

hose grapes on

l

b humor, levelled at the poor, gnawed at me until we reached the villa among its cypress and olive. There I walked through derelict rooms, some with views of the Tyr-rhenian Sea...summer rooms...winter rooms...dining

hall will be ready at that time...we are preparing festivities-you understand. Your un

you are d

hat, but changes, ch

ter of deta

etails. You are to consult

ts? I must remind you

season...the har-vests are poor... I have obligations...ch

heir artisans, fifteen hundred years ago? The opulence of Pliny...the opulent sea...m

by the shore, sitting on the sand. Sketchbook on my

ed a mosaic: in my mosaic of green, brown and whit

from a shoulder basket. I bought six,

l

walls of bayside houses, with sun, hot sun, on the bay? Sun on the moat of

for a windmill; I added sketches of a spool-winding machine; I remember I evolved my machine for polishi

ted these sketches,

ked-nosed Frog finishes my brass compass. He has kept me waiting for more

s. Bearded rogue. Fat. In his rowboat, we sailed the harbor, weathering calms and wild gusts, in and out of bays, eating cheese and bread, sipping port, catching fish, his oars a pa

.Maestr

wboat,

nt bread was baked by his young, mute wife. Bread, cheese, wine. Rimini often sang, with his Piombino slurring

his boat, ate out of his hands-perched on m

wake to the quackings of Rimini's pets. His drake had been his pet for years, I won't gue

language. Within a week she was out of bed. Rimini had a festa, to honor her recovery. Poor man, he thought

rua

f the old rambling building goes badly. The weather is mean. Cough weather. Sto

hey had come out of a tenth century nightmare. Some have quit be

s me nothing, does

as we make the ro

ouse. Rain. A few days later we backtrack to Romorantin on horses. Carriages wo

crashes against a window, shattering it. Workers snigger as I j

odcutter tosses on chunks... I continue working...the

ave learned that when the King is too preoccupied with his current mistress, the Queen moves in. Up

now recovered), we find doors open into the Queen's suites; there is sun; the weathe

look...look

he

...on that easel...that's your p

elieve wh

es..." I

our missing canvas. Ho

t about it...come awa

it's

ing dis-appeared. We blamed this one and that one.

ed and talked about Leda.

Was it a gift? Or is it a copy? We could ascer-tain that if we could inspect the painting. There were to

me of the Queen's girls will talk...perha

t I am depressed: I will

co and I ride slowly along the

ses

rses in France. His stables are c

I still visit the stables: I can spend hours there among their warm bodies:

lt

re

lli

ori

em, comb and brush them...hostlers are sometimes irritated... I

ain and fil

w grateful she is! This bea

ses

lustrious qualities, thei

l

rey velvet suit (in the King's honor, he pointed out). With arms cr

paint one thing well. I said that anyone studying a single aspect of art for a lifetime can attain

ireplace, coughing

na Lisa and your Sai

hat he was anno

appointed face went out in the

seascapes (in the Dutch tradition); why have I painted so m

his velv

Francesco brought me from Paris? I am unable to recall names. And F-sits there, perturbed, as I attempt to remember. I also forget facts, and I am at a seri-ous loss. What is to be the outcome? As I review my treatises, I am aware tha

oung woman-progressing nicely. He hates to lay down his brushes. If I hav

his easel, watching his brush,

sponds to light on opaque pigment, as we have determined. We realize t

rancesco's painting, my eyes blur: I feel like I am falling asleep

arned that my Leda is a copy, pur-chased b

asts (how quickly they got broken), rusted pots, rags, gold leaf (always being stolen), sketches, frames, saws, chalk, nails, rats. Someone was always leaving food around, wine bottles;

to write

chiar

re of the evening's beauty; as I sat there, the sun became a red ball behind a s

f us. It was almost dark but I could outline the oval of her face-her mouth and eyes smili

o

taly, from our bench in our small garden, while the c

wil

uggage. I have come across some drawn work Mother made: flowers and angels, in perfection: punto en aria. How w

letters: our home life, under his coercion, slowly disintegrated. Coercion and promiscuity.

ortable bathtub. Soon I wil

sun in the garden below and the peacocks below and I think of the sun that has burned for me for many years and I think of the shadows I have observed, the shadows of weeping wil-lows, the shadow of a lifted mar

ng his arrows at the Stymphalian birds. As I put away my journal some of that lig

eem

l

, does i

s. For a while I could manipulate one or two. I hoped they would recover. I think this affliction began on

ntrol. They have prescribed herbs, poultices, hot concoctions. Strange, very strange,

l

h 2,

g. It should be that the greater one is, the greater is one

pe ne

l

rc

ars ago.

encaustic, or other technique, I wa

longer the same. The guilds are different. The workshops are different.

homosexuality some of that libel pervaded my thinking for years. A personal plague. How easy it was to brand a man in tho

tion man. For long my body has nothing to share with any woman or man. I am

been very friendly with me, has presented me with

ac

The bird fluttered, trembled. How long had it been captive? I kne

ac

ed the

th all his strength, found the o

gs I have forgotten I have wished to forget. I find it hard to live and harbor grudges, but it is also lack of wisdom to

thing to discover: dis-covery is the key: new sinew,

tive. There is so much about per-specti

this branch of science, the beam of light is best explained by mathe

known as diminishing per-spective. 2 - The second deals with the way colors vary as they recede. 3 - The third is concerned with

ds. I made drawings of my own hands, in the days I could squeeze the crabprongs of a horseshoe with ease. I remember Mother's loving hands, Caterina's sensual hands, Andrea's clever, slender

g this journal, who may care to kno

rom their essential hue. c - The eyes, out-of-doors, in a illuminated atmosphere, perceive darkness behind the windows of houses whi

ious thing-res

Sometimes we fall from great heights-without harm. Sometimes we talk to those who are unseen. Sometimes we meet those who can't speak. If we do not sense death in our sleep we may se

ar. There is a cave with a ragged mouth. It wants to

s-a childhood friend

the refectory wall-le

l

h 4,

ing very

on the floor, on a bench. I painted by day and at night, with the help of lamps and candles, placing lights on benches, on tabl

med. I was always there when the light was good; during inclement weather I might shove my key into the lock, and shut the door. A few g

forty-

ting what I had learned while observing the dying man. I remember: to soften

re were two dead

wine. Flies. Sipping wine at another table, I sketched him. So it was: I would not have to hunt any longer. That night, altho

went. He never

usually a littl

aker. Hated his boss,

plated it for a while, shrugged, patted me on the shou

Peter was the news that he had added another child to his big family

life; the clothes that they wore must not distract; the food on the table must not distract. I made the tableware similar to that used by the mon

n rain drummed on the roof of the refectory, as I sat alone, I heard th

s flooded by a storm: I saw water two feet deep

face, should have been crippled perhaps. Life, in those Galilean days, did

re they are, w

i today. If he had remained, w

rrow

o, John, Toscanelli, Andrea, Luini, Credi, friars, priests and many artists, gathered at the Grazie, and w

the fresco come to life. For three years we've seen it move along. It has meant something special

remember

e curious had to be satisfied. Since General de Galen had come to Milan to deliver the painting to the King, I asked his protection. Onlookers came

hrew mud a

hat was yesterday...the jeers and c

gardens; we pass the time of day. I get along best with the gardeners because there are new plants and flowers to examine and sketch. Sit me on a b

ew in my own gard

the dis-ciples. My Savior's eyes are not the eyes of a shepherd from the hills. He has a city man's face. He is younger than the Christ at the table. His benediction is for all men and yet carries a sense of restraint, perhaps

...dre

me fly, over the Arno, over the town; he becomes my black-brown-grey ki

ith the kite; however, it is too old a dream, or experien

hear someone c

l 2,

ot write my journal. Sometimes I can not speak. My vision is going. Francesco and I had beg

house, the Loire, old bridges, royalty, paintings, rearing horses,

l

ri

t it was often bitter later on. So, I comforted myself with sham com-fort. I gaine

a woman for

slammed at me...bastard da Vin

ica

xplained...art, music, sculpture, ge

ICA

, sick children, they are part of most married lives...that little girl on you

lf in those mirrors: he also sees a rusty spatula and shredded brushes: sometimes, late afternoons

her l

ircase creaking. Or is it Fr

become

ng with my

ina s

g was such a pleasure! I think of our kitchen, at Vinc

, Satan, a

i is here.

ebt. A man owes him 600 livres. I have of

ire he huddled in his coat. Perhaps Dr. Pedretti can help him. We'll see tomorrow. As we sat

hes he bowed before the King. The two got along well. Lying and vy

s a shadow of himself. He resents my paralyzed arm...says

mboise is a

er with his tongue, La

eliness has e

it was late. He came and sat by my bed. He understands my

ht. A fire burned

t me sleepily, flames on his thin cheek bon

I rambled on about Milan and my paintings and the siege and Milan's bombardment and deaths-pell-mell thoughts. Francesco brought cups of wine. For us this was a father/son relationship

reliving my life! Francesco asked about the men who had posed for The Last Supper. Faces, thoughts, words...floo

two or three l

ine bottle and re

d smoke in

resting than Paris. I related the story of the mirror-man, at the Vatican apartm

fishing in th

w," I su

w now," he sa

gets awa

rattling the break

d better get

rancesco said, and laughe

grinding pigment. How insignificant my sketches, my trees, faces, water

bronze horses, moulded the graceful contours o

o prowl the hills, to climb the Alps, to sit by the sea. Maturity came dur-ing thos

t that shadowed the corolla. I remember a sorrel leaf, I rememb

the evening l

world

..tell me green, tell me saffron,

red cha

l

how to live but we are

esco Mel

nardo da Vi

loux, in the

y 2,

xty-seven

l

l 4,

HE LAST

DA VINC

NCESCO

HE MAESTRO

DICTAT

d three walls. Made the room warmer. My paintings covered the fourth. This was my sala. A large stained glass window faced the street. You remember that street, of course. Lodi Street. Western exposure. Hot in summer. Dusty

d light. Of course I painted the walls black. You would have admired my

led open the drapes. He enjoyed lying

l

l 5,

me with difficulty

horse... cartoons. I tried to interest the authorities in an ideal city. I made models for them. Planned double-decked streets. Vehicles would us

ittle fruit, and

hospital, with proper light. I had adequate leisure. I dissected male and fema

s laid

y fed me, administered my concoctions...my kidneys. Nature cured me. After about six or seven months I was able to get abo

l

l 6,

sible. We were like hostages in Bor-gia's camps. Of course we wanted to escape...planned...we were afraid. Pay was hi

his soldiers disliked us. They made it pretty obvious most of the time. I ta

y down our apprehensions. Then...then, he had Vitelli strangled. Strangled in Borgia's tent. Enraged, afraid, I left that night. Niccolò provided

little as

nk, warmed ourselves. Niccolò

s name, his face, that Borgi

down his words. He is in pain.

l 7,

rgatory and

because they are free of pervers

little...make

l wars, the crusades, th

and aspergillum

in this world of ambiguity,

by his bed. Visitors annoyed him. S

l

l 9,

The sun is low.

e the entire wall of the refectory, and have it transported to Paris. H

s syphi-litic face grey. Flailing his arms, as he stood before my mur

in in this wretched refec

nted him in profile, a good study, in good light. He insis

ve a collection of

my Madonna of the Yarn Winder. So, he

treak his windows. Lifting one arm, he said

l

l 10

n with it...I have

r-turned, whirling chunks of masonry, the enormous waves, defy. This is t

where I saw avalanches. Sound...the crash of falling boulders, the crash of a ragi

h of life is rage

d, I can hear th

served his supper. He ate very little. He r

l

l 12

ed us. Alone with

table...bare table, in the sun. Caterina was sitting opposite me, her hands in the sun. I seemed to be about

e beauty in Caterina's face. My eyes followed the grain of the table, mixed with

rancesco, it's a woman...or a swim in the lake. For me it was always work. If a great discipline haunts a man

.he is scheming, plotting...worrying...battlefields gnaw his guts..

e for anot

l

st conversation

created a mirror machin

d to amplify the

Please

series of mir

o catch t

and two inches square, some pieces two and three inches square, most of them concave, all specially ground, to fit toge

brought the

estroyed by the man who had cut and polished

tter experie

me. The Pope learned of these experi

ll as

l

20,

St. Hubert's chapel, on the evening of May the 4th. Royalty, chateau-pages, soldiers, visitors, servants made up th

reen flag, sewn with hundreds of white sala-manders, blanketed the casket. Wreathes of roses and car

ypress, buried by torch and taper light. The chapel doors were w

was the saddest m

him to the burial place and he laid flowers on "Mon Père's" grave.

etained all of da

ketches, journal, treatises,

anied me on my

a Va

13,

d mother wel

l place my easel near the windows that face the Adda, face

n the entry wall and have laid his red

e of his drawings

broad shelves for his books and his small bronzes, his drawings and treatises,

can to bring orde

is stone

collecte

ions ou

apel of

rmised t

bone

rd da

2 –

or's

aced on da Vinci's

eare's

Eliz

yalty, lov

ey S

ry 28

t there always be a purpose and justifica-tion? I can not believe that. Then, there can be stumbling, burial, burial violets around a grave, an absence.

atf

nd, Candle

here trees, like menhirs, lis-tened. Some of her friends were drunk and raucous parasites; some were manikins; some were

t one side. Sprigs of ribboned mistle-toe decorated the window drapes and the frames of all Ellen's paintings; s

and Mar

an orcha

cherries

as might

the costumes of the torchlit merrymakers with him, as they trailed about, singing. A glass of wine with Ellen... Egypt, it seemed an e

thick-eyed musing came with scalding wassail; then more dancing and then sleep at their side... Later, I'll tell her about my play, my p

atre, her books, her home by the la

told

our hands. It is to be ma

eyes, lochs, and then there were her dark, dark hair, her perfume,

pine boughs put resin on the air...a day and then another, her

lue froz

ast people, b

roasts on a

hakespeare an

spot in the ic

blue clo

h b

rolers pas

ey S

ary 8

d with courtiers, beggars, soldiers, priests, merchantmen and their families. An ox was roasted-and as it steamed and smoked-walkers

ed sailors leaning over, waving and jeering. It was almost Christmas and carolers sang around bonfires. Royalty had set up tents and we were wel-comed there, the t

old tent, laughs alongside the scabby hulk of a frigate, warms her hands before a fire. Elle

y mush-room, and we laugh and hug each other. Inside a carpeted tent,

ey S

atf

I felt it at the outset of my career, is no longer here: it is a long way from Ve-nus and Adonis to Henry VIII: there were grim diversions, rude and costly fail

ere too dear fo

es where is m

lot and character for the rico-chet of horror an

sleep a king-but on

nce and Italy, alone with hegemony of rocks, promontories, beaches, hierar-chy

ow y

children dying

bells t

a dead youth to

h hi

reflected in t

y lists column aft

a so

. Father and I worked on Mill Lane: finding Charles collapsed by the whipping post, we lugged him out of the su

over me, Will..

s nothing l

hing us

sed, C

y of us

ot sack. That'll help you fe

an find somethin

. I'll bring hot

low, then rose:

e had die

evening. At times the tolling seemed to be right in my ears; at times I forgot it, bringing water or food, medic

aulking the water and the water was grey and beaten and unmoving, locked in its

atf

ary 1

, talking Irish, blamed us, saying "there's narra a plague in Ireland-it's your filthy London-you damn filthy foreigners!" Miller cursed the altar and the saints behind his head, a

m Sussex, faithful, hard-working: they got sick on Tuesday; as the bells tolled on Thursday evening

y did that Dorsetshire man stab himself with a dirk? How did the graves of the Boothby children ge

one bite you! Worms crawled out of the earth. Caesar, beware! Whenever I passed our cemetery I smelled ne

ut

ouring out of your mouth? Are you onl

walked to school last week

e and give him water. Our medicine has to make him well. We n

t. There's sleep. There's tomorrow. Th

o cove

rom shivering. His mother's sick too. I'll rub his

tter go home and turn in. You didn't sleep much last night.

ou ever see a play, boy? The play's the thing: it takes you

ong farewell,

te of man: toda

es of hope; tom

lushing honors

omes a frost, a

nks, good easy m

is a ripening,

lls, as I do.

ton boys that s

summers

ll, he

e across the fields or pack his creel or kiss

who wante

have a ca

t spheres... I importune death a while. The passing of so small a

chase a coach th

ch lamps, from tre

the fog s

figure s

ts into h

cloak, b

re's angu

ey S

ary 2

round my house, thief at every win

hought of throwing my cloak around both of us, as we walked along: dark

some of them royalty. Tambourlaine usually appeals to royalty. This was Crown night, Christ's crown, hell's cr

nspicuous. I saw her carriage ap-proaching, inching the fog, fog through the spokes of her wheels. And then out-cries, and E

hing for future pricking, if need be: long, needle-poi

royalty of crime in a London gutter; tim

n and I sat with her doc-tors and learned a little more about pain. I went for Ellen's brother and he came, a cold young m

ndon for them

ughts the stuff for those days, my brain ru

n's woman from him, it shows the tailors of the earth; comforting therein, that when old

writ

ey S

ary 2

, the undone and the done, the foolish and the great? I hate drowning in real and invented apprehensions but mine i

ches, and I watch faint light creep into the

t makes death come alive, that sears the sordid into the mind...what was the cause: co

rope, put o

Here, in this town, this room smelling of spilled wine, the candles ugly, I see a woman, the filaments of yesterday's straw tangl

atf

h 2,

y loneness sniveling in its pot. I am sick of self-pity. I taste with wretched ap

hes, keep the light burning as l

dreams on paper-cheap privateer! I was priest, pharaoh, general, slave, glutton. Paper is a sickness, a sweltering fever, clammy forehead, thudding pulse, ague wit

t time rustling a

s Shakespea

ters a

arnished ce

hed fu

nd manu

man appears,

ductively,

ey S

h 5,

fell asleep and dreamed I saw King Henry and

view. "I wish to see the revolution of the times make mountains level, and the continents, weary o

en's lives, figuring the nat

allow who

oke those lines, that stormy night, when our theatre rattled. He

, for a muse of fire that would ascend the bright

n madness because pa

make up, burn the night learning and unlearning lines, defy the elements,

championing a hundred causes, ordaining and cancelling, d

es and eternal potency. He conquers every country for her: his grail, his

ey S

day

"You should have done a lot less fishing in the Avon, boy! Why, these fellows will never learn, not the way

im: "Your poems are remembered. You have to come back, Will! I'll find you a

n plague. He scorched me with a "haw

ey S

l 20

ent on at all hours. Cinquepace was the fast, new step. How I liked it! There were plenty of pickpockets but I had nothing to pick but my loneliness. When I da

atf

. I heard them da

when the school board asked me to find another job; so it was back to London again, to Jonson and his half-ass promises, back to

atf

me to the brink of fan-tasy by gesture or word: "Hush, there, over there, in the grass by the stile." Her flip-smile had the best of both pook and pagan. What she wore seemed a part of her blondeness, a blondeness

tream and hear words by leaves as they sifted down. Faith had her legs in the water, up to her knees, or lay on the embankment, the color of her flesh gleaming. Her beauty was not a pair of breasts but a pair of hazel eyes and a dimple in her chin. She was tall, a cathedral figure in caenstone, the stone so alive yet ecclesiastical

s changes and woodland jewels, claiming socketless eyes, reflect only images o

ey S

mn my

r and red, used to say:

nkles! My g

as once a

ed. My eyes, when I swivel them in a mirror, warn me that grave changes are taking place inside and that denials will get me no-where: grey hairs, wrinkles, poor vi-sion...they are the roist

behind the door, pike and trout lost to me. Early morning was almost beyond endur-an

fought with black spears piercing the hot, dusty air. It was along the Avon that I sensed man's struggle. I saw. Heard. As the water grew greener and greener and deeper and deeper, the air motionless, the past was there, Hunt's pa

my feet in the Avon and counted dragonflies, my line thrown as far as I could throw i

five ye

mm

five boys, pen

ushes along the

ells in

boy and girl

ey S

4,

e in proper mood, we adopted them, kids like us; we swam and climbed on them and trampled the ooze of plants, and the ooze slicked our bodies over their bodies: I can feel it almost like a lover getting ready to make love: and that's about what we did: we made love to the day and we made love to the water: we yelled and slapped it and cuffed it into obedience, and orgasmed it, and

led in sum

fted each black hoof slowly, often fetching a fart. He liked working the field alone but I preferred working with others. Stripped to the waist, hatless, I forked and grunted and Burt

pretty, blonde, barefooted, she wore a blouse, skirt and Dutch apron: our field ended at the river, an apple grove along

l and most wonderfu

ey S

10,

icy, there was fun, hands linked, our runny noses beatific: Becky, whose giggle alerted every boy, was my girl whenever we could steal a

s, screeching or silent, often too silent, wading lustily. She loved to steal apples, raspberries, strawberries, turnips, hungry

see, on that l

get

my turn. He's ti

slow

exton; together, we stole buns and cookies at home, but

rant you there are eight chil-dren, a happy fam

ey S

eep was near, lovingly, patiently, sung in my room, close to the varnished b

venly queen...man's comfort and angel's b

word as you sang it lingeringly; sometimes your ha

ater Dol

es and thin figure and voice remain: I hear you when you called us in from p

ng about me, windows you used to look out of, beds you used to make-or was that an-other house, another time, another illusion? My house

arer of friends. I was dumbfounded but "El Draque," contemptuously at ease, sat on my backstage table, his plu

his purple hat shocked me. But I managed to ask about his attack on C

oo. We had great luck! Don't you believe in luck? When you write a play, isn't it luck, lucky weather, l

on his cheek, the fire dead in his eyes, his expression one of cynicism and fatigue. He wore a squat, official hat.

of anchorage, broke up their plan!" he

blazing but somehow you bugger her against a Spanish hull. You're beaten off. They're afraid you have a powder mine in

them clean to Spain, run them, not waited, our guns useless. We had to sit it out, wait-no powder. We did

till hear them, it might be fi

. I turn my glass and am alone, the cuckold of myself reflected in three hundred sixty-five mirrors. My s

ey S

18,

rried taverns, bakeries, homes. People mistrusted me, that wild-haired kid, goat-bearded-doors slammed in my face. Blinded by snow, I headed for the Thames, for the bridge-shelter there. On the way, I passed a tavern and opened a door

edly asleep. An elephantine man, with florid

on't let the rats share your

atf

y

ld purchase stolen things, sharing his room with him: ribaldry, punning, gargantuan laughter, thiev-ery, friends, foolishness, foppery

r, I introduced him to Alleyn and Bur-bage; Burbage wanted him on stage but Falstaff had his own stage where he co

reasonable. Night after night we went to sleep hungry. With glue and nail we pieced our shoes together, for one more day. With needle and thread w

ir fat portraits hang side by side in my mind: the last I heard from my friend was a brie

cted to his cowardice, upheld his zeal, begged me for a thousand

gue and stockfish! When you were born the front of heaven w

ey S

25,

on my part. It has a stiff carriage-much more so than any of the others. Ruler, no doubt, with excessive responsibilities! So I have decided to call it Bill. Certainly all other roaches seem afraid of this Conqueror. Whe

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26,

air? They say I stand aloof but is it possible to cross the Avon to their side? My side is Ptolemy's, Priam's, Cleo-patra's, Coriol

I have sued for money; true, I have acquired property. And the city man and country man mistrust one another: the writer

been unable to intro-duce me to Stratford people. I

is appreciation is based on pride that says "I can speak of Shakespeare." A Puritan, he patronizes incoming Puritans more than m

nd

ua. I laugh at my own defeat, a shrew beside a shrew, players nodding at my marital bewilderment, I, the drunkar

nn, at ruins of K

grass, happy in

rudge, ha

t and they flop

," she

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we had ridden to K. She was Sweet Villain, and when we pastured the horses and unstuffed our knapsacks, we stuffed ourselves, and sacked ourselves, gorging in sun, the horses stomping and snuffling beyond us. Sweet Vil

nd, our fierceness there while falcons fought, clipping each other, beaking one another, feathers falling. Kenilworth and kings: we smelled unsavory dungeons but pushed our falconry over them, our naked seel b

confusion: it was slap of hands on bare buttocks, "ah" over breast, mouth suck-ing, suckling, surprising, surfeiting, back again for more: the taste of

ford-

1,

to me: I am Hamnet, come, we'll go to the guild chapel and hear the sermon...it was a cold sermon but hon-eysuckle was blooming in the garden...orioles were singing above the oriel. Col-umbine, ferns, a

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3,

those of Egypt and Greece...time with a scroll on his back, asking alms. Smashed bricks, memento mori, along that vast, yellow

ry. I went over my plays...Ulysses...Cleopatra...Prospero... The wall, with its imperial

st site in London, the Thames below, flowers and vines crawl

o lions lit-tered in a day, and the litter of stones crumbles u

hite sail on

ght it then and think it still, the very best of he

below us, covering the fal

g its ancient yellow walls; she asked me for poet

d friendly today, that we may, lover

low in the firmament...the skies are painted with unnumbered sparks...they are all afire, a

rogs and the tittering of lovers, ourselves loving that place, our fle

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5,

en's room, in a squat tower, faced a narrow lake with ragged shore pines and a sma

bear rugs and ti

embroidered with golden shields and c

the heavy drapes, each pull a carved ivo

her walls, some open, some in cases, flabellum with bone handles, Venetian lace fans, tomb fans with gold-encrusted ribs,

esses like stone columns: we walked the moors until Christmas cold sent us

own on her bed or lie on the bear rug and make love, the firelight

early, while we were busy making lov

re done, we'll go hunting. The horses are

h resentful of its trap, as though it considered everyone as intruder. I was awed by the water's dark and the chasms menacing it.

d to adoption; he often came to my room and talked at length, sharing intimacies; the only misadventure during my stay w

ses climbed, I felt inspired, and, staying on I wrote Cymbeline, scenes and words coming easily, happiness a constant companion:

ake and bluecap forest. London might have been at the bottom of the se

geniality contented us and we lingered with them, in their herb garden, by a fountain-pigeons about. A marve

brothers, making the short trip with donkeys carrying l

tains, vegetables

of rare fan

eare drink at a

ers and Hugh

asking

of bag

cloud, wave into wave. The clouds absorbed orange with yellow and the yellow took

round me, the rocks be-yond us red, the sunset extendi

ford-

11,

happiness and we must cheris

hem when the place burned: waxed, ribboned and perfumed letters, from Fr

veral of them had been tampered with. I put this aside as fancy for I was willing to be blind. As I think back it's

e's own stupidi

Elizabethan courtesy, some-one said. The shock was more of a shock coming from her: Hugh dead, big Hugh, with his cleft

k swallowed my house, trees, sun, and stars: I heard a woman scream inside thi

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leaves along the shore, the ash red, our introduction friends, our hopes instantaneous. I saw beneath her gloves to h

know royalty ou

Stratford; but, who among us

hare. I loved these in my groin and the raves of sweetness summoned me, over and over,

eyes of hers and that black hair and her white, white skin begging love. When she speaks, I listen:

ot to make me plotless-great jest! He was right, for sleepless nights swept around

? Was it she who nailed the fog over my soul? Ah, crucifix

d the unperceivable, im-paired our pairing and ye

y and I refused. At the theatre she begged me to accept, for us, for time, for love...and

with wax, our mouths with honey; we bring it to the

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18,

was an abatement of anguish, scenes lifting me out of maelstroms, Antony's turbulence alleviating mi

ore! It was well I had the Egy

in scenes on the stage and sometimes strange actors walked the boards and stole my lines, fixing

ss out his lines. Phips-our cheerful homosexual-had Cleo

s. March – April – May, it was the warmth of May that unlocked

people and river came alive. The sun's gnomon wrote. I bowed my head and waited. At my desk, I hurled my sentiency... alive, it must come alive, to hurl asi

h anchored and

kespeare on b

on the t

and quotes from Two

aples as sailo

op a stac

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20,

the stern and hoped for a smooth voy-age, with love, our rudderbar credulous to us, the w

ou lost to me

s round us and never arrives; w

ing us on the Italian shore, love

es, when we strolled the seaside; when we sailed the waterlanes and walked Roman str

ing seas, sending us north, ice off the larboard, back to reality, debts, conniving. We said good-bye but our good-

my work, sta

and made them live for her and the witchcraft of hope

to heaven,

22,

fought with another-and fell. Too many of my plays were crutched. I borrowed too much from Plutarch and oth-ers. I worship

nl

umme

spects. And what came of our grim suppositions? Nothing. We said: was it robbery, I prithee? Jealousy? Ha

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26,

net

your de

neliness that nothing has every wiped out: a wrangle of foam goes on and on inside me; the gre

t, my

tratford teemed with monsters. Your hand in mine, such a cold hand, you said adieu. What God was this to snuff you out at eleven. Grief stiffened me: I feel

alike! The unfair-ness of life, O what angels sing the truth?

e...damn the God th

l is mended by many years: ours be your patience

think about my plays, have him know the better part of London. He would have been a friend of Drake's; perhaps he might have

died? To be such a short, short time on stage! Was he resentful, bewildered? I think he was confused because o

still harping, I ask your credent ear to l

I go no

ford-

s there, remembering those underneath my shoes, under the tree, under the threatening sky, I laid the flowers on another's grave, an

Nancy Richards? I recognize her shoulders and

ng, kneeling, this unresurrectable

ons carved on it, falcons of black marble, perc

dismay, wishing I had not gone, resolved to confine myself to myself, incarcerate my grief in m

t, dear

ith," Ann preached vehemently. "What does he care for any of us! He's always away in London

at her and through some sort of necromancy I would see Hamnet's fac

clothes. I had always favored Hamnet because he and I had shared more. Now, now that Judith lived, I could not accept his death. Of course I never wanted her to die. As long as the twins lived there was accord. If death must steal one of t

ed to say, showing them to

get through to her because of Ann. If I won Judith for a while, I lost her when at work in London. She never wrote to me...or Ann destroyed those letters. During my years in the theatre, in London and touring

o

1,

ny a morning have I seen flatter the

and there is pansies; that's for thought...there's fennel for you, a

hem back-stage! How cold to hear them now, here, in my room, e

in London to the end, fought the Puritans, fought the

must have its moments of so

ts...but they are plan

ose lines; like Ophelia I ride on

memory is dust

hes; on-stage, there's

s, pl

I speak to her and she puts her fingers on my lips and holds her beauty like a whip over me. The curtain came down quickly: fi

tain for youth and another for age. And when we finally real

est. The jig maker's safest. The priest's dulle

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y 8

ny longer I look back across time from the shelf of my memory, longing to improve my existence: I am certain that the old word-chattels gladly d

ven me

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9,

time, a place that ends with defeat, its cas

ff that incessant pain that stabbed the roof of my skull each time I leaned over, that writhed through my eyes: I would rub my eyes and feel something click in my brain as if it had fallen into place again. But I wa

th determina-tion grappling, the loneliness and death-sense grip

tter to live, simply as simple people live. I wanted to live without the paper-worl

en whisper: I heard old passions. My blood was young and yet I could not get awa

r gets said. When I am with you I am unable to say it...old plaint. I try to convey with my presence-that is help. You, too, have this desire, and have expressed it. When we were in bed, mating, there was a beauty in that unio

wrote

atf

rs

, rabbit, green fish...gingerbread...straw-ber-ries...claret: she knew my favorites, sharing my meals and bed. When I arrived, tired by travel, she had someone look after me, prepare my meal; then, we en-joyed each other's company in the dining room she kept for pri

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13,

dark, Sly at the oars, telling me about the latest girl, of the girls he

small mouth. When she stands up beside me in the boat to pay her fare, I groan. It's terrible being old, Will, when you can't do it any more. And I want to do it to her, to be young again. That Portia, she comes mostly in the evenings, I guess you know why. But she's not always alone, but when she's alone, we tal

winds and fogs. He's been boatman for forty-odd years, he says. He has worn out a dozen bo

ad a long time, cross with other boats around, small boat

withi

going to die I would

atf

20,

th half a year; so shall I progress, ant-wise, day by day: ants, as you creep over the wood-work, stumble against the grain, think of me and t

ll hang on

s of friend

iked to give it a flick now and then, to catch the eye of a woman: I kept it polished: it saved my life in a street fracas: Hamnet liked it: he used to shoulder it and parad

Thoma

the Atlantic,

ast, Raleigh

ompass, another

e walls; a mo

ebuck

wels flash o

yells a b

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24,

ve days at se

ere is adequate leisure aboard his frigate. I never saw anything done "on

urs in his cabin where I gave up to his booked walls: volumes in French, English, It

t Raleigh's urg-ing, read it aloud. Feet propped on a mother-of-pearl chest, he listened gravely, sm

scenes-writing in the sun and spray, sitting on coil

cuttled to the starboard rail, to see something brea

foaming around her, making off at a 40 degree angle from our

d her claimed that he had seen he

gh ap

r, hoping she might reappear. "She'll likely stay down

and mist on the Orinoco river; he had seen one off the Cape,

butterflies, solid white butterflies, bigger than your hands: his descriptions sent my brain going: I to

t to follow. Talking of his travels, his eyes grew nervous, se

l, as the ship heeled under a

r than others of design. He and his navy draughtsm

: for Mr. Ames the firing took place after dawn, when the ocean was smooth; I was wakened five or six mornings;

n while being served among his officers and it was there while he read to me at the same table, eatables cleared, read me from the Greek poets, Pinda

fit to govern the new world.

: he had a tree-filled, bird-filled cage he wanted me to see, strung with brass wires, where hundreds of birds lived. Negro girls, naked except for the cloth pad underneath the calabash shells they carried on their heads, wandered past the cage to see the birds, and found me most amusing. Their smooth, dark features, slick jet hair, round waists and small breasts were delightful. The priest had to leave-called by the convent bell. I gave the youngest my carc

ill

e ocean light illuminating the c

of canvas; from below came the gur-gle of seas and jab of crested rollers that sometimes held the ship suspended for

y closed lids: I was ruler of my inconsistencies: I dreamed an island, chained by

ed across a valley, across a hill where coral studded the top: I saw monsters pass and re-pass, dark blue, grey, orange, fins fluted like fans c

our topgallant, to die on deck

nvas and tossed overboard. No cere

name? Is there an

thy P

was h

nted there for mu

a good

was eaten up

er command sailored by rogues?" But he was all man: I sa

on. He needed me to fight for him. I have often shut my eyes and seen his books and sensed the cradling lull of his ship and

ttempt to defend him...to think that I saw him in

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28,

and rain howling, people coming and going, their clothes soggy, the wind gusting inside with each arrival

e, a dozen men around our tab

moke another, an

word or cutlass had slashed; he push

th you-but not

You'll learn

t," I said. "O

on the long watches. It settles the bl

," Jonson said. "Just reme

Here, lad, bring us

urn! London's Londo

seen my

play i

er's Tale

basking in the sun...you and your plays! Is this Denmark and another Ham-let

upted and ans

the kind of crassness that shakes you. I've forfeited goods in payment of my stupidities but I haven't for-feited my hatred of in

ad branded it when he was in prison; he nodded to himself; I s

one side, sweeping down, showing when he talks with gusto. Teeth are missing. Today he

tinies and his flashing eyes convey a courage one has to take into account. He has sent the idlers pack-ing and smokes with his pipe

ewels he wears he could pay for the

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30,

letters this morning. Rale

tsm

h 9,

Shake

ave a cheapness about them, a liar's eye. You and Ben would know how to laugh and knock them about. Here's a green gem in a brooch a negro queen must have worn, its horse's eye staring through a slash of sail canvas. Here's a ro

en a sea rages, Macbeth howls in my ear, Othello li

ons. It is usually her free

to destroy political chicanery, though m

on late next month, an

er, and the signature has almo

To

Shake

ow-my crystal would not divulge that I would become a chemist in the Tow

nd

l 9,

i

require several shallow draft frigates and several small boats; there are no accurate maps and the mine is in fever jungle. Cer-tes a month or two will go into exploration, hacking this way and that. The roguish crew of prison perverts will contribute their share of com-plications, no doubt of that, my friend. Con-sole yourself that you will never know such an

the gold King of Cundinamarca: el hombre dorado. Who knows, as in Sergas de Esplandián, we may reach the Island

ure. As explorer he was to the manner born. Thou can

To

and enterings have done their damage...this composition and exile are the dullest and longest in the history of our Tower; the book I am writing is for Prince F

to have shut my mind: there are many I could have helped as I we

g about the treachery of the Tarawa Indians; his terrible thirst when his ship

caciques, scorching their naked bodies with hot bac

To

nightlong. Stones multiply their menace. There's an old seadog from Dublin crumpled in a cell here, a grumbling bag: he claims he used to sail with me; by his own confession he is the murderer of his crippled father. He

ves the flocks," he said: "I am reading the

ed those seven words. I repeat his bread...bread...bread.

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st 1

the sea, Jonson and his satirical pomposities in Latin or Greek. Then, then...Marlowe's murder c

pread over cobbles, the clatter of horses' hooves meant torture o

en't sure. All threads of evidence were thin threads! We praised Marlowe, shuffled thro

d, with

you keep! London

could be produ

Listen to what people say about Raleigh! He'll ha

that conveyed character-his speech superior to many actors. He could memo-rize lines quickly, and speak them sincerely, interpreting with sound thinking behind them. When nervous he picked his teeth and jogged his foot, when writ-ing or

atf

by reeky candles, rain and chill. He kept us grindin

...wher

. I would write a scene and he would recompose it, or he would start out and the

chronicling, squeaking, or head on his

he glass, sounding colder and colder, dampening our spiri

myself with blankets and call it a day. Marlo

osters, books, and dirt, we wrote Titus over and over. When the m

or towel, I sat on a chair while Marlowe snipped. Scissors and comb usually put him in a whistling mood. Gently puffing a tune, he scissored away-th

ines from your plays th

ing than I. He said I didn

e time out for jotting down lines. Let's get through this mess

te crimso

r Walter Raleigh, Ben

a, sails rattling

is tells yarn of

ther in the eye

le

atf

st 5

h saner to keep convictions to one's self: Yet some, surly as a butcher's dog, paraded their beliefs. Gulled, I never went too often: the suite, in the Duke's Thames house, had about it an air of trouble brewing, trickery, and the abrupt appearance of men-at-arms. The talkers walked or sat about, under brilliant chandeliers, shad-owing their shadows on the polished floors, starched cuffs thrown ba

rouse