Ovid's "The Art of Love" and similar poetic works could be found. The young Earl feasted hungrily on their heady notion of love as the desire for completeness, a superior ideal of life that could be found only in exclusivity.
The richest medieval romances were in French or Italian, spurring his mastery of these languages. Poring over such exotic pages fanned the flames of Edward's overheated imagination to a fever pitch. Soon he found a kind of release in writing love poems of his own and slipping away to quiet areas of the garden where he practiced reading them aloud beneath the open sky.
These rehearsals paid off when Burghley arranged a lavish party to celebrate his daughter Claire's fourteenth birthday. After weeks of preparations, Burghley's massive South lawn overflowed with young men and women.
It was the first hot day of summer. Three hundred liveried servants circulated carrying large silver platters heaped with fresh pies and peppered carp. Edward stood watching the dancers as a large band of troubadours played. Next to him stood his cousin, Thomas Howard. Two years Edward's junior, Thomas was visiting from Norfolk, where he was heir to a Dukedom. Both youths found themselves attracted to a beautiful, dark-haired girl called Arabella.
Edward was the first to speak with her and soon they were dancing a wild jig together. Claire, a pudgy teenager with too much makeup and an unfortunate resemblance to her father, watched them jealously.
As the dance ended, Edward risked whirling Arabella off her feet. She landed well, but tripped in the folds of her skirt. When Edward tried to save her, he too lost his footing. Locked in each other's arms, the young couple tumbled to the ground, where they rolled over and over in the lush grass, roaring with laughter.
That evening, as the shadows lengthened, Claire's watchful eyes caught Edward and Arabella heading towards a secluded corner of the grounds. She scurried after them, rounding the tall hedges just as the couple slipped inside a gazebo.
Sneaking over, Claire peeped into the gazebo. Edward and Arabella were sitting close together on a bench seat. The young Earl was reading from a manuscript:
"The current that with gentle murmur glides,
Thou know'st, being stopped, impatiently doth rage:
But when his fair course is not hindered,
He makes sweet music with the enameled stones...
And so by many winding nooks he strays,
With willing sport, to the wild ocean.
Then let me go, and hinder not my course:
I'll be as patient as a gentle stream,
And make a pastime of each happy step,
Till the last step has brought me to my love."
As Claire watched in wide-eyed astonishment, Edward ended his reading by leaning over and gently kissing Arabella. The dark-haired beauty replied in kind and they slipped into a passionate embrace.
Just as Edward was cautiously sliding a trembling hand under Arabella's clothing, Claire looked around and saw her father approaching.
Gathering up her skirts, she darted away in the opposite direction. Burghley walked up and, taking Claire's hiding place, spied on the young couple's hesitant but amorous explorations.
1651
Celia Rhys, the old woman's large, capable cook, knocked and walked into Patricia's bedchamber. She was carrying Rosie, an ancient, evil-faced, Maltese lapdog.
"Beggin' your pardon, Ma'am. What will you be wishing to have prepared for midday?"
The old woman halted her story and threw out a few meal suggestions. Ben's mouth began watering. Celia placed Rosie on the bed. The teacup-sized dog scampered over the folds and leapt into her mistress's arms.
"Will the young man be eating too, Ma'am?" Celia asked, looking at Ben disapprovingly.
"Of course, Celia."
Celia curtseyed and left. The old woman resumed her narrative.
"April was about to give way to May, and the skies had brightened, making road travel pleasant once again. Edward's coach took 3 days to reach Warwickshire in the very center of England. On the way to Bilton Hall, Edward entertained Anne with a carefully censored version of his upbringing. Burghley's cruelties were hardly suitable for open discussion."
BILTON HALL
Their first morning together at Bilton Hall dawned bright and cloudless. Edward took Anne for a tour of his estate in a small open coach.
"Have you had your players long?"
"No. 'Twelfth Night' was our first performance."
"A stunning debut."
"Thank you. I'd have had my own players much sooner had it not been for..." Edward's voice trailed off awkwardly as he decided he had already said too much to Anne about Burghley. "My studies," he mumbled, flicking the reins.
As the horses picked up their pace, Edward's mind drifted back to the time he had approached Burghley regarding players.
-:-:-
As a leading Protestant with many Puritan friends, Burghley was not fond of stage plays. He regarded even traveling street plays as worthless and vulgar. In his official eyes, they were dangerous incitements to lewd behavior and civil riots.
Their predecessors, the mystery plays of medieval times, had met with his approval. Performed in church courtyards, market squares and open fields, mystery plays dramatized Biblical events with the Church's blessing. The newer plays relied on bawdy couplings or violent deaths to attract an audience. Such antics were not to Burghley's liking.
In marked contrast, Edward was missing his father's players. This was only natural since he had grown up amongst them and was himself both a gifted actor and an accomplished mimic.
One day, taking his courage in both hands, Edward told Burghley about his wish to perform plays at Burghley House.
"The theater you speak of portrays the worst in us, Edward. It glories in murder, matricide, and every other evil possible."
"Are not these evils all part of life?" Edward asked.
"Of course they are. And we'll see more of these horrors the more the common people see them enacted before them. Such plays arouse excitement in the commoners; stir them to imitations, especially when they've been drinking. That's why I've urged her Majesty to forbid performances in alehouse yards."
"But...is it not important to confront the dark side of life?"
"Not directly, because the people imitate what they see. That's why we should never allow provocative acts on stage, it's too dangerous, even the Greeks knew that."
"But, the Greeks acted everything out."
"You're referring to the early Greek dramas, which do indeed portray unspeakable acts. But they were only the beginnings of Greek drama. After those lewd plays sparked riots at the theaters, the Senate banned all acts of violence from
