ROMEO AND JULIET

In the city of Verona, a fierce private feud had existed for many years between the two noble families of Capulet and Montague; and to such a degree was this hatred carried that it was even shared by the servants, followers, and friends of the two rival houses, with the result that if a Capulet partisan met a Montague partisan, they invariably came to blows, and did not hesitate to shed each other's blood.

One evening it happened that a grand supper and masked ball was held at the palace of Lord Capulet; and to this festival all the chief lords and ladies of Verona were invited, with the exception, of course, of any members of the hated Montague family.

However, the son of Lord Montague, whose name was Romeo, and who was a handsome and daring young man of a romantic disposition, boldly announced his intention of attending, uninvited, the revels at the house of his family foe; and, disguised in the dress of a pilgrim, and masked, he proceeded thither, accompanied by his bosom friends, Benvolio and Mercutio.

They were admitted, unquestioned, into the house, and mingled with the guests; and for awhile no one suspected that a Montague was taking part in the revels.

Amongst the merry throng of dancers, Romeo very quickly noticed a beautiful young girl, whose wonderful grace and charm strangely fascinated him; and drawing the attention of his friends to this maiden, he exclaimed enthusiastically:

"O, she doth teach the torches to burn bright!
Her beauty hangs upon the cheek of night
As a rich jewel in an Ethiop's ear;
Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear!
So shows a snowy dove trooping with crows
As yonder lady o'er her fellows shows.
The measure done, I'll watch her place of stand,
And touching hers, make blessed my rude hand.
Did my heart love till now? forswear it, sight!
For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night!"

This speech was overheard by a kinsman of the Capulets, a fiery youth named Tybalt, who immediately recognised the voice as that of one of his detested foemen; and, furious that a Montague should have thus dared to enter the house of Capulet, he challenged Romeo, and would have slain him then and there, had not old Lord Capulet himself interfered, and commanded him to sheathe his weapon, declaring that his enemy's son should remain for that night, since he was a young man spoken of in the city with honour and respect.

So peace was temporarily restored; and presently Romeo secured an opportunity of speaking with the lovely maiden whose fair looks had so quickly enslaved his heart. He found that the lady's disposition was as sweet and gentle as her looks; and to his joy she evinced great pleasure in his conversation, and returned his advances with many signs of favour.

Presently, the maiden was called away, and when she had departed, Romeo learnt that she was the daughter of Lord Capulet, and that her name was Juliet.

Although filled with dismay that he had thus fallen in love with his enemy's daughter, and knowing that he would put himself in great danger should he venture to make further advances to her, Romeo was quite determined to see the lovely maiden again; and with this object in view, when the revels came to an end, he made his way into Lord Capulet's garden, thinking of this new joy which had already filled his heart so completely.

To his delight, Juliet presently stepped out on to the balcony outside her chamber window; for she also was thinking of the strange, sweet love which had so suddenly filled her whole being at the ardent gaze of the handsome young pilgrim who had conversed with her at the ball, and wished to breathe her happy thoughts into the moonlit night.

But Juliet had also learnt that this noble youth, whose eager words had so quickly and unresistingly won her heart, was the son of Lord Montague, and that she ought to hate, rather than love him; and as she thought of this troublesome difficulty in the path of her happiness, she murmured softly:

"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.
'Tis but thy name that is my enemy:
Thou art thyself, though not a Montague;
What's Montague? it is nor hand, nor 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 thy name, which is no part of thee,
Take all myself!"

On hearing these words, which proved to him that Juliet returned his love, Romeo crept softly forward and made his presence known to her, replying to her spoken thought thus:

"I take thee at thy word!
Call me but love, and I'll be new baptiz'd;
Henceforth I never will be Romeo!"

Juliet was filled with joy at thus beholding the object of her sweet reflections, giving him a tender greeting; and in answer to her question as to how he had effected his entrance into the garden without the knowledge of her kinsmen, Romeo replied:

"With love's light wings did I o'er-perch 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!"

For a long while the lovers talked happily together; and in spite of the fact that Juliet had already been promised by her parents to a young man of noble family named Paris, she now gladly listened to Romeo's passionate declaration of love, and vowed that she would wed none other than he.

Several times their sweet converse was interrupted by Juliet's old nurse calling to her charge from within the chamber; and at last the maiden was obliged to tear herself away from the presence of her adoring lover, and retire to rest.

But Romeo did not return to his home immediately; and as dawn was already breaking, he made his way to a neighbouring monastery, in order to seek the help of a good old monk named Friar Laurence.

The old Friar, who had a deep affection for the youth, listened indulgently to his rapturous recital of the love he had conceived for the beautiful Juliet; but when Romeo eagerly besought him to unite them in marriage that very day, he was at first horrified at such a wild suggestion. However, when Romeo again begged him to comply with his request, the good father at last consented; for it now occurred to him that good might come of such a deed, since this union possibly would lead to the healing of the ancient feud between the two rival houses.

A little later in the day a message was secretly conveyed to Juliet, who, with the aid of her old nurse, in whom she had confided, found means to make her way to Friar Laurence's cell, where Romeo was awaiting her; and there the old monk performed the rite of marriage for the loving pair, and made them man and wife. Juliet then hurried back to her home with speed, fearing lest her absence should be remarked, for she did not dare to breathe a word of what had passed; and Romeo, after declaring that he would see her again in the garden after nightfall, went to join his friends, Benvolio and Mercutio, whom he had arranged to meet in a certain street.

To his dismay, he found them engaged in a hot dispute with the fiery-tempered young Capulet, Tybalt, who, having met them in the street, had quickly sought a quarrel in order to vent his suppressed rage at their temerity of the night before; and in spite of Romeo's efforts to make peace between them, being now desirous of establishing more friendly relations with his beloved Juliet's kinsfolk, Mercutio and Tybalt drew their swords, and engaged in a deadly fight, which ended in Mercutio receiving a mortal wound.

On seeing his friend fall in an expiring condition, Romeo, full of grief and indignation, at once made a furious onslaught upon Tybalt; and in the struggle which followed he killed the Capulet noble.

By this time, the news of the encounter had spread in the city, and soon members of both the Capulet and Montague families hurried to the spot, together with the Prince of Verona himself, who had been summoned by the watch.

Lady Capulet was overcome with grief at the death of Tybalt, who was her nephew, and with tearful entreaties insisted on Romeo's summary punishment; and Lady Montague as earnestly defended her son's action in avenging the death of his friend Mercutio. The matter ended in the Duke declaring sentence of immediate banishment upon Romeo; and, full of despair, the young man concealed himself until night-time in Friar Laurence's cell, being determined to see Juliet again before leaving the city.

When darkness fell, Romeo made his way once more to the Capulet's garden, and, scaling the balcony, bade a long and passionate farewell to the weeping Juliet. With the first signs of dawn, he was compelled to depart, with a last fond embrace, and then, with a heavy heart, and reluctant steps, he made his way to Mantua, from whence his messengers and friends could keep him acquainted with all news concerning the fair young bride from whom he had been thus so cruelly parted.

Very soon after the departure of Romeo, Juliet found herself in a position of the utmost difficulty; for her parents determined that her marriage with the brilliant young Count Paris should take place without further delay, and the nuptials were announced to be celebrated a few days hence.

It was in vain that the dismayed Juliet, not daring to reveal the fact of her secret marriage with the banished Romeo, pleaded her extreme youth, her indifference to Paris, and the family mourning for their kinsman, Tybalt; for her parents were indignant at her unwillingness and disobedience to their wishes, and declared that they would cast her off for ever should she fail to accept Paris as her husband on the Thursday appointed.

Poor Juliet, full of woe and dismay, sighed distractedly:

"Is there no pity sitting in the clouds
That sees into the bottom of my grief?"

Then, suddenly, she bethought her of the kind old monk who had wedded her to Romeo; and leaving the house with the utmost secrecy, she made her way to the cell of Friar Laurence, to whom she poured forth her tale of woe, and besought him to counsel her in this terrible dilemma.

It happened that the old Friar had studied the properties of many valuable drugs; and presently he declared that he could provide Juliet with a certain potion which, if she drank it just before the approaching wedding festivities began, would cause her to fall into a trance, so that her friends, thinking her to be dead, would place her in the family vault, from whence, on waking after forty-two hours had elapsed, she could be rescued by Romeo, and secretly conveyed to Mantua, where they could dwell happily together.

The Friar then asked the maiden if she had the courage to go through this ordeal; and Juliet, overjoyed at the thought of being thus preserved for her beloved Romeo, answered eagerly:

"Give me, give me! O tell not me of fear!
Love, give me strength! and strength shall help afford!"

So the old Friar gave her a phial containing the potion, and promised to send messengers to Romeo, that he might come secretly at night to the vault to rescue her on her awakening; and Juliet departed to her home much comforted.

She now no longer refused to wed Count Paris; and when the bridal day arrived, she moved quite calmly amongst the throng of merry guests. But she had not forgotten the old Friar's potion; and in spite of the horror she felt at the thought of awakening in the gloomy family vault, in which her cousin Tybalt was already lying, she had bravely conquered her fears, and secretly swallowed the contents of the phial with these words:

"Romeo, Romeo, Romeo! I drink to thee!"

Her parents and their guests were therefore horror-struck when, soon after the festivities had begun, the lovely Juliet fell to the ground, apparently dead; and the revels ended in the greatest confusion and dismay.

Lord and Lady Capulet were overcome with grief at what they supposed to be the sudden death of their fair young daughter; and with heart-rending tears and cries of woe, the still, cold form of Juliet was laid to rest on a bier in the family vault.

Friar Laurence, after waiting to hear how his plot had succeeded, despatched a messenger to Mantua to inform Romeo of all that had happened, and to bid him come secretly to rescue his bride on her awakening; but, unhappily, before the good father's messenger arrived in Mantua, Romeo had already heard from another source the terrible news of Juliet's supposed death.

Thus knowing nothing of the old monk's plan, and believing his beloved one to be dead, Romeo was distracted with grief; but, determined to at least look once more upon the sweet face of Juliet, even though in death, he instantly mounted a horse, and galloped at a furious pace to Verona.

He reached the city at midnight of the second day since Juliet had been reported dead; and making his way at once to the churchyard, he secured a torch and mattock, and began fiercely to break open the tomb of the Capulets. He was just about to enter the vault when he was interrupted by a newcomer, who cried to him sternly:

"Stop thy unhallowed toil, vile Montague!"

These words were spoken by Count Paris, who had also come to weep beside the remains of his lost bride; and on seeing Romeo there before him, he believed him to have come for some evil purpose.

Romeo was now half frantic with his grief; and refusing to be delayed in his quest, he drew his sword upon Paris. The two fought furiously in the dark, until at last Paris fell mortally wounded; and when Romeo took up the torch to look upon the face of his fallen antagonist, and recognised the features of Paris, his sorrow was increased, and he said:

"O, give me thy hand,
One writ with me in sour misfortune's book!
I'll bury thee in a triumphant grave!"

He therefore lifted the dead youth tenderly, and laid him within the vault, that he might at least share the resting-place of the maiden he had loved; and then, placing the torch against the wall, he knelt, overwhelmed with despair, beside the bier of Juliet.

So fair and lovely did she still appear that at first he could scarcely believe her to be dead; but when he felt her still, cold form, he could doubt it no longer. He had already determined that he could not bear to live on without Juliet; and with this object he had broken his journey once in order to procure from an apothecary some deadly poison which would act instantaneously. He now bent down to bid his beloved one farewell, and to kiss her cold lips for the last time; and then, drawing forth the phial, he swallowed the poison, saying:

"Here's to my love!...
... Thus with a kiss I die!"

The poison took effect immediately; and with a sigh, Romeo fell dead beside the bier of his bride.

It happened that this was the hour at which Juliet was to awaken from her trance; and Friar Laurence therefore now appeared at the opening of the vault, fearing that his messenger had been delayed, since he had seen nothing yet of the banished Montague; and when he entered the cell and beheld the dead bodies of Paris and Romeo, he guessed at the terrible catastrophe that had occurred, and uttered loud cries of woe.

At this moment, Juliet awakened from her death-like sleep, and looked around her in wondering horror; and the old Friar besought her earnestly to leave the vault.

But Juliet's eyes had already fallen upon the dead body of her beloved Romeo, and from the empty phial in his hand, she at once gathered that he had poisoned himself upon believing her to be dead; and in an agony of grief, she came down from her bier to clasp her lover's limp form in her arms, whilst the Friar fled in alarm at the sound of approaching steps, for the disturbance at the tomb had by this time attracted the notice of the watch, who were now hastily bringing both Capulets and Montagues to the churchyard.

Juliet also heard the approaching sounds, and knew she must act quickly; for she was determined to live no longer, since her lover was dead. As she clasped Romeo in her arms, she kissed him passionately, hoping to imbibe some of the poison from his silent lips; but finding this unavailing, she drew forth the dagger which he wore, and with it stabbed herself to the heart with these last words:

"O, happy dagger!
This is thy sheath; there rust, and let me die!"

The kinsfolk of the two unfortunate lovers now rushed into the vault, accompanied by Friar Laurence, who had returned to relate the sad story; and as the bereaved parents wept together over the dead bodies of their beloved children, and understood that their tragic fate had entirely arisen from the old selfish family feud, they humbly joined hands in token of mutual forgiveness and renewed friendship.

A statue of the purest gold was raised to the memory of Juliet by the Capulet family, whilst the same honour was vouchsafed to Romeo by the sorrowing Montagues; and all who gazed upon these monuments of affection shed tears of sympathy for the hapless fate of the faithful lovers:

"For never was a story of more woe
Than this of Juliet and her Romeo!"