Romeo, colpito dal dolore, si reca al
sepolcro di lei e beve un potente veleno che lo fa morire accanto alla sua
sposa segreta.
Finito l' incantesimo, Giulietta si sveglia
e, compreso l' accaduto, si trafigge con un pugnale.
AUTORE:
William Shakespeare. Uno dei massimi autori della letteratura mondiale.
LUOGO: Verona, la città
delle due famiglie rivali da sempre.
TEMPO: la vicenda è
ambientata tra la fine del '500 e l'
inizio del '600-
GENERE: tragedia.
PERSONAGGI: Romeo:
ragazzo della famiglia dei Montecchi che si innamora di Giulietta. A causa si
un omicidio è costretto a lasciare la sua città e morì a causa di un disguido.
Giulietta : ragazza della
famiglia dei Capuleti. È l' amante di Romeo che per non sposarsi col conte
Paride, beve un narcotico che la fa sembrare morta per 40 ore.
Frate Lorenzo: sposa di nascosto i
due ragazzi ed è lui a dare l' antidoto a Giulietta.
COMMENTO
PERSONALE: Questo classico della letteratura mondiale mi è piaciuto molto perché è
una storia avvincente e alla fine anche commovente.
Act 1
The
two chief families in Verona
were the rich Capulets and the Montagues.
There had been an old quarrel between these families, which was grown to such a
height, and so deadly was the enmity between them, that it extended to the
remotest kindred, to the followers and retainers of both sides, insomuch that a
servant of the house of Montague could not meet a servant of the house of
Capulet, nor a Capulet encounter with a Montague by chance, but fierce words and
sometimes bloodshed ensued; and frequent were the brawls from such accidental
meetings, which disturbed the happy quiet of Verona's streets. Old lord Capulet
made a great supper, to which many fair ladies and many noble guests were
invited. All the admired beauties of Verona
were present, and all comers were made welcome if they were not of the house of
Montague. At this feast of Capulets, Rosaline,
beloved of Romeo, son to the old lord Montague, was present; and though it was
dangerous for a Montague to be 454f51e seen in this assembly, yet Benvolio,
a friend of Romeo, persuaded the young lord to go to this assembly in the
disguise of a mask, that he might see his Rosaline, and seeing her compare her
with some choice beauties of Verona, who (he said) would make him think his
swan a crow. Romeo had small faith in Benvolio's words; nevertheless, for the love of Rosaline,
he was persuaded to go. For Romeo was a sincere and passionate lover, and one
that lost his sleep for love, and fled society to be alone, thinking on
Rosaline, who disdained him, and never required his love, with the least show
of courtesy or affection; and Benvolio wished to cure
his friend of this love by showing him diversity of ladies and company. To this
feast of Capulets then young Romeo with Benvolio and their friend Mercutio
went masked. Old Capulet bid them welcome, and told
them that ladies who had their toes unplagued with
corns would dance with them. And the old man was light hearted and merry, and
said that he had worn a mask when he was young, and could have told a
whispering tale in a fair lady's ear. And they fell to dancing, and Romeo was
suddenly struck with the exceeding beauty of a lady who danced there, who
seemed to him to teach the torches to burn bright, and her beauty to show by
night like a rich jewel worn by a blackamoor; beauty
too rich for use, too dear for earth! like a snowy
dove trooping with crows (he said), so richly did her beauty and perfections
shine above the ladies her companions. While he uttered these praises, he was
overheard by Tybalt, a nephew of lord Capulet, who
knew him by his voice to be Romeo. And this Tybalt,
being of a fiery and passionate temper, could not endure that a Montague should
come under cover of a mask, to fleer and scorn (as he said) at their
solemnities. And he stormed and raged exceedingly, and would have struck young
Romeo dead. But his uncle, the old lord Capulet, would not suffer him to do any
injury at that time, both out of respect to his guests, and because Romeo had
borne himself like a gentleman, and all tongues in Verona bragged of him to be
a virtuous and well-governed youth. Tybalt, forced to
be patient against his will, restrained himself, but swore that this vile
Montague should at another time dearly pay for his intrusion. The dancing being
done, Romeo watched the place where the lady stood; and under favour of his masking habit, which might seem to excuse in
part the liberty, he presumed in the gentlest manner to take her by the hand,
calling it a shrine, which if he profaned by touching it, he was a blushing
pilgrim, and would kiss it for atonement. 'Good pilgrim,' answered the lady,
'your devotion shows by far too mannerly and too courtly: saints have hands,
which pilgrims may touch, but kiss not.' 'Have not saints lips, and pilgrims
too?' said Romeo. 'Ay,' said the lady, 'lips which they must use in prayer.' 'O
then, my dear saint,' said Romeo, 'hear my prayer, and grant it, lest I
despair.' In such like allusions and loving conceits they were engaged, when
the lady was called away to her mother. And Romeo inquiring who her mother was,
discovered that the lady whose peerless beauty he was so much struck with, was
young Juliet, daughter and heir to the lord Capulet, the great enemy of the Montagues; and that he had unknowingly engaged his heart to
his foe. This troubled him, but it could not dissuade him from loving. As
little rest had Juliet, when she found that the gentleman that she had been
talking with was Romeo and a Montague, for she had been suddenly smit with the same hasty and inconsiderate passion for
Romeo, which he had conceived for her; and a prodigious birth of love it seemed
to her, that she must love her enemy, and that her affections should settle
there, where family considerations should induce her chiefly to hate.
Act 2
It
being midnight, Romeo with his companions departed; but they soon missed him,
for, unable to stay away from the house where he had left his heart, he leaped
the wall of an orchard which was at the back of Juliet's house. Here he had not
been long, ruminating on his new love, when Juliet appeared above at a window,
through which her exceeding beauty seemed to break like the light of the sun in
the east; and the moon, which shone in the orchard with a faint light, appeared
to Romeo as if sick and pale with grief at the superior lustre
of this new sun. And she, leaning her cheek upon her hand, he passionately
wished himself a glove upon that hand, that he might touch her cheek. She all
this while thinking herself alone, fetched a deep sigh, and exclaimed: 'Ah me!'
Romeo, enraptured to hear her speak, said softly, and unheard by her: 'O speak
again, bright angel, for such you appear, being over my head, like a winged
messenger from heaven whom mortals fall back to gaze upon.' She, unconscious of
being overheard, and full of the new passion which that night's adventure had
given birth to, called upon her lover by name (whom she supposed absent): 'O
Romeo, Romeo!' said she, 'wherefore art thou Romeo? Deny thy father, and refuse
thy name, for my sake; or if thou wilt not, be but my sworn love, and I no
longer will be a Capulet.' Romeo, having this encouragement, would fain have
spoken, but he was desirous of hearing more; and the lady continued her
passionate discourse with herself (as she thought), still chiding Romeo for
being Romeo and a Montague, and wishing him some other name, or that he would
put away that hated name, and for that name which was no part of himself, he
should take all herself. At this loving word Romeo could no longer refrain, but
taking up the dialogue as if her words had been addressed to him personally,
and not merely in fancy, he bade her call him Love, or by whatever other name
she pleased, for he was no longer Romeo, if that name was displeasing to her.
Juliet, alarmed to hear a man's voice in the garden, did not at first know who
it was, that by favour of the night and darkness had
thus stumbled upon the discovery of her secret; but when he spoke again, though
her ears had not yet -drunk a hundred words of that tongue's uttering, yet so
nice is a lover's hearing, that she immediately knew him to be young Romeo, and
she expostulated with him on the danger to which he had exposed himself by
climbing the orchard walls, for if any of her kinsmen should find him there, it
would be death to him, being a Montague. 'Alack,' said Romeo, 'there is more
peril in your eye, than in twenty of their swords. Do you but look kind upon
me, lady, and I am proof against their enmity. Better my life should be ended
by their hate, than that hated life should be prolonged, to live without your
love.' 'How came you into this place,' said Juliet, 'and by whose direction?'
'Love directed me,' answered Romeo: 'I am no pilot, yet wert thou as far apart
from me, as that vast shore which is washed with the farthest sea, I should
venture for such merchandise.' A crimson blush came over Juliet's face, yet
unseen by Romeo by reason of the night, when she reflected upon the discovery
which she had made, yet not meaning to make it, of her love to Romeo. She would
fain have recalled her words, but that was impossible: fain would she have
stood upon form, and have kept her lover at a distance, as the custom of
discreet ladies is, to frown and be perverse, and give their suitors harsh
denials at first; to stand off, and affect a coyness or indifference, where
they most love, that their lovers may not think them too lightly or too easily
won; for the difficulty of attainment increases the value of the object. But there was no room in her case for denials, or puttings off, or any of the customary arts of delay and
protracted courtship. Romeo had heard from her own tongue, when she did
not dream that he was near her, a confession of her love. So with an honest
frankness, which the novelty of her situation excused, she confirmed the truth
of what he had before heard, and addressing him by the name of fair Montague
(love can sweeten a sour name), she begged him not to impute her easy yielding
to levity or an unworthy mind, but that he must lay the fault of it (if it were
a fault) upon the accident of the night which had so strangely discovered her
thoughts. And she added, that though her behaviour to him might not be sufficiently prudent,
measured by the custom of her sex, yet that she would prove more true than many
whose prudence was dissembling, and their modesty artificial cunning. Romeo was
beginning to call the heavens to witness, that nothing was farther from his
thoughts than to impute a shadow of dishonour to such
an honoured lady, when she stopped him, begging him
not to swear; for although she joyed in him, yet she
had no joy of that night's contract: it was too rash, too unadvised, too sudden. But he being urgent with her to exchange a vow
of love with him that night, she said that she already had given him hers
before he requested it; meaning, when he overheard her confession; but she
would retract what she then bestowed, for the pleasure of giving it again, for
her bounty was as infinite as the sea, and her love as deep. From this loving
conference she was called away by her nurse, who slept with her, and thought it
time for her to be in bed, for it was near to daybreak; but hastily returning,
she said three or four words more to Romeo, the purport of which was, that if
his love was indeed honourable, and his purpose marriage,
she would send a messenger to him tomorrow, to appoint a time for their
marriage, when she would lay all her fortunes at his feet, and follow him as
her lord through the world. While they were settling this point, Juliet was
repeatedly called for by her nurse, and went in and returned, and went and
returned again, for she seemed as jealous of Romeo going from her, as a young
girl of her bird, which she will let hop a little from her hand, and pluck it
back with a silken thread; and Romeo was as loath to part as she; for the
sweetest music to lovers is the sound of each other's tongues at night. But at
last they parted, wishing mutually sweet sleep and rest for that night. The day
was breaking when they parted, and Romeo, who was too full of thoughts of his
mistress and that blessed meeting to allow him to sleep, instead of going home,
bent his course to a monastery hard by, to find friar Lawrence. The good friar
was already up at his devotions, but seeing young Romeo abroad so early, he
conjectured rightly that he had not been abed that night, but that some
distemper of youthful affection had kept him waking. He was right in imputing
the cause of Romeo's wakefulness to love, but he made a wrong guess at the
object, for he thought that his love for Rosaline had kept him waking. But when
Romeo revealed his new passion for Juliet, and requested the assistance of the
friar to marry them that day, the holy man lifted up his eyes and hands in a
sort of wonder at the sudden change in Romeo's affections, for he had been
privy to all Romeo's love for Rosaline, and his many complaints of her disdain:
and he said, that young men's love lay not truly in their hearts, but in their
eyes. But Romeo replying, that he himself had often chidden him for doting on
Rosaline, who could not love him again, whereas Juliet both loved and was
beloved by him, the friar assented in some measure to his reasons; and thinking
that a matrimonial alliance between young Juliet and Romeo might happily be the
means of making up the long breach between the Capulets
and the Montagues; which no one more lamented than
this good friar, who was a friend to both the families and had often interposed
his mediation to make up the quarrel without effect; partly moved by policy,
and partly by his fondness for young Romeo, to whom he could deny nothing, the
old man consented to join their hands in marriage. Now was Romeo blessed
indeed, and Juliet, who knew his intent from a messenger which she had despatched according to promise, did not fail to be early
at the cell of friar Lawrence, where their hands were joined in holy marriage;
the good friar praying the heavens to smile upon that act, and in the union of
this young Montague and young Capulet to bury the old strife and long
dissensions of their families. The ceremony being over, Juliet hastened home,
where she stayed impatient for the coming of night, at which time Romeo
promised to come and meet her in the orchard, where they had met the night
before; and the time between seemed as tedious to her, as the night before some
great festival seems to an impatient child, that has got new finery which it
may not put on till the morning. That same day, about noon, Romeo's friends, Benvolio and Mercutio, walking
through the streets of Verona,
were met by a party of the Capulets with the
impetuous Tybalt at their head. This was the same
angry Tybalt who would have fought with Romeo at old
lord Capulet's feast. He, seeing Mercutio, accused
him bluntly of associating with Romeo, a Montague. Mercutio,
who had as much fire and youthful blood in him as Tybalt,
replied to this accusation with some sharpness; and in spite of all Benvolio could say to moderate their wrath, a quarrel was
beginning, when Romeo himself passing that way, the fierce Tybalt
turned from Mercutio to Romeo, and gave him the
disgraceful appellation of villain. Romeo wished to avoid a quarrel with Tybalt above all men, because he was the kinsman of Juliet,
and much beloved by her; besides, this young Montague had never thoroughly
entered into the family quarrel, being by nature wise and gentle, and the name
of a Capulet, which was his dear lady's name, was now rather a charm to allay
resentment, than a watchword to excite fury. So he tried to reason with Tybalt, whom he saluted mildly by the name of good Capulet,
as if he, though a Montague, had some secret pleasure in uttering that name:
but Tybalt, who hated all Montagues
as he hated hell, would hear no reason, but drew his weapon; and Mercutio, who knew not of Romeo's secret motive for
desiring peace with Tybalt, but looked upon his
present forbearance as a sort of calm dishonourable
submission, with many disdainful words provoked Tybalt
to the prosecution of his first quarrel with him; and Tybalt
and Mercutio fought, till Mercutio
fell, receiving his death's wound while Romeo and Benvolio
were vainly endeavouring to part the combatants. Mercutio being dead, Romeo kept his temper no longer, but
returned the scornful appellation of villain which Tybalt
had given him; and they fought till Tybalt was slain
by Romeo. This deadly broil failing out in the midst of Verona at noonday, the
news of it quickly brought a crowd of citizens to the spot, and among them the
old lords Capulet and Montague, with their wives; and soon after arrived the
prince himself, who being related to Mercutio, whom Tybalt had slain, and having had the peace of his
government often disturbed by these brawls of Montagues
and Capulets, came determined to put the law in
strictest force against those who should be found to be offenders. Benvolio, who had been eyewitness to the fray, was
commanded by the prince to relate the origin of it; which he did, keeping as
near the truth as he could without injury to Romeo, softening and excusing the
part which his friends took in it. Lady Capulet, whose extreme grief for the
loss of her kinsman Tybalt made her keep no bounds in
her revenge, exhorted the prince to do strict justice upon his murderer, and to
pay no attention to Benvolio's representation, who,
being Romeo's friend and a Montague, spoke partially. Thus she pleaded against
her new son-in-law, but she knew not yet that he was her son-in-law and
Juliet's husband. On the other hand was to be seen Lady Montague pleading for
her child's life, and arguing with some justice that Romeo had done nothing
worthy of punishment in taking the life of Tybalt,
which was already forfeited to the law by his having slain Mercutio.
The prince, unmoved by the passionate exclamations of these women, on a careful
examination of the facts, pronounced his sentence, and by that sentence Romeo
was banished from Verona.
Heavy news to young Juliet, who had been but a few hours a bride, and now by
this decree seemed everlastingly divorced! When the tidings reached her, she at
first gave way to rage against Romeo, who had slain her dear cousin: she called
him a beautiful tyrant, a fiend angelical, a ravenous dove, a lamb with a
wolf's nature, a serpent-heart hid with a flowering face, and other like
contradictory names, which denoted the struggles in her mind between her love
and her resentment: but in the end love got the mastery, and the tears which
she shed for grief that Romeo had slain her cousin, turned to drops of joy that
her husband lived whom Tybalt would have slain. Then
came fresh tears, and they were altogether of grief for Romeo's banishment.
That word was more terrible to her than the death of many Tybalts.
Romeo, after the fray, had taken refuge in friar Lawrence's cell, where he was first made
acquainted with the prince's sentence, which seemed to him far more terrible
than death. To him it appeared there was no world out of Verona's walls, no living out of the sight of
Juliet. Heaven was there where Juliet lived, and all beyond was purgatory,
torture, hell. The good friar would have applied the consolation of philosophy
to his griefs: but this frantic young man would hear
of none, but like a madman he tore his hair, and threw himself
all along upon the ground, as he said, to take the measure of his grave. From
this unseemly state he was roused by a message from his dear lady, which a little revived him; and then the friar took the
advantage to expostulate with him on the unmanly weakness which he had shown.
He had slain Tybalt, but would he also slay himself,
slay his dear lady, who lived but in his life? The noble form of man, he said,
was but a shape of wax, when it wanted the courage which should keep it firm.
The law had been lenient to him, that instead of death, which he had incurred,
had pronounced by the prince's mouth only banishment. He had slain Tybalt, but Tybalt would have
slain him: there was a sort of happiness in that. Juliet was alive, and (beyond
all hope) had become his dear wife; therein he was most happy. All these
blessings, as the friar made them out to be, did Romeo put from him like a sullen
misbehaved wench. And the friar bade him beware, for such as despaired, (he
said) died miserable. Then when Romeo was a little calmed, he counselled him that he should go that night and secretly
take his leave of Juliet, and thence proceed straitways
to Mantua, at which place he should sojourn, till the friar found fit occasion
to publish his marriage, which might be a joyful means of reconciling their
families; and then he did not doubt but the prince would be moved to pardon
him, and he would return with twenty times more joy than he went forth with
grief. Romeo was convinced by these wise counsels of the friar, and took his
leave to go and seek his lady, proposing to stay with her that night, and by
daybreak pursue his journey alone to Mantua;
to which place the good friar promised to send him letters from time to time,
acquainting him with the state of affairs at home. That night Romeo passed with
his dear wife, gaining secret admission to her chamber, from the orchard in
which he had heard her confession of love the night before. That had been a
night of unmixed joy and rapture; but the pleasures of this night, and the
delight which these lovers took in each other's society, were sadly allayed
with the prospect of parting, and the fatal adventures of the past day. The
unwelcome daybreak seemed to come too soon, and when Juliet heard the morning
song of the lark, she would have persuaded herself that it was the nightingale,
which sings by night; but it was too truly the lark which sang, and a discordant
and unpleasing note it seemed to her; and the streaks of day in the east too
certainly pointed out that it was time for these lovers to part. Romeo took his
leave of his dear wife with a heavy heart, promising to write to her from
Mantua every hour in the day; and when he had descended from her chamber
window, as he stood below her on the ground, in that sad foreboding state of
mind in which she was, he appeared to her eyes as one dead in the bottom of a
tomb. Romeo's mind misgave him in like manner: but
now he was forced hastily to depart, for it was death for him to be found
within the walls of Verona
after daybreak. This was but the beginning of the tragedy of this pair of
star-crossed lovers. Romeo had not been gone many days, before the old lord Capulet
proposed a match for Juliet. The husband he had chosen for her, not dreaming
that she was married already, was count Paris,
a gallant, young, and noble gentleman, no unworthy suitor to the young Juliet,
if she had never seen Romeo. The terrified Juliet was in a sad perplexity at
her father's offer. She pleaded her youth unsuitable to marriage, the recent
death of Tybalt, which had left her spirits too weak
to meet a husband with any face of joy, and how indecorous it would show for
the family of the Capulets to be celebrating a
nuptial feast, when his funeral solemnities were hardly over: she pleaded every
reason against the match, but the true one, namely, that she was married
already. But lord Capulet was deaf to all her excuses, and in a peremptory manner
ordered her to get ready, for by the following Thursday she should be married
to Paris: and having found her a husband, rich, young, and noble, such as the
proudest maid in Verona might joyfully accept, he could not bear that out of an
affected coyness, as he construed her denial, she should oppose obstacles to
her own good fortune. In this extremity Juliet applied to the friendly friar,
always her counsellor in distress, and he asking her
if she had resolution to undertake a desperate remedy, and she answering that
she would go into the grave alive rather than marry Paris, her own dear husband
living; he directed her to go home, and appear merry, and give her consent to
marry Paris, according to her father's desire, and on the next night, which was
the night before the marriage, to drink off the contents of a phial which he
then gave her, the effect of which would be that for two-and-forty hours after
drinking it she should appear cold and lifeless; and when the bridegroom came
to fetch her in the morning, he would find her to appearance dead; that then
she would be borne, as the manner in that country was, uncovered on a bier, to
be buried in the family vault; that if she could put off womanish fear, and
consent to this terrible trial, in forty-two hours after swallowing the liquid
(such was its certain operation) she would be sure to awake, as from a dream;
and before she should awake, he would let her husband know their drift, and he
should come in the night, and bear her thence to Mantua. Love, and the dread of
marrying Paris,
gave young Juliet strength to undertake this horrible adventure; and she took
the phial of the friar, promising to observe his directions. Going from the
monastery, she met the young count Paris,
and modestly dissembling, promised to become his bride. This was joyful news to
the lord Capulet and his wife. It seemed to put youth into the old man; and
Juliet, who had displeased him exceedingly, by her refusal of the count, was
his darling again, now she promised to be obedient. All things in the house
were in a bustle against the approaching nuptials. No cost was spared to
prepare such festival rejoicings as Verona
had never before witnessed. On the Wednesday night Juliet drank off the potion.
She had many misgivings lest the friar, to avoid the blame which might be
imputed to him for marrying her to Romeo, had given her poison; but then he was
always known for a holy man: then lest she should awake before the time that
Romeo was to come for her; whether the terror of the place, a vault of dead Capulets' bones, and where Tybalt,
all bloody, lay festering in his shroud, would not be enough to drive her
distracted: again she thought of all the stories she had heard of spirits
haunting the places where their bodies were bestowed. But then her love for
Romeo, and her aversion for Paris
returned, and she desperately swallowed the draught, and became insensible.
When young Paris
came early in the morning with music to awaken his bride, instead of a living
Juliet, her chamber presented the dreary spectacle of a lifeless corpse. What
death to his hopes! What confusion then reigned through the whole house! Poor Paris lamenting his bride,
whom most detestable death had beguiled him of, had divorced from him even
before their hands were joined. But still more piteous it was to hear the mournings of the old lord and lady Capulet, who having but
this one, one poor living child to rejoice and solace in, cruel death had
snatched her from their sight, just as these careful parents were on the point
of seeing her advanced (as they thought) by a promising and advantageous match.
Now all things that were ordained for the festival were turned from their
properties to do the office of a black funeral. The wedding cheer served for a
sad burial feast, the bridal hymns were changed for sullen dirges, the
sprightly instruments to melancholy bells, and the flowers that should have
been strewed in the bride's path, now served but to strew her corse. Now, instead of a priest to marry her, a priest was
needed to bury her; and she was borne to church indeed, not to augment the
cheerful hopes of the living, but to swell the dreary numbers of the dead. Bad
news, which always travels faster than good, now brought the dismal story of
his Juliet's death to Romeo, at Mantua, before the messenger could arrive, who
was sent from friar Lawrence to apprise him that these were mock funerals only,
and but the shadow and representation of death, and that his dear lady lay in
the tomb but for a short while, expecting when Romeo would come to release her
from that dreary mansion. Just before, Romeo had been unusually joyful and
lighthearted. He had dreamed in the night that he was dead (a strange dream, that gave a dead man leave to think), and that his
lady came and found him dead, and breathed such life with kisses in his lips,
that he revived, and was an emperor! And now that a messenger came from Verona, he thought surely
it was to confirm some good news which his dreams had presaged. But when the
contrary to this flattering vision appeared, and that it was his lady who was
dead in truth, whom he could not revive by any kisses, he ordered horses to be gotready, for he determined that night to visit Verona, and
to see his lady in her tomb. And as mischief is swift to enter into the thoughts
of desperate men, he called to mind a poor apothecary, whose shop in Mantua he
had lately passed, and from the beggarly appearance of the man, who seemed
famished, and the wretched show in his show of empty boxes ranged on dirty
shelves, and other tokens of extreme wretchedness, he had said at the time
(perhaps having some misgivings that his own disastrous life might haply meet
with a conclusion so desperate),'If a man were to need poison, which by the law
of Mantua it is death to sell, here lives a poor wretch who would sell it him.
'These words of his now came into his mind, and he sought out the apothecary,
who after some pretended scruples, Romeo offering him gold, which his poverty
could not resist, sold him a poison, which, if he swallowed, he told him, if he
had the strength of twenty men, would quickly despatch
him. With this poison he set out for Verona,
to have a sight of his dear lady in her tomb, meaning, when he had satisfied
his sight, to swallow the poison, and be buried by her side. He reached Verona at midnight, and
found the churchyard, in the midst of which was situated the ancient tomb of
the Capulets. He had provided a light, and a spade,
and wrenching iron, and was proceeding to break open the monument, when he was
interrupted by a voice, which by the name of vile Montague, bade him desist
from his unlawful business. It was the young count Paris, who had come to the
tomb of Juliet at that unseasonable time of night, to strew flowers and to weep
over the grave of her that should have been 'his bride. He knew not what an
interest Romeo had in the dead, but knowing him to be a Montague, and (as he
supposed) a sworn foe to all the Capulets, he judged
that he was come by night to do some villainous shame to the dead bodies;
therefore in an angry tone he bade him desist; and as a criminal, condemned by
the laws of Verona to die if he were found within the walls of the city, he
would have apprehended him. Romeo urged Paris
to leave him, and warned him by the fate of Tybalt,
who lay buried there, not to provoke his anger, or draw down another sin upon
his head, by forcing him to kill him. But the count in scorn refused his
warning, and laid hands on him as a felon, which Romeo resisting, they fought,
and Paris fell.
When Romeo, by the help of a light, came to see who it was that he had slain,
that it was Paris, who (he learned in his way from Mantua) should have married
Juliet, he took the dead youth by the hand, as one whom misfortune had made a
companion, and said that he would bury him in a triumphal grave, meaning in
Juliet's grave, which he now opened: and there lay his lady, as one whom death
had no power upon to change a feature or complexion, in her matchless beauty;
or as if Death were amorous, and the lean abhorred monster kept her there for
his delight; for she lay yet fresh and blooming, as she had fallen to sleep
when she swallowed that benumbing potion; and near her lay Tybalt
in his bloody shroud, whom Romeo seeing, begged pardon of his lifeless corpse,
and for Juliet's sake called him cousin, and said that he was about to do him a
favour by putting his enemy to death. Here Romeo took
his last leave of his lady's lips, kissing them; and here he shook the burden
of his cross stars from his weary body, swallowing that poison which the
apothecary had sold him, whose operation was fatal and real, not like that
dissembling potion which Juliet had swallowed, the effect of which was now
nearly expiring, and she about to awake to Complain that Romeo had not kept his
time, or that he had come too soon. For now the hour was arrived at which the
friar had promised that she should awake; and he, having learned that his
letters which he had sent to Mantua, by some unlucky detention of the
messenger, had never reached Romeo, came himself, provided with the pickaxe and
lantern, to deliver the lady from her confinement; but he was surprised to find
a light already burning in the Capulets' monument,
and to see swords and blood near it, and Romeo and Paris lying breathless by
the monument. Before he could entertain a conjecture, to imagine how these
fatal accidents had fallen out, Juliet awoke out of her trance, and seeing the
friar near her, she remembered the place where she was, and the occasion of her
being there, and asked for Romeo, but the friar, hearing a noise, bade her come
out of that place of death, and of unnatural sleep, for a greater power than
they could contradict had thwarted their intents; and being frightened by the
noise of people coming, he fled: but when Juliet saw the cup closed in her true
love's hand, she guessed that poison had been the cause of his end, and she
would have swallowed the dregs if any had been left, and she kissed his still
warm lips to try if any poison yet did hang upon them; then hearing a nearer
noise of people coming, she quickly unsheathed a dagger which she wore, and
stabbing herself, died by her true Romeo's side. The watch by this time had
come up to the place. A page belonging to count Paris, who had witnessed the
fight between his master and Romeo, had given the alarm, which had spread among
the citizens, who went up and down the streets of Verona confusedly exclaiming,
A Paris! a Romeo! a Juliet! as the rumour had imperfectly
reached them, till the uproar brought lord Montague and lord Capulet out of
their beds, with the prince, to inquire into the causes of the disturbance. The
friar had been apprehended by some of the watch, coming from the churchyard,
trembling, sighing, and weeping, in a suspicious manner. A great multitude
being assembled at the Capulets' monument, the friar
was demanded by the prince to deliver what he knew of these strange and
disastrous accidents. And there, in the presence of the old lords Montague and
Capulet, he faithfully related the story of their children's fatal love, the
part he took in promoting their marriage, in the hope in that union to end the
long quarrels between their families: how Romeo, there dead, was husband to
Juliet; and Juliet, there dead, was Romeo's faithful wife; how before he could
find a fit opportunity to divulge their marriage, another match was projected
for Juliet, who, to avoid the crime of a second marriage, swallowed the
sleeping draught (as he advised), and all thought her dead; how meantime he
wrote to Romeo, to come and take her thence when the force of the potion should
cease, and by what unfortunate miscarriage of the messenger the letters never
reached Romeo; further than this the friar could not follow the story, nor knew
more than that coming himself, to deliver Juliet from that place of death, he
found the count Paris and Romeo slain. The remainder of the transactions was
supplied by the narration of the page who had seen Paris and Romeo fight, and
by the servant who came with Romeo from Verona, to whom this faithful lover had
given letters to be delivered to his father in the event of his death, which
made good the friar's words, confessing his marriage with Juliet, imploring the
forgiveness of his parents, acknowledging the buying of the poison of the poor
apothecary, and his intent in coming to the monument, to die, and lie with
Juliet. All these circumstances agreed together to clear the friar from any
hand he could be supposed to have in these complicated slaughters, further than
as the unintended consequences of his own well meant, yet too artificial and
subtle contrivances. And the prince, turning to these old lords, Montague and
Capulet, rebuked them for their brutal and irrational enmities, and showed them
what a scourge Heaven had laid upon such offences, that it had found means even
through the love of their children to punish their unnatural hate. And these
old rivals, no longer enemies, agreed to bury their long strife in their
children's graves; and lord Capulet requested lord Montague to give him his
hand, calling him by the name of brother, as if in acknowledgement of the union
of their families, by the marriage of the young Capulet and Montague; and
saying that lord Montague's hand (in token of reconcilement) was all he
demanded for his daughter's jointure: but lord Montague said he would give him
more, for he would raise her a statue of pure gold, that while Verona kept its
name, no figure should be so esteemed for its richness and workmanship as that
of the true and faithful Juliet. And lord Capulet in return said that he would raise
another statue to Romeo. So did- these poor old lords, when it was too late,
strive to outdo each other in mutual courtesies: while so deadly had been their
rage and enmity in past times, that nothing but the fearful overthrow of their
children (poor sacrifices to their quarrels and dissensions) could remove the
rooted hates and jealousies of the noble families.