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The Shakespeare Story-Book
Romeo and Juliet
The Masked Ball
There was a long-standing feud between the houses of Montague and Capulet, two of the noblest families of ancient Italy, and the narrow streets of Verona rang constantly with the sound of brawl and strife. The enmity between the heads of the family and their noble kinsmen descended, of course, to their retainers, and the servants of both houses never met without quarrel, and frequent bloodshed. The Prince of Verona vainly tried to stop this incessant bickering; again and again it burst out with renewed fury. Three serious outbreaks had already occurred in the city, when not only the servants of the families, but even respectable citizens had joined in the fray, and became for the moment furious partisans of one side or the other. Finally, the Prince, enraged by another of these skirmishes, started by the servants, but joined in afterwards by the heads of the houses themselves, pronounced sentence indignantly on Montague and Capulet. If ever they disturbed the streets again, he declared, their lives should pay the forfeit of the peace.
When the rioters had dispersed and the Prince had retired, Lady Montague began to make anxious inquiry about her son, saying how glad she was he had not been in the fray. Her nephew Benvolio replied that an hour before dawn, driven to walk abroad by a troubled mind, he had seen young Romeo walking in a grove of sycamore outside the city, but that, as soon as Romeo became aware of his approach, he stole away into the covert of the wood. To this Montague added that his son had been seen there many mornings, evidently in deep sorrow, and that when he was in the house he penned himself up in his own room, shut up his windows, locked out the fair daylight, and made an artificial night for himself. Montague neither knew the cause of this strange behaviour, nor could he learn it of him, though both he and his friends had earnestly entreated Romeo to tell them the cause of his grief.
At this moment the young man himself came in sight, and Benvolio hastily begged his uncle and Lady Montague to step aside, saying that he would certainly find out what was the matter. Perhaps Benvolio used more tact in dealing with his cousin, or perhaps Romeo was at last not sorry to confide his trouble; at any rate, he confessed to Benvolio that the reason of his unhappiness was that he was in love with a beautiful lady called Rosaline, who was very cold and indifferent, and did not in the least return his affection.
As there seemed no hope of Romeo’s winning the lady, Benvolio very sensibly advised him to think no more about her, but to try to find someone else equally beautiful and charming. Romeo replied that this was quite impossible, but Benvolio did not at all despair of effecting his cure.
And, as it happened, the very remedy suggested was successful, and that within the next few hours. This was how it came about.
The rival house of Capulet, like that of Montague, boasted of but one child, but while the Montagues’ was a son, Romeo, the Capulets’ only surviving offspring was a daughter, a lovely young girl called Juliet.
Up to the present Juliet had been too youthful to take part in the gaieties of the world, but a certain noble young Count called Paris, a kinsman of the Prince of Verona, had already been attracted by her charms, and now begged permission from her father to pay his suit to her. Capulet replied that Juliet was very young still to think of marriage, but that if Paris liked to try to win her heart, and succeeded in doing so, he would willingly add his consent to hers. Further, he said that he was holding that night an old-accustomed feast, to which he had invited a number of guests, including many beautiful maidens; among them Paris would behold his daughter, and he could then compare her with others, and judge whether she still surpassed them as he now thought. He was to see all, hear all, and to like her the best whose merit should be the most.
The servant sent out by Capulet to carry his invitations was no scholar, and happening to meet Romeo and Benvolio, he appealed to them to read over to him the list of invited guests. Among the names written there, Romeo found that of Rosaline, with other admired beauties of Verona, and Benvolio advised him to go to the ball, and without prejudice to compare her face with some of the other ladies present, when he would find that, after all, she was no such paragon.
Romeo replied that he would go, not for this reason, but to delight in the splendour of his own lady.
Even although it was to an enemy’s house he was going, and he was placing himself in grave peril if his identity were discovered, it was not a difficult matter for Romeo to gain admittance to the Capulets, for all the guests were to go in fancy dress, and wear masks. Romeo chose the disguise of a pilgrim. When the night came he was still sad at heart, and declared he would join in no dancing; he had a soul of lead that bore him to the ground, so that he could hardly move.
Besides Benvolio, on this night, Romeo had with him another friend, a very light-hearted, witty gentleman, called Mercutio, a kinsman of the Prince of Verona. As they went along, Mercutio tried to laugh Romeo out of his melancholy mood, and to chase away his sadness with his gay chatter. But nothing he could say served to cheer up Romeo; a dark misgiving seemed to hang over him, and it was with no festive spirit that he entered the brilliantly lighted hall of Capulet’s house.
All here was splendour and gaiety. Crowds of quaintly dressed figures wandered to and fro. Capulet himself, with his daughter Juliet and others of his house, received the guests, and gave them a hearty welcome. Then the music began, and the dancers grouped themselves for the stately and graceful measures of those days.
Romeo was late in arriving, and the dancing had already begun when he entered the hall. He stood for a while looking on at the scene. His Rosaline, no doubt, was there, among other proud beauties of Verona, but to-night her sway was to be broken for ever. For there among the dancers was one who far surpassed her fellows, even as a snowy dove trooping with crows. In the dazzling radiance of her first youthful bloom, moved the daughter of the house, and when he saw this slender maiden with her peerless beauty, and her locks of shining gold, all lesser feelings melted out of Romeo’s heart, and he knew he had never really loved till now.
Romeo’s half-uttered exclamations of rapture were overheard by a nephew of Lady Capulet’s, a fiery nobleman called Tybalt, always ready for brawls and quarrelling.
“This, by his voice, should be a Montague,” he said, and immediately ordered his page to fetch his rapier. “How dares the slave come hither, covered with an antic face, to fleer and scorn at our solemnity? Now, by the honour of my kin, I would hold it no sin to strike him dead.”
“Why, how now, kinsman? Why do you storm so?” asked Capulet.
“Uncle, this is a Montague, our foe – a villain who has come here in spite to scorn at our solemnity.”
“Young Romeo, is it?”
“It is he – that villain Romeo!”
“Content you, gentle cousin, let him alone,” said Capulet. “He bears himself like a gallant gentleman, and to say truth, Verona boasts him to be a virtuous and well-governed youth. I would not for the wealth of all the town do him any wrong here in my house. Therefore be patient, take no notice of him – it is my will, and if you respect it, show an amiable face, and put off those frowns, which are not a pleasing expression at a feast.”
“It fits when such a villain is a guest,” said Tybalt sullenly. “I’ll not endure him!”
“He shall be endured,” said Capulet sternly. “What, goodman boy! I say he shall; go to! Am I the master here, or you? Go to! You’ll not endure him! You’ll make a mutiny among my guests! You’ll be the man!”
“Why, uncle, it’s a shame,” persisted Tybalt.
“Go to – go to!” cried the exasperated old man. “You are a saucy boy! Go! Be quiet, or – More light! More light! – I’ll make you quiet.”
Burning with wrath against Romeo, and furious at the rebuke which his presumption had won from his uncle, Tybalt withdrew, silenced for the moment, but his heart filled with the bitterest spite, and determining to be revenged at the first opportunity for the humiliation he had suffered.
In the meanwhile the dance was ended, and Romeo had been able to approach Juliet. In his rôle of a pilgrim he carried on with her a half-jesting conversation which barely veiled the deep devotion he was already beginning to feel; and, according to the customs of those days, he was even permitted to salute the lady with a courteous kiss.
Their conversation was interrupted by Juliet’s nurse, who came to summon Juliet to her mother, and then Romeo learnt for the first time that the young girl who had so enchanted him was the daughter of the house, a Capulet, the child of his foe.
And a few minutes later, Juliet, also making eager inquiry about the young guest in the guise of a pilgrim, heard that his name was Romeo, a Montague, the only son of the great enemy of her father’s house.
Mercutio
When the ball was over, Romeo’s friends, Mercutio and Benvolio, looked for him to return with them, but Romeo was nowhere to be found. Unable to leave the neighbourhood of the lady who had so suddenly taken possession of his heart, Romeo had scaled the wall of Capulet’s orchard. As he drew near the house, a window above opened, and Juliet herself stepped out on to a balcony. Romeo was hidden among the shadows of the trees, but the silver rays of a summer moon shone full on Juliet, and lighted up her sweet young face and her ball-dress of shimmering white satin.
Like Romeo, Juliet was sad at heart, for all her thoughts were running on the gallant young stranger, and it grieved her to remember that he was the son of her father’s enemy. Believing herself to be alone, Juliet spoke her meditations aloud, and in the silence of the night they were clearly heard by the unseen listener below.
“O Romeo, Romeo! Wherefore art thou Romeo?” she sighed. “Deny thy father, and refuse thy name. Or, if thou wilt not, only swear to love me, and I’ll no longer be a Capulet.”
“Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at this?” said Romeo to himself, enraptured at hearing such words.
“It is only thy name that is my enemy,” continued Juliet. “What’s ‘Montague’? It is not 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… Romeo, doff thy name, and for that name which is no part of thee, take all myself!”
“I take thee at thy word!” cried Romeo, unable to keep silence any longer. “Call me but love, and I will be new baptized; henceforth I never will be Romeo!”
Juliet was greatly startled to find that her rash words had been overheard, but she soon recognised the voice to be that of Romeo. She warned him of the peril he ran if he should be discovered, but Romeo cared little for the swords of her kinsmen, provided that he won the love of the lady. It was too late now to deny what she had so frankly confessed, and the darkness of the night hid Juliet’s blushes. She therefore took courage, and spoke out candidly, saying that if Romeo really loved her, let him pronounce it faithfully, and though he might think she was too easily won, yet she would prove more true than many who had more cunning in feigning coldness.
Romeo was all fire and eagerness, and was beginning to swear his unswerving constancy when Juliet checked him. Her heart was still troubled, and, though she rejoiced to find that Romeo loved her, she could scarcely rejoice in the contract they had made; it seemed too rash, too unadvised, too sudden, to last. But if Romeo’s purpose still held, and he wished to marry her, Juliet bade him send word the next day by a trusty messenger, where and at what time the ceremony should be performed; and she would lay all her fortune at his feet, and follow him, her husband, throughout the world.
In this sudden emergency Romeo knew to whom to apply. There was a good old man, called Friar Laurence, a friend of both the families, who was much grieved at the bitter dissension between them, and had many times tried to induce them to become reconciled. Friar Laurence had often chided Romeo for his extravagant doating on Rosaline, and his unrestrained grief because she would not listen to him. The good man was somewhat astonished at this sudden turn of events; he foresaw that one of Romeo’s passionate, excitable nature was never likely to be happy; the hot-headed young man was always in extremes, either in a state of rapture or in the depths of despair. He would listen to no counsel, and never paused to reflect. But when Friar Laurence on this occasion understood what was wanted of him, he did not refuse his aid, for he thought this alliance might prove so happy that it would turn the rancour of the two households into peace and love. So word was sent to Juliet, and, with the connivance of her old nurse, who was fully in the confidence of the two young lovers, Juliet stole away the next morning to Friar Laurence’s cell, and was there secretly married to Romeo.
On this same morning of the marriage it happened that Romeo’s friends, Mercutio and Benvolio, were walking through Verona. It was a very hot day, and Benvolio presently suggested they should go home, saying that the Capulets were abroad, and that if they met, they would certainly not escape a brawl, for these hot days fevered the blood, and made men quarrelsome.
Mercutio laughed at Benvolio’s caution, and accused him of being as hot-tempered a man as any in Italy.
“Nay, if there were two such we should have none shortly, for one would kill the other,” he said jeeringly. “Thou! Why, thou wilt quarrel with a man that hath a hair more or a hair less in his beard than thou hast; thou wilt quarrel with a man for cracking nuts, having no other reason but because thou hast hazel eyes. Thy head is as full of quarrels as an egg is full of meat. Thou hast quarrelled with a man for coughing in the street, because he hath wakened thy dog that hath lain asleep in the sun. Didst thou not fall out with a tailor for wearing his new doublet before Easter, and with another for tying his new shoes with old riband? And yet thou wilt tutor me from quarrelling!”
“If I were as ready to quarrel as thou art,” retorted Benvolio, “any man should buy the fee simple of my life for an hour and a quarter.”
It will easily be seen that these gentlemen were not in the most amiable frame of mind, and it was unfortunate that at that moment a party of the Capulets should come up, among them being the fiery-tempered nephew of Lady Capulet. The incident of the night before still rankled in Tybalt’s mind, and any friend of Romeo’s was fit subject on which to wreak his spite. But Mercutio was not a man to brook insult, and he returned Tybalt’s insolence with interest.
“Gentlemen, good-day; a word with one of you,” said Tybalt, advancing.
“Only one word with one of us?” said Mercutio in a mocking voice. “Couple it with something: make it a word and a blow.”
“You shall find me apt enough at that, sir, if you give me occasion,” said Tybalt, glaring at him.
“Could you not take some occasion without giving?” sneered Mercutio.
“Mercutio, thou consortest with Romeo – ”
“Consort!” echoed Mercutio. “What, do you make us minstrels? If you make minstrels of us, look to hear nothing but discords. Here’s my fiddlestick; here’s that which shall make you dance!” And he laid his hand threateningly on his sword.
“We talk here in the public haunt of men,” interposed Benvolio, for their wrangling had begun to attract the attention of two or three inquisitive passers-by. “Either withdraw to some private place, and talk over your grievances calmly, or else depart; here all eyes gaze on us.”
“Men’s eyes were made to look, and let them gaze,” said Mercutio coolly. “I will not budge for any man’s pleasure, I!”
“Well, peace be with you, sir; here comes my man,” said Tybalt, for he saw Romeo approaching.
“But I’ll be hanged, sir, if he wears your livery!” said Mercutio.
Straight from his marriage with Juliet, his heart full of joy, and his spirit breathing peace to all mankind, came Romeo. Even the insult with which Tybalt greeted him did not at such a moment rouse his anger. Tybalt was Juliet’s kinsman; in his overflowing love for Juliet, Romeo could not quarrel with one who might be dear to her.
“Romeo, the hate I bear thee can afford no better term than this – thou art a villain!” said Tybalt.
“Tybalt,” returned Romeo mildly, “the reason I have for loving you prevents the rage which should follow such a greeting. I am no villain. Therefore, farewell. I see you do not know me.”
“Boy, this shall not excuse the injuries you have done me. Therefore turn and draw.”
“I do protest, I never injured you, but love you better than you can guess, till you shall know the reason of my love. And so, good Capulet – which name I speak as dearly as my own – be satisfied.”
Mercutio had listened in amazement to Romeo’s gentle responses to Tybalt’s insults, but at this he could contain himself no further.
“O calm, dishonourable, vile submission!” he cried in wrath, and drew his sword. “Tybalt, you rat-catcher, will you walk?”
“What would you have with me?”
“Good king of cats, nothing but one of your nine lives. Will you pluck out your sword? Make haste, lest mine be about your ears before it be out.”
“I am for you,” said Tybalt, drawing.
“Gentle Mercutio, put your rapier up,” entreated Romeo.
“Come, sir, begin,” was Mercutio’s only answer.
“Draw, Benvolio, beat down their weapons,” cried Romeo imploringly. “Gentlemen, for shame, forbear this outrage! Tybalt, Mercutio, the Prince has expressly forbidden fighting in the streets of Verona. Hold, Tybalt! Good Mercutio!”
In his eagerness to stay the combatants, Romeo tried to strike up their weapons, and Tybalt, seizing his advantage, stabbed Mercutio under Romeo’s arm. Then, seeing him reel back into Benvolio’s arms, Tybalt fled with his followers.
“I am hurt,” said Mercutio. “A plague on both your houses! I am done for… Is he gone, and hath nothing?”
“What, are you hurt?” said Benvolio.
“Ay, ay, a scratch – a scratch,” said Mercutio, with an attempt at his old light manner. “Marry, it’s enough. Where is my page? Go, villain, fetch a surgeon.”
“Courage, man, the hurt cannot be much,” said Romeo tenderly.
“No, it’s not so deep as a well, nor so wide as a church door,” said Mercutio, in his usual jesting style, though he could only gasp out the words with difficulty; “but it’s enough; it will serve. Ask for me to-morrow, and you shall find me a grave man. I am peppered, I warrant, for this world… A plague on both your houses! … Why the devil did you come between us? I was hurt under your arm.”
“I thought all for the best,” said poor Romeo.
“Help me into some house, Benvolio, or I shall faint,” gasped Mercutio… “A plague on both your houses! … they have made worm’s meat of me … your houses…”
Benvolio supported Mercutio away, but returned in a few minutes with the mournful tidings that the brave and gallant spirit had taken flight. Mercutio, the brilliant wit, the loyal friend, the light-hearted comrade, had fallen a victim to the dissension between the houses of Montague and Capulet. Jealous of his friend’s honour, as of his own, he had risked all in its defence, and he faced death, as he had done life, with undaunted bearing and a smile on his lips.
Benvolio had scarcely told the news when back came Tybalt, and, furious at the loss of his friend, Romeo hurled aside all thoughts of leniency, and straightway sprang at his murderer. The fight was brief, and Tybalt fell. Romeo was hastily hurried off by Benvolio, for the whole town was now in an uproar, and he knew that, if taken, Romeo would probably be doomed to death. Dazed by all the calamities which had suddenly fallen on him, Romeo let himself be persuaded, and departed almost in a dream.
The Prince of Verona now arrived, also Capulet and Montague, and crowds of other citizens. In reply to the Prince’s inquiries, Benvolio gave an account of what had happened, telling the story in the most favourable light he could for the absent Romeo, whose fault, indeed, it had no wise been. He told how Tybalt had provoked him, and how Romeo had tried to keep the peace, reminding the quarrelsome nobleman of the Prince’s displeasure; also how Tybalt had slain Mercutio when Romeo was trying to stop the duel; and how, after Mercutio’s death, Tybalt had come back and fought with Romeo. Before Benvolio could part them, Tybalt was slain, and now Romeo had fled.
The Capulets began to clamour for revenge. Benvolio, they said, was a kinsman to the Montagues, and his affection made him speak falsely; the matter was not as he described it. They begged for justice. Romeo had slain Tybalt; Romeo must die.
“Romeo slew him, he slew Mercutio,” said the Prince, grieving for the loss of his own kinsman. “Who owes the price for Mercutio’s dear blood?”
“Not Romeo, Prince; he was Mercutio’s friend,” said Montague. “His fault only concludes what the law should have ended – the life of Tybalt.”
“And for that offence we exile him immediately,” pronounced the Prince, determined by severe measures to put a stop to the incessant brawling that was bringing sorrow to so many noble families. “I have suffered because of your hate – my dear kinsman is slain. But I will punish you with so heavy a fine that you shall all repent my loss. I will be deaf to pleading and excuses; neither tears nor prayers shall soften this sentence, therefore use none. Let Romeo leave the city at once; else, when he is found, that hour shall be his last. Mercy only encourages murder when it pardons those who kill.”
