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.