Once upon a time there lived in Verona two
great families named Montagu and Capulet.
They were both rich, and I suppose they were
as sensible, in most things, as other rich
people. But in one thing they were extremely
silly. There was an old, old quarrel between
the two families, and instead of making it
up like reasonable folks, they made a sort
of pet of their quarrel, and would not let
it die out. So that a Montagu wouldn't speak
to a Capulet if he met one in the street—nor
a Capulet to a Montagu—or if they did speak,
it was to say rude and unpleasant things,
which often ended in a fight. And their relations
and servants were just as foolish, so that
street fights and duels and uncomfortablenesses
of that kind were always growing out of the
Montagu-and-Capulet quarrel.
Now Lord Capulet, the head of that family,
gave a party—a grand supper and a dance—and
he was so hospitable that he said anyone might
come to it except  (of course) the Montagues.
But there was a young Montagu named Romeo,
who very much wanted to be there, because
Rosaline, the lady he loved, had been asked.
This lady had never been at all kind to him,
and he had no reason to love her; but the
fact was that he wanted to love somebody,
and as he hadn't seen the right lady, he was
obliged to love the wrong one. So to the Capulet's
grand party he came, with his friends Mercutio
and Benvolio.
Old Capulet welcomed him and his two friends
very kindly—and young Romeo moved about
among the crowd of courtly folk dressed in
their velvets and satins, the men with jeweled
sword hilts and collars, and the ladies with
brilliant gems on breast and arms, and stones
of price set in their bright girdles. Romeo
was in his best too, and though he wore a
black mask over his eyes and nose, everyone
could see by his mouth and his hair, and the
way he held his head, that he was twelve times
handsomer than anyone else in the room.
Presently amid the dancers he saw a lady so
beautiful and so lovable that from that moment
he never again gave one thought to that Rosaline
whom he had thought he loved. And he looked
at this other fair lady, as she moved in the
dance in her white satin and pearls, and all
the world seemed vain and worthless to him
compared with her. And he was saying this,
or something like it, when Tybalt, Lady Capulet's
nephew, hearing his voice, knew him to be
Romeo. Tybalt, being very angry, went at once
to his uncle, and told him how a Montagu had
come uninvited to the feast; but old Capulet
was too fine a gentleman to be discourteous
to any man under his own roof, and he bade
Tybalt be quiet. But this young man only waited
for a chance to quarrel with Romeo.
In the meantime Romeo made his way to the
fair lady, and told her in sweet words that
he loved her, and kissed her. Just then her
mother sent for her, and then Romeo found
out that the lady on whom he had set his heart's
hopes was Juliet, the daughter of Lord Capulet,
his sworn foe. So he went away, sorrowing
indeed, but loving her none the less.
Then Juliet said to her nurse:
"Who is that gentleman that would not dance?"
"His name is Romeo, and a Montagu, the only
son of your great enemy," answered the nurse.
Then Juliet went to her room, and looked out
of her window, over the beautiful green-grey
garden, where the moon was shining. And Romeo
was hidden in that garden among the trees—because
he could not bear to go right away without
trying to see her again. So she—not knowing
him to be there—spoke her secret thought
aloud, and told the quiet garden how she loved
Romeo.
And Romeo heard and was glad beyond measure.
Hidden below, he looked up and saw her fair
face in the moonlight, framed in the blossoming
creepers that grew round her window, and as
he looked and listened, he felt as though
he had been carried away in a dream, and set
down by some magician in that beautiful and
enchanted garden.
"Ah—why are you called Romeo?" said Juliet.
"Since I love you, what does it matter what
you are called?"
"Call me but love, and I'll be new baptized—henceforth
I never will be Romeo," he cried, stepping
into the full white moonlight from the shade
of the cypresses and oleanders that had hidden
him. She was frightened at first, but when
she saw that it was Romeo himself, and no
stranger, she too was glad, and, he standing
in the garden below and she leaning from the
window, they spoke long together, each one
trying to find the sweetest words in the world,
to make that pleasant talk that lovers use.
And the tale of all they said, and the sweet
music their voices made together, is all set
down in a golden book, where you children
may read it for yourselves some day.
And the time passed so quickly, as it does
for folk who love each other and are together,
that when the time came to part, it seemed
as though they had met but that moment—and
indeed they hardly knew how to part.
"I will send to you tomorrow," said Juliet.
And so at last, with lingering and longing,
they said "Good night".
Juliet went into her room, and a dark curtain
hid her bright window. Romeo went away through
the still and dewy garden like a man in a
dream.
The next morning, very early, Romeo went to
Friar Laurence, a priest, and, telling him
all the story, begged him to marry him to
Juliet without delay. And this, after some
talk, the priest consented to do.
So when Juliet sent her old nurse to Romeo
that day to know what he purposed to do, the
old woman took back a message that all was
well, and all things ready for the marriage
of Juliet and Romeo on the next morning.
The young lovers were afraid to ask their
parents' consent to their marriage, as young
people should do, because of this foolish
old quarrel between the Capulets and the Montagues.
And Friar Laurence was willing to help the
young lovers secretly, because he thought
that when they were once married their parents
might soon be told, and that the match might
put a happy end to the old quarrel.
So the next morning early, Romeo and Juliet
were married at Friar Laurence's cell, and
parted with tears and kisses. And Romeo promised
to come into the garden that evening, and
the nurse got ready a rope-ladder to let down
from the window, so that Romeo could climb
up and talk to his dear wife quietly and alone.
But that very day a dreadful thing happened.
Tybalt, the young man who had been so vexed
at Romeo's going to the Capulet's feast, met
him and his two friends, Mercutio and Benvolio,
in the street, called Romeo a villain, and
asked him to fight. Romeo had no wish to fight
with Juliet's cousin, but Mercutio drew his
sword, and he and Tybalt fought. And Mercutio
was killed. When Romeo saw that this friend
was dead, he forgot everything except anger
at the man who had killed him, and he and
Tybalt fought till Tybalt fell dead.
So, on the very day of his wedding, Romeo
killed his dear Juliet's cousin, and was sentenced
to be banished. Poor Juliet and her young
husband met that night indeed; he climbed
the rope-ladder among the flowers, and found
her window, but their meeting was a sad one,
and they parted with bitter tears and hearts
heavy, because they could not know when they
should meet again.
Now Juliet's father, who, of course, had no
idea that she was married, wished her to wed
a gentleman named Paris, and was so angry
when she refused, that she hurried away to
ask Friar Laurence what she should do. He
advised her to pretend to consent, and then
he said:
"I will give you a draught that will make
you seem to be dead for two days, and then
when they take you to church it will be to
bury you, and not to marry you. They will
put you in the vault thinking you are dead,
and before you wake up Romeo and I will be
there to take care of you. Will you do this,
or are you afraid?"
"I will do it; talk not to me of fear!" said
Juliet. And she went home and told her father
she would marry Paris. If she had spoken out
and told her father the truth, well, then
this would have been a different story.
Lord Capulet was very much pleased to get
his own way, and set about inviting his friends
and getting the wedding feast ready. Everyone
stayed up all night, for there was a great
deal to do, and very little time to do it
in. Lord Capulet was anxious to get Juliet
married because he saw she was very unhappy.
Of course she was really fretting about her
husband Romeo, but her father thought she
was grieving for the death of her cousin Tybalt,
and he thought marriage would give her something
else to think about.
Early in the morning the nurse came to call
Juliet, and to dress her for her wedding;
but she would not wake, and at last the nurse
cried out suddenly—
"Alas! alas! help! help! my lady's dead! Oh,
well-a-day that ever I was born!"
Lady Capulet came running in, and then Lord
Capulet, and Lord Paris, the bridegroom. There
lay Juliet cold and white and lifeless, and
all their weeping could not wake her. So it
was a burying that day instead of a marrying.
Meantime Friar Laurence had sent a messenger
to Mantua with a letter to Romeo telling him
of all these things; and all would have been
well, only the messenger was delayed, and
could not go.
But ill news travels fast. Romeo's servant
who knew the secret of the marriage, but not
of Juliet's pretended death, heard of her
funeral, and hurried to Mantua to tell Romeo
how his young wife was dead and lying in the
grave.
"Is it so?" cried Romeo, heart-broken. "Then
I will lie by Juliet's side tonight."
And he bought himself a poison, and went straight
back to Verona. He hastened to the tomb where
Juliet was lying. It was not a grave, but
a vault. He broke open the door, and was just
going down the stone steps that led to the
vault where all the dead Capulets lay, when
he heard a voice behind him calling on him
to stop.
It was the Count Paris, who was to have married
Juliet that very day.
"How dare you come here and disturb the dead
bodies of the Capulets, you vile Montagu?"
cried Paris.
Poor Romeo, half mad with sorrow, yet tried
to answer gently.
"You were told," said Paris, "that if you
returned to Verona you must die."
"I must indeed," said Romeo. "I came here
for nothing else. Good, gentle youth—leave
me! Oh, go—before I do you any harm! I love
you better than myself—go—leave me here—"
Then Paris said, "I defy you, and I arrest
you as a felon," and Romeo, in his anger and
despair, drew his sword. They fought, and
Paris was killed.
As Romeo's sword pierced him, Paris cried—
"Oh, I am slain! If thou be merciful, open
the tomb, and lay me with Juliet!"
And Romeo said, "In faith I will."
And he carried the dead man into the tomb
and laid him by the dear Juliet's side. Then
he kneeled by Juliet and spoke to her, and
held her in his arms, and kissed her cold
lips, believing that she was dead, while all
the while she was coming nearer and nearer
to the time of her awakening. Then he drank
the poison, and died beside his sweetheart
and wife.
Now came Friar Laurence when it was too late,
and saw all that had happened—and then poor
Juliet woke out of her sleep to find her husband
and her friend both dead beside her.
The noise of the fight had brought other folks
to the place too, and Friar Laurence, hearing
them, ran away, and Juliet was left alone.
She saw the cup that had held the poison,
and knew how all had happened, and since no
poison was left for her, she drew her Romeo's
dagger and thrust it through her heart—and
so, falling with her head on her Romeo's breast,
she died. And here ends the story of these
faithful and most unhappy lovers.
And when the old folks knew from Friar Laurence
of all that had befallen, they sorrowed exceedingly,
and now, seeing all the mischief their wicked
quarrel had wrought, they repented them of
it, and over the bodies of their dead children
they clasped hands at last, in friendship
and forgiveness.
