Beautiful Stories from Shakespeare
The church seemed no longer sacred. Hero took her own part as long as
she could, then she swooned. All her persecutors left the church, except
her father, who was befooled by the accusations against her, and cried,
“Hence from her! Let her die!”
But Friar Francis saw Hero blameless with his clear eyes that probed the
soul. “She is innocent,” he said; “a thousand signs have told me so.”
Hero revived under his kind gaze. Her father, flurried and angry, knew
not what to think, and the Friar said, “They have left her as one dead
with shame. Let us pretend that she is dead until the truth is declared,
and slander turns to remorse.”
“The Friar advises well,” said Benedick. Then Hero was led away into a
retreat, and Beatrice and Benedick remained alone in the church.
Benedick knew she had been weeping bitterly and long. “Surely I do
believe your fair cousin is wronged,” he said. She still wept.
“Is it not strange,” asked Benedick, gently, “that I love nothing in the
world as well as you?”
“It were as possible for me to say I loved nothing as well as you,” said
Beatrice, “but I do not say it. I am sorry for my cousin.”
“Tell me what to do for her,” said Benedick. “Kill Claudio.”
“Ha! not for the wide world,” said Benedick. “Your refusal kills me,”
said Beatrice. “Farewell.”
“Enough! I will challenge him,” cried Benedick.
During this scene Borachio and Conrade were in prison. There they were
examined by a constable called Dogberry.
The watchman gave evidence to the effect that Borachio had said that he
had received a thousand ducats for conspiring against Hero.
Leonato was not present at this examination, but he was nevertheless now
thoroughly convinced Of Hero's innocence. He played the part of bereaved
father very well, and when Don Pedro and Claudio called on him in a
friendly way, he said to the Italian, “You have slandered my child to
death, and I challenge you to combat.”
“I cannot fight an old man,” said Claudio.
“You could kill a girl,” sneered Leonato, and Claudio crimsoned.
Hot words grew from hot words, and both Don Pedro and Claudio were
feeling scorched when Leonato left the room and Benedick entered.
“The old man,” said Claudio, “was like to have snapped my nose off.”
“You are a villain!” said Benedick, shortly. “Fight me when and with
what weapon you please, or I call you a coward.”
Claudio was astounded, but said, “I'll meet you. Nobody shall say I
can't carve a calf's head.”
Benedick smiled, and as it was time for Don Pedro to receive officials,
the Prince sat down in a chair of state and prepared his mind for
justice.
The door soon opened to admit Dogberry and his prisoners.
“What offence,” said Don Pedro, “are these men charged with?”
Borachio thought the moment a happy one for making a clean breast of it.
He laid the whole blame on Don John, who had disappeared. “The lady Hero
being dead,” he said, “I desire nothing but the reward of a murderer.”
Claudio heard with anguish and deep repentance.
Upon the re-entrance of Leonato be said to him, “This slave makes clear
your daughter's innocence. Choose your revenge.
“Leonato,” said Don Pedro, humbly, “I am ready for any penance you may
impose.”
“I ask you both, then,” said Leonato, “to proclaim my daughter's
innocence, and to honor her tomb by singing her praise before it. As for
you, Claudio, I have this to say: my brother has a daughter so like Hero
that she might be a copy of her. Marry her, and my vengeful feelings
die.”
“Noble sir,” said Claudio, “I am yours.” Claudio then went to his room
and composed a solemn song. Going to the church with Don Pedro and his
attendants, he sang it before the monument of Leonato's family. When he
had ended he said, “Good night, Hero. Yearly will I do this.”
He then gravely, as became a gentleman whose heart was Hero's, made
ready to marry a girl whom he did not love. He was told to meet her in
Leonato's house, and was faithful to his appointment.
He was shown into a room where Antonio (Leonato's brother) and several
masked ladies entered after him. Friar Francis, Leonato, and Benedick
were present.
Antonio led one of the ladies towards Claudio.
“Sweet,” said the young man, “let me see your face.”
“Swear first to marry her,” said Leonato.
“Give me your hand,” said Claudio to the lady; “before this holy friar I
swear to marry you if you will be my wife.”
“Alive I was your wife,” said the lady, as she drew off her mask.
“Another Hero!” exclaimed Claudio.
“Hero died,” explained Leonato, “only while slander lived.”
The Friar was then going to marry the reconciled pair, but Benedick
interrupted him with, “Softly, Friar; which of these ladies is
Beatrice?”
Hereat Beatrice unmasked, and Benedick said, “You love me, don't you?”
“Only moderately,” was the reply. “Do you love me?”
“Moderately,” answered Benedick.
“I was told you were well-nigh dead for me,” remarked Beatrice.
“Of you I was told the same,” said Benedick.
“Here's your own hand in evidence of your love,” said Claudio, producing
a feeble sonnet which Benedick had written to his sweetheart. “And
here,” said Hero, “is a tribute to Benedick, which I picked out of the
pocket of Beatrice.”
“A miracle!” exclaimed Benedick. “Our hands are against our hearts!
Come, I will marry you, Beatrice.”
“You shall be my husband to save your life,” was the rejoinder.
Benedick kissed her on the mouth; and the Friar married them after he
had married Claudio and Hero.
“How is Benedick the married man?” asked Don Pedro.
“Too happy to be made unhappy,” replied Benedick. “Crack what jokes you
will. As for you, Claudio, I had hoped to run you through the body, but
as you are now my kinsman, live whole and love my cousin.”
“My cudgel was in love with you, Benedick, until to-day,” said Claudio;
but, “Come, come, let's dance,” said Benedick.
And dance they did. Not even the news of the capture of Don John was
able to stop the flying feet of the happy lovers, for revenge is not
sweet against an evil man who has failed to do harm.
ROMEO AND JULIET
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 to-morrow,” said Juliet.
And so at last, with lingering and longing, they said good-bye.
Juliet went into her room, and a dark curtain bid 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