My Lady Juliet
Two households, both alike in dignity
(In fair Verona, where we lay our scene),
From ancient grudge break new mutiny,
Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean.
From forth the fatal loins of these two foes
A pair of star-crossed lovers take their life;
Whose misadventures piteous overthrows
Doth with their death bury their parent's strife.
The fearful passage of their death-marked love
And the continuance of their parents rage,
Which, but their children's end, naught could remove,
Is now the two hour's traffic of our stage;
The which, if you with patient ears attend,
What here shall miss, our toil shall strive to mend.
For generations the Motagues and Capulets have been at war in the city of Verona. And during this time and long before it, my family has served the Capulets.
My father tended the gardens as had his father before him and my mother scrubbed the floors as her mother had before her. It was I who broke tradition, for I was given the honor of being nurse to my Lady Juliet.
She was such a lovely child, beautiful and sweet tempered even as a babe. The moment I first held her in my arms I knew she was special, destined for great things. (Though I was just wrong just in what kind of great things they would be) From that day on I was changed, my family was sworn to serve the Capulets, but my soul belonged to my Lady.
Even at a young age, her willfulness began to show. But I, bewitched as I was, could not find it in myself to deny her anything. I wonder sometimes, if things would have happened differently if I had.
I lived my life for Juliet, wholly, completely. I never married (1), never birthed any of the younglings I loved so much. For all that, I was happy. Even if the price of my devotion was to die an old maid. Not such a bad thing that, if I can go to my Lady unchanged and care for her in death as I have in life.
If I could change but one of God's plans I would have altered the world so she could ever be a babe, my babe, nieve and innocent to the ways of the world. But that can never be, thanks to Romeo. Romeo, I will curse that name till my final breath.
Romeo of pretty face and prettier words, who snatched my Lady from me, tore her from my nurturing grasp, stole the breath from her body and cast her into death.
I remember that first day so well, the beginning of the end. The Capulets and Montagues were rioting in the streets, the Capulets were preparing for a feast and my Lady Capulet informed fair Juliet of Lord Paris' suit.
Young Juliet hadn't even given a thought to her marriage. She wasn't the only one. Even as I spouted flowery praises my mind was in a panic. My Juliet was leaving me. What would become of me when she was wed (If not to the County than to some other man) and birthing babes of her own?
I wasn't ready to let my Lady go she was still but a girl, not yet fourteen summers. She wasn't ready to be a bride. Even to a man like Lord Paris, young, handsome, and well loved among the people of Verona. I consoled myself with thoughts of how grand her life would be with him, a kinsman of the Prince and a very influential man. If anyone was worthy of my Lady it was he.
My Lady told her Lady mother that she would ponder Lord Paris' offer for her hand and my heart soared at the not-quite-answer. Perhaps I could hold onto her awhile longer.
I have never liked feasts. Strangers twirling about one another, their true selves hidden behind a splash of paint, a bit of lace and a mask. Seeing my Little Lady in such a way was perhaps the most un-nerving experience I've had in my long life.
I stuck to the edges of the room, hidden, as all servants are by the shadows. My Lady Capulet would have a cat if one of her pretty, painted guests caught sight of the Lady Juliet's stooped, old hag of a nursemaid.
It was Lady Capulet herself who called me out of the shadows. She wished for a word with my Lady and bid me go fetch her. I could see in her eyes that she longed to question my Lady on her opinion of County Paris.
You cannot imagine my horror upon finding my pure, sweet Lady in the arms of a Montague dog, that cur Romeo. Even if her Lady Mother hadn't sent me I would have bid her go, if it meant I could get her out of that cad's arms.
Ah, the satisfaction I got from telling that miserable whelp just who's mouth he had been ravaging. Almost as much as I got seeing my Lady's horror when she discovered his identity. I assumed that would be the end of it. Alas, I was mistaken.
That evening I became aware of my Mistress speaking on her balcony. This was not such a unique occurrence, my Lady often speaks to herself, a fact one adjusts to over the years. For the most part, I ignore my Lady's ramblings, as they seem to give her some small measure of peace. But on that most lamentable of nights I heard another voice join hers, Romeo's.
I called my Lady inside, but by then it was too late. The plans that would be their downfall were in place. It is rather embarrassing, how quickly my Lady convinced me to meet him. It appears that even then I could deny her nothing.
I met her Romeo in the market, he spoke as a gentleman and I could see how my Lady was wooed by him. Unlike his bawdy companion, who had the mannerisms of a knave despite the noble blood in his veins, he who made assaults on my honor when I had but that wretch Peter to defend me.
I brought my Lady Romeo's message, though I couldn't help making her work for the information. I still was dead set against the match, in all likelihood I always would be. But she soothed my heart and mind with honeyed words and soon I saw her off to Friar Lawrence's cell where my little Mistress became a bride.
I was right to mistrust that Monatgue dog, that most wicked of men. He who within a day of wedding my Lady slayed her most treasured of cousins. Oh Tybalt, pride of the house of Capulet. That butcher, who wed himself to my lovely Mistress. A thousand of the unholiest tortures on his head, I can only pray that he be dealt the justice in death he escaped in life. He, the greatest of sinners.
But my lady, so smitten was she, wept and wailed only for Romeo. So wrapped he had her around his demon heart. While her dearest of cousins lay rotting on the ground she wept over Romeo's distance. I did too, but only because I longed to kill him myself. God grant me mercy but for that I cannot repent.
For awhile I thought things would get better. My Lady agreed to wed the County and I believed with all of me that she would be happy in this second match. She returned as calm and serene as I have ever seen her, that alone should have told me something was amiss.
The marrow dawned the bleakest and most miserable morn of all my many years. My Lady lay still and quiet in her chambers. As cold as stone and pale as milk. Lovely even in death. I was certain she would wake so lovely was she. But moments passed and I was forced to realize my Lady, dearest of my heart, was dead.
How many people can say they lost the one dearest to them twice in one day? We of the Capulet house can. We who found my Lady killed yet again, her precious blood staining her burial shroud.
And then her father, blood of her blood, bone of her bone, mocked her loss with the ultimate injustice. He, who should have raised his fist in war, made peace with the kin of his daughter's murderer. For he did kill her, a surely as if he had pierced her heart himself.
I will not bow down; I will not give in to this mockery of a peace. While others fawn at the feet of the oh so great statue of him in the square, I spit on them. And I will continue to do so until I am but a corpse and I may meet him in the here after. Mayhap I may do it in person there.