Divine Will
The madness of love had descended upon Verona's winding streets and nowhere was the insanity's grip firmer on a soul's rationality than in the cell of my very own chapel, wherein fair Juliet, the Capulet's white rose, was hunched over; she had lost the war of attrition with her depression which, even now, tore out the lady's heartstrings. The fair, pure maid stood, though grief bent her once straight back and discoloured her now raven robes. Nonetheless, the noble Juliet stood strong before my priestly form, her empty, dark eyes twin gateways to the aristocrat's tortured soul.
That was the moment during which I began to doubt the aristocracies' heirs. The dispute's solution was alike to the sun: far beyond the reach of mortal man. Perhaps in the kingdoms of heaven these two spirits could find rest, but upon the soils of Earth I was certain that neither lover would find respite from their accursed sorrows. That was when an idea struck me. If neither Romeo or Juliet could revel in the joys of their ardour in the lands of the living, perhaps an ascension to the empyrean could grant the two star-crossed lovers eternal bliss.
Therefore, I extracted, with a sudden flick of my wrist, a soporific mixture of exceptional potency, halting Juliet's slitting of her throat before it could bring her to meet an untimely demise. Though the two -- I knew -- would die, neither could do so alone, leaving the other condemned to a life rife with only solitude. In hopes that the two could mutually meet a more appropriate demise, I handed Juliet my elixir, instructing her in its use simultaneously. The potion would cause a deathlike state for eighty hours, in which I would subtly arrange a trip for my two charges; this journey would be one that would grant both the happiness they so rightly deserved. Romeo and Juliet were destined to die, taking the journey to the immortal plain.
There would be difficulties in carrying out my designs, but with God making firm my steps, each and every vicissitude could be surmounted. A highly valued member of the clergy -- friar of Verona's sole church -- I was all but above suspicion, no matter how damning the evidence against my personage might be. So long as my intentions appeared in the interests of the lovers, despite their results, I could handily manipulate my two charges -- Romeo and Juliet. The prince could not condemn one such as myself without affirmations from either the archbishop or king and if either disagreed with Escalus' conclusions, his position would be untenable, at the very least. My safety was assured. All I required to facilitate the amorous duo's ascension was a plan. My intentions were pure and untainted, therefore, failure was an impossibility.
I felt a joy uplift my overburdened heart as Juliet swiftly left my cell, her dainty feet swiftly treading towards the Caplet estate. The young girl had all the makings of a queen and now, with a solution that could lighten the Herculean burdens that weighed down her soul because of Romeo's absence, the noble woman bravely sought to make peace with her estranged parents; she would have their grief assuaged by the notion that she accepted her parents' superior wisdom. Perhaps the love their daughter had borne them would give solace to the remnants of the Caplet family. I certainly hoped so. I would never intentionally hurt another without just cause.
Casting aside my baseless fears and doubts, I summoned one of my messengers and handed him a vital document. Though Romeo had no need of the information I had enclosed in the letter, it would not do for my choices to appear less than devoutly pious -- if questionable -- before the prince. The letter would confirm the false story I had contrived. The inquisition following the double "suicide" would be forced to admit that only a slight oversight had stayed the letter I sent to the Montages' heir. In truth, I did know of the pestilence that forcibly closed the route to Mantua, but no man could know the true mind of another and my position would grant my denials credibility.
Sending Friar John -- a close friend and supporter of mine -- with the letter was a stroke of genius on my part. The letter would never reach Romeo. That particular was assured by the foreclosure of the roads to Mantua. However, it gave me an alibi and lent my fabrications a grain of truth. My wishes that the man would have a successful journey were completely sincere, as I waved the lower ranking clergyman away. I was certain my friend's mission would be completely successful. After all, the letter to Romeo reaching Verona was undesirable and I doubted the good friar would find failing to journey to the outlying city particularly challenging.
Now the only task that would require my attention remaining was making certain, tomorrow, that Balthasar -- Romeo's messenger -- failed to contact me. Knowing the impetuous young lad, the objective would not prove toilsome. Though the boy worshipped Romeo and was singularly loyal, he had a tendency to allow his heart to rule his actions. Most likely, if Balthasar came at the appointed time, his first view would be of Juliet's apparently deceased corpse. The youth would then hasten to Mantua without speaking to me, therefore making it impossible for me to utilize him as a messenger. Balthazar's own frenzy would incite an aghast Romeo to first disbelief with his news, and then an overmastering wrath against whatever higher power he felt had wronged him. Cursing God, he would ride to his home -- fair Verona -- to view his love's immaculate form one final time and then kill himself -- if the boy possessed the courage. If not, I could take a personal hand in my charge's affairs.
Three nights later, I rested peacefully, anticipating the event that would finally give Romeo and his lady the eternal bliss they desired. My plans could not have been executed more flawlessly. The Capulet household had been awoken a few days ago in an uproarious fashion, as they clamourously discovered their daughter's "death." Bearing an overmastering grief at their current predicament, the family's patriarch and his wife had hastened towards the chapel with their daughter's prone form. Within six hours, Juliet had been laid in the church's crypt after a mournful ceremony that marked the end of the maiden's life. Now, almost exactly eighty hours since the Capulet's heir had consumed a draught of my elixir, the seeds that I had sown only days before began to bear fruit.
Unless I was mistaken in my analysis of the recently exiled Romeo's psyche, the grief-stricken cavalier would even now be riding upon a fleet-footed steed towards his paramour, ignoring the deadly sentence that Escalus had pronounced only days earlier. He would hasten towards the crypt where Juliet lay, in order to view her nymphish figure once more and to pay his last respects to his beloved. He would then hasten away once again, before dawn could arrive and induce his death. That was where I would step in, taking steps to insure that everyone received that which they deserved. Alike to the enlightening angel of death, I would cast my righteous judgement upon Romeo and Juliet, and though, for a time, they might fear me, by the end they would acknowledge and accept my decision; the aristocrats would obey my will.
Upon arriving at the crypt beneath my residence, I was surprised to learn that I had underestimated Romeo's celerity. The noble's servant -- Balthasar -- stood outside the holy location, wherein Romeo now paid his final respects to the sleeping maiden within. Additionally, Lord Paris had been observed entering the crypt. His appearance was an unanticipated, if not insurmountable obstacle. Now it had become necessary to alter the timetable of my design. Originally, I had intended to slay the Capulet maiden in her sleep and then eliminate Romeo without a struggle. However, with Juliet nearing her time of awakening, and Paris joining the lady's most auspicious suitor, a united front, opposing my aims, became a distinct possibility. My only hope was to reach the maiden's chamber prior to Romeo and slay her. Then, I could take advantage of the two aristocrats' consternation, in order to smite both before they could unite to oppose me. All my hopes lay on reaching Juliet before her two suitors.
As I swiftly approached Juliet's bier, I allowed a relieved sigh to escape my lips. Juliet's prone figure remained, unmolested by either of the men who desired her attentions; I could faintly discern the sound of steel brands clashing and, therefore, learned that Romeo and Paris had delayed each other. Whipping out a jewel encrusted dagger, I noted that the fair maiden had begun to stir. Smiling, I mouthed the words -- unwilling to risk discovery -- "Rest in peace fair Juliet of Capulet." Then, ceremonially, I plunged my blade into her heart, relishing in the sight of the Lord's life-giving fluid, as it slowly spread across her upper body, cleansing her soul; Juliet was free.
Only moments later, Romeo rushed into the room and, seeing his beloved covered in viscous red fluids -- flowing from her torso -- was dumb struck. Unerringly, I struck the boy on the back of the head with a brick I'd pried loose from the underground building's foundation. Before he could so much as cry out in pain, Romeo of Montague lapsed into unconsciousness. Finally, after a moment's hesitation, I slipped a vial of my most potent atropine from my belt. With undue care, I placed the container into Romeo's open hand, after administering the fatal mixture; Romeo would never awaken.
Moments later, after making certain that the scene in the crypt matched the description I intended to give, I -- Friar Laurence of Verona -- lethargically treaded towards the outside of the chamber. Turning my head towards the two, now dead, figures who occupied the chamber, I explained the situation to the unhearing duo: "Hic esse arbitrium divinum. This is the divine will."
The madness of love had descended upon Verona's winding streets and nowhere was the insanity's grip firmer on a soul's rationality than in the cell of my very own chapel, wherein fair Juliet, the Capulet's white rose, was hunched over; she had lost the war of attrition with her depression which, even now, tore out the lady's heartstrings. The fair, pure maid stood, though grief bent her once straight back and discoloured her now raven robes. Nonetheless, the noble Juliet stood strong before my priestly form, her empty, dark eyes twin gateways to the aristocrat's tortured soul.
That was the moment during which I began to doubt the aristocracies' heirs. The dispute's solution was alike to the sun: far beyond the reach of mortal man. Perhaps in the kingdoms of heaven these two spirits could find rest, but upon the soils of Earth I was certain that neither lover would find respite from their accursed sorrows. That was when an idea struck me. If neither Romeo or Juliet could revel in the joys of their ardour in the lands of the living, perhaps an ascension to the empyrean could grant the two star-crossed lovers eternal bliss.
Therefore, I extracted, with a sudden flick of my wrist, a soporific mixture of exceptional potency, halting Juliet's slitting of her throat before it could bring her to meet an untimely demise. Though the two -- I knew -- would die, neither could do so alone, leaving the other condemned to a life rife with only solitude. In hopes that the two could mutually meet a more appropriate demise, I handed Juliet my elixir, instructing her in its use simultaneously. The potion would cause a deathlike state for eighty hours, in which I would subtly arrange a trip for my two charges; this journey would be one that would grant both the happiness they so rightly deserved. Romeo and Juliet were destined to die, taking the journey to the immortal plain.
There would be difficulties in carrying out my designs, but with God making firm my steps, each and every vicissitude could be surmounted. A highly valued member of the clergy -- friar of Verona's sole church -- I was all but above suspicion, no matter how damning the evidence against my personage might be. So long as my intentions appeared in the interests of the lovers, despite their results, I could handily manipulate my two charges -- Romeo and Juliet. The prince could not condemn one such as myself without affirmations from either the archbishop or king and if either disagreed with Escalus' conclusions, his position would be untenable, at the very least. My safety was assured. All I required to facilitate the amorous duo's ascension was a plan. My intentions were pure and untainted, therefore, failure was an impossibility.
I felt a joy uplift my overburdened heart as Juliet swiftly left my cell, her dainty feet swiftly treading towards the Caplet estate. The young girl had all the makings of a queen and now, with a solution that could lighten the Herculean burdens that weighed down her soul because of Romeo's absence, the noble woman bravely sought to make peace with her estranged parents; she would have their grief assuaged by the notion that she accepted her parents' superior wisdom. Perhaps the love their daughter had borne them would give solace to the remnants of the Caplet family. I certainly hoped so. I would never intentionally hurt another without just cause.
Casting aside my baseless fears and doubts, I summoned one of my messengers and handed him a vital document. Though Romeo had no need of the information I had enclosed in the letter, it would not do for my choices to appear less than devoutly pious -- if questionable -- before the prince. The letter would confirm the false story I had contrived. The inquisition following the double "suicide" would be forced to admit that only a slight oversight had stayed the letter I sent to the Montages' heir. In truth, I did know of the pestilence that forcibly closed the route to Mantua, but no man could know the true mind of another and my position would grant my denials credibility.
Sending Friar John -- a close friend and supporter of mine -- with the letter was a stroke of genius on my part. The letter would never reach Romeo. That particular was assured by the foreclosure of the roads to Mantua. However, it gave me an alibi and lent my fabrications a grain of truth. My wishes that the man would have a successful journey were completely sincere, as I waved the lower ranking clergyman away. I was certain my friend's mission would be completely successful. After all, the letter to Romeo reaching Verona was undesirable and I doubted the good friar would find failing to journey to the outlying city particularly challenging.
Now the only task that would require my attention remaining was making certain, tomorrow, that Balthasar -- Romeo's messenger -- failed to contact me. Knowing the impetuous young lad, the objective would not prove toilsome. Though the boy worshipped Romeo and was singularly loyal, he had a tendency to allow his heart to rule his actions. Most likely, if Balthasar came at the appointed time, his first view would be of Juliet's apparently deceased corpse. The youth would then hasten to Mantua without speaking to me, therefore making it impossible for me to utilize him as a messenger. Balthazar's own frenzy would incite an aghast Romeo to first disbelief with his news, and then an overmastering wrath against whatever higher power he felt had wronged him. Cursing God, he would ride to his home -- fair Verona -- to view his love's immaculate form one final time and then kill himself -- if the boy possessed the courage. If not, I could take a personal hand in my charge's affairs.
Three nights later, I rested peacefully, anticipating the event that would finally give Romeo and his lady the eternal bliss they desired. My plans could not have been executed more flawlessly. The Capulet household had been awoken a few days ago in an uproarious fashion, as they clamourously discovered their daughter's "death." Bearing an overmastering grief at their current predicament, the family's patriarch and his wife had hastened towards the chapel with their daughter's prone form. Within six hours, Juliet had been laid in the church's crypt after a mournful ceremony that marked the end of the maiden's life. Now, almost exactly eighty hours since the Capulet's heir had consumed a draught of my elixir, the seeds that I had sown only days before began to bear fruit.
Unless I was mistaken in my analysis of the recently exiled Romeo's psyche, the grief-stricken cavalier would even now be riding upon a fleet-footed steed towards his paramour, ignoring the deadly sentence that Escalus had pronounced only days earlier. He would hasten towards the crypt where Juliet lay, in order to view her nymphish figure once more and to pay his last respects to his beloved. He would then hasten away once again, before dawn could arrive and induce his death. That was where I would step in, taking steps to insure that everyone received that which they deserved. Alike to the enlightening angel of death, I would cast my righteous judgement upon Romeo and Juliet, and though, for a time, they might fear me, by the end they would acknowledge and accept my decision; the aristocrats would obey my will.
Upon arriving at the crypt beneath my residence, I was surprised to learn that I had underestimated Romeo's celerity. The noble's servant -- Balthasar -- stood outside the holy location, wherein Romeo now paid his final respects to the sleeping maiden within. Additionally, Lord Paris had been observed entering the crypt. His appearance was an unanticipated, if not insurmountable obstacle. Now it had become necessary to alter the timetable of my design. Originally, I had intended to slay the Capulet maiden in her sleep and then eliminate Romeo without a struggle. However, with Juliet nearing her time of awakening, and Paris joining the lady's most auspicious suitor, a united front, opposing my aims, became a distinct possibility. My only hope was to reach the maiden's chamber prior to Romeo and slay her. Then, I could take advantage of the two aristocrats' consternation, in order to smite both before they could unite to oppose me. All my hopes lay on reaching Juliet before her two suitors.
As I swiftly approached Juliet's bier, I allowed a relieved sigh to escape my lips. Juliet's prone figure remained, unmolested by either of the men who desired her attentions; I could faintly discern the sound of steel brands clashing and, therefore, learned that Romeo and Paris had delayed each other. Whipping out a jewel encrusted dagger, I noted that the fair maiden had begun to stir. Smiling, I mouthed the words -- unwilling to risk discovery -- "Rest in peace fair Juliet of Capulet." Then, ceremonially, I plunged my blade into her heart, relishing in the sight of the Lord's life-giving fluid, as it slowly spread across her upper body, cleansing her soul; Juliet was free.
Only moments later, Romeo rushed into the room and, seeing his beloved covered in viscous red fluids -- flowing from her torso -- was dumb struck. Unerringly, I struck the boy on the back of the head with a brick I'd pried loose from the underground building's foundation. Before he could so much as cry out in pain, Romeo of Montague lapsed into unconsciousness. Finally, after a moment's hesitation, I slipped a vial of my most potent atropine from my belt. With undue care, I placed the container into Romeo's open hand, after administering the fatal mixture; Romeo would never awaken.
Moments later, after making certain that the scene in the crypt matched the description I intended to give, I -- Friar Laurence of Verona -- lethargically treaded towards the outside of the chamber. Turning my head towards the two, now dead, figures who occupied the chamber, I explained the situation to the unhearing duo: "Hic esse arbitrium divinum. This is the divine will."