Romeo and Juliet


Thousands of letters pour into Verona every year addressed to Juliet. People ask for her blessing, her guidance, her help. Sometimes they’re just sharing the good news of their own love stories. Some of the writers address Juliet like she’s Santa Claus, but others honestly pour out their hearts.

You can learn more about this (and read some of the actual letters) in Letters to Juliet by Lise and Ceil Friedman.)

Here’s one of my favorites from the book:

Dear Juliet,
I am in a bunker. Outside I hear missiles exploding, bullets being fired. I am twenty-two years old and I’m scared. Our commander has told us that soon we must come out. A hand-to-hand battle awaits us. I feel I will die. I leave life with this brief note. I am entrusting it to you, symbol of universal love. I delude myself by thinking it will make people understand the futility of hate.
–Brian L., Vietnam, 1972

If you need to brush up on the plot of Romeo and Juliet, Friar Laurence conveniently sums it up at the end of Act 5. Bodies are strewn across the stage–Paris, Juliet, Romeo, Tybalt, even Romeo’s mom has died–and, called to the graveyard in the middle of the night, the prince demands an explanation. Friar Laurence is the only survivor who actually knows all the details, so he recaps:

Romeo, there dead, was husband to that Juliet;
And she, there dead, that Romeo’s faithful wife:
I married them; and their stol’n marriage-day
Was Tybalt’s dooms-day, whose untimely death
Banish’d the new-made bridegroom from the city,
For whom, and not for Tybalt, Juliet pined.
You, to remove that siege of grief from her,
Betroth’d and would have married her perforce
To County Paris: then comes she to me,
And, with wild looks, bid me devise some mean
To rid her from this second marriage,
Or in my cell there would she kill herself.
Then gave I her, so tutor’d by my art,
A sleeping potion; which so took effect
As I intended, for it wrought on her
The form of death: meantime I writ to Romeo,
That he should hither come as this dire night,
To help to take her from her borrow’d grave,
Being the time the potion’s force should cease.
But he which bore my letter, Friar John,
Was stay’d by accident, and yesternight
Return’d my letter back. Then all alone
At the prefixed hour of her waking,
Came I to take her from her kindred’s vault;
Meaning to keep her closely at my cell,
Till I conveniently could send to Romeo:
But when I came, some minute ere the time
Of her awaking, here untimely lay
The noble Paris and true Romeo dead.
She wakes; and I entreated her come forth,
And bear this work of heaven with patience:
But then a noise did scare me from the tomb;
And she, too desperate, would not go with me,
But, as it seems, did violence on herself.
All this I know; and to the marriage
Her nurse is privy: and, if aught in this
Miscarried by my fault, let my old life
Be sacrificed, some hour before his time,
Unto the rigour of severest law.

It seemed appropriate to read Romeo and Juliet during the week of Valentine’s Day (to pay homage to St. Valentine’s violent death and the eventual association of romantic love). Partake of some of the romantic, solemnly-breathed gushing in the early acts:

  •  She doth teach the torches to burn bright! It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night as a rich jewel in an Ethiop’s ear.
  • Did my heart love till now? Forswear it, sight! For I ne’er saw true beauty till this night.
  • Two of the fairest stars in all the heaven, having some business, do entreat her eyes to twinkle in their spheres till they return.
  • Give me my Romeo, and when I shall die take him and cut him out in little stars, and he will make the face of heaven so fine that all the world will be in love with night and pay no worship to the garish sun.