THE BVRIAL OF 
 ROMEO &JVUET 
 
 A PROSE FANGf 
 
 by 
 
 RICHARD LE GALLIENNE 
 
Columbia (Butbmttp 
 
 tit tl)f(£ttp ofBrtogork 
 
 THE LIBRARIES 
 
 Presented By 
 
 FREDERICK COYKENDALL, ’95 
 
 'Qj[ 2 S_ ^5/5 0 S ~3 
 
THEBVRIAL 
 OF ROMEO 
 AND JVLIET 
 

 A 1 *'PROSE 
 FANCY BY 
 RICHARD LE 
 GALLIENNE 
 
Copyright g>°4< i>y 
 The Blue Shy Tress 
 
! 
 
 1 
 
 THE BYRIAL OF 
 ROMEO 8 JVLIET 
 
 ne morning of all 
 mornings the citi¬ 
 zens of Verona were 
 startled by strange 
 news.Tragic fcrces, to which they 
 had been accustomed to pay 
 little heed, had been at work in 
 their city during the dark hours, 
 and young Romeo of the Mon¬ 
 tagues, handsome, devil-me-care 
 
lad as they had known him, 
 and little Juliet of the Cap- 
 ulets, that mad-cap, merry gen¬ 
 tle young mistress, lay dead, 
 side by side in the church of 
 Santa Maria, 
 
 Death! surely they were used 
 to death! and Love, flower of 
 the clove! they were used to 
 love. But here were love 
 and death, that somehow they 
 could not understand.^ So 
 they hurried in wondering 
 
groups to Santa Maria, that 
 they might gaze at the dead 
 lovers, and thus perhaps come 
 to understand. 
 
 omeo and Juliet 
 lay receiving their 
 guests in the vault 
 of the Capulets, 
 with a strange smile of wel¬ 
 come for all who came. And 
 their presence-chamber was 
 bright with candles and flow¬ 
 ers, and sweet with the sweet 
 
smell of death. The air that 
 had drunk in their wild words 
 and their last long looks of 
 heavenly love still hung about 
 the dark corners, as the air 
 where a rose has been holds 
 a little while the memory of 
 its breath, ^es! that morning, 
 in that dank but shining tomh 
 you might draw into you the 
 very breath of love. The 
 air you breathed had passed 
 through the sweet lungs of 
 
Juliet, it had been etherialised 
 with her holy passion, and 
 washed clean with her love 
 ly words. And now, for a lit¬ 
 tle while yet, it feasted on the 
 fair peace of their glad young 
 faces. To-morrow; or the next 
 day or the next week, they 
 would belong to the unvisit¬ 
 ed treasure-house of the past, 
 but now this morning of all 
 mornings, this day that could 
 never come again, they still 
 
belonged to the real and ra¬ 
 diant present. 
 
 Flowers there are that bloom 
 but once in a hundred years, 
 but here in this tomb had blos¬ 
 somed one of those marvel 
 lous flowers that bloom but 
 once throughout eternity. 
 Poets and kings in after-times, 
 o men of Verona, will yearn 
 to have seen what you look 
 upon to-day For you, you 
 thick and greasy citizens, are 
 
..- ! .• .. ■ - 
 
 chosen out of all time to be¬ 
 hold this beauty: There were 
 once in the world thousands 
 of men and women who had 
 heard the very words of Christ 
 as they fell from His lips, 
 words that we may only read 
 There have been men, actual, 
 living, foolish men, who have 
 looked on at the valour of 
 Horatius, men who, from the 
 crowded banks of the Nile, 
 have watched the living body 
 
of Cleopatra step into her 
 gilded barge, men who, stand 
 ing idle in the streets of Flor¬ 
 ence, have seen the love-light 
 start in the great Dante’s eyes, 
 seen his hand move to his 
 laden heart, as the little Bea¬ 
 trice passed him by among 
 her maidens. Base men of the 
 past, by the indulgent accident 
 of time, have been granted to 
 behold these wonders, and now 
 for you, O men of Verona, a 
 
like wonder has been born. 
 
 omeo and Juliet 
 lay receiving their 
 guests in the vault 
 of the Capulets, 
 with a strange smile of wel¬ 
 come for all who came.Wi 
 It had been an innocent little 
 desire, yet bad all the world 
 come against it. It had been 
 a simple little desire, yet too 
 strong for all the world to 
 break, 
 
Strange this enmity of the 
 world to love, as though men 
 should take arms against the 
 song of a bird, or plot against 
 the opening of a flower, 
 
 But now, what was this strange 
 homage to a love that a few 
 hours ago had no friend in 
 all the daylight, a fearful bliss 
 beneath the secret moon? But 
 yesterday a stupid old nurse, 
 a herb-gathering friar, a rascal¬ 
 ly apothecary bad been their 
 
only friends, and now was all 
 the world come here to do 
 their bidding, 
 
 No need to steal again be¬ 
 neath the shade of orchard 
 walls, no need again to heed 
 if lark or nightingale sand in 
 the reddening east. For the 
 world had grown all warm 
 to love, warm and kind as 
 June to the rose, 
 
hree days lay Ro 
 mco and Juliet re¬ 
 ceiving their guests 
 in the vault of the 
 Capulets, with that strange 
 smile of welcome for all who 
 came. Three days the world 
 worshipped the love it could 
 not understand, but still came 
 dense and denser throngs to 
 worship. For the news of 
 the wonderful flower that 
 had blossomed in \4rona bad 
 
gone far and wide, and trav¬ 
 ellers from distant cities kept 
 pouring in to look at those 
 strange young lovers, who 
 had deemed the world well 
 lost so that they might leave 
 it together. 
 
 Then the governor of the 
 city decreed, as the time drew 
 near when the two lovers 
 must be left to their peace, 
 and it was ill that any should 
 lose the sight of this marvel, 
 
that on the fourth day they 
 should be carried through 
 the streets in the eyes of all 
 the people, and then be bur¬ 
 ied together in the vault of 
 the Capulets — for by this 
 burial in the same tomb, says 
 the old chroniclei; who was 
 first honoured with the tell¬ 
 ing of their sweet story the 
 governor hoped to bring a 
 bout a peace between the Mon¬ 
 tagues and Capulets, at least 
 
for a little while. 
 
 Meanwhile, though Verona 
 was a city of many trades 
 and professions, and love and 
 death were idle things, yet was 
 there little said of business all 
 these days, and little else was 
 done but talk of the two lov¬ 
 ers, of whom, indeed, it was 
 true, as it has seldom been true 
 out of holy writ, that death 
 was swallowed up in victory 
 During these days, also, there 
 
stole a strange sweetness over 
 the city as though the very 
 spirit of love had nested there, 
 and was filling the air with 
 its soft breathing —as when, 
 in the first days of spring, 
 the birds sing so sweetly that 
 broken hearts must hide away 
 and hard hearts grow a little 
 kind. Men once more spoke 
 kindly to their wives, and e~ 
 ven coarse faces wore a gen¬ 
 tle light—just as sometimes at 
 
evening the setting sun will 
 turn to tenderness even black 
 rocks and frowning towers. 
 
 here were many 
 wild stories afloat 
 about the end of 
 the lovers. Some 
 said one way and some anoth¬ 
 er By some the story went 
 that Romeo was already dead 
 before Juliet had awakened 
 from her swoon, but others 
 declared that the poison had 
 
not worked upon him until 
 Juliet 5 s awakening had made 
 him awhile forget that he 
 was to die. There were those 
 who professed to know the 
 very words of their wild fare¬ 
 well, and in fact there had 
 been several witnesses of Ju¬ 
 liets agony over the body of 
 her lord. These had told how 
 first she had raved and clung 
 to him, and called him Ro¬ 
 meo’‘Sweet Sir Romeo’ Hus- 
 
band, and many flower-like 
 names, and had petted him 
 and wooed him to come back 
 Then on a sudden she had 
 cried, ‘God-a-mercy— how 
 cold thou art!’ and looked at 
 him long and strangely Then 
 had she grown stern, and 
 anon soft. Ganst thou not 
 come back, my love? Then 
 must I follow thee. Not so 
 far art thou on the way of 
 death, but that I shall over- 
 
take thee, and together shall 
 we go to Pluto’s realm, and 
 seek a kinder world.’ '©smso 
 Thereat she had plunged 
 Romeos dagger into her side, 
 though some said she had 
 stopped her hearts heating 
 by the strong will of her 
 great love. Tea— such were 
 the distracted rumours- 
 some averred that at the last 
 she had cursed Christ and his 
 saints, and called upon\enus. 
 
whom, it was rumoured in 
 awe-struck whispers, was be¬ 
 ing worshipped once more 
 in secret corners of the 
 world. 
 
 t was strong 
 noon when, on 
 the fourth day 
 Romeo and Ju¬ 
 liet were carried through the 
 bright and solemn streets, 
 that the world might be 
 saved; saved as ever by the 
 
spectacle and the worship 
 of a mysterious nobility an 
 uncomprehended greatness, 
 a beauty which haunts not 
 its daily dreams, lifted up 
 by the humble gaze of de¬ 
 vout eyes into the empy¬ 
 rean of greater souls, stirred 
 to an unfamiliar passion, 
 and fired with glimpses of 
 a strange, unworldly truth. 
 
 In the light of the sun, the 
 faces of the two lovers, as 
 
they lay amid their flowers, 
 seemed to have grown a lit¬ 
 tle weary but they still wore 
 their sweet and royal smile, 
 and their laurelled brows 
 were very white and proud 
 And in the faces that looked 
 upon them, as they moved 
 slowly by with sweet death 
 music, and the hushed march¬ 
 ing of feet, and the wafted 
 odour of lilies,, there was to 
 be seen strangely blent a 
 
great pity for their tragedy 
 and a heavenly tenderness 
 for their love. It was like a 
 dream passing down the 
 streets of a dream, so deep 
 and tender was the silence, 
 for only the hearts of men 
 were speaking; though here 
 and there a girl sobbed, or a 
 young man buried his face 
 in his sleeve, and the sternest 
 eyes were dashed with the 
 holy water of tears. And 
 
with the pity and tenderness, 
 who shall say but that in all 
 that silent heart-speech there 
 was no little envy of the two 
 who had loved so truly and 
 died in the springtide of their 
 love, before the ways of love 
 had grown dusty with its 
 summer; or dreary with its 
 autumn, before its dreams 
 had petrified into duties, and 
 its passion deadened into use? 
 ‘Would it were thou and I,’ 
 
said many wedded eyes one 
 to the othei; delusively warm 
 and soft for a moment, but 
 all cold and hard again on 
 the morrow. 
 
 And maybe some poet 
 would say in his heart: 
 
 IFyou loved her living, my 
 Romeo, what were your love 
 could you but see her dead!’ 
 for indeed life has no beauty 
 so wonderful as the beauty 
 of death, 
 
nd, as in all places 
 and times, there 
 was a base rem¬ 
 nant that gaped 
 and worshipped not, and 
 in their hearts resented all 
 this distinction paid to a 
 nobility they could not rec¬ 
 ognise, as the like had grum¬ 
 bled when Gmabue’s Madon¬ 
 na had been carried through 
 the streets in glory But oh 
 these there is no need that 
 
we should take account, any 
 more than of the beasts that 
 moved head down amid the 
 pastures outside the town, 
 knowing not of the wonder 
 that was passing within. For 
 the ass will munch his thistles 
 though the Son of Man be 
 his rider; nor will the sheep 
 look aside from his grazing 
 though Apollo be the herds¬ 
 man. t3s 
 
t length the sa¬ 
 cred pageant was 
 ended, gone like 
 the passing oFan 
 aerial music, and the people 
 went to their homes silent, 
 with haunted eyes; while 
 the Earth, which had giv¬ 
 en this beauty took it back 
 to herself and one more Per¬ 
 sephone of human loveliness 
 was shut within the gates 
 oF the Forgetful grave 
 
This book was designed 
 by James Howard Kehler; 
 lettered by M'Elizabeth 
 Colwell and published by 
 The Blue Sky Press, Chica¬ 
 go, MCMIV The edition 
 is limited to 300 copies on 
 hand-made paper and zs 
 copies on Japan vellum. 
 This is Number- b.