Last Saturday I woke to the news of the shooting at the Seattle JCC. The war in Lebanon dragged on. I felt the need to get over the gloom, so we drove to Wilcox Park in Westerly to see Shakespeare. He’s been dead for quite a while now, but the magic of his words lives on quite nicely, thank you very much. The play was Romeo and Juliet, the first half of which, you will recall, is comedic, the second part less so.
Things start to go bad when Tybalt, Juliet’s cousin, kills Mercutio, Romeo’s quick-witted friend, and in a rage, Romeo kills Tybalt. All this on the day Romeo of the house of Montague secretly married Juliet, daughter of Capulet. Juliet’s mother, unaware of her daughter’s marriage, curses Romeo; she wants him dead. Attempting to impeach the credibility of the one reliable witness, she wails:
“He is kinsman to the Montague,
Affection makes him false, he speaks not true…
I beg for justice, which thou, Prince, must give—
Romeo slew Tybalt, Romeo must not live.”
Instead, Romeo is exiled. Friar Lawrence, in an attempt to bring the warring houses together has arranged for the secret marriage, and now he comes up with a plan to re-unite the lovers. Juliet will take a potion to feign death. Friar Lawrence will send a note to Romeo informing him of the ruse and inviting him back to Verona to sweep her away to the safety of his exile in Mantua. But the plan fails. Romeo doesn’t get the note. He buys poison, goes to the Capulet tomb where he drinks the quick acting stuff. Almost immediately upon his death, Juliet awakens, sees her dead lover, tries to find a few more drops of the poison to swallow, but when that fails, takes Romeo’s dagger and stabs herself to death.
The prince of Verona, who has been trying to impose peace between the warring factions within his city finds the bodies and summons the fathers. Montague enters the crypt tearfully announcing that his wife has died of a broken heart as a result of Romeo’s banishment. The prince, upon discovering the truth of what has happened, bellows in rage:
“Where be these enemies? Capulet! Montague!
See what a scourge is laid upon your hate
That Heav’n finds means to kill your joys ...
And I for winking at our discords too
Have lost a brace of kinsmen. All are punish’d.”
Later he modifies the hasty decree as the play ends. The families reconcile, but it is too late. The children still lie embraced by the eternal sleep of death. The prince sums up:
“A glooming peace this morning with it brings,
The Sun for sorrow will not show his head.
Go hence to have more talk of these sad things:
Some shall be pardon’d and some punished.
For never was a story of more woe
Than this of Juliet and her Romeo.”
Listening to Juliet’s mother and later to the prince, looking to the sky and seeing the dagger-like image of the constellation Cygnus, the nature of man was suddenly revealed to me in all its horrid simplicity. In Lebanon it is being played out dramatically these past few weeks, though it’s been simmering to the occasional boil ever since at least 1936. Are we Jews the house Montague? Are the Arabs Capulet? I do not know. I do not care, but either way we are:
“Two households both alike in dignity
…From ancient grudge break to new mutiny,
Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean.”
Shakespeare reminds us of two contradictory truths. The enmity between the houses was as self-destructively stupid as it was inevitable in the nature of man. The calls for vengeance bring on more vengeance. It is the human condition. We know it’s wrong, we know it’s stupid, and yet we cannot escape from the gripping maw of hatred which engulfs. As a student of history I try to pretend that we humans are reasonable creatures, and yet what crimes, wars, murders do I relate to my students on almost a daily basis? That being the case, though I know it will ultimately do no good, I’m for Israel being triumphant over Hezbollah and Hamas fighters until the world (the prince—for a while in 2000, I thought that the prince would be president Clinton; I’m pretty sure it won’t be Kofi Annan) imposes a peace that will last, how long? Only for a while, until the next unforgivable outrage.
No comments:
Post a Comment