Even although it was to an enemy’s house he was going, and he was placing himself in grave peril if his identity were discovered, it was not a difficult matter for Romeo to gain admittance to the Capulets, for all the guests were to go in fancy dress, and wear masks. Romeo chose the disguise of a pilgrim. When the night came he was still sad at heart, and declared he would join in no dancing; he had a soul of lead that bore him to the ground, so that he could hardly move.
Besides Benvolio, on this night, Romeo had with him another friend, a very light-hearted, witty gentleman, called Mercutio, a kinsman of the Prince of Verona. As they went along, Mercutio tried to laugh Romeo out of his melancholy mood, and to chase away his sadness with his gay chatter. But nothing he could say served to cheer up Romeo; a dark misgiving seemed to hang over him, and it was with no festive spirit that he entered the brilliantly lighted hall of Capulet’s house.
All here was splendour and gaiety. Crowds of quaintly dressed figures wandered to and fro. Capulet himself, with his daughter Juliet and others of his house, received the guests, and gave them a hearty welcome. Then the music began, and the dancers grouped themselves for the stately and graceful measures of those days.
Romeo was late in arriving, and the dancing had already begun when he entered the hall. He stood for a while looking on at the scene. His Rosaline, no doubt, was there, among other proud beauties of Verona, but to-night her sway was to be broken for ever. For there among the dancers was one who far surpassed her fellows, even as a snowy dove trooping with crows. In the dazzling radiance of her first youthful bloom, moved the daughter of the house, and when he saw this slender maiden with her peerless beauty, and her locks of shining gold, all lesser feelings melted out of Romeo’s heart, and he knew he had never really loved till now.
Romeo’s half-uttered exclamations of rapture were overheard by a nephew of Lady Capulet’s, a fiery nobleman called Tybalt, always ready for brawls and quarrelling.
“This, by his voice, should be a Montague,” he said, and immediately ordered his page to fetch his rapier. “How dares the slave come hither, covered with an antic face, to fleer and scorn at our solemnity? Now, by the honour of my kin, I would hold it no sin to strike him dead.”
“Why, how now, kinsman? Why do you storm so?” asked Capulet.
“Uncle, this is a Montague, our foe—a villain who has come here in spite to scorn at our solemnity.”
“Young Romeo, is it?”
“It is he—that villain Romeo!”