Act I, Scene I and II: French Revolution
Act 1, Scene 1
Setting: Town square in France with a fountain at the center.
Enter Sampson and Gregory, servants of the house of Capulet.
SAMPSON:
I say, Monsieur Gregory, we cannot let those underclassmen treat us like dogs.
GREGORY:
You’re making yourself look like a fool. The fact of the matter is, we are the underclassmen.
SAMPSON:
You know what I mean. Those rebels. The whiny commoners who say that things are ‘unfair’ when really they’re just too lazy to make money for themselves.
GREGORY:
Ça alors! Again, you’re making a fool of yourself. We are nothing more than servants to the house. No need to act like you’re one of them.
SAMPSON:
Tiens! All I am saying is that if they wish to have more money, they should have gotten more profitable jobs like us! I can’t see why they feel the need to blame someone else for their own problems.
(Enter Abram and Benvolio.)
GREGORY:
Look, here come some of those rebel dogs now! Draw your weapon!
SAMPSON:
You, go ahead and fight. I’ll back you up.
GREGORY:
‘Back’ me up by turning your back and running, you mean?
SAMPSON:
You don’t have to worry for me.
GREGORY:
No, I really am worried for you, imbécile. Let’s not start a fight. If anything is to happen, let it be their fault.
SAMPSON:
I’ll pinch my nose at those rebels, to show how much they smell. They can take that however they like.
(Sampson pinches his nose.)
Ça pue!
ABRAM:
Do you pinch your nose at us, Monsieur?
SAMPSON:
I pinch my nose at the awful stench that has suddenly made its way into the air.
ABRAM:
But do you pinch your nose at us, Monsieur?
SAMPSON:
(aside to Gregory)
Is the law on our side if I say ‘oui’?
GREGORY:
(aside to Sampson)
No.
SAMPSON:
(out loud)
No, Monsieur, I do not pinch my nose at you, but I do pinch my nose, Monsieur.
GREGORY:
Why, Monsieur, are you trying to start a fight?
ABRAM:
Fight? No, Monsieur.
SAMPSON:
Well, if you are, I am the man for you. I serve as good a man as you.
ABRAM:
Not better.
GREGORY:
(aside to Sampson)
Say better. Here comes a kinsman to our master.
SAMPSON:
Yes, better.
ABRAM:
You lie.
(They draw their swords.)
BENVOLIO:
Part now, you fools. Fighting will only get us all into trouble.
(Enter Tybalt)
TYBALT:
You’ve drawn your sword to fight these pathetic servants? Turn, Benvolio, and face your death.
BENVOLIO:
I only wish to keep the peace. Put your sword away, or use it to help me stop this quarrel.
TYBALT:
What? You draw your sword, yet speak of peace? I hate the word peace, as I hate hell, and all filthy rebels such as yourself. Now fight me, coward!
(Tybalt and Benvolio fight.)
(Enter Capulet in his gown, with his wife, Lady Capulet.)
CAPULET:
Mon dieu! What’s this noise? Bring me my sword, woman!
LADY CAPULET:
A crutch, mon cher, a crutch! Why do you call for a sword?
(Enter Montague with his sword drawn, along with his wife, Lady Montague)
CAPULET:
I want my sword. That revolutionist dog Montague is here, waving his sword around just to spite me!
MONTAGUE:
Capulet, you villian!
(his wife holds him back.)
What are you doing? Don’t hold me back, let me at that coward!
LADY MONTAGUE:
I’m not going to let you take one step closer to that man.
PRINCE:
You rebels! Enemies of the peace! Men who turn on their own neighbors! They won’t listen to me? You men, you beasts, who feed your rage by slaughtering each other! Throw down your weapons and listen to me, or I’ll have you all tortured!
Act 1, Scene 2
Setting: A shaded garden next to a tall building.
(Enter Capulet, nobleman Paris and Peter, a servant)
CAPULET: Mon Dieu! To think that we once almost made a truce with that rebel dog Montague! Though it seems that these skirmishes happen every hour, I doubt that his bold attacks on us will last over a year. Like the coward he is, he and his followers will crumble under our armies. But I’m getting too old for this... Luckily, so is he.
PARIS: Vraiment, it is a shame that the rebels refuse to yield. France is being torn apart by this war. Why do you not make peace already?
CAPULET: Have I the need to remind you of this afternoon’s events?
PARIS: I see... Monsieur, have you thought about my request?
CAPULET: Have I the need to repeat myself once again? My daughter is not yet fourteen. Let two more seasons of heat pass before we speak of marriage.
PARIS: Often, girls younger than her are married happily.
CAPULET: Bonté divine, then they grow up so fast! But I see that you are a man of honor. You wish to have my daughter? Then make her love you first. It is partially her decision after all.
PARIS: That should not be hard, Monsieur. For a man who loves her as much as I do, I have no end to the passion I’ll use to woo her.
CAPULET: Oh... Okay... *Hem* Tonight, I am throwing a soirée that is a tradition in our family. I would like you to come.
PARIS: I would be glad to.
CAPULET: (Puts arm around Paris’s shoulders) There will be no end to the wonderful dames there. Perhaps, after a short while, my daughter will no longer seem like the only beautiful fleur in the gardens. Come along with me.
(Capulet turns and hands Peter a paper)
CAPULET: As for you, read the names on the list and invite those people to the soirée. I’m counting on you to inform our guests.
(Capulet and Paris exit)
(Peter stares at the paper. He tilts it, and tilts his head. He squints. He looks up to where Capulet has disappeared.)
PETER: But Monsieur! I cannot read!
... Too late, they’ve gone! Ah, what am I going to do?!? I’ll never find these people on my own! Who can I turn to? ... Ah, there are some gentlemen, Dieu merci! They can help!
(Enter Romeo and Benvolio)
BENVOLIO: Get a grip, cousin. Stop moaning about love gone wrong and do something!
ROMEO: What can I do? The bittersweet arrow of cupid has pierced my breast and inflicted me with the wounds of-
BENVOLIO: Do not give me anymore of that merde, Romeo. Be a man. If you can’t win your love, then Combattre le feu par le feu; Fight fire with fire.
ROMEO: Won’t I burn?
BENVOLIO: Hopefully, cousin. A new grief will make you forget your old one. Let cupid’s arrow strike you for another girl, and your old lovesickness shall cease. A new sweet love for an old stale one.
ROMEO: I believe the healing herb Muge-de-boys will help.
BENVOLIO: With what?
ROMEO: (Gloomily, slowly reaching for his sword) For when I cut your leg, you lâche.
BENVOLIO: (Smiles, but takes a small step back) Oh mon, cousin! Have you gone mad?
ROMEO: (Sighs) Mad? Yes indeed; mad with love, which you do not seem to understand. Love madness, which is the worst of all. Every moment agony... Putain, if only it would end!
-(Noticing Peter) Bonsoir Gars!
PETER: Bonne journée Monsieurs! Excusez-moi, but do you know how to read?
ROMEO: (Still gloomy) I can read the tricky life that Fate has place down before my feet.
PETER: (A little miffled) Triste, but can you read something placed in front of you?
ROMEO: If, by chance, I recognize the language.
PETER: I see... Honest enough. Adieu.
ROMEO: Hold, homme, I can read. (He looks at the letter) ‘ Monsieur Martino and his wife and daughters, Comte Anselme and his beautiful sisters, Vitruvio’s veuve, Monsieur Placentio and his lovely nieces, Mercutio and his brother Valentine, My uncle Capulet and his wife and daughters, My fair nieces Rosaline and Livia, Monsieur Valentio and his cousin Tybalt,
Lucio and the lively Helena.’
A good group of people. To where are they going?
PETER: A soirée.
ROMEO: A soirée where?
PETER: At the house of my maître.
ROMEO: Perhaps I should have asked you his name beforehand...
PETER: Indeed, and now I shall tell you. My maître is the noble aristocrat Capulet. If you’re not one of Montague’s rebel vermin, then come enjoy a refreshing drink. Adieu!
(Peter exits)
BENVOLIO: An aristocrat soirée? This will please Monsieur Montague.
ROMEO: Why?
BENVOLIO: The aristocrats are the ones we are fighting. If we can just slip a spy or two into the soirée, perhaps we can get some useful information. After all, you never know what a man will say after his tongue is loosened by wine.
ROMEO: I have no interest in this war. I need no part.
BENVOLIO: (Slyly) And all the wonderful roses of the city will gather in one place. Romeo, it is time for you to really get over this lovesickness. Go and compare your perfect Rosaline to other beauties. By the end of the night, your angel will appear as a hag.
ROMEO: If that ever happened, I would indeed fight fire with fire.
BENVOLIO: How so?
ROMEO: My tears would turn to liquid flame and burn out my eyes for being such monstrous liers. The stars are shamed by the beauty of my heart’s lady, and the sun itself knows no greater loveliness.
BENVOLIO: (Throwing an arm over Romeo’s shoulders with a laugh) Cher Dieu, so stubborn you can be! You first saw your Rosaline walking alone on the street in the morning, when the dew and the grey clouds of the night had not yet lifted, and the bright colors of the world had not begun to appear. Of course you thought she was a most lovely fleur; there were no others to compare her with!
ROMEO: Her grace made the street glow like springtime.
BENVOLIO: (Exasperated) Come, Romeo, let’s go to the soirée. I’ll spy for Montague, and show you other beautés who may steal your fancy.
ROMEO: I’ll go then, but you cannot show me better beautés. There are none that will catch my heart. I’m only going to this soirée to see and adore the fleur I’m loyal to.
(They exit)
Setting: Town square in France with a fountain at the center.
Enter Sampson and Gregory, servants of the house of Capulet.
SAMPSON:
I say, Monsieur Gregory, we cannot let those underclassmen treat us like dogs.
GREGORY:
You’re making yourself look like a fool. The fact of the matter is, we are the underclassmen.
SAMPSON:
You know what I mean. Those rebels. The whiny commoners who say that things are ‘unfair’ when really they’re just too lazy to make money for themselves.
GREGORY:
Ça alors! Again, you’re making a fool of yourself. We are nothing more than servants to the house. No need to act like you’re one of them.
SAMPSON:
Tiens! All I am saying is that if they wish to have more money, they should have gotten more profitable jobs like us! I can’t see why they feel the need to blame someone else for their own problems.
(Enter Abram and Benvolio.)
GREGORY:
Look, here come some of those rebel dogs now! Draw your weapon!
SAMPSON:
You, go ahead and fight. I’ll back you up.
GREGORY:
‘Back’ me up by turning your back and running, you mean?
SAMPSON:
You don’t have to worry for me.
GREGORY:
No, I really am worried for you, imbécile. Let’s not start a fight. If anything is to happen, let it be their fault.
SAMPSON:
I’ll pinch my nose at those rebels, to show how much they smell. They can take that however they like.
(Sampson pinches his nose.)
Ça pue!
ABRAM:
Do you pinch your nose at us, Monsieur?
SAMPSON:
I pinch my nose at the awful stench that has suddenly made its way into the air.
ABRAM:
But do you pinch your nose at us, Monsieur?
SAMPSON:
(aside to Gregory)
Is the law on our side if I say ‘oui’?
GREGORY:
(aside to Sampson)
No.
SAMPSON:
(out loud)
No, Monsieur, I do not pinch my nose at you, but I do pinch my nose, Monsieur.
GREGORY:
Why, Monsieur, are you trying to start a fight?
ABRAM:
Fight? No, Monsieur.
SAMPSON:
Well, if you are, I am the man for you. I serve as good a man as you.
ABRAM:
Not better.
GREGORY:
(aside to Sampson)
Say better. Here comes a kinsman to our master.
SAMPSON:
Yes, better.
ABRAM:
You lie.
(They draw their swords.)
BENVOLIO:
Part now, you fools. Fighting will only get us all into trouble.
(Enter Tybalt)
TYBALT:
You’ve drawn your sword to fight these pathetic servants? Turn, Benvolio, and face your death.
BENVOLIO:
I only wish to keep the peace. Put your sword away, or use it to help me stop this quarrel.
TYBALT:
What? You draw your sword, yet speak of peace? I hate the word peace, as I hate hell, and all filthy rebels such as yourself. Now fight me, coward!
(Tybalt and Benvolio fight.)
(Enter Capulet in his gown, with his wife, Lady Capulet.)
CAPULET:
Mon dieu! What’s this noise? Bring me my sword, woman!
LADY CAPULET:
A crutch, mon cher, a crutch! Why do you call for a sword?
(Enter Montague with his sword drawn, along with his wife, Lady Montague)
CAPULET:
I want my sword. That revolutionist dog Montague is here, waving his sword around just to spite me!
MONTAGUE:
Capulet, you villian!
(his wife holds him back.)
What are you doing? Don’t hold me back, let me at that coward!
LADY MONTAGUE:
I’m not going to let you take one step closer to that man.
PRINCE:
You rebels! Enemies of the peace! Men who turn on their own neighbors! They won’t listen to me? You men, you beasts, who feed your rage by slaughtering each other! Throw down your weapons and listen to me, or I’ll have you all tortured!
Act 1, Scene 2
Setting: A shaded garden next to a tall building.
(Enter Capulet, nobleman Paris and Peter, a servant)
CAPULET: Mon Dieu! To think that we once almost made a truce with that rebel dog Montague! Though it seems that these skirmishes happen every hour, I doubt that his bold attacks on us will last over a year. Like the coward he is, he and his followers will crumble under our armies. But I’m getting too old for this... Luckily, so is he.
PARIS: Vraiment, it is a shame that the rebels refuse to yield. France is being torn apart by this war. Why do you not make peace already?
CAPULET: Have I the need to remind you of this afternoon’s events?
PARIS: I see... Monsieur, have you thought about my request?
CAPULET: Have I the need to repeat myself once again? My daughter is not yet fourteen. Let two more seasons of heat pass before we speak of marriage.
PARIS: Often, girls younger than her are married happily.
CAPULET: Bonté divine, then they grow up so fast! But I see that you are a man of honor. You wish to have my daughter? Then make her love you first. It is partially her decision after all.
PARIS: That should not be hard, Monsieur. For a man who loves her as much as I do, I have no end to the passion I’ll use to woo her.
CAPULET: Oh... Okay... *Hem* Tonight, I am throwing a soirée that is a tradition in our family. I would like you to come.
PARIS: I would be glad to.
CAPULET: (Puts arm around Paris’s shoulders) There will be no end to the wonderful dames there. Perhaps, after a short while, my daughter will no longer seem like the only beautiful fleur in the gardens. Come along with me.
(Capulet turns and hands Peter a paper)
CAPULET: As for you, read the names on the list and invite those people to the soirée. I’m counting on you to inform our guests.
(Capulet and Paris exit)
(Peter stares at the paper. He tilts it, and tilts his head. He squints. He looks up to where Capulet has disappeared.)
PETER: But Monsieur! I cannot read!
... Too late, they’ve gone! Ah, what am I going to do?!? I’ll never find these people on my own! Who can I turn to? ... Ah, there are some gentlemen, Dieu merci! They can help!
(Enter Romeo and Benvolio)
BENVOLIO: Get a grip, cousin. Stop moaning about love gone wrong and do something!
ROMEO: What can I do? The bittersweet arrow of cupid has pierced my breast and inflicted me with the wounds of-
BENVOLIO: Do not give me anymore of that merde, Romeo. Be a man. If you can’t win your love, then Combattre le feu par le feu; Fight fire with fire.
ROMEO: Won’t I burn?
BENVOLIO: Hopefully, cousin. A new grief will make you forget your old one. Let cupid’s arrow strike you for another girl, and your old lovesickness shall cease. A new sweet love for an old stale one.
ROMEO: I believe the healing herb Muge-de-boys will help.
BENVOLIO: With what?
ROMEO: (Gloomily, slowly reaching for his sword) For when I cut your leg, you lâche.
BENVOLIO: (Smiles, but takes a small step back) Oh mon, cousin! Have you gone mad?
ROMEO: (Sighs) Mad? Yes indeed; mad with love, which you do not seem to understand. Love madness, which is the worst of all. Every moment agony... Putain, if only it would end!
-(Noticing Peter) Bonsoir Gars!
PETER: Bonne journée Monsieurs! Excusez-moi, but do you know how to read?
ROMEO: (Still gloomy) I can read the tricky life that Fate has place down before my feet.
PETER: (A little miffled) Triste, but can you read something placed in front of you?
ROMEO: If, by chance, I recognize the language.
PETER: I see... Honest enough. Adieu.
ROMEO: Hold, homme, I can read. (He looks at the letter) ‘ Monsieur Martino and his wife and daughters, Comte Anselme and his beautiful sisters, Vitruvio’s veuve, Monsieur Placentio and his lovely nieces, Mercutio and his brother Valentine, My uncle Capulet and his wife and daughters, My fair nieces Rosaline and Livia, Monsieur Valentio and his cousin Tybalt,
Lucio and the lively Helena.’
A good group of people. To where are they going?
PETER: A soirée.
ROMEO: A soirée where?
PETER: At the house of my maître.
ROMEO: Perhaps I should have asked you his name beforehand...
PETER: Indeed, and now I shall tell you. My maître is the noble aristocrat Capulet. If you’re not one of Montague’s rebel vermin, then come enjoy a refreshing drink. Adieu!
(Peter exits)
BENVOLIO: An aristocrat soirée? This will please Monsieur Montague.
ROMEO: Why?
BENVOLIO: The aristocrats are the ones we are fighting. If we can just slip a spy or two into the soirée, perhaps we can get some useful information. After all, you never know what a man will say after his tongue is loosened by wine.
ROMEO: I have no interest in this war. I need no part.
BENVOLIO: (Slyly) And all the wonderful roses of the city will gather in one place. Romeo, it is time for you to really get over this lovesickness. Go and compare your perfect Rosaline to other beauties. By the end of the night, your angel will appear as a hag.
ROMEO: If that ever happened, I would indeed fight fire with fire.
BENVOLIO: How so?
ROMEO: My tears would turn to liquid flame and burn out my eyes for being such monstrous liers. The stars are shamed by the beauty of my heart’s lady, and the sun itself knows no greater loveliness.
BENVOLIO: (Throwing an arm over Romeo’s shoulders with a laugh) Cher Dieu, so stubborn you can be! You first saw your Rosaline walking alone on the street in the morning, when the dew and the grey clouds of the night had not yet lifted, and the bright colors of the world had not begun to appear. Of course you thought she was a most lovely fleur; there were no others to compare her with!
ROMEO: Her grace made the street glow like springtime.
BENVOLIO: (Exasperated) Come, Romeo, let’s go to the soirée. I’ll spy for Montague, and show you other beautés who may steal your fancy.
ROMEO: I’ll go then, but you cannot show me better beautés. There are none that will catch my heart. I’m only going to this soirée to see and adore the fleur I’m loyal to.
(They exit)