in her chamber at early daybreak, for banished Romeo must leave
her and haste to Mantua, lest sunrise betray him still lingering in
Verona. Juliet at first lovingly detains him, then fearfully urges him
to fly; then as he descends from the balcony would fain recall him, and
sinks in a swoon when she finds he is really gone. The parents come in
and announce their determination that she must marry Paris forthwith:
finding her unwilling to comply, they leave her with fierce threats in
case she continue disobedient, and even the time-serving, timid old
Nurse, though aware of her marriage with Romeo, urges her to comply with
their wishes. Thus left entirely to herself, Juliet determines to die
rather than prove false to her husband. She hastens to the Friar who
married them, and he gives her the philter, which she accepts joyfully
and carries home in her bosom. Up to this point her acting is good,
because it is natural. Love, grief, stern determination are here
successively and skillfully developed by Miss Neilson. But in the next
act, just before she drinks the philter alone in her chamber, she
oversteps the modesty of nature. In her attempt to express extreme
terror at the fearful visions that her excited imagination conjures up,
she loses herself in a wild whirlwind of vociferation, accompanied by
frantic looks and gestures. All the loud artillery of old melodrama
seems at once to be unlimbered and brought into action, with so much
noise and smoke that one can neither hear the signals of the bugle nor
see the manoeuvring of the guns. Of course, even to this part a
superior actress like Miss Neilson can impart a certain dignity and
interest which would be lacking in an inferior performer. She strikes a
certain horror to the spectator by the very hideousness of her terror
displayed. It is natural that a young girl about to be laid out alive in
a tomb should be tormented with fearful imaginings; but then that young
girl cherishes an all-pervading love for a living husband, whom she
hopes to rejoin by means of her entombment: she expects that the gates
of the mausoleum will open to admit her to life, not death, and she is
urged by fear of a hateful second marriage; therefore it is unlikely--no
matter what gloomy, blood-stained phantoms she may see--that she should
shriek out her fears with such appalling clamor as would arouse any
well-organized household, and thus defeat her prospects of success. As
Miss Neilson has shown in f