"One of Sir Walter's representatives has taken it upon him to assert, that Sir Walter held me in the lowest contempt! He never was further wrong in his life, but Sir Walter would have been still further wrong, if he had done so. Of that, posterity will judge."
There are many engraved portraits of Lord Byron afloat, but it is said that none of them resemble him. A friend of ours, who knew him intimately, assures us that the face of the Macedonian monarch in Paul Veronese's celebrated picture of "Alexander in the tent of Darius" at Venice, is the exact image of his lordship. Standing before it one day with a lady, he mentioned the extraordinary likeness to her in English, when the cicerone who accompanied them, said, "Ah, sir, I see that you knew my old master well. Many a time since his death have I stood and gazed upon that face which recalled his own so strongly to my recollection."
By-the-by, the history of this picture is rather curious.
The artist, whose real name was Paul Caliari, was invited by a hospitable family to spend some time with them at their villa, on the banks of the Brenta. While in the house his habits were exceedingly peculiar. He remained in his room the greater part of the time, and refused to allow any one to enter it on any pretext. The maid was not even permitted to make his bed—and every morning she found the sweepings of the room at the door, whence she was at liberty to remove them. One day the painter suddenly disappeared. The door of the room was found open. The sheets were gone from the bed. The frightened servant reported to the master that they had been stolen. A search was instituted. In one corner of the room was found a large roll of canvas. Upon opening it, it proved to be a magnificent picture—the famous "Alexander in the tent of Darius." Upon close inspection, it was discovered that it was painted upon the sheets of the bed! The artist had left it as a present to the family, and had taken this curious method of evincing his gratitude.
Most travelers in Italy make a pilgrimage to the tomb of Juliet, at Verona. Verona and Shakspeare are, of course, inseparable; but when you are on the spot, little can be found to identify the creations of the poet. We have no more traces of Valentine and Proteus at Verona, than we possess of Launce and his dog at Milan. The Montecchi belonged to the Ghibellines; and as they joined with the Capelletti in expelling Azo di Ferrara (shortly previous to 1207), it is probable that both were of the same party. The laconic mention of their families, which Dante places in the mouth of Sordello, proves their celebrity
"O Alberto tedesco, ch' abbandoni
Costei ch' è fatta indomita e selveggia,
E dovresti inforcar li suoi arcioni;
Giusto guidicio dalle stelle coggia
Sovra 'l tuo sangue, e sia nuovo e asserto,
Tal che 'l tuo successor temenza n' aggia:
Ch' avete, tu e 'l tuo padre, sofferto
Per cupidigia di costá distretti,
Che 'l giardin dell' 'mperio sia diserto.
Vieni a veder Montecchi e Capuletti,
Monaldi e Filippeschi, nom senza cura,
Color giá tristi, e costor con sospetti."
Purgatorio VI. 97, 109
"O Austrian Albert! who desertest her,
(Ungovernable now and savage grown),
When most she needed pressing with the spur—
May on thy race Heaven's righteous judgment fall;
And be it signally and plainly shown,
With terror thy successor to appal!
Since by thy lust yon distant lands to gain,
Thou and thy sire have suffered wild to run
What was the garden of thy fair domain.
Come see the Capulets and Montagues—
Monaldi—Filippeschi, reckless one!
These now in fear—already wretched those."