With its fast rushing river, picturesque old bridge, great castle, waving cypresses, and prospect so delightful and so cheerful! Pleasant Verona!"
Verona is situated on the sides and at the base of a circle of hills, in a bend of the river Adige, by which it is divided, so that when the river is flooded by heavy rains, the low-lying parts of the town are soon under water.
The name Verona brings a delicious flavour of romance and poetry with it. If Shakespeare had only made it the birthplace of his "Two Gentlemen," and the scene of Julia's sweet constancy, it would have been enough to cast a halo over it; but all other associations pale before the memory of the "star-crossed lovers," whose names rise to the mind at the mention of Verona as readily as those of Portia and Shylock are recalled at Venice. Doubtless, there are being enacted around us events fully as interesting, as amusing, as sad, and as tragic as those depicted by our great dramatist, for the world is ever the same—human nature varies little, be time and fashion what they may; lovers love as truly and passionately as ever did Romeo and Juliet; and selfish ignoble feelings mar the beauty of mankind as of old. Yet, surely the world is improving—the sun of Christianity has long been struggling behind the dark clouds of the past, and we now surely begin to see its glorious silver lining, and find the world bursting into nobler, higher, and better life.
Our first impulse, on the morrow of our arrival, was to go in search of Juliet's home, and see the balcony where she confessed her love in the moonlight, all unconscious that he of whom she spoke was an eager listener to the outpourings of her fervent soul:
"O Romeo, Romeo! wherefore art thou Romeo?
[278] Deny thy father, and refuse thy name;
Or if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love,
And I'll no longer be a Capulet."
The house was easily found. In the Via San Sebastiano (formerly the Via Capello) are many high, dull-looking houses with overhanging roofs, once the residence of the Veronese nobility. They are built, for the most part, of dirty brick, and are not very picturesque save for now and again a Gothic window, or a fragment of iron lattice grating, rusty and broken, which lends a certain dignity, as though they were yet pervaded with the spirit of the past. One of these houses, somewhat larger than the others, was once the house of Shakespeare's youngest heroine. Over its archway is still the hat, or "capello," which represents the arms of the family of the Capulets. We were greatly disappointed at the gloomy appearance and inappropriate surroundings of the scene of one of the tenderest and saddest love-tales that have come down to us from ages past. There is a balcony certainly, but too high, I think, for even the ardent Romeo to have climbed; there were, however, evident signs of another balcony lower down, which had been removed, possibly to prevent its incontinently falling on the head of some unfortunate pedestrian. The house, which is known by the name of the Osteria del Capello, has long been used as an Inn. It may perchance have been a flourishing hostelry—say a century ago, but at the present time its fortunes have reached a very low ebb, and only the lower portion of the building is used for that purpose. The remaining storeys within the spacious courtyard are let to artisans and others of the lower classes. They all have balustraded balconies, on some of which we saw clothes hanging out to dry. Within the courtyard is a well, from which the women draw water for household purposes, and the Vetturini clean their carriages. The place was swarming with children, not over clean; and, in fact, the whole locality was so dirty we were glad to get away—it was impossible to indulge in poetic memories in view of such desecration.
We now made our way almost to the other end of the town, in search of Juliet's tomb. After passing the workmen's quarter, we presently came to a large wooden door, and on knocking were admitted to the garden of an old suppressed convent. Crossing the grounds, we reached the building itself, where, next to the outer wall, we were shown a large open sarcophagus of reddish stone, the sides about four or five inches thick, and partly broken. The inside was strewn with visiting-cards—travellers from all parts of the world paying this tribute of respect to the memory of the unfortunate girl-bride. There were even some photographs, one of which I especially noticed of a young lady, who had written on the card a few lines of sympathy for poor Juliet's faithful and devoted love. Although there was something touching in this veneration of a past romance, I think it was carrying sentiment a little too far to leave visiting-cards and photographs in a desolate and deserted tomb, which we have no positive proof ever contained the remains of La Giulietta, as the Veronese call her. For my part, I think it far from probable that it was ever the scene of the tragic end of these unhappy lovers.
"But wherefore all this wormy circumstance?
Why linger at the yawning tomb so long?
Oh for the gentleness of old Romance,
The simple plaining of a minstrel's song!
Fair reader, at the old tale take a glance,
For here in truth it doth not well belong
To speak:—O, turn thee to the very tale,
And taste the music of that vision pale."
The streets of Verona are, in general, narrow and paved with rough stones very fatiguing to walk on: the Corso Cavour is the finest thoroughfare. Our hotel was situated in a quiet side street, from whence, turning to the left, is the Piazza dei Signori which has in its centre a statue of Dante, who, after his banishment from Florence, lived longer at Verona than at any other place, but died and was buried at Ravenna.
"Happier Ravenna! on thy hoary shore,
Fortress of falling empire! honour'd sleeps
The immortal exile."