Pittsburg dispatch. [volume] (Pittsburg [Pa.]) 1880-1923, 1890-08-01
THE TOMB OF JULIET.

suspiciously New Sarcophagus Where
the Bones of the Lovely Maiden Are said
to Rest.
| THE greater number Of English-speakinr
people who visit Verona associate the
town with the tragic fate of the fair daughter
| of the Capuletti Surrounded by the vast and
rugged battlements of the AIDS. intersected BY
| the broad blue waters of the Adige rushing
under old Roman-arched bridges. its narrow,
| sun-baked streets overlooked by medieval
buildings and houses with painted facades, its
| Cathedral with cloisters six centuries old, its
churches surmounted by quaint-shaped towers,
| its gardens planted with stately and venerable
! expresses, Verona seems fitting scene for
what is, In sooth, the saddest love-story of
| which mankind has heard.
That the tale was founded on fact we learn
from Girolamo de la Corte's History of Vero-
| ma. The romance writers of Italy speedily laid
hands on the tragedy as fitting theme for
their pens; and poetic version Of the story by
one Arthur Brooke was first published in En-
gland in 1852, entitled "The Tragicall Historic
OF Romeus and Juliet, Contayning IN it Rare
Example of True Constancie, with the Subtill
Counsels and Practises of an Old Fryer and
Their Ill Event." Some IS years later was
printed William Shakespeare's play, which has
fixed the fate of the Veronese lovers for ever
in the worlds memory.
GUIDEs are anxious to show strangers the
house. now known as the Palazzo Sam
bonifazi, in which Juliet lived and the balcony
which Romeo scaled close upon 500 years ago.
The building has nothing remarkable in its ap-
pearance; its walls are discolored by time its
stucco-work crumbllng from age, no air of
romance distinguishing it from its neighbors
To reach it one must pass through the Piazzi
dele Erbe, once the Forum of the Republic,
now the fruit and vegetable market
The square, surrounded by palaces and
houses decorated with fresco by Cavalli, is
much as it was when it ran red with blood dur
ing the fierce fights which took place between
the Guelphs and the Ghibellines-families who
for long rendered Italy savage and unmanage-
able" To-day it is peaceful enough, and is
full of light and color. Under the shade of
huge um0rellas-red, blue, green and orange
are stalls piled high with melons and pomegran-
ates, fresh-gathered figs and apples; beneath
the striped awnings of portable shops wearing
apparel of gaudy hues flames in the bright sun
light; here and there sacred pictures, crucifixes
and statues are exposed for sale; the shrill
voice of basket vendor stationed near the
Tribuna, the ancient seat OF Judgment, rises
above the general hum: and close by the foun-
tain rrickling over its marble font and adorned
by statue of Verona, is q noisy crowd, largely
composed of soldiers in blue uniforms, throng-
ing round young, comely of the Gipsy
type, standing on a chair, who, with many words
and much assurance, invites all interested In
their future to take card from the pack she
holds, by which and for the trIhing sum of
penny she will reveal the gifts fortune has in
store for them.
PASSING the Roman amphitheater, still In
excellent repair, now given over to exhi'
bitions Of rope dancing and displays Of fire.
works, the visitor takes his way by yellow
walled streets, through which Dante may have
walked what time he sought refuge in Verona
on his banishment from Florence, until passing
outside one of the ancient gates, suppressed
Franciscan monastery. surrounded by high
walls and fair garden, is reached. Above the
entrance Is large signboard, bearing in crude
letters the words "Juliet's Tomb" expected
to find underneath admission half q france"
says a correspondent to the London Illustrated
World, but, instead, saw the proprietor's
name. Ringing at the gate, it was speedily
opened by a roughlookng laborer who smiled
graciously at the prospect of receiving fee.
With an air of pride he pointed to the cab
bages growing in his garden, saying his vege-
tables were the finest in all Verona, for the
ground from which they sprang had been for
full 500 years the burial place of monks.
The church is closed, like so many others all
over Italy, waiting to be let or to be sold as a
cornstore, wine vault, stable or factory. But
one of its small chapels bricked up and cut of
from the larger building. IS approached by
garden path, and here is a red marble sarco-
phagus, called the tomb Of Juliet. The chapel,
little larger than recess is chill and bare. the
whitewashed walls are discolored and damp,
decorated by faded laurel wreaths, and half
covered by visiting cards nailed on its surface.
The tomb is likewise half full of cards; for
visitors, being unable, because of the red stone,
to crafty the desire which SO strangely stirs
them on seeing famous shrines and historic
places, of writing their names. have had to
satisfy their vulgar vanity and foolish egotism
by leaving cards as records Of their visits.
Here you may read the names of Mr.. and Mrs
Smith, BayswareE; Mrs. ]. William johnson,
Chicago; Mr.. B. Hercules Thompson, New
York City; Miss Jemima Browne Putney. etc.
IT struck me the tomb, highly polished and
smooth, looked suspiciously new; and
then remembered that more than so years ago
Byron described 1t in letter to Moore as "a
plain, open and partly decayed sarcophagus
with withered leaves in it, in wild and DESC
late conventional garden" And. moreover,
1 had heard 1t was then the fashion to chip
away fragments Of the stone which, having
been set as brooches and bracelets. we're worn
by ladies who posed as sentimentalists. The
inference was plain; the so-called tomb was
deception and a snare.
Therefore. when the guide rolled out his
hackneyed sentences about this being the last
resting place of the noble lady Juliet, frankly
told him had no faith in what he said. An
awful pause ensued. during which he looked at
me with an expression of horror and amaze-
ment, as if his ears had been profaned. But.
quickly recovering himself. he replied: "Signor
what say is a fact, assure you; the lady was
placed after death in this very tomb"
slow do you knowr' 1 asked.
He shrugged his shoulders in pity, threw up
his hands in protest, and elevated his black
brows in wonder at my audacity. Hundreds
come here yearly" he remarked, resolving to
strangle in its birth doubt that if allowed to
flourish might seriously interfere with his in
come; "they come from England and from
America to see this tomb and they have no
doubts, Signor: for it is really and truly, and
everyone in Verona will tell you, the resting
place of the ill-fated Juliet"
7 COMMENTED myself with shaking my head,
and lie remained silent, until suddenly his
face flashed with brightness. and saw that
new idea had dawned on him. "Signor" he
said, graveIy but firmly, II will prove to you 1t
is Juliet's tomb. for here" he added. turning
triumphantly to picture of a monk. painted
at a comparatively recent period, which hung
on side wall, sis the portrait of Friar Laur-
ence who married the lady and her lover and
gave her the poison"
He expected this remarkable example of
logic would surely silence me; nor was he dis
appointed. Without another word I left the
spot. and the proprietor of Juliet's tomb re-