[Illustration: Virgil's Tomb.]
This consecrated relic of genius stands on the hill of Posilipo, in the
environs of Naples. Its recent state is so beautifully described by
Eustace, that we shall not, like gipsys do stolen children, disfigure it
to prevent recognition.
Proceeding westward along the Chiaia and keeping towards the beach, says
Eustace, we came to the quarter called Mergyllina. To ascend the hill of
Posilipo we turned to the right, and followed a street winding as a
staircase up the steep, and terminating at a garden gate. Having
entered, we pursued a path through a vineyard and descending a little,
came to a small square building, flat-roofed, placed on a sort of
platform on the brow of a precipice on one side, and on the other
sheltered by a super-incumbent rock. An aged ilex, spreading from the
sides of the rock, and bending over the edifice, covers the roof with
its ever verdant foliage. Numberless shrubs spring around, and
interwoven with ivy clothe the walls and hang in festoons over the
precipice. The edifice before us was an ancient tomb--the tomb of
VIRGIL! We entered; a vaulted cell and two modern windows alone
presented themselves to view: the poet's name is the only ornament of
the place. No sarcophagus, no urn, and even no inscription to feed the
devotion of the classical pilgrim. The epitaph which though not genuine
is yet ancient, was inscribed by the order of the Duke of Pescolangiano,
then proprietor of the place, on a marble slab placed in the side of the
rock opposite the entrance of the tomb, where it still remains. Every
body is acquainted with it--
Mantua me genuit, Calabri rapuere, tenet nunc Parthenope, cecini
pascua, rura, duces.
But there are authors who venture to assert, that the tomb of which we
are now speaking, is not the sepulchre of Virgil. Of this number are the
classic Addison and the laborious and accurate Cluverius. The authority
of two such eminent persons, without doubt, carries great weight with
it, but that weight is upon this occasion considerably lessened by the
weakness of the arguments on which their opinion is grounded. These
arguments may be found in Cluverius, and Addison merely expresses his
opinion without entering into any discussion. They are drawn from a few
verses of Statius.
In opposition to these arguments, or rather conjectures founded upon the
vague expressions of a single poet (a poet often censured for his
obscurity), we have the constant and uninterrupted tradition of the
country supported by the authority of a numerous host of learned and
ingenious antiquaries; and upon such grounds we may still continue to
cherish the conviction, that we have visited the tomb of Virgil, and
hailed his sacred shade on the spot where his ashes long reposed.
The laurel which was once said to have sprung up at its base, and
covered it with its luxuriant branches, now flourishes only in the
verses of youthful bards, or in the descriptions of early travellers;
myrtle, ivy and ilex, all plants equally agreeable to the genius of the
place, and the subjects of the poet, now perform the office of the
long-withered bays, and encircle the tomb with verdure and perfume.
The sepulchre of Virgil, it may be imagined, must have long remained an
object of interest and veneration, especially as his works had excited
universal admiration even in his life-time, and were very soon after his
death put into the hands of children, and made a part of the rudiments
of early education. Yet Martial declares that it had been neglected in
his time, and that Silius Italicus alone restored its long forgotten
honours.
The reader will learn with regret that Virgil's tomb, consecrated as it
ought to be to genius and meditation, is sometimes converted into the
retreat of assassins, or the lurking place of Sbirri. Such at least it
was the last time we visited it, when wandering that way about sun-set
we found it filled with armed men. We were surprised on both sides, and
on ours not very agreeably at the unexpected rencounter; so lonely the
place and so threatening the aspects of these strangers. Their manners
however were courteous; and on inquiry we were informed that they were
Sbirri, and then lying in wait for a murderer, who was supposed to
make that spot his nightly asylum. It would be unjust to accuse the
Neapolitans of culpable indifference towards this or any other monument
of antiquity; but it is incumbent on the proprietor or the public, to
secure them against such profanation. On the whole, few places are in
themselves more picturesque, and from the recollection inseparably
interwoven with it, no spot is more interesting than the tomb of Virgil.
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