Welcome back to Tracing Shakespearean Mysteries. The previous episodes have left us with several intriguing questions to consider, which I will briefly summarise here. In Case File 1, we discussed the setting of The Tempest on the island of Ischia, the legend of the sorcerer's cave, the role of the Colonna family in naming the characters in the play and the significance of the figure of Caliban. In Case File 2, we explored the setting of Romeo and Juliet in the city of Verona, a place the author seemed to know with a familiarity that went far beyond superficial acquaintance.

In this second episode devoted to the town, our primary focus will be another play written around 1594-1595, The Two Gentlemen of Verona. We will also be considering three other plays connected in various ways to the town, seeking to understand why it exerted such a powerful attraction on our author.

But before we start looking at the details of The Two Gentlemen of Verona, let's remind ourselves of its main events.

The play tells the story of two close friends, Valentine - the perfect name for a lover - and Proteus - a name that already hints at what is to come, since Proteus is the shape-shifting sea god of classical mythology. The two young men grow up together in Verona, but their friendship is tested once Valentine leaves for Milan to see the world. There, he falls in love with Silvia, the daughter of the Duke of Milan, who is already betrothed to the foolish suitor Thurio.

Proteus, meanwhile, remains in Verona, devoted to his beloved Julia. Yet when his father later sends him to Milan, his loyalty towards her quickly collapses: Proteus also falls for Silvia, and resolves to pursue her, despite his long-standing friendship with Valentine. So, hoping to ingratiate himself with the Duke and thereby win his daughter’s hand, Proteus reveals Valentine’s plan to elope with Silvia using a rope ladder from her bedroom window. As a result, Valentine is banished from Milan and flees to the forest, where he joins a band of outlaws.

Back in Verona and still in love, Julia disguises herself as a young man and follows Proteus to Milan, entering his service as a page without revealing her true identity. Proteus continues to pursue Silvia, who escapes to the forest in search of Valentine but is captured by outlaws along the way. Proteus rescues her, expecting her love in return. When Silvia forcefully resists him, Valentine suddenly appears and, in a troubling gesture, offers to give Silvia to Proteus - seemingly to expose the depth of his friend’s betrayal. Confronted with the consequences of his actions, Proteus repents and asks for forgiveness.

At this point, Julia reveals her true identity. Proteus returns to her, friendships are restored, and the play ends with the promise of two marriages.

Now let’s look at where the author might have found his inspiration for this story. Many scholars think he drew on Jorge de Montemayor’s Spanish prose romance, La Diana, first published in 1559 and translated into English by Bartholomew Yong in the 1580s. It’s a pastoral story where shepherds and shepherdesses share interwoven tales of love, betrayal, and loyalty. One of the key stories is about Felismena, a noblewoman who disguises herself as a man to follow her unfaithful lover, quietly enduring his betrayal. In the end, her constancy is rewarded when he repents. This is not unlike Julia’s story in The Two Gentlemen of Verona.

However, there are similar stories in the Italian novelle tradition, including themes such as the tension between friendship and desire, and the way male friends can betray one another. And the play does not draw only from the novelle tradition; it also borrows from the Italian commedia dell’arte, a hugely popular form of 16th-century theatre known for its improvised scenes, masks, stock characters, and exaggerated physical, slapstick-like comedy.

In these plays, certain patterns recur. There is typically a group of lovers whose turbulent experiences ultimately culminate in a double marriage: in The Two Gentlemen of Verona, for example, Valentine is united with Silvia and Proteus with Julia. We also encounter the resourceful heroine in disguise - Julia dressed as a boy - alongside a Magnifico figure, such as Silvia’s father, the Duke of Milan, and a clownish, Harlequin-like servant, exemplified by Launce and his long-suffering dog Crab. In addition, there is the witty servant, akin to the Commedia dell’Arte figure Brighella, whom we might recognise in the character of Speed.

So where does that leave us? Is the plot of the play merely a composite of various source materials, or can we uncover a more tangible connection? As mentioned in the previous episode, one of the source books for Shakespearean works was Painter’s The Palace of Pleasure, a collection of Italian and classical stories, translated into English. It was here that we found the story of Romeo and Juliet by Matteo Bandello, and it is here that we find another of his stories, which is not entitled The Two Gentlemen of Verona, but it is entitled The Two Gentlewomen of Venice. The similarity, I would argue, is too striking to dismiss, especially since the two narratives function as both parallels and contrasts. While the Verona story focuses on the instability of male friendship set against the backdrop of female constancy, the Venice story reverses the pattern, depicting enduring female friendship against a backdrop of male rivalry.

Although the story of The Two Gentlewomen of Venice is very different from the play, it is amusing and I think worth summarising since the two works share a pivotal detail in the plot.

In Venice, two young gentlemen, Anselmo and Girolamo, were such bitter rivals that they vowed to bring shame on each other. At the same time, they married two noble gentlewomen, Lucia and Isotta, who had been raised together like sisters. The women were dismayed to learn of their husbands’ hatred, which stood in the way of their own friendship.

The wives were devoted and clever, but had to chat secretly in their adjoining gardens, which were separated by a small hedge. Three years passed without any children arriving, during which time both men fell in love with the other’s wife. The women, aware of this situation, confided in each other and devised a plan: each wrote a love letter to the other’s husband and upon receiving replies, both agreed to meet the men at night.

With the help of their maids, the women swapped houses and the men entered their bedrooms in darkness. Believing they were with their lovers, the men were extremely attentive and loving. This continued for weeks, resulting in both women becoming pregnant. The men rejoiced at the pregnancies, thinking one had cuckolded the other. But just as the women were planning to end the ruse, Lady Fortune stepped in.

Elsewhere in the city, a young, wealthy widow caught the attention of the Doge’s nephew, Aloisio, who persuaded her to meet him at her first-floor bedroom window. He arrived at night with a rope ladder, marking a pivotal point in the plot, where the situation begins to change. It is strikingly reminiscent of the rope-ladder elopement leading to Valentine’s downfall in the Two Gentlemen of Verona.

It marked Aloisi’s downfall too, literally, in fact he fell as he was climbing the ladder and was badly injured. To save the lady’s honour, he dragged himself through the streets, until he finally fainted in front of the homes of Anselmo and Girolamo. A night watchman discovered him there, seemingly dead, so he called soldiers, and they began searching for the “attacker” in the nearby houses. Amid the commotion, the women escaped, while the two husbands were found nearly naked in each other’s bedchambers and were arrested. The men shared a prison cell, and stood accused of murder, to which they confessed in an attempt to slander their wives who, they said, had been encouraging Aloisio’s advances. In other words, a justified honour killing.

But Aloisio, presumed dead, suddenly revived in the church while awaiting burial. When questioned about his injuries, he immediately regretted saying he was climbing into the widow’s window, so to save her honour, he added that he was there to steal her jewels. Later he secretly told his uncle, the Doge, the true story. In private the Doge expressed his confusion about all these strange confessions, but in public he proclaimed the men were to be executed: Anselmo and Girolamo to be beheaded, Aloisio hanged.

On hearing the news, all three women met and asked for a public audience with the Doge. Isotta delivered a bold speech, rebuking the husbands for lust and jealousy, revealing the truth of the swapped beds, and presenting the love letters as proof. The husbands were amazed, reconciled with their wives, and embraced each other in brotherly friendship. Thus, the cleverness and friendship of the two women triumphed over the jealousy and rivalry of the two men.

As for the widow, she spoke at the audience, praising the courage of Aloisio in defending her reputation, then confessing her own role in the night-time meeting. She displayed his love letters and the rope ladder, and they were married the same day.

So, it seems likely that The Two Gentlemen of Verona may owe several ideas to The Two Gentlewomen of Venice: its title, the theme of friendship, male vs female, as well as the introduction of a rope ladder to change the direction of the plot. And we shouldn’t forget that in Romeo and Juliet, too, we find wooing at night by means of a rope ladder.

Returning for a moment to Painter's Romeo and Juliet, in his introduction to the tale he offers a vivid description of Verona itself: its outlook towards fertile mountains and pleasant surrounding valleys; its abundance of clear, lively fountains; its four bridges; and its countless noble antiquities. He portrays it as a town that surpasses many others, set on the banks of the River Adige, along which, he notes, goods were brought down from Germany. The Adige, Italy’s second-longest river after the Po, originates in the Alps in the far north of the country. It is a fast-flowing river that ultimately reaches the Adriatic Sea at Chioggia, just south of Venice. In fact, in northern Italy in the 16th-century and long before, travel and trade largely relied on an extensive network of rivers and canals which spread across the entire Po Valley, facilitating commerce and communication throughout northern Italy.

Travelling by river was not only more practical but also safer, as roads were often plagued by outlaws and bandits. Barges, pulled by horses or oxen where necessary, could journey from Verona to Milan along a well-established route: southward down the Adige, through connecting canals to the River Po, upstream along the River Adda, and finally via a canal straight into the heart of Milan - an inland city that might surprise you to learn was officially classified as a port, albeit a river port, until 1951, even though it stands 145 km from the Ligurian Sea to the south-west, and 200km from the Adriatic Sea to the east.

In The Two Gentlemen of Verona, we are introduced to water travel in Scene 1, when Valentine’s servant Speed asks his master’s whereabouts.

Proteus says: But now he parted hence to embark for Milan,

to which Speed replies,: Twenty to one, then, he is shipped already…                               (1.1.72-74)

We are given more information in Act II in a conversation between Proteus’ servant Launce, and his father’s servant Panthino. Now it’s Proteus’ turn to set sail for Milan and Panthino tells Launce to hurry for if the boat is delayed they will miss the flood: Panthino says: 

Tut, man, I mean thou'lt lose the flood, and, in losing the flood, lose thy voyage, and, 

in losing thy voyage, lose thy master, and, in losing thy master, lose thy service.             (2.3.43-46)

In other words: hurry up, or you’ll lose your job.

The reference to the flood is interesting as it most likely alludes to a primitive sluice or water control, opened only at certain times of the day. About seventy kilometres south of Verona - a full day’s sail downstream - the Adige turns eastwards near the town of Castagnaro. Because the river frequently flooded at this point, works took place in the fifteenth century to build a sluice and divert part of its flow, channelling the water westwards into the smaller River Tartaro, and from there into a canal leading to the Po, which then became the standard trade route between Verona and Milan.

A type of barge carrying mainly goods - timber, grain, locally spun cloth - was made near Verona, in a village situated on the river, just west of the town. It was called a ‘Veronesa’ and is mentioned in Act 2 of Othello as a supply ship carrying Michael Cassio to Cyprus. So it seems that our author knew quite a lot about the waterway system in northern Italy - raising yet another question for our investigation: how did he come by such knowledge?

Now let’s turn to Milan, where most of the play is set. Before we dig any deeper, it’s worth taking a quick look at what was going on in the city in the sixteenth century.

With the extinction of the Sforza dynasty in 1535, under feudal law, the Duchy of Milan passed to Emperor Charles V and became a key possession of the Spanish Habsburg Empire. From that point on, Milan existed in a slightly unusual political state: it belonged to an emperor, yet was ruled as a duchy, with the Spanish king holding the title of Duke of Milan.

Sixty years later, in 1596, around the time The Two Gentlemen of Verona was written, the Holy Roman Emperor was Rudolf II, the Duke of Milan was Philip II of Spain, who never lived in the city, leaving the day-to-day administration to the Spanish governor and Captain General, Juan de Velasco.

In the play, Silvia’s father is referred to as both “Duke” and “Emperor,” terms that seem to be used interchangeably. This may reflect later editorial changes, or perhaps a subtle irony on the author’s part, drawing attention to the city’s somewhat complex and overlapping political authority.

Now let’s turn to the locations in Milan mentioned in the play. In the book I referred to in the last episode, The Shakespeare Guide to Italy, Richard Paul Roe discusses the reference to St. Gregory’s Well, which Proteus suggests as a meeting place to Thurio, a rival suitor for Sylvia. It is a location that had long puzzled scholars, but in 2011 Roe discovered that the “well” was actually used for plague burials during the outbreak of 1575–76 and was located next to St. Gregory’s Church, just outside the north-east gate in the city walls, (referred to as the north gate in the play). This epidemic, which occurred roughly twenty years before the play was written, claimed over 17,000 lives - about a tenth of Milan’s population.

Mass graves were a grim necessity during plagues, but in times of extreme mortality, any available cavity - from quarries to wells - might be used to dispose of infected corpses. After the epidemic, these sites were typically sealed and abandoned, yet for local people they remained places of fear, disease, and death. So when Proteus suggests it as a meeting place to his rival, his intentions take on a distinctly dark significance.

Roe also discusses Valentine’s banishment from the Duchy of Milan after his unsuccessful attempt to elope with Sylvia. He takes refuge as an outlaw in the forests between Milan and Mantua. In the sixteenth century, these borderlands lay within the neighbouring Republic of Venice and offered sanctuary to fugitives from Milan. The presence of such outlaws, and the banditry associated with them, was a constant source of tension between the Venetian and Milanese authorities.

Finally, when Sylvia sets out to find outlawed Valentine, she asks Eglamour to accompany her and suggests meeting at Friar Patrick’s cell, from where it’s about three leagues — roughly fifteen kilometres — to the forest. Traditionally, Franciscan convents were placed near city gates, along busy thoroughfares, often in poorer areas. With this in mind, a likely location for Friar Patrick’s cell is the Franciscan Convent and Church of Santa Maria della Pace, which at that time was located not far from the north-east gate of Milan.

All in all, the play contains some surprisingly precise references to Milan: St. Gregory’s Well - the plague pit outside the north-east gate, the Franciscan convent, and even the problem of banditry in the border woodlands. So, not only does the author show a familiarity with Milan, but in this work he returns once more to Verona, which indeed gives its name to the play, and seems keen to share his knowledge of the river timetable and connections with the waterways between the two towns.

How might we explain all this? And let’s not forget that he also had Verona in mind when he wrote The Taming of the Shrew, where it is mentioned several times as being the home town of Petruchio, even though the play is set in Padua.

And there is one more interesting connection to Verona that we should consider. In 1595, the English traveller Fynes Moryson visiting Verona wrote, “It hath a pure aire and ancient Nobility of the citizens, who are indued with a chearefull countenance, magnificent minds, and much inclined to all good literature”. In fact, the year before Moryson’s visit, so in 1594, a Veronese writer, Orlando Pescetti, wrote a play about Julius Caesar called Il Cesare. In 1913, Alexander Boecker discussed this work in his monograph, A Probable Source of Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar, showing how Pescetti drew on the stories told by Plutarch and Appian, but more importantly, introduced some original elements, which are later found in the English play.

Firstly, He gave Brutus’ wife, Portia, a significant role in reflecting on her husband's melancholy before Caesar's assassination. The same dramatic device appears in the Shakespearean play, where a similar scene in Act II foreshadows the attack that takes place in Act III.

Secondly, a line from Pescetti’s work, Apparecchiate, o donne, gli occhi al pianto which literally translates as, “Prepare, O women, your eyes for weeping” - finds a striking parallel in the Shakespearean play in If you have tears, prepare to shed them now.

What differs is the dramatic context. In Pescetti’s play, a messenger addresses a Chorus of women, warning them of the tragic events that will follow Caesar’s assassination. In the English play, however, the words form part of Antony’s funeral oration to the Roman citizens, as he strategically prepares the crowd for the emotional impact of Caesar’s will and subtly incites them against the conspirators.

Thirdly, Pescetti introduced the supernatural to signal impending doom: ghosts and gods unleashed their powers, fire blazed, winds howled, thunder and lightning shook the heavens, hail pounded down as the earth quaked and the sea surged prior to Caesar’s death. Approximately four years later, the same kind of cataclysmic imagery appears at the beginning of Act I, scene III in The Tragedy of Julius Caesar. With lightning and thunder roaring overhead, Casca’s speech to Cicero sets the ominous tone for the rest of the play:

Are not you moved, when all the sway of earth

Shakes like a thing unfirm? O Cicero,

I have seen tempests when the scolding winds

Have rived the knotty oaks, and I have seen

Th’ ambitious ocean swell and rage and foam

To be exalted with the threat’ning clouds;

But never till tonight, never till now,

Did I go through a tempest dropping fire.

Either there is a civil strife in heaven,

Or else the world, too saucy with the gods,

Incenses them to send destruction. (1.3.3-13)

So, it would seem that our author had also read this play, despite the absence of any English translations. This points to a more than superficial knowledge of Italian - something our investigation will need to account for.

In summary, we've uncovered some surprisingly specific details about locations in Milan, and also come across some more unexplained mysteries linked to Verona - from the author’s intricate knowledge of the waterway system and its boats, to the influence of a local playwright whose work was only available in Italian. What should we make of all this?

Here we conclude our two episodes dedicated to Verona, a city that, in one way or another, has left its mark on five plays in the Shakespearean canon: Romeo and Juliet, The Two Gentlemen of Verona and Julius Caesar, as well as a hint in Othello, and The Taming of the Shrew. As our investigation moves forward, we need to consider why this Italian town holds such prominence in our author’s work.

In the next Case File we’ll be looking at a very interesting mystery concerning A Midsummer Night’s Dream, in which the setting will be another important element of our investigation, as well as a possible link with The Rape of Lucrece.