On the invention of the balcony.
Before Verona there was Provence, and before Provence there was a wall. The balcony was not designed for lovers; it was designed for weather, for air, for looking down at horses in a yard. Its long romantic career began, as most such things do, by accident — a woman appeared at one, a poet was passing beneath, and Europe took roughly eight hundred years to get over it.
What the balcony offered was not access but framing. It made a stage of a household window. It insisted that romance take place in the open, in earshot of the servants, in view of the moon — and thereby made every private feeling a small public performance. We have never quite given that up.