Itinerarium curiosum (centuria I)

In Short

This book serves as a foundational record of British antiquarian travel. It chronicles the author’s persistent efforts to document Roman roads, encampments, and artifacts by visiting sites firsthand rather than relying on library research. Through a series of regional "itineraries," the text provides a vivid, if fragmented, portrait of the English landscape as it appeared in the early 1700s, punctuated by descriptions of salt mines, ruined abbeys, and local lore. It remains essential for those interested in the history of archaeology, reflecting the intellectual curiosity and observational rigor that defined the period’s early attempts to map the Roman influence on the British Isles.

The Story

The narrative arc is defined by the rhythm of the road. It begins with the author’s stated philosophy: to reject the sedentary study of history in favor of the "natural order and manner" of physical exploration. He views the British landscape as a palimpsest, where Roman engineering—roads, dikes, and stations—remains layered beneath the surface of the modern world.

The journey moves through various regions, beginning with domestic travels and venturing into the territories of Oxford, the North, and the West. In each location, the author acts as a detective, scanning the earth for the telltale signs of antiquity. He traces the Cardike in Lincolnshire, observing its perfect bounding of estates and its Roman utility in northern wars. He explores the salt works at Northwich, descending into deep, crystalline quarries that resemble cathedrals, noting how the earth itself preserves the history of industry. In Hereford, he examines the cathedral’s shrine of Cantilupe, mourning the destruction of the chapter-house while cataloging the brasses and monuments that remain.

As the journey progresses, the narrative shifts from observation to interpretation. He pauses at sites like the amphitheater near Dorchester, calculating its seating capacity with mathematical precision and debating its origins, whether it served as a Roman entertainment hub or a site for public execution. He constantly cross-references these findings with classical authors, yet he is never afraid to challenge received wisdom if the physical evidence contradicts the text.

The journey concludes with reflections on the "via Trinovantica" and the Roman footprint around London and Kent. He contemplates the remnants of the Pharos at Dover, dismissing the idea of a former isthmus between Britain and France as "chimerical," and turns his gaze toward the future of archaeological preservation. The ending is not a final destination but an invitation; he frames the entire work as a set of memoranda intended to inspire other gentlemen to continue the research. He finishes by cataloging inscriptions and historical records found in local churches, effectively anchoring his grand observations in the specific, tangible history of the English parish.

How It Unfolds

The Method of Discovery The author sets the stage by rejecting "compiled" knowledge, insisting that true history is found under the soles of one's boots. He outlines a rigorous approach, documenting everything from the state of Roman roads to the local farmers’ superstitions regarding buried treasure.

The Northern Itinerary The journey deepens as the author traces the Hermen Street and the Cardike, connecting disparate towns like Sleford and Broughton to an ancient Roman network. He meticulously records the discovery of milliary stones, camps, and pottery fragments, transforming the rural landscape into a map of imperial activity.

The Western and Southern Surveys The focus shifts to the cultural and religious remnants of the landscape, including the nunnery of Godstow and the magnificent architecture of Hereford. Here, the author balances his fascination with the "extravagance" of abbeys and the architectural legacies of the Romans, offering detailed critiques of church monuments and civic structures.

The Synthesis of Antiquity In the final stages, the author synthesizes his findings, using Roman inscriptions to build arguments about the societal structure of the empire. He concludes with a call to action, urging his contemporaries to document their own regions, ensuring that the history of Britain is preserved through shared, local investigation.

The People

The book is populated by the author’s scholarly peers and the local residents who facilitate his research. He highlights his friendship with John Hardy, crediting their youthful excursions to ruins as the catalyst for his entire vocation. This bond represents the ideal antiquarian partnership: one of shared taste, mutual learning, and a lifelong commitment to the "venerable remains" of the past.

The local inhabitants are treated as vital, if sometimes misunderstood, sources of information. He speaks with Mrs. Tichmus of Stamford, who possesses a collection of Roman coins, and landlord Gee of Willughby, who provides firsthand accounts of plowing up Mosaic pavements and Roman utensils. These figures are not mere subjects but active participants in the preservation of history. The author respects their local knowledge, though he occasionally views their "vulgar reports" of spirits guarding underground gold with a skeptical, scholarly eye.

The historical figures mentioned—kings, bishops, and Roman emperors—are distant, yet they are brought into the present through their material legacies. He analyzes the "extravagance" of abbots who built high causeways to perpetuate their names, and he dissects the records of the parish ministers at Holbech, tracing the transition of the church through the centuries. These individuals, whether the noble dukes of Marlborough or the obscure vicars of the fifteenth century, are all tethered to the landscape, their stories emerging from the very soil the author traverses.

In Its Own Voice

"I own it is a work crude and hasty, like the notes of a traveller that stays not long in a place; and such it was in reality."

This preface sets the tone for the author's insistence on the immediacy and authenticity of his field observations.

"The soil is perfectly black, though all the circumjacent land be red, especially north of the valley upon the edge of the hill, and where most antiquities are found."

Here, he demonstrates his keen eye for how the physical properties of the earth serve as a primary source for identifying lost Roman settlements.

"It is no wonder that your learning, your taste of antiquities, and all endearing qualities, made me fond of cultivating your acquaintance."

This passage captures the warmth and sincerity with which the author addresses his lifelong friend and collaborator.

What It's Really About

At its core, this work is an argument for the superiority of empirical observation over textual authority. The author seeks to reconcile the classical accounts of Britain with the physical reality of the landscape, asserting that the ground itself is the most reliable historian. He explores the tension between the transient nature of human endeavor—monks building extravagant bridges, Romans constructing vast amphitheaters—and the permanence of the earth, which eventually claims and preserves these fragments. The underlying question is one of national identity: how does a country define itself through its layers of conquest and religious upheaval? By meticulously cataloging the artifacts of the Roman, Saxon, and medieval periods, the author suggests that Britain is a living museum, and that the act of observing this landscape is a patriotic duty that links the modern reader to a storied, ancient past.

Why Read It Today

Readers who enjoy the slow, methodical pace of nature writing or the "detective work" of historical research will find this volume deeply rewarding. It offers a rare, ground-level view of an England that is still largely rural, where Roman roads remain visible as ridges in open fields and where one might still find an urn of silver coins in a patch of plowed earth. The prose is warm, scholarly, and refreshingly unpretentious, capturing the genuine thrill of a discovery made on a quiet afternoon.

However, prospective readers should be prepared for the book's archaic structure. It is a collection of notes rather than a polished narrative, and the author’s tendency to pivot between technical descriptions of Roman masonry and list-like catalogs of coins or church ministers can feel demanding. His period attitudes, particularly his casual dismissal of "monkish" traditions and his occasional frustration with local superstitions, are reflective of his century, but they provide an honest window into the Enlightenment mind. To read this book is to inhabit the perspective of a man who sees every hillock and stream as a potential archive. It is a perfect companion for those who find beauty in the fragmented, the half-buried, and the enduring connection between the land and the people who have shaped it over the millennia. It stays with you as a testament to the power of human curiosity.