Itinerarium curiosum (centuria II)

In Short

This collection serves as a posthumous gathering of field notes, architectural surveys, and scholarly correspondence regarding the antiquities of Britain. It documents the author's relentless pursuit of Roman roads, earthen camps, and megalithic sites, while famously incorporating the Itinerary of Richard of Cirencester, a medieval geographic manuscript. By blending rigorous observation with speculative historical theorizing, the text remains a testament to the early modern obsession with mapping the physical remains of the past, capturing a period when the British countryside was first being systematically read as a vast, open-air archive.

The Story

The narrative arc of the volume begins with a broad survey of the "Brill," a Roman site at Pancras, before sweeping across the British landscape in a series of topographical investigations. The author moves through the country with the eye of both a surveyor and a romantic, mapping the ghosts of Roman occupation. He tracks the Rigning-street way, noting its geometric precision as it crosses the heath near Birmingham, and examines the layout of the Roman city Etocetum, visualizing how the grid of via prætoria and via quintana once structured the daily life of soldiers and citizens.

As the journey progresses northward, the tone shifts from urban analysis to the investigation of more primal, enigmatic structures. In the fells of Westmorland, near Shap, the author encounters a massive Celtic avenue—a line of colossal crystals and stones that defy the natural geography of the region. He describes the deliberate placement of these monuments, contrasting their rugged, "worm-eaten" surfaces with the precise masonry of the Roman stations he previously cataloged. He dwells on the "Devil’s Arrows" near Boroughbridge, obelisks of immense size that have stood through centuries of indifference, their grain worn by weather but their purpose still echoing in the surrounding hills.

The arc culminates in a deep dive into the Itinerary of Richard of Cirencester, a document the author treats as a foundational key to understanding the Roman provinces of Britain. This section transitions from physical travel to intellectual reconstruction. The author defends Richard’s work, annotating the monk’s geographic list of stations, ports, and rivers with obsessive detail. By reconciling these ancient coordinates with the geography of his own time, he attempts to weave a singular, unbroken tapestry of British history, linking the aboriginal Trinobantes and their Trojan myths to the administrative architecture of the Roman occupation and the subsequent Saxon foundations. The book does not conclude with a definitive resolution but rather with a comprehensive index—an invitation for the reader to continue the work of mapping, documenting, and interpreting the "curiosities" that the author spent his life uncovering, leaving the landscape forever marked as a site of historical inquiry.

How It Unfolds

The Roman infrastructure The author begins by analyzing the physical remnants of Roman administration in the south, focusing on city layouts and the strategic placement of fortifications. He provides detailed measurements of Roman streets and squares, treating the very soil as a record of imperial organization.

The shift to Celtic mysteries Moving north, the focus turns to the monumental stone works of the ancient Britons, such as the avenue at Shap. Here, the author grapples with the sheer scale of these megaliths, comparing their construction to the more refined tools of the Roman era.

The integration of the monk’s account The middle portion of the text pivots to the Itinerary of Richard of Cirencester, an ancient manuscript that acts as a guide for the author's own explorations. He provides a scholarly defense of this source, arguing for its accuracy in locating lost stations and defining the provincial boundaries of ancient Britain.

The mapping of the Roman province The final movement centers on the cataloging of names—rivers, mountains, and settlements—attempting to harmonize the Roman, Saxon, and modern nomenclature. This exhaustive list transforms the book into a reference manual, grounding the previous field observations in a formal,, albeit speculative, historical framework.

The People

The text is defined by two primary figures: the author and the medieval monk Richard of Cirencester. The author, a man of profound curiosity and scientific rigor, acts as the lens through which the reader views the landscape. He is driven by a desire to bring order to the "loose papers" and "carelessly thrown together" notes left in his wake, wanting to prove that British history possesses an antiquity equal to that of the great Mediterranean civilizations. He is often frustrated by the ignorance of locals who dismantle ancient ruins for construction, yet he is energized by the discovery of a new Roman altar or a forgotten inscription.

Richard of Cirencester remains a more spectral, yet pivotal, presence. Presented as a learned monk of Westminster, he is the intellectual antagonist to the author’s modern observation. The author treats Richard as a fellow traveler through time, imagining him as a man of noble birth whose "eager thirst for learning" allowed him to document a world that was already vanishing during the 14th century. The author’s relationship with Richard is one of profound validation; he relies on the monk’s geography to give his own travels a sense of continuity. By rescuing Richard from obscurity, the author finds a partner in his mission, transforming the monk from a long-dead chronicler into a living authority who continues to shape how the modern reader understands the "noblest monument of ancient Britain."

In Its Own Voice

The author describes the physical sensation of encountering the ancient stones near Shap, which he believes were shaped by a primitive, hand-driven force:

The stones in our work are apparently very shapely, and squared, though with no mathematical exactness, that is, not hewn with a tool, but rather, as we may suppose, broke by flints, and a great strength of hand, in those early ages, when iron tools were not found out.

Regarding the Roman mastery of the landscape, he reflects on the discovery of a Roman cut stone in a modern wall, highlighting the lingering, slightly mystical legacy of the empire:

The stones of all the pastures, fences, and houses round about, and the stones of Mr. Brome’s house, and the churches, are most evidently taken thence; being of the Roman cut, as the inhabitants take notice, and wonder at it.

What It's Really About

At its heart, the book is an argument for the depth and nobility of British antiquity. It challenges the reader to move beyond the surface of the land—the fields, the roads, the meadows—and see them as a layered, historical palimpsest. The underlying question is one of origin: the author is obsessed with proving that the inhabitants of Britain were not merely a peripheral people, but an aboriginal society with ancient links to the wider world, including the Trojans and the tribes of the Middle East. It is a work about the reclamation of heritage; it seeks to transform a quiet, rural landscape into a site of profound historical significance, where every hill and brook holds a secret waiting to be named and mapped.

Why Read It Today

Readers who enjoy the slow, methodical pace of 18th-century antiquarianism will find this volume deeply rewarding. It is not a polished history, but a raw, fragmentary travelogue that feels like a conversation with an eccentric, deeply knowledgeable guide. You will feel the wind on the fells and the frustration of digging for altars beneath church foundations.

However, the book demands patience. It is filled with dense lists of Roman stations, long Latin digressions, and speculative etymologies that will feel archaic to the modern reader. The author’s insistence on a Trojan origin for the British people is a prime example of the era's imaginative, if scientifically unfounded, historical theories. It is not an easy read; the prose is formal, often interrupted by tables of measurements and scholarly annotations. But for those who cherish the act of discovery, there is something beautiful about the author’s dedication to the forgotten. You finish the book not with a complete picture of the past, but with a heightened awareness of how much of history is literally buried beneath our feet, waiting for someone to look closely enough to recognize it. It leaves you with a lingering, melancholic respect for the "indefatigable labour" of the Romans and the mysterious, silent strength of the stones that still stand in the northern fells.