The journal of Montaigne's travels in Italy by way of Switzerland and Germany in 1580 and 1581, Volume 3 (of 3)

On the Wednesday after dinner I travelled through a fertile open country of a varied character, and after a journey of fifteen miles I arrived at Ancona in time for supper. Ancona is the capital of the Marches, which district was called by the Latins Picænum. The city is populous, swarming especially with Greeks, Turks, and Sclavonians, and a busy place of traffic. It is well built, flanked on either side by lofty hills, which project into the sea, one of these being occupied by a strong fort, by which we entered, and the other by a church. Between these heights and the slopes thereof the town is built, the main part being placed in the bottom of the valley and along by the sea, where there is a very fine port, and near thereto a magnificent arch built in honour of the Emperor Trajan, his wife, and his sister. The sea passage over into Sclavonia is often made in eight, ten, or twelve hours, and I believe that for six crowns, or a little more, I might have hired a bark to take me to Venice. I paid thirty-three pistoles for the hire of eight horses as far as Lucca, eight days’ journey, the vetturino agreeing to feed the horses and to give me the use of the same for four or five days in addition, if necessary, provided I should pay the outlay on the horses and servants.

I saw many setting dogs in this country, and could have bought one for six crowns. I never ate so many quails before, albeit they were very lean. I put off my departure on the 27th until after dinner, in order to enjoy the beautiful prospect of the town and its situation. At S. Ciriaco,[1] the church placed on one of the hills before-named, there are more famous relics than in any other church in the world, but these were not exhibited. We had it from the people here that the quails fly over hither in great numbers from Sclavonia, and that nets are set for them every night on the shore, the hunters luring them on by imitating their cry and calling them down from their high flight in the air. It is said, moreover, that in September they return to Sclavonia. During the night I heard cannon shots in the Abruzzi, which is in the kingdom of Naples, and from parts yet more remote. All along the coast towers are built a league distant one from the other, and whenever any sentinel espies a pirate ship he gives warning by firing a gun to the tower next to him. So rapidly is intelligence sped by this method that it has been found that word may be passed from the extreme point of Italy to Venice in an hour.

The name Ancona is derived from the Greek word[2] describing the corner which the sea makes in this spot. The two horns of the coast project and leave between them a deep depression in which the town stands, protected in the front by these two headlands, and in the rear by a high ridge where formerly stood a fort. The Greeks still have their church, over the door of which is an ancient stone inscribed with certain characters which I take to be Sclavonic.[3] The women here are for the most part good-looking, and I saw many decent-looking men and good artisans. After dinner we followed the road by the sea, which is calmer and less turbulent than our western ocean. The land is cultivated almost to the water’s edge. After travelling twenty miles we arrived at Sinigaglia in time for bed.

This is a pretty little town, situated in a fine level country and hard by the sea, possessed of a good harbour, and washed on one side by a river which comes down from the mountains. The port is excellently fitted, the quays on either side being covered with wooden framework, where the ships lie in safety, and the entrance furnished with chains. I saw no remains of antiquity. We lodged outside the town in an excellent inn, the only one in the place, which they say was called of old Senogallia, after our forefathers who settled there in the days when they were overthrown by Camillus; now it is under the rule of the Duke of Urbino.[4] At this time I felt somewhat unwell, for on the day I left Rome when M. d’ Ossat[5] was walking with me, I saluted a gentleman we met, and I did this in so maladroit a fashion that I injured the corner of my right eye with my right thumb, so much so that it bled and remained much inflamed for a long time. When it healed--_Erat tunc dolor ad unguem sinistrum_. I forgot to mention that I saw at Ancona in the church of San Ciriaco a tombstone to the memory of a certain Antonia Rocamoro, patre: matre, Valletta: Galla, Aquitana: Paciocco Urbinati, Lusitano nupta, who was buried ten or twelve years ago. We quitted Sinigaglia early in the morning, and followed a very agreeable road running by the sea coast. Near dinner time we crossed the Metro, Metaurus, by a large wooden bridge, and dined at Fano, fifteen miles on our road.

This is a small town in a fine and fertile plain, and close to the sea. It is badly built, with narrow, confined streets; but we found excellent provision of bread and wine and fish, though the rooms were poor.[6] Fano has an advantage over the other towns of this coast, such as Sinigaglia, Pesaro, and others, in that it is abundantly supplied with fresh water, which is laid on to many public and private fountains, while the people of these other towns must needs fetch their water from the hills. We saw there a fine ancient arch[7] bearing an inscription in the name of Augustus, qui muros dederat. The town was known as Fanum Fortunæ. Here, as in other places in Italy, they use a wheel for boulting flour, wherefore their bakers get through more work in one hour than ours in four. At almost every inn are to be found rhymesters, who will reel off on the spur of the moment a string of doggerel appropriate to their hearers. There is a musical instrument in every shop, even at the stocking-darner’s at the corner of the street. Fano is famous beyond all the other towns of Italy for its fair women, but all those we saw were very ugly indeed. I heard from a goodman of the town, of whom I made inquiry on this matter, that the days for the blooming of such beauty were past and gone. On this route the charge for dinner is about ten soldi, each person paying some twenty soldi per diem for everything, and thirty soldi per diem for the hire and maintenance of each horse. This town belongs to the Church.

We failed to see certain towns which lay a little farther along the sea-coast road: Pesaro, a fine city, and well worth a visit; Rimini, and the ancient city of Ravenna--Pesaro being especially interesting, according to report, on account of a fine house which the Duke of Urbino[8] has recently caused to be erected on a remarkable site. This same road goes on to Venice. We quitted the sea-coast, and, turning to the left, we traversed a wide plain watered by the Metaurus. On either hand delightful hillsides came in sight, the aspect of this country being not unlike that of the plain of Blaignac about Castillon. On the other side of this river was fought the battle[9] between the Romans under Salinator and Claudius Nero and Hasdrubal, who was there slain.

Fossombrone,[10] fifteen miles distant from Fano, and belonging to the Duke of Urbino, stands at the entrance to the mountains, which close up towards each other at the end of the flat country. The town stands close to the mountain slopes, and in its lower parts possesses one or two fine straight streets, uniform and well built. Nevertheless, report says, the people are much poorer than those of Fano. In the public place is a large marble pedestal with a long inscription of the age of Trajan, written in honour of a certain inhabitant of the place;[11] and set against the wall is another without any sign to proclaim its date. This place was formerly called Forum Sempronii, and the people now maintain that the original town stood farther towards the plain, and that ruins of the same are still to be found on a vastly better site. Here is a stone bridge which carries the Via Flaminia over the Metaurus. Seeing that I arrived in good time--for the miles are short ones, and we are seldom in the saddle more than seven or eight hours--I had plenty of time to talk with the good folk of the place, and to glean from them information concerning their town and its surroundings. We visited a garden belonging to the cardinal of Urbino,[12] in which were many vines grafted upon other stocks, and I had some talk with one Vincentius Castellani, a worthy man of letters and a citizen of the place.

On the following morning I departed, and at the third milestone I turned to the left; and, having crossed the bridge over the Cardiana,[13] a stream which joins the Metaurus, I went three miles through the mountains, over a narrow and difficult road, at the end of which we came upon a passage, fifty good paces in length, which had been fashioned through a high rock.[14] On account of the magnitude of the work, Augustus, who had first set his hand thereto, caused an inscription to be put up in his name. This, however, has perished by time; but another inscription in honour of Vespasian is still to be seen at the other end of the pass. Everywhere round about are remains of vast constructions of great height for the conveyance of water, and below the road rocks of enormous thickness have been cut through or levelled. All along this road, the Via Flaminia, which leads to Rome, are traces of the great stones used for paving, but most of these are buried; and the road, which was originally forty feet wide, is now not more than four. I went out of my way to visit this spot, and then retraced my steps to get once more on my road, which took me at the foot of a range of fertile, gently sloping hills. Towards the end of our journey the road ran now up and now down hill, and at the end of sixteen miles we found ourselves at Urbino.