om of boyhood. Nothing is left but solitude. To the mortmain of the
Church reverts Urbino's lordship, and even now he meditates the terms
of devolution. Jesuits cluster in the rooms behind, with comfort for
the ducal soul and calculations for the interests of Holy See.

A farewell to these memories of Urbino's dukedom should be taken in
the crypt of the cathedral, where Francesco Maria II., the last Duke,
buried his only son and all his temporal hopes. The place is scarcely
solemn. Its dreary _barocco_ emblems mar the dignity of death. A bulky
_Pieta_ by Gian Bologna, with Madonna's face unfinished, towers up and
crowds the narrow cell. Religion has evanished from this late
Renaissance art, nor has the afterglow of Guido Reni's hectic piety
yet overflushed it. Chilled by the stifling humid sense of an extinct
race here entombed in its last representative, we gladly emerge from
the sepulchral vault into the air of day.

Filippo Visconti, with a smile on his handsome face, is waiting for us
at the inn. His horses, sleek, well fed, and rested, toss their heads
impatiently. We take our seats in the carriage, open wide beneath a
sparkling sky, whirl past the palace and its ghost-like recollections,
and are halfway on the road to Fossombrone in a cloud of dust and
whirr of wheels before we think of looking back to greet Urbino. There
is just time. The last decisive turning lies in front. We stand
bareheaded to salute the grey mass of buildings ridged along the sky.
Then the open road invites us with its varied scenery and movement.
From the shadowy past we drive into the world of human things, for
ever changefully unchanged, unrestfully the same. This interchange
between dead memories and present life is the delight of travel.

* * * * *

_VITTORIA ACCORAMBONI_

AND THE TRAGEDY OF WEBSTER

I

During the pontificate of Gregory XIII. (1572-85), Papal authority in
Rome reached its lowest point of weakness, and the ancient splendour
of the Papal court was well-nigh eclipsed. Art and learning had died
out. The traditions of the days of Leo, Julius, and Paul III. were
forgotten. It seemed as though the genius of the Renaissance had
migrated across the Alps. All the powers of the Papacy were directed
to the suppression of heresies and to the re-establishment of
spiritual supremacy over the intellect of Europe. Meanwhile society in
Rome returned to mediaeval barbarism. The veneer of clas