e badge by Frederick: the golden oak-tree on an azure field of
Della Rovere: the palm-tree, bent beneath a block of stone, with its
accompanying motto, _Inclinata Resurgam_: the cipher, FE DX. Profile
medallions of Federigo and Guidobaldo, wrought in the lowest possible
relief, adorn the staircases. Round the great courtyard runs a frieze
of military engines and ensigns, trophies, machines, and implements of
war, alluding to Duke Frederick's profession of Condottiere. The
doorways are enriched with scrolls of heavy-headed flowers, acanthus
foliage, honeysuckles, ivy-berries, birds and boys and sphinxes, in
all the riot of Renaissance fancy.

This profusion of sculptured _rilievo_ is nearly all that remains to
show how rich the palace was in things of beauty. Castiglione, writing
in the reign of Guidobaldo, says that 'in the opinion of many it is
the fairest to be found in Italy; and the Duke filled it so well with
all things fitting its magnificence, that it seemed less like a palace
than a city. Not only did he collect articles of common use, vessels
of silver, and trappings for chambers of rare cloths of gold and silk,
and suchlike furniture, but he added multitudes of bronze and marble
statues, exquisite pictures, and instruments of music of all sorts.
There was nothing but was of the finest and most excellent quality to
be seen there. Moreover, he gathered together at a vast cost a large
number of the best and rarest books in Greek, Latin, and Hebrew, all
of which he adorned with gold and silver, esteeming them the chiefest
treasure of his spacious palace.' When Cesare Borgia entered Urbino as
conqueror in 1502, he is said to have carried off loot to the value of
150,000 ducats, or perhaps about a quarter of a million sterling.
Vespasiano, the Florentine bookseller, has left us a minute account of
the formation of the famous library of manuscripts, which he valued at
considerably over 30,000 ducats. Yet wandering now through these
deserted halls, we seek in vain for furniture or tapestry or works of
art. The books have been removed to Rome. The pictures are gone, no
man knows whither. The plate has long been melted down. The
instruments of music are broken. If frescoes adorned the corridors,
they have been whitewashed; the ladies' chambers have been stripped of
their rich arras. Only here and there we find a raftered ceiling,
painted in fading colours, which, taken with the stonework of the
chimney, and some fragmen