Itinerarium curiosum (centuria I) — A Closer Reading

Autopsy over Authority

Stukeley repeatedly insists on the primacy of personal observation. In the preface, he states that his sentiments on Roman stations may not coincide with what has been written before, not because he differs from them, but because things did not so appear to him. This principle is enacted throughout the excerpt: when discussing the Watling Street near Shooters Hill, he notes the agger made of gravel, the direction of the road butting upon Westminster Abbey, and the turn of the river at Greenwich that intercepts the line. He does not merely cite earlier authorities but tests their claims against the visible landscape.

For instance, he follows the Roman road beyond Dartford when the common road leaves it, tracing a very straight line through valleys and woods until he loses both the road and himself in a wood by Southfleet. This anecdote illustrates the practical challenges of his method—and the limits of autopsy when physical traces disappear.

The Puzzle of Roman Stations

A central concern in the excerpt is the identification of Roman stations mentioned in the Antonine Itinerary. Stukeley grapples with the transposition of Maidstone and Rochester in the second journey, and works out distances to locate Noviomagus. He agrees with Mr. Somner that it was about Wellend or Crayford, where distances on each side point it out, though he admits that as to matters of antiquity, they have nothing to say. Similarly, he endorses Dr. Plot's placement of Pennocrucium at Stretton in Staffordshire solely because it answers the distances, despite no Roman antiquities being discovered there.

Stukeley also speculates about a second station between London and Rochester, suggesting Northfleet or even Plumsted, where he heard talk of an old town. His reasoning is a blend of textual analysis, topographical logic, and local hearsay—a method that is both systematic and speculative.

Landscape as Evidence

The excerpt reveals Stukeley's keen eye for landscape features that betray ancient roads. On Black Heath, he notes a vast tumulus used as a butt for archers, which he connects to the name Shooters Hill. He observes that the Watling Street is very visible as a ridge on the heath east of Crayford, and that beyond Dartford the common road leaves it on the south side. He follows the Roman line for five or six miles through little valleys, woods, and inclosures, until he loses it in a wood.

Stukeley also attends to the relationship between roads and settlements: when London became considerable, the ferry at Stangate became almost useless, and passengers went through the city by Canon Street, Watling Street, and Holborn. This explains why little appears of the ancient way between Tyburn and the Lock hospital—its materials were likely dug away to mend the highways. Such observations ground his antiquarian inquiries in the physical and historical transformation of the landscape.

The Role of Copper Plates

Stukeley emphasizes that the prints in his volume are not merely illustrative but are ranged in such a manner as to become an index of inquiries for those that travel or for a British antiquary. The excerpt does not include any plates, but the text refers to them implicitly when describing the agger and the direction of roads. The plates presumably depict the sites and artifacts he discusses, providing visual evidence for his claims.

In the preface, he states that the whole work is intended to invite gentlemen and others in the country to make researches of this nature and to acquaint the world with them. The plates thus serve as a model for observation and a prompt for further investigation. Stukeley's method is collaborative: he hopes that readers will communicate their own accounts to him, to be applied to proper use, with all due honour paid to their names.

Readers approaching Itinerarium Curiosum for the first time should attend to the interplay between Stukeley's declared method and his actual practice. He claims to avoid prejudice and to rely on inspection, but his identifications often depend on textual sources and logical inference. The book rewards those who read with a map in hand, tracing the routes he describes. The copper plates, though absent from this digital edition, are integral to his project; the text itself often functions as a verbal plate, sketching the visible traces of antiquity on the British landscape.

That damp September afternoon, I traced Stukeley’s careful lines along Watling Street, his insistence on seeing for oneself lingering like the smell of wet earth. His copper plates felt like quiet doors. Later, restless, I stumbled onto a different kind of autopsy altogether—landscapes read through ruin and language. The same patient attention, just elsewhere. Guatemala — Text and Context held that same unhurried curiosity, and I stayed until the rain stopped.