Dennistoun's narrative in this second volume moves from the political turbulence of Cesare Borgia's fall to the cultural flowering of Urbino's court. The author's voice shifts between brisk chronicle of events—such as the massacre of Sinigaglia and the election of Julius II—and leisurely digressions on architecture, painting, and literature. A recurring structural pattern is the pairing of a duke's biography with a survey of the arts under his rule, as seen in Book Third's account of Guidobaldo and Book Fourth's treatment of literature and art. The prose is dense with proper names and Italian phrases, reflecting Dennistoun's antiquarian method, while Hutton's editorial notes occasionally clarify or correct the original.

Narrative Pace and Political Set-Pieces

The volume opens with a rapid sequence of events: the massacre of Sinigaglia, the death of Alexander VI, and Cesare Borgia's narrow escape. Dennistoun compresses these into short, chapter-length episodes, each driven by a clear cause-and-effect logic. The pace slows markedly when Guidobaldo is restored to power and the narrative turns to court ceremonies, such as his investiture as Knight of the Garter. A notable shift occurs in Chapter XXI, where the author pauses the political story to describe the court's manners and its 'stars'—a term he uses for the luminaries of Urbino's cultural circle. This alternation between swift action and static description is a deliberate compositional choice, signaling that Dennistoun values both event and atmosphere.

Voice and the Antiquarian's Judgment

Dennistoun frequently interjects personal assessments, often through qualifying phrases like 'we may, however, pardon the transmutation' or 'it was Bramante's misfortune.' These asides reveal a narrator who weighs historical outcomes against aesthetic or moral standards. His voice is that of a Victorian gentleman-scholar, comfortable with sweeping generalizations—'the slippery foundations that from time to time have occasioned infinite anxiety'—and with pointed critiques of papal ambition. The prose is formal but not stiff, occasionally rising to epigram: 'he was a poet, for in Italy all sentiment readily falls into rhyme.' Such remarks give the text a conversational intimacy, as if Dennistoun is guiding the reader through his own research notes.

Recurring Details: Architecture and Artistic Patronage

Throughout the volume, Dennistoun returns to architectural projects as markers of ducal ambition. The Vatican's Belvidere corridor, Bramante's unfinished designs, and the 'vast substructions' near S. Biagio are described with technical precision. He notes how successive popes altered earlier plans, a theme that echoes the political instability of the period. Artistic patronage is another constant: Duke Guidobaldo's court is praised for attracting figures like Emilia Pia, while later chapters list painters and architects—Perugino, Pinturicchio, Luca Signorelli—who frequented Bramante's table. These details are not merely catalogued; Dennistoun uses them to argue that Urbino's cultural legacy outlasted its political power.

Readers should attend to Dennistoun's footnotes and Hutton's bracketed additions, which often contain corrections or supplementary references. The volume's chronological table and list of illustrations are useful for navigating the dense web of names and events. Because the excerpts are incomplete, the overall arc of Guidobaldo's reign and the full scope of Book Fourth's survey remain partially obscured; treat Dennistoun's judgments as provisional, grounded in the evidence he presents rather than in modern scholarship.