The courtyard beyond is a square space surrounded by two tiers of round arches. The whole effect is graceful, attractive, and airy. Both the loggie are vaulted, but the arches of the upper story are twice as numerous as those of the lower. The columns of the latter are of plain classical design, with carved capitals and shallow abaci, of which the foliage is so simple as to recall Romanesque work. The arches are plain and without mouldings. The upper arcade is formed by square piers of masonry, alternating with twin columns, one behind the other. This part of the building is the work of Orsini, but on the wall behind the arcades there are doors and windows in the pointed style of the earlier edifice. Two open-air staircases lead from the courtyard to the upper stories. The principal one, to the left of the entrance, is poor in design, but the general effect is large and stately. The smaller flight to the right leads to the little terrace on the mezzanine floor. The latter has low round arches, but the balustrade is adorned with a Gothic frieze, like that of the seats, “sotto i volti.” At the head of the stairs is a sculptured capital representing the Rector administering justice (the officer here is wearing the traditional _opankas_ or sandals still common in Dalmatia); and opposite is a symbolical female figure of Justice, the “quædam justitiæ sculptura” of De Diversis, holding a scroll with the words, “Jussi summa mei,” and two lions. The draperies are flowing, and not, I venture to think, at all Düreresque, as Mr. Graham Jackson considers. The two lions’ heads and part of the scroll-work has been very clumsily restored. This, again, is Onofrio’s work. In this same loggia is a sculptured group in a niche representing Samson breaking a column, which is probably early quattrocento work, or perhaps even of the end of the fourteenth century. Here and there are other good fragments of carving. The interior calls for little mention, having been completely restored and modernised. There is, however, one small room on the ground floor, with a wooden ceiling charmingly painted with arabesque designs and gilding, dating, I should imagine, from the sixteenth or early seventeenth century. Below the small loggia is the entrance to the state prisons, very gloomy dungeons indeed, in some of which prisoners were walled up alive. But the worst cells are those under the theatre—a strange contrast; they are below the level of the sea, and flooded at high tide.