The two stately piles at each end of the town—the Franciscan and Dominican monasteries—have fortunately preserved much of their original character. The latter was begun after the destruction of the first Franciscan house outside the Porta Pile by the Slaves in 1319, and the new building was erected just within the gate, which its inmates were to guard in times of danger. The church and a large part of the monastery have been rebuilt since the earthquake, although here and there a few interesting details remain. Thus on the south side, opening on to the Stradone, there is a handsome doorway in the Venetian Gothic style, surmounted by a _Pietà_, a very fair piece of sculpture; the date is probably the end of the fifteenth century. In the sacristy we find a Renaissance lavabo of carved stone. The campanile marks the transition from the Romanesque to the Gothic. The east window of the lower story and those on the second story are Venetian Gothic, while the south window of the lower story is round-arched. The top story with the cupola was rebuilt after the earthquake. But it is in the cloister that the chief interest of the building lies, a cloister which Mr. T. G. Jackson calls “one of the most singular pieces of architecture I have ever seen.”[263] Here we observe the most notable feature of Dalmatian architecture in all its force, for although its date is later than 1319 it is thoroughly Romanesque in character, and all the arches are round. It consists of a courtyard with three bays opening out into it on each side; the openings are divided into six round-headed lights, each head being pierced by a large circular light. A series of coupled octagonal shafts standing one behind the other, with a common base and common abacus, but separate capitals, serve as mullions to the arches. The capitals are extremely quaint and curious. Each one is different from its fellows, and the architect seems to have let his fancy run riot in designing them, “recalling the wildest and most grotesque fancies of early Romanesque work.”[264] Some are adorned with simple foliage, spiral volutes, and block leaves, but on others we find hideous grinning faces, dragons, strange uncouth monsters, masks, dogs, and all manner of fanciful ornaments. Judged by ordinary standards, we should take them to be work of the twelfth or thirteenth century, but as a matter of fact they are of a much later date. According to Eitelberger, these early forms were preserved in most of the monasteries of the East when they had given place to Gothic in Western Europe.[265] The workmanship of these capitals, like much Ragusan carving, is somewhat rough and unfinished, but for this the material, which is not sufficiently hard, may be partly responsible. Of the open circles in the heads of the opening, the centre one on each side of the cloister is larger, and ornamented with a rich border of acanthus leaves; the others are cusped. Possibly it was intended