Verona is about the size of Poitiers, having a vast quay beside the Adisse, which flows through it and is crossed by three bridges. I went thither also with the baggage. Without the bulletins of health, which had been issued at Trante and confirmed at Rovere, our party would not have been admitted within the town; not that there was any talk of danger of the plague, but this is always done by custom or by way of tricking wayfarers out of a few coins. We went to the cathedral, where M. de Montaigne remarked on the strange behaviour of those present at High Mass on such a solemn day. They chattered in the very choir of the church, standing with their hats on, and turning their backs to the altar, and recking naught of the office except at the time of elevation. There were an organ and violins, which gave musical accompaniment to the mass. We visited other churches, but saw nothing noteworthy, either in the ornaments or in the beauty of the women present. Amongst others we went to the church of Saint George, where the Germans have left divers marks of their presence and several coats-of-arms, together with an inscription relating how certain German noblemen in the train of the Emperor Maximilian, what time he came to take Verona from the Venetians, placed a certain piece of work over one of the altars. M. de Montaigne remarked that the government here preserved the memory of its reverses, as it also preserved in their integrity the beautiful tombs of the ill-starred Scaligers. It is a fact that our host of the “Chevalet,” an excellent house, where we found a superfluity of good fare and a bill one-fourth more than we would have paid in France, enjoyed the privilege of burying his family in one of the tombs aforesaid. We also visited, under the guidance of the castellan’s lieutenant, the castle where the government keeps on foot sixty soldiers; more, as M. de Montaigne was informed, as a safeguard against the townsfolk than against foreign foes; and then went to a religious house occupied by Jesuates de Saint Jerosme. These are not priests, neither do they say mass or preach, being for the most part ignorant, but they are skilful distillers of citron and other sorts of water, both here and in other places. They wear white frocks, small white caps, and over this a cloak of dark russet, and are very fine young men. Their church is excellently appointed, as is also their refectory, in which supper was already laid.