On Thursday, January 26th, M. de Montaigne went to see the Janiculum Hill beyond the Tiber and the curiosities of that part; amongst others a great fall of masonry from the old walls which had happened a few days before, and the view of the whole of Rome, which can be surveyed more clearly from this spot than from any other. Thence he went down to the Vatican to inspect the statues set in the niches of the Belvedere, and the fine gallery,[87] now almost completed, which the Pope is adorning with paintings of all parts of Italy. He lost his purse and all therein, and deemed this must have happened while he was giving alms--as he did twice or thrice; the weather was very rainy and unpleasant, and, instead of returning his purse to his pocket, he must have thrust it into the slashing of his hose. At this time he diverted himself entirely in studying Rome. He had at first engaged a Frenchman as guide, but this fellow took himself off in some ridiculous humour, whereupon M. de Montaigne prided himself on mastering by his own efforts the art of a guide. In the evening he would study certain books and maps, and next day repair to the spot and put in practice his apprenticeship, so that in a few days he could have shown his guide the way. M. de Montaigne affirmed that he could now see nothing more of Rome than the sky under which it lay and the area of its site; that all the knowledge he possessed thereof was of an abstract and contemplative nature, a knowledge in no way to be apprehended by the operation of the senses; that those who affirmed that they might at least behold the ruins of Rome, affirmed too much. The ruins of a mechanism of such terrible power suggested to his own mind reverence and respect rather than comprehension. What he saw was nought but a sepulchre. The world, resentful at her long domination, first broke and shattered all the portions of this marvellous whole, and then, horror-stricken at this spectacle of death, ruin, and disfigurement, entombed the ruins themselves. As to these minor indications of her overthrow which yet lie upon her bier, they have been preserved by fate as a testimony to that immeasurable greatness which all these centuries, all these conflagrations, all these repeated alliances of the powers of the world, have failed to destroy entirely. But it was almost certain that these defaced fragments which survived were those of the least merit, for the rage of the enemies of this immortal renown would surely have prompted them to destroy in the first instance all that was most lovely and most noble. He declared that the buildings of this bastard Rome, which were now being joined on to the ancient masonry (what though they sufficed to kindle the admiration of the present age), reminded him exactly of the nests the martins and crows were building in the roofs and on the walls of the French churches which the Huguenots had destroyed.[88] [Illustration: THE VILLA OF MECÆNAS _From Piranesi’s Views of Rome_