Here the hostelries can in no respect be compared with those of Germany. Certes they are less costly by one-third, and resemble those of France. The city is goodly, wide in extent, and in my opinion holds within its bounds an area at least as big as that of Bordeaux; but the streets are narrow and ugly, lacking both in people and in seemly dwellings. Its situation is very pleasant, in an open plain stretching wide on every side. We tarried here all the following day and saw the schools of fencing, dancing, and equitation,[8] at which more than a hundred French gentlemen were at this time seeking instruction. M. de Montaigne deemed that it worked greatly to the detriment of these young countrymen of ours that they should thus live together and still practise the customs and language of their native land, letting go the chance of making acquaintance with strangers. He was vastly pleased with the church of St. Antony, the cupola of which is not constructed whole in itself, but of several sections made into the form of a dome; the church likewise contains much rare sculpture work in marble and bronze. M. de Montaigne saw with much pleasure the portrait bust of Cardinal Bembo,[9] which bears all the marks of a refined character and an indefinable something testifying to the gracefulness of his intellect. The hall where justice is dispensed is the largest unsupported by pillars I ever saw, and at one end thereof is the head of Titus Livius, figuring him an emaciated man of a studious and melancholy temper.[10] This is an ancient work of which naught is known save by tradition. His epitaph is there also, having been set, as was its due, in a place of honour after its discovery. Over one of the doors of this palace is a figure of Paul the jurisconsult,[11] but this M. de Montaigne pronounced to be a modern work. A house standing on the site of the ancient arena in a garden is worth a visit.