Essays

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HARVARD COLLEGE
LIBRARY

FROM THE BEQUEST OF

EDWIN CONANT

Out of iliv
OF WORCESTER, IilASSACHUSETTS

o

THE SCOTT LIBRARY^ SO

/

ESSAYS OF MONTAIGNE.

Ih% FOR FULL LIST OF THE VOLUMES IN THIS SERIES,
SEE CATALOGUE AT END OF BOOK.

Essays of Montaigne: Selected
AND Edited, with a Prefatory
Note, by Percival Chubb.

FLORIO'S TRANSLATION.

Ci London: "Walter Scott, Ltd.,
24 'Warwick. Lane, Paternoster Ro^v.

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CONTENTS.

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introduction ......

/ Of his Task and Theme ....

.V^l-yOF Pedantism V .... ,

^Oy the Institution and Education of Children r
TO the Lady Diana of Foix, Countess of

GURSON .......

It IS Folly to refer Truth or Falsehood to

OUR Sufficiency
Of Friendship . .

Of Solitariness ...
Of the Inequality that is between us
Of the Inconstancy of our Actions
Yof Drunkenness .
^c^iQX>F Books .
Of Cruelty

We Taste Nothing Purely
Of Anger and Choler .
»Of Profit and Honesty.
Of Repenting

Of Three Commerces or Societies
How One ought to Govern his Will

PAOR

• •

Vll

I
7

f.

24
77

lOI

118
130
140

151
170

i87'

191

201

215

233
250

PREFATORY NOTE.

There are a few foreign writers whose works have
been so felicitously " Englished " that they may rank
among our own classics. Such is Montaigne. Thanks
to the sympathetic interpretation of John Florio, he
has become as one of ourselves. In Florio, Montaigne
met a contemporary and kindred spirit who was able
to reproduce in English the idiomatic quality, the
incisive style of the Essays. Later, John Cotton
tried to improve on Florio; but his version lost
in terseness and energy what it gained in faithful-
ness — which, after all, is not a great deal. Still,
Cotton's rendering of strong and nervous prose is in
its way an English masterpiece in a later literary
manner, — a masterpiece endeared to us by the loving
use of many an English author. It was Cotton's
version that the most recognisable of Montaigne's
literary descendants — Emerson — kept always at hand.
And Florio's work, too, is remarkable in its associations
as it is in its literary value, especially by our own
Shakespeare's noted indebtedness to it. Altogether
in their English dress the Essays have contended v\

viii PREFA TOR Y NOTE.

influence with the foremost of our own classics ; and
they are as fresh and fragrant as ever. If Shakespeare
and Bacon, Butler, Pope, Swift, and Sterne reflect
their thought and power, so do many young writers
of to-day. Has not Mr. Stevenson told us that they
continue to be amongst the growing influences upon
his mind and character ? Have we not, as evidences
of their present vitality, within a year had several
new editions of them, modest and sumptuous ?

A biography of Montaigne is almost superfluous to
the reader of the Essays ; but as only a few specimens
are given here it may be well to set them with a
slight foreground of biographical detail. Let it not
be supposed, however, that Montaigne's account of
himself, frankly and persuasively egotistical as it
seems to be, stands in no need of later correction.
Research has discovered not a few reticences, ex-
aggerations, and inaccuracies in the narrative ; and any
discerning reader will soon learn to make a judicious
allowance on the score of a few obvious, if pardonable
and even lovable foibles. Montaigne was often care-
less, sometimes forgetful, constantly vain and pre-
judiced ; he is often to be caught tripping in his dates,
which he is too lazy to verify ; yet the^e are as
nothing in the scale against his copious mellow
wisdom expressed with notable force and grace so
that Sainte-Beuve can style him the French Horace.

Born in 1533, Michael Eyquem, third son of Pierre
Eyquem, Lord of Montaigne, was made the subject
of a bold and original experiment in education.
Pierre, although a sober, practical, home-loving

PREFA TOR y NOTE. ix

country gentleman, was strangely sensitive to the
new intellectual tendencies of his age. He freely
entertained the learned men for whom he had an
almost comically profound reverence. Affected by
the radical ideas of Rabelais and the educational
theories debated in Italy and elsewhere, he audaciously
determined to put some of them upon trial in the educa-
tion of Michael Harshness, forcing, and artificiality
were to be avoided. The child was taught Latin as
the language of daily speech. No one was allowed
to speak anything but Latin in his hearing, and the
whole household became latinised for his benefit
Constraint replaced compulsion so far that the boy*
was awakened every morning by music But so
little was the boy wooed by these gentle methods
that his disappointed father sent him to school, and
later to college at Bordeaux. He showed no unusual
powers but a rare taste for the Latin poets, whom he
read irregularly but eagerly in truant hours. On leav-
ing college, he seems to have studied law in his lazy
fashion, and. to have lived a rather gay, vagabond life.
He was for some time councillor in the Parliament
of Bordeaux, but discharged his functions with no
great ardour or constancy. In early manhood the
distractions and the fascinations of the court drew
him not infrequently to Paris, where he lived accord-
ing to the fashionable dissolute life of that licentious
agd He is rarely frank on the subject of his amours.
He seems, according to his own avowals, to have
been no exception to the average courtier of his
time, freely following the bent of passion and

X PREFA TOR Y NOTE.

ambition. There is, in short, nothing exceptional
about his early life spent between the court, the
camp and the council chamber, and at home with
his father, — in Bordeaux, at Paris, and in the riding
and travel which were always very enjoyable to
him, — except his friendship with Etienne de la
Boetie, who endeavoured to win him from his wilder
ways. This well-known friendship, which gives to
Montaigne's life its chief grace and dignity, ranks
with the few great passionate friendships of classic
renown. Nothing need be added to Montaigne's
account of it in the essay on Friendship which
follows. This shows him in his ripest* and rarest
mood. There is more heart in it than in anything
he ever wrote ; and for depth of feeling and rich-
ness of insight we may rank it with, and even above,
Aristotle's splendid eulogy.

It was not until his thirty-eighth year that Mon-
taigne, disgusted with court life and the pressure of
public affairs, disappointed in love, and bereft of his
only true friend, settled down to a quiet, orderly, me^i-
^tative life in his ancestral home. Until quite recently
there remained, and perhaps still remains, the quaint
inscription in which Montaigne announced his inten-
tion of retiring to spend his remaining days in peace.
It runs —

" In the year of our Lord 1571, aged 38, on the eve
of the Kalends of March (the last day of February),
the anniversary day of his birth, Michel de Mon-
taigne, having long been weary of the slavery of
courts and public employments, takes refuge in the

PREFA TOR y NOTE. xi

bosom of the learned Virgins. He designs, in quiet
and indifference to all things, to conclude there the
remainder of his life, already more than half past ;
and he has dedicated to repose and liberty this
agreeable and peaceful abode, which he has inherited
from his ancestors."

This purpose was well fulfilled. Montaigne thence-
forth lived in the main the life of a scholar and
writer. True, he was not a hermit He travelled
at times, and once into Switzerland and into
Italy, whence he was recalled by the pressing in-
vitation of the citizens of Bordeaux to become their
mayor. This invitation he refused at first, but,
pressed by the king, he eventually accepted and held
it for four years. He thought that he, a man of
moderation, peace, and impartiality, or as he modestly
and frankly put it, " a man without money, without
vigilance, without experience, and without energy;
but also without hate, without ambition, without
avarice, and without violence," would hardly fit for
office among a violent and factious people.

This employment as mayor was the only thing that
seriously disturbed Montaigne's busy quietude in his
rustic home. There sitting in his tower, with its
prospect over a wide open country, surrounded by his
books, he explored himself, meditated on the changes
and chances of this mortal life, and took an inventory
of uncertain and ever-veering human nature. He had
a rich experience of the world to fall back upon ; and
had brought keen powers of observation to bear upon
all he had seen and heard. He had thought and felt

xii FREFA TOR Y NO TE.

deeply, and had on the whole been disappointed in
his expectations of life and humanity. He had found
no satisfaction in love, and death had ended the
friendship that had more than anything else sweetened
his life. He had found in his commerce with nobles
and kings and lawyers and politicians abundance
of meanness and knavery. This disillusioning is
apparent in the recurrent note of sadness struck in
his essays ; in the combination with an Horatian
gaiety of a lofty earnestness and gravity.

The source of Montaigne's so-called scepticism
(which may easily be exaggerated) lies in his recogni-
tion of the irreconcilable differences in human nature;
its unaccountable caprices, its variety of custom and
conduct, its wavering and variable convictions. But
there is always a point at which his scepticism halts ;
he never doubts the reality of virtue. At bottom
he is always ethically sane. He never dallies with
vice; and what we account coarse in him has no
" nasty " morbid flavour in it He is unashamed in
the Rabelaisian sense ; but is seldom as gross as his
great forerunner. He is in the minor moralities a
man pre-eminently of his agd and race. In greater
things, in his subtle penetration and in his wisdom, he
is of no age, but a fellow of some of the noblest
minds of all ages — a fellow, especially, of the great
moralists who were his constant referees in doubt, of
Plutarch and Seneca. His wisdom has the geniality
and the fine "body" which theirs had. You shall
find no thin abstractions in his work; and his
egotism is always robust and alert — as diflerent as

PREFA TOR Y NOTE. xiii

can be from the nervous, morbid, bloodless egotism
of those of his countrymen who are to-day devoted to
the culture of the self. He is not sick of the intro-
spective malady as, let us say^ M. Maurice Barr^s is,
or as Amiel was — of whom it was cleverly said that he
had added himself to the number of his intellectual
playthings. No, Montaigne handles himself with
Socratic seriousness, and to Socratic purpose ; to the
thirst for self-knowledge he adds self-reverence and
self-controL

Of the purely literary quality of his work, what
need be said? It is vigorous, with the idiomatic,
poetic strength of a man who was more than
half a poet It seems to be entirely natural, with-
out premeditation, without artifice, without correction.
Montaigne was no doubt careless, but by no means
indifferent to his literary graces. He had felt the
influence of the movement headed by Ronsard and
the Pleiad ; he had the writer's instinct and ambition
to write well, above all with ease and force. But
part of the charm of his work lies in the seemingly
unliterary cast of it It has no airs ; it shows no
straining; it is free from pretentiousness. The fact
is, he did not care too much for form ; he did
not water down and over-polish his periods ; he did
not pale the ruddy glow of the first flush of thought!^.
Indeed, he was too full of matter to vex himselr
over style ; and he had too urgent a sense of reality
and life to tolerate a posing prettiness and affecta-
tion. In the vigorous version of Florio his work
has a very Shakespearian smack. Truly, the Essays

xiv PREFA TOR Y NOTE,

of Montaigne are by good fortune among the
treasures of our national literature — great with the
thought of the wise Montaigne, and, by the happy
knack of one of our countrymen of Shakespeare's
glorious age, almost ranking in style with the prose
masterpieces of that age.

In a series of extracts such as Mons. V. Fauron
has given to his countrymen, Montaigne seems not to
be the Montaigne of an easy rambling habit of dis-
course, the Montaigne of charming irrelevancies.
Though in the case of some of the Essays which
follow it has been necessary to make a few omissions,
they have been made with a scrupulous regard always
to the style and tenour of the originals.

P. C

THE A UTHOR TO THE READER.

READER^ lo here a toell-meaning Book, It doth at the first
entrance foreuHum thee, thcU in contriving the same I have proposed
unto miystlf no other than a famdliar and privcUe end : I have no
respect or consideration at cUl, either to thy service or to my glory :
my forces are not capable qf any such design, I have vowed the
same to the particular commodity of my kin^olks and friends; to
the end that, losing me {which they are likely to do ere long), they
may therein fmd some Ivneaments of my conditions and humours,
cmd by that means reserve more whale, and m>ore lively foster the
knowledge and acquaintance they have had qf ms. Had my inten-
tion been to forestall cmd purchase the worUTs opinion and favour,
I would swrety have adorned myseHf m>ore quaintly, or kept a m^yre
grave and solemn march, I desire therein to be ddineated in mine
ovm genuine, simple, and ordinary fashion, without contention,
art, or study ; for it is mystif I portray. My imperfections shall
therein be read to the life, and my natural form discerned, so far
forth as public reverence hath permitted me. For if my fortune
had been to have lived among those nations which yet are said to
live under the sweet liberty qf Nature* s fvrst and uncorrupted laws,
I assure thee I would most willingly have portrayed myself fvUy
and naked. Thus, gentle reader, myself am the groundwork qf my
book ; it is then no reason thou shouldst employ thy time about so
frivolous and vain a subject,

Therrfore farewell

from MONTAIGNE.
The First of March, 1680.

ESSAYS OF MONTAIGNE.

OF HIS TASK AND THEME.

Yea but, wfll some tell me, this design in a man to make
himself a subject to write of might be excused in rare
and famous men, and who by their reputation had bred
some desire in others of their acquaintance. It is true, I
confess it, and I know that a handicraftsman will scarcely
look off his work to gaze upon an ordinary man ; whereas
to see a notable great person come into a town, he will
leave both work and shop. It ill beseemeth any man to
make himself known, only he excepted that hath somewhat
in him worthy of imitation, and whose life and opinions
may stand as a pattern to all. Caesar and Xenophon have
had wherewithal to ground and establish their narration in
the greatness of their deeds as on a just and solid ground-
work. So are the journal books of Alexander the Great,
the commentaries which Augustus, Cato Brutus, Sylla, and
divers others had left of their guests, greatly to be desired.
Such men's images are both beloved and studied, be they
either in brass or stone. This admonition is most true, but
it concerneth me very little.

2 £SSA VS OF MONTAIGNE.

Non reci/o cui^uam : nisi amicis, idque rogatus^
Non ubivis, coramve quihuslihet. In medio qui
Scriptaforo recitant sunt mulh\ quique lavanies,^

My writings I read not, but to my friends, to any,
Nor eachwhert, nor to all, nor but desir'd, yet many
In market-place read theirs,
In baths, in barber's chairs.

I erect not here a statue to be set up in the market-place
of a town, or in a church, or in any other public place :

Non equidem hoc sttideo bullatis ut mihi nugis
Pagina turgescat :^

I study not, my written leaves should grow

Big-swollen with bubbled toys, which vain breaths blow.

Secreii loquimur.^

We speak alone,
Or one to one.

It is for the corner of a library, or to amuse a neighbour,
a kinsman, or a friend of mine withal, who by this image
may happily take pleasure to renew acquaintance and to
reconverse with me. Others have been emboldened to
speak of themselves, because they have found worthy and
rich subject in themselves. I, contrariwise, because I have
found mine so barren and so shallow, that it cannot admit
suspicion of ostentation. I willingly judge of other men's
actions; of mine, by reason of their nullity, I give small
cause to judge. I find not so much good in myself, but I
may speak of it without blushing. Oh, what contentment
were it unto me to hear somebody that would relate the
custom, the visage, the countenance, the most usual words,
and the fortunes of my ancestors ! Oh, how attentively

* Hor., Sen 1. L, Sat. iv. 73. » Pers., Sat. v. 19. » Ibid. 21.

ESS A YS OF MONTAIGNE. s

would I listen anto it ! Verily it were an argument Of a
bad nature, to seem to despise the very pictures of our
friends and predecessors, the fashion of their garments and
arms. I keep the writing, the manual seal, and a peculiar
sword; and I reserve still in my cabinet certain long
switches or wands which my father was wont to carry in his
hand. Patema vesHs et annulus^ tanto ckarior est posteris^
quanto erga parentes maior affecius: " The father's garment
and his ring is so much more esteemed of his successors, as
their affection is greater towards their progenitors." Not-
withstanding if my posterity be of another mind, I shall
have wherewith to be avenged, for they cannot make so
little account of me as then I shall do of them. All the
commerce I have in this with the world is that I borrow the
instruments of their writing, as more speedy and more easy;
in requital whereof I may peradventure hinder the melting
of some piece of butter in the market or a grocer from
selling an ounce of pepper.

Ne toga ccrdylliSi nepenulc desit olivisj^

Lest fish-fry should a fit gown want,
Lest cloaks should be for olives scant.

Et laxas scombris saspe dabo tunicas,^

To long-tail'd mackerels often I,
Will side-wide (paper) coats apply.

And if it happen no man read me, have I lost my time
to have entertained myself so many idle hours about so
pleasing and profitable thoughts ? In framing this portrait
by myself I have so often been fain to frizzle and trim me,
that 80 I might the better extract myself that the pattern is
thereby confirmed, and in some sort formed. Drawing
myself for others, I have drawn myself with purer and

* Mart. I. xiiL, Epig, L i. ^ Catul., Epig» Elog. xxvii. 8.

4 ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE.

better colours than were my first Iha ve no m ore-made
my bode than my book hath made^me. A book con-
substantial to his author ; of a peculiar and fit occupation.
A member of my life. Not of an occupation and end
strange and foreign, as all other books. Have I misspent
my time to have taken an account of myself so continually
and so curiously ? For those who only run themselves over
by fantasy, and by speech for some hoursi examine not
themselves so primely and exactly, nor enter they into
themselves, as he doth who makes his study his work, and
occupation of it ; who with all his might, and with all his
credit, engageth himself to a register of continuance. The
most delicious pleasures, though inwardly digested, shun to
leave any trace of themselves, and avoid the sight not only
of the people^ but of any other. How often hath this
business diverted me from tedious and irksome cogitations ?
(and all frivolous ones must be deemed tedious and irk-
some). Nature hath endowed us with a large &culty to
entertain ourselves apart, and often calleth us unto it; to
teach us that partly we owe ourselves unto society, but in
the better part unto ourselves. To the end I- may in some
order and project marshall my fantasy even to dote and
keep it from loosing and straggling in the air, there is
nothing so good as to give it a body and register so many
idle imaginations as present themselves unto it I listen to
my humours and hearken to my conceits, because I must
enrol them. How often, being grieved at some action,
which civility and reason forbade me to withstand openly,
have I disgorged myself upon them here, not without
an intent of public instruction? And yet these poetical
rods,

Zon dessus VtHl^ %on sur Ugroin^
Zon sur U dos du Sagoin^

ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE. S

are also better imprinted upon paper than upon the quidft
flesh : what if I lend mine ears somewhat more attentively
unto books, since I but watch if I can filch something from
them wherewith to enamel and uphold mine? I never
study to make a book, yet have I somewhat studied, because
I had already made it (if to nibble or pinch, by the head or
feet, now one author, and then another, be in any sort to
study), but nothing at all to form my opinions. Yea, being
long since formed to assist, to second, and to serve them.
But whom shall we believe, speaking of himself in this
corrupted age ? since there are few or none who may believe
speaking of others, where there is less interest to lie. The
first part of custom's corruption is the banishment of truth ;
for, as Pindarus said, to be sincerely true is the beginning of
a great virtue ; and the first article Plato requireth in the
governor of his Commonwealth, Nowadays, that is not the
truth which is true, but that which is persuaded to others.
As we call money not only that which is true and good, but
also the false, so it be current. Our nation is long since
taxed with this vice. For Salvianus Massiliensis, who lived
in the time of Valentinian the Emperor, saith that amongst
Frenchmen to lie and forswear is no vice^ but a manner of
speech. He that would endear this testimony might say, it
is now rather deemed a virtue among them. Men frame
and fashion themselves tmto it as to an exercise of honour ;
for dissimulation is one of the notablest qualities of this age.
Thus have I often considered whence this custom might
arise, which we observe so religiously, that we are more
sharply offended with the reproach of this vice, so ordinary
in us, than with any other; and that it is the extremest
injury may be done us in words, to upbraid and reproach us
with a lie. Therein I find that it is natural for a roan to]
defend himself most from such defects as we are most/

6 ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE.

tainted with. It seemeth that if we but show a motion of
revenge, or are but moved at the accusation, we in some
sort discharge ourselves of the blame of imputation; if we
have it in effect, at least we condemn it in appearance.'
May it not also be that this reproach seems to enfold
cowardice and faintness of heart? Is there any more
manifest than for a man to eat and deny his own word ?
What, to deny his word wittingly? To lie is a horrible,
filthy vice ; and which an ancient writer setteth forth very
shamefully, when he saith that whosoever lieth witnesseth
that he contemneth God and therewithal feareth men. It
is impossible more richly to represent the horror, the vile-
ness, and the disorder of it ; for, what can be imagined so
vile and base as to be a coward towards men and a boaster
towards God? Our intelligence being only conducted by
the way of the word, whoso falsifieth the same betrayeth
public society. It is the only instrument by means whereof
our wills and thoughts are communicated ; it is the inter-
preter of our souls. If that fail us, we hold ourselves no
more, we inter-know one another no longer. If it deceive
us, it breaketh all our commerce^ and dissolveth all bonds
of our policy. Certain nations of the new Indies (whose
names we need not declare, because they are no more, for
the desolation of this conquest hath extended itself to the
absolute abolishing of names and ancient knowledge of
places, with a marvellous and never-the-like heard example)
offered human blood unto their gods, but no other than that
which was drawn from their tongues and ears for an expia-
tion of the sin of lying as well heard as pronounced. That
good fellow Grsecian said children were dandled with toys,
but men with words. Concerning the sundry fashions of
our giving the lie, and the laws of our honour in that and
the changes they have received, I will refer to another time

ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE. 7

to speak what I think and know of it, and if I can I will in
the meantime learn at what time this custom took its
beginnings so exactly to weigh and precisely to measure
words, and tie our honour to them ; for it is easy to judge
that it was not anciently amongst the Romans and Grecians.
And I have often thought it strange to see them wrong and
give one another the lie^ and yet never enter into quarrel.
The laws of their duty took some other course than ours.
Caesar is often called a thief, and sometimes a drunkard to
his face. We see the liberty of their invectives, which they
write one against another: I mean the greatest chieftains
and generals in war, of one and another nation, where
words are only retorted and revenged with words, and never
wrested to further consequence.

OF PEDANTISM.

I HAVE in my youth oftentimes been vexed to see a
pedant brought in, in most of Italian comedies, for a
vice or sport-maker, and the nickname of Magister to be
of no better signification amongst us. For, myself being
committed to their tuition, how could I choose but be
somewhat jealous of their reputation ? Indeed I sought
to excuse them by reason of the natural disproportion that
is between the vulgar sort and rare and excellent men,
both in judgment and knowledge; forasmuch as they
take a clean contrary course one from another. But
when I considered the choicest men were they that most
condemned them, I was far to seek, and as it were
lost myself; witness our good Bellay —

8 ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE.

Mais je hay par sur tout un scavoir pedantesque,

A pedant knowledge I
Detest out of all cry.

Yet is this custom very ancient, for Plutarch saith that
Greek and scholar were amongst the Roman words of
reproach and imputation. And coming afterwards to years
of more discretion, I have found they had great reason, and
that tnagis magnos dericos^ non sunt magis magnos sapientes :
"The most great clerks are not the most wisest men." But
whence it may proceed that a mind rich in knowledge, and
of so many things, becometh thereby never livelier nor
more quick-sighted ; and a gross-headed and vulgar spirit
may without amendment contain the discourse and judg-
ment of the most excellent wits the world ever produced, I
still remain doubtful. To receive so many, so strange, yea
and so great wits, it must needs follow (said once a lady
unto me, yea one of our chiefest princesses, speaking of
somebody) that a man's own wit, force, droops, and as it
were diminishes itself, to make room for others. I might
say, that as plants are choked by over-much moisture, and
lamps dammed with too much oil, so are the actions of the
mind overwhelmed by over-abundance of matter and study;
which, occupied and entangled with so great a diversity of
{ things, loseth the means to spread and clear itself; and that
surcharge keepeth it low-drooping and faint But it is other-
wise, for our mind stretcheth the more by how much more
it is replenished. And in examples of former times the
contrary is seen, of sufficient men in the managing of public
affairs, of great captains and notable counsellors in matters
of estate, to have been therewithal excellently wise. And
concerning philosophers, retired from all public negotiations,
they have indeed sometimes been vilified by the comic

* Bellay.

/

ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE, 9

liberty of their times, their opinions and demeanours yield-
ing them ridiculous. Will you make them judges of the
right of a process, or of the actions of a man ? They are
ready for it. They inquire whether there be any life yet
remaining, whether any motion. Whether man be any-
thing but an ox, what working or suffering is ; what strange
beasts law and justice are. Speak they of the magistrate,
or speak they unto him, they do it with an irreverent and
uncivil liberty. Hear they a prince or a king commended?
He is but a shepherd to them, as idle as a swain busied
about milking of his cattle, or shearing of his sheep ; but
yet more rudely. Esteem you any man the greater for
possessing two hundred acres of land ? They scoff at him,
as men accustomed to embrace all the world as their i^
possession. Do you boast of your nobility, because you /^
can blazon your descent of seven or eight rich grand-
fathers? They will but little regard you, as men that
conceive not the universal image of nature, and how many
predecessors every one of us hath had, both rich and poor,
kings and grooms, Greeks and Barbarians. And were you
lineally descended in the fiftieth degree from Hercules,
they deem it a vanity to vaunt or allege this gift of fortune.
So did the vulgar sort disdain them as ignorant of the first
and common things, and as presumptuous and insolent
But this Platonical lustre is far from that which our men
stand in need of. They were envied as being beyond the
common sort, as despising public actions, as having pro-
posed unto themselves a particular and inimitable life,
aiming and directed at certain high discourses, and from
the common use ; these are disdained as men beyond the
ordinary fashion, as incapable of public charges, as leading
an unsociable life, and professing base and abject customs,
after the vulgar kind. Odi homines ignavos opere^ Philo-

lo JESSA ys OF MONTAIGNE.

S / k0 s semiaUia :^ '* I hale men dnt are fook in worloDg
and philoaofibos in speaking'' As for those philosophers,
I saj that as thej vere great in knovle^e so were they
greater in all action. And e^^en as they report of that
Syracnsan geometrician, who being taken from his bookish
cootempbtion to show some practice of his skill, for the
defence of his country, reared suddenly certain terror-
morii^ engines, and showed effects bx dfredtng all men's
conceit, himself notwithstanding disdaining all this his
handiwork, supposii^ he had thereby corrupted the
d^^nity of his art; his engines amd manual works being
but the apprenticeships and trials of his sldll in sport So
they, if at any time they have been put to the trial of any
action, they have been seen to fly so high a pitch, and
with so lofty a flight, that men might apparently see their
minds and spirits were through the intelligence of things
become wonderfully rich and great But some^ perceiving
the seat of politic government possessed by unworthy and
incapable men, have withdrawn themselves from it And
he who demanded of Crates how long men should
philosophise, received this answer, ''Until such time as
they who have the conduct of our armies be no longer
blockish asses." Heraclitus resigned the royalty unto his
brother. And to the Ephesians, who reproved him for
spending his time in playing with children before the
temple, he answered, "And is it not better to do so
than to govern the public affairs in your company?"
Others having their imagination placed beyond fortune
and the world, found the seat of justice, and the thrones
of kings, to be but base and vile. And Empedocles
refused the royalty which the Agrigentines ofifered him.
Thales sometimes accusing the cark and care men took

1 Pacuvius, Lips, 1. i. c x.

BSSA VS OF MONTAIGNE. 1 1

about good husbandry, and how to grow rich ; some
replied unto him that he did as the fox, "because he
could not attain unto it himself; which hearing, by way
of sport he would needs show by experience how he could
at his pleasure become both thrifty and rich ; and, bending
his wits to gain and profit, erected a traffic which within
one year brought him such riches as the most skilful in the
trade of thriving could hardly in all their life devise how
to get the like. That which Aristotle reporteth of some
who called both him and Anaxagoras, and such-like men,
wise and not prudent, because they cared not for things
more profitable. Besides, I do not very well digest this
nice difference of words that serveth my find-fault people
for no excuse; and to see the base and needy fortune
wherewith they are content, we might rather have just
cause to pronounce them neither wise nor prudent I
quit this first reason, and think it better to say, that this
evil proceedeth from the bad course they take to follow
sciences ; and that respecting the manner we are instructed |
in them, it is no wonder if neither scholars nor masters,
howbeit they prove more learned, become no whit more
sufficient Verily the daily care and continual charges
of our fathers aimeth at nothing so much as to store our
heads with knowledge and learning ; as for judgment and
virtue, that is never spoken of/ If a man pass by^ cry out
to our people, " Oh, what a wise man goeth yonder ! "
And of another, ** Oh, what a good man is yonder ! " he
will not fail to cast his eyes and respect towards the former.
A third crier were needful to say, " Oh, what blockheads
are those 1 " We are ever ready to ask, " Hath he any skill h
in the Greek and Latin tongue ? can he write well ? doth
he write in prose or verse?" But whether he be grown
better or wiser, which should be the chiefest of his drift,

V

1 2 ESS A YS OF MONTAIGNE.

that IS never spoken of. We should rather inquire who |
is better wise than who is more wise. We labour, I
and toil, and plod to fill the memory, and leave
both understanding and conscience empty. Even as
birds flutter and skip from field to field to pick up
corn, or any grain, and without tasting the same, carry
it in theur bills^ therewith to feed their little ones; so
do our pedants glean and pick learning from books, and
never lodge it further than their lips, only to disgorge and
cast it to the wind. It is strange how fitly sottishness
takes hold of mine example. Is not that which I do in the*
greatest part of this composition all one and self-same
thing ? I am ever here and there picking and culling, from
this and that book, the sentences that please me, not to
keep them (for I have no store-house to reserve them in),
but to transport them into this ; where, to say truth, they
are no more mine than in their first place ; we are (in mine
opinion) never wise but by present learning, not by that
which is past, and as little by that which is to come. But
which is worse, their scholars and their little ones are never
a whit the more fed or better nourished ; but passeth from
hand to hand, to this end only, thereby to make a glorious
show, therewith to entertain others, and with its help to
frame some quaint stories, or pretty tales, as of a light and
counterfeit coin, unprofitable for any use or employment,
but to reckon and cast accounts. Apud alios loqui didiceruniy
non ipsi secum, Non est loquendum^ sed gubernandum:^
" They have learned to speak with others, not with them-
selves; speaking is not so requisite as government." Nature,
to show that nothing is savage in whatsoever she produceth,
causeth oftentimes, even in rudest and most unarted
nations, productions of spirits to arise^ that confront and

^ Sen., Epist* cviiL

ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE. 1 3

wrestle with the most artistic productions. As concerning
my discourse, is not the Gascony prdrerb, drawn from a
bagpipe, pretty and quaint ? Bouha prou bauha^ mas d
remuda Icus dits qiiem: "You may blow long enough, but
if once you stir your fingers^ you may go seek." We can
talk and prate, Cicero saith thus, These are Plato's customs,
these are the very words of Aristotle; but what say we
ourselves? what do we? what judge we? A paroquet
would say as much. This fashion puts me in mind of that
rich Roman, who to his exceeding great charge had been
very industrious to find out the most sufficient men in all
sciences, which he continually kept about him, that if at
any time occasion should be moved amongst his friends to
speak of any matter pertaining to scholarship, they might
supply his place, and be ready to assist him, some with
discourse, some with a verse of Homer, others with a
sentence, each one according to his skill or profession; who
persuaded himself that all such learning was his own,
because it was contained in his servants' minds. As they
do whose sufficiency is placed in their sumptuous libraries.
I know some, whom if I ask what he knoweth, he will
require a book to demonstrate the same, and durst not dare
to tell me that his posteriors are scabious, except he turn
over his Lexicon to see what posteriors and scabious is.
We take the opinions and knowledge of others into our
protection, and that is all; I tell you they must be enfeoffed
in us, and made our own. We may very well be compared
unto him, who having need of fire, should go fetch some
at his neighbour's chimney, where finding a good fire,
should there stay to warm himself, forgetting to carry some
home. What avails it us to have our bellies full of meat,
if it be not digested? if it be not transchanged in us?
except it nourish, augment, and strengthen us? We may

14 £SSA YS OF MONTAIGNE.

imagine that LucuUus, whom learning made and framed so
great a captain without experience, would have taken it
after our manner. We rely so much upon other men's
arms, that we disannul our own strength. Will I arm my-
self against the fear of death?. it is at Seneca's cost. Will
I draw comfort either for myself, or any other ? I borrow
the same of Cicero. I would have taken it in myself, had
I been exercised unto it; I love not this relative and
begged-for sufficiency. Suppose we may be learned by
other men's learning. Sure I am we can never be wise but
by our own wisdom.

That wise man I cannot abide,
That for himself cannot provide.

Ex quo Ennius: Nequidquam sapere sapientem^ qui ipse
sibiprodesse non quiret,^ " Whereupon saith Ennius : That
wise man is vainly wise, who could not profit himself."

si cupidus^ si

VanuSf et Euganea quantumvis mollior agna.^

If covetous, if vain (not wise)

Than any lamb more base, more nice.

Non enim paranda nobis solutn^ sed fruenda sapientia est:^

" For we must not only purchase wisdom, but enjoy and

employ the same." Dionysius scoffeth at those grammarians .

who ploddingly labour to know the miseries of Ulysses, and (

are ignorant of their own; mocketh those musiciatis that so

attentively tune their instruments, and never accord their

manners; derideth those orators that study to speak of '

justice, and never put it in execution. Except our mind be (

the better, unless our judgment be the sounder, I had /

rather my scholar had employed his time in playing at I

^ Proverb, Iamb, ' Juv., Sai. viii. 14. *

^ Ennius. * Cic, Fintb, 1. i. p.

ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE. 1 5

\ tennisj I am sure his body would be the nimbler. See biit
one of these our university men or bookish scholars returh
from school, after he hath there spent ten or twelve years
under a pedant's charge; who is so inapt for any matter?
who so unfit for any company ? who so to seek if he come
into the world ? all the advantage you discover in him is
that his Latin and Greek have made him more sottish, more
stupid, and more presumptuous, than before he went from
home. Whereas he should return with a mind full-fraught,
he returns with a wind-puffed conceit; instead of plum-feeding
the same, he has only sponged it up with vanity. These
masters, as Plato speaketh of sophisters (their cousins-
german) of all men, are those that promise to be most
profitable unto men, and alone, amongst all, that not only
amend not what is committed to their charge as doth a
carpenter or a mason, but impair and destroy the same, and
yet they must full dearly be paid. If the law which
Protagoras proposed to his disciples were followed, which
was, that either they should pay him according to his word,
or swear in the temple, how much they esteemed the profit
they had received by his discipline, and accordingly satisfy
him for his pains, my pedagogues would be aground,
especially if they would stand to the oath of my experience.
My vulgar Perigordian speech doth very pleasantly term
such self-conceited wizards letter-ferrets, as if they would
say letter-strucken men, to whom (as the common saying is)
letters have given a blow with a mallet. Verily for the most
part they s^em to be distracted even from common sense.
Note but the plain husbandman, or the unwily shoemaker,
and you see them simply and naturally plod on their course,
speaking only of what they know, and no further; whereas
these letter-puffed pedants, because they would fain raise
themselves aloft, and with their literal doctrine which

1 6 ESS A YS OF MONTAIGNE.

floateth up and down the superficies of their brain, arm
themselves beyond other men, they incessantly intricate
and entangle themselves; they utter lofty words, and speak
golden sentences, but so that another man doth place, fit,
and apply them. They are acquainted with Galen, but
know not the disease. They will stuff your head with laws,
when God wot they have not yet conceived the ground of
the case They know the theory of all things, but you
must seek who shall put it in practice. I have seen a
friend of mind, in mine own house, who by way of sporty talk-
ing with one of these pedantical gulls, counterfeited a kind
of fustian tongue, and spake a certain gibberish, without
rhyme or reason, sans head or foot, a hotch-potch of divers
things, but that he did often interlace it with ink-pot terms,
incident to their disputations, to amuse the bookish sot for
a whole day long with debating and contending; ever
thinking he answered the objections made unto hhn; yet
was he a man of letters and reputation, a graduate, and
wore a goodly formal long gown.

Vos, 6 pairitius sanguis y quos vivere par est
Occipiti cacoy positca occurrite sannaA

You noble bloods, who with a noddle blind

Should live, meet with the mock that's made behind.

Whosoever shall narrowly look into this kind of people,
which far and wide hath spread itself, he shall find (as I
have done) that for the most part they neither understand
' themselves nor others, and that their memory is many times
sufficiently full-fraught, but their judgment ever hollow and
empty; except their natural inclination have of itself other-
wise fashioned them. As I have seen Adrianus Turnebus,
who having never professed anything but study and letters,

^ Pers., Sat, i. 6i.

ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE, 1 7

wherein he was, in mine opinion, the worthiest man that
lived these thousand years,, and who notwithstanding had
no pedantical thing about him but the wearing of his gown,
and some external fashions that could not well be reduced,
and uncivilised to the courtier's cut; things of no conse-
quence. And I naturally hate our people, that will more
hardly endure a long robe uncuriously worn, than a cross,
skittish mind ; and that observe what leg or reverence he
makes, note his garb or demeanour, view his boots or his
hat, and mark what manner of man he is. For his inward
parts, I deem him to have been one of the most unspotted
and truly honest minds that ever was. I have sundry times
of purpose urged him to speak of matters furthest from his
study, wherein he was so clear-sighted, and could with so
quick an apprehension conceive, and. with so sound a judg-
ment distinguish them, that he seemed never to have
professed or studied other faculty than war, and matters
of state. Such spirits, such natures may be termed worthy,
goodly, and solid —

qtuis arte benigna

Et meliore luto finxit pracordia Titan :^

Whose bowels heaven's bright Sun composed
Of better mould, art weU disposed,

that maintain themselves against any bad institution. \ Now
it sufficeth not that our institution mar us not, it musti
change us to the better. [^ There are some of our parliaments \
and courts who, when they are to admit of any officers,
do only examine them of their learning ; f others, that by
presenting them the judgment of some law cases, endeavour
to sound their understanding. ( Metl>inks the latter keep
the better style. And albeit these two parts are necessary,

* Juv., Sat, xiv. 34.

1 8 ESS A YS OF MONTAIGNE.

and both ought to concur in one, yet truly should that of
learning be less prized than judgment, this may well be
without the other, and not the other without this. For as
the Greek verse saith —

Learning nought worth doth lie,
Be not discretion by.

^ Whereto serveth learning, if understanding be not joined
) to it ? Oh would to God, that for the good of our justice,
V the societies of lawyers were as well stored with judgment,
I discretion, and conscience, as they are with learning and
wit! Non vit(B^ sed scholcB discimus:^ "We learn not for
our life, but for the school." It is not enough to join
learning and knowledge to the mind, it should be incorpor-
ated into it. It must not be sprinkled, but dyed with it;
and if it change not and better her estate (which is imper-
fect), it were much better to leave it. It is a dangerous
sword, and which hindereth and offendeth her master, if it
be in a weak hand, and which hath not the skill to manage
the same: Ut fuerit melius non didicisse! "So as it were
better that we had not learned." It is peradventure the
cause that neither we nor divinity require much learning in
women ; and that Francis, Duke of Brittany, son to John V.,
when he was spoken unto for a marriage between him and
Isabel, a daughter of Scotland, and some told him she was
meanly brought up, and without any instruction of learning,
answered, he loved her the better for it, and that a woman
was wise enough if she could but make a difference between
the shirt and doublet of her husband's. It is also no such
wonder (as some say) that our ancestors did never make any
great account of letters, and that even at this day (except it

^ Comm. Grac.f v. et 0. ult. ^ ggn^^ Ept'sf, cvi. f.

ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE. 19

be by chance) they are not often found in our kings' and
princes' chiefest counisels and consultations. And if the
end to grow rich by them, which nowadays is altogether
proposed unto us by the study of law, of physic, of
pedantism, and of divinity, did not keep them in credit,
without doubt you should see them as beggarly and needy,
and as much vilified as ever they were. And what hurt I
pray you, since they neither teach us to think well nor do
well ? Postquam docH prodierunt^ boni desunt : ^ " Since men
became learned, good men failed." Each other science is\
prejudicial unto him that hath not the science of goodness. }
But may not the reason I whilom sought for, also proceed
thence ? That our study in France, having as it were no
other aim but profit, but those less whom nature hath
produced to more generous offices than lucrative, giving
themselves unto learning, or so briefly (before they have
apprehended any liking of them, retired unto a profession
that hath no community with books) there are then none
left, altogether to engage themselves to study and books,
but the meaner kind of people, and such as are bom to
base fortune, and who by learning and letters seek some
means to live and enrich themselves. The minds of which
people being both by natural inclination, by example, and
familiar institution, of the basest stamp, do falsely reap the
fruit of leariiing. For it is not in her power to give light
unto the mind that hath none, nor to make a blind man to
see. The mystery of it is not to afford him sight, but to
direct it for him, to address his goings, always provided he
have feet of his own, and good, straight, and capable legs.
Knowledge is an excellent drug, but no drug is sufficiently^
strong to preserve itsdf without alteration or corruption,
according to the fault fff the vessel that contains it. Some

^ Sen;, Epist, xciii.

20 £SSA YS OF MONTAIGNE.

man hath a dear sight, that is not right-sighted; and by
consequence seeth what good is^ and doth not follow it ;
and seeketh knowledge, bat makes no use of it The
chiefest ordinance of Plato in his Commonwealth is to give
unto his citizens their charge according to their nature.
Nature can do all, and doth alL The crook-backed, or
deformed, are unfit for any exercise of the body, and
crooked and misshapen minds unproper for exercises of
the mind. The bastard and vulgar sort are unworthy of
philosophy. AVhen we see a man ill-shod, if he chance to
be a shoemaker, we say it is no wonder, for commonly none
go worse shod than they. Even so it seems that experi-
ence doth often show us a physician less healthy, a divine
less reformed, and most commonly a wise man less sufficient
than another. Aristo Chius had heretofore reason to say
that philosophers did much hurt their auditors^ forasmuch
as the greatest number of minds are not apt to profit by
such instructions, which, if they take not a good, they
will follow a bad course : oo-wtovs ex Aristippi^ acerbos ex
2^nonis schola exire:'^ "They proceed licentious out of the
school of Aristippus, but bitter out of the school of Zeno."
In that excellent institution which Xenophon giveth the
Persians, we find, that as other nations teach their children
letters, so they taught theirs virtue. Plato said the eldest
born son, in their royal succession, was thus taught "As
soon as he was born, he was delivered, not to women, but
to such eunuchs as by reason of their virtue were in chiefest
authority about the king. Their special charge was first to
shapen his limbs and body, goodly and healthy; and at
seven years of age they instructed and inured him to sit on
horseback, and to ride a hunting. When he came to the
age of fourteen, they delivered him into the hands of four

' Cic, Nat, Dear, 1. iii.

ESS A YS OF MONTAIGNE, 2 1

#
men, that is to say the wisest, the justest, the most temperate,

and the most valiant of all the nation. The first taught him

religion ; the second, to be ever upright and true ; the third,

to become master of his own desires ; and the fourth, to fear

nothing." It is a thing worthy great consideration, that

in that excellent, and as I may term it, matchless policy

of Lycurgus, and in truth, by reason of her perfection,

monstrous, yet notwithstanding, so careful for the education

of children, as of her principal charge, and even in the

Muses' bosom s^nd resting-place there is so little mention

made of learning, as if that generous youth disdaining all

other yokes but of virtue, ought only to be furnished, in lieu

of tutors of learning, with masters of valour, of justice, of

wisdom, and of temperance. An example which Plato hath

imitated in his laws. The manner of their discipline was to

propound questions unto them, teaching the judgment of

men and of their actions; and if by way of reason or

discourse they condemned or praised either this man or

that deed, they must be told the truth and best, by which

means at once they sharpened their wits, and learned the

right Astiages in Xenophon calleth Cyrus to an account

of his last lesson : '* It is,'' saith he, " that 'a great lad in our

school, having a little coat, gave it to one of his fellows,

that was of lesser stature than himself, and took his coat

from him, which was too big for him. Our master having

made me judge of that difference, I judged that things must

be left in the state they were in, and that both seemed to be

better fitted as they were. Whereupon he showed me I had

done ill, because I had only considered the comeliness, where

I should chiefly have respected justice, which required that

none should be forced in anything which properly belonged

to him, and said he was whipped for it, as we are in our

country towns, when we have forgotten the first preterperfect

2 2 ESS A YS OF MONTAIGNE.

tense or Aoriste of tvjttco. My regent might long enough
make me a prolix and cunning oration in genere demanstra-
tivo^ in the oratory kind of praise or dispraise, before ever
he should persuade me his school is worth that. Tbey
have gone about to make the way shorter; and since
sciences (even when they are right taken) can teach us
nothing but wisdom, honesty, integrity, and resolution,
they have at first sight attempted to put their children to
the proper of effects, and instruct them, hot by hearsay, but
by assay of action, lively modelling and framing them, not
only by precepts and words, but principally by examples
and works, that it might not be a science in their mind, but
rather his complexion and habitude ; not to purchase, but a
natural inheritance."

To this purpose, when Agesilaus was demanded what his
opinion was, children should learn, he answered, "What
they should do being men.'' It is no marvel if such an
institution have produced so admirable effects. Some say
that in other cities of Greece they went to seek for rhetori-
cians, for painters, and for musicians; whereas in Lace-
dsemon they sought for law-givers, for magistrates, and
r\ generals of armies. In Athens men learned to say well,
but here to do well ; there to resolve a sophistical argument^
and to confound the imposture and amphibology of words,
captiously interlaced together ; here to shake off the allure-
ments of voluptuousness, and with an undaunted courage to
contemn the threats of fortune, and reject the menaces of
death; those busied and laboured themselves about idle
words, these after martial things; there the tongue was
in continual exercise of speaking, here the mind in an ever
incessant ' practice of well-doing. And therefore was it not
strange, if Antipater requiring fifty of their children for
hostages, they answered dean contrary to that we would do,

ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE. 1^3

" that they would rather deliver him twice so many men,"
so much did they value and esteem the loss of their
countr/s education. When Agesilaus inviteth Xenophon
to send his children to Sparta, there to be brought up, it is
not because they should learn rhetoric or logic, but, as him-
self saith, "to the end they may learn the worthiest and best
science that may be — to wit, the knowledge how to obey and
the skill how to command." It is a sport to see Socrates, after
his blunt manner, to mock Hippias, who reporteth unto him
what great sums of money he had gained, especially in
certain little cities and small towns of Sicily, by keeping
school and teaching letters, and that at Sparta he could not
get a shilling. That they were but idiots and foolish people,
who can neither measure nor esteem ; nor make no account
of grammar or of rhythms ; and who only amuse themselves
to know the succession of kings, the establishing and
declination of estates, and such-like trash of flim-flam tales.
Which done, Socrates forcing him particularly to allow the
excellency of their form of public government, the happi-
ness and virtue of their private life, remits unto him to
guess the coi^clusion of the unprofitableness of his arts.
Examples teach us both in this martial policy, and in all
suchlike, that the study of sciences doth more weaken and
effeminate men's minds than corroborate and adapt them
to war. The mightiest, yea the best settled estate that is
now in the world is that of the Turks, a nation equally
instructed to the esteem of arms and disesteem of letters.
I find Rome to have been most valiant when it was least
learned. The most warlike nations of our days are the
rudest and most ignorant The Scythians, the ParthianSj
and Tamburlane serve to verify my saying. When the
Goths overran and ravaged Greece, that which saved all
their libraries from the fire was that one among them

. sT) ^SSA YS OF MONTAIGNE.

scattered this opinion, that such trash of books and papers
must be left untouched and whole for their enemies, as the
only mean and proper instrument to divert them from all
military exercises, and amuse them to idle, secure, and seden-
tary occupations. When our King Charles the Eighth, in a
manner without unsheathing his sword, saw himself absolute
lord of the whole kingdom of Naples, and of a great part of
Tuscany, the princes and lords of his train ascribed this
sudden and unhoped-for victory, and facility of so noble and
prodigious a conquest, only to this, that most of the princes
and nobility of Italy amused themselves rather to become
ingenious and wise by learning, than vigorous and warriors
by military exercises.

OF THE INSTITUTION AND EDUCATION OF CHILDREN ; TO
THE LADY DIANA OF FOIX, COUNTESS OF GURSON.

I NEVER knew father, how crooked and deformed soever his
son were, that would either altogether cast him ofi^ or not
acknowledge him for his own ; and yet (unless he be merely
besotted or blinded in his affection) it may not be said
but he plainly perceiveth his defects, and hath a feeling
of his imperfections. But so it is, he is his own. So
it is in myself. I see better than any man else that
what I have set down is nought but the fond imagina-
tions of him who in his youth hath tasted nothing but
the paring, and seen but the superficies of true learning,
whereof he hath retained but a general and shapeless form :
a smack of everything in general, but nothing to the purpose
in particular. After the French manner. To be short, I
know there is an art of physic, a course of laws^ (bur
parts of the mathematics, and I am not altogether ign<M:ant

ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE, 25

what they tend unto. And perhaps I also know the scope
and drift of sciences in general to be for the service of our
life. But to wade further, or that ever I tired myself with
plodding upon Aristotle (the monarch of our modern doctrine)
or obstinately continued in search of any one science, I con-
fess I never did it. Nor is there any one art whereof I am
able so much as to draw the first lineaments. And there
is no scholar (be he of the lowest form) that may not repute
himself wiser than I, who am not able to oppose him in his
first lesson ; and if I be forced to it, I am constrained visry
impertinently to draw in matter from some general discourse,
whereby I examine and give a guess at his natural judg-
ment : a lesson as much unknown to them as theirs is to
me. I have not dealt or had commerce with any excellent
book, except Plutarch or Seneca, from whom (as the /
Danaides) I draw my water, incessantly filling, and as fast
emptying ; something whereof I fasten to this paper, but to
myself nothing at all. And touching books, history is my
chief study, poesy my only delight, to which I am particu-
larly affected ; for as Cleanthes said, that as the voice being
forcibly pent in the narrow gullet of a trumpet at last
issueth forth more strong and shriller, so meseems that a
sentence cunningly and closely couched in measure-keeping
poesy darts itself forth more furiously and wounds me even
to the quick. And concerning the natural faculties that are
in me (whereof behold here an essay), I perceive them to
faint under their own burden ; my conceits and my judg-
ment march but uncertain, and as it were groping, stagger-
ing, and stumbling at every rush. And when I have gone as
£ur as I can I have no whit pleased myself, for the further
I sail the more land I descry, and that so dimmed with fogs,
and overcast with clouds, that my sight is so weakened I
cannot distinguish the same. And then undertaking to

26 ESS A YS OF MONTAIGNE.

speak indifferently of all that presents itself unto my fantasy,
and having nothing but mine own natural means to employ
therein, if it be my hap (as commonly it is) among good,
authors, to light upon those very places which I have under-
taken to treat of, as even now I did in Plutarch, reading his
discourse of the power of imagination, wherein in regard of
those wise men I acknowledge myself so weak and so poor,
so dull and gross-headed, as I am forced both to pity and
disdain myself, yet am I pleased with this, that my opinions
have often the grace to jump with theirs, and that I follow
them aloof off, and thereby possess at least that which all
other men have not, which is, that I know the utmost
difference between them and myself; all which notwith-
standing I suffer my inventions to run abroad, as weak and
faint as I have produced them, without bungling and botch-
ing the faults which this comparison hath discovered to me
in them. A man had need have a strong back to under-
take to march foot to foot with these kind of men. The
indiscreet writers of our age, amidst their trivial composi-
tions, intermingle and wrest in whole sentences taken from
ancient authors, supposing by such filching theft to purchase
honour and reputation to themselves, do clean contrary.
For this infinite variety and dissemblance of lustres makes a
face so wan, so ill-favoured, and so ugly, in respect of theirs,
that they lose much more than gain thereby. These were
two contrary humours : the philosopher Chrisippus was
wont to foist in amongst his books, not only whole sentences
and other long-long discourses, but whole books of other
authors, as in one he brought in Euripides' Medea,
And Apollodorus was wont to say of him, that if one
should draw from out his books what he had stolen from
others, his paper would remain blank. Whereas Epicurus,
clean contrary to him, in three hundred volumes he left

ESS A YS OF MONTAIGNE. 27

behind him, had not made use of one allegation. It was
my fortune not long since to light upon such a place : I had
languishingly traced after some French words, so naked and
shallow, and so void either of sense or matter, that at last I
found them to be nought but mere French words ; and after
a tedious and wearisome travel I chanced to stumble upon
an high, rich, and even to the clouds-raised piece, the
descent whereof had it been somewhat more pleasant or
easy, or the ascent reaching a little further, it had been
excusable, and to be borne withal; but it was such a
steepy down-fall, and by mere strength hewn out of the
main rock, that by reading of the first six words methought
I was carried into another world : whereby I perceive the
bottom whence I came to be so low and deep, as I durst
never more adventure to go through it ; for, if I did stuff
any one of my discourses with those rich spoils, it would
manifestly cause the sottishness of others to appear. To
reprove mine own faults in others seems to me no more
insufferable than to reprehend (as I do often) those of
others in myself. They ought to be accused everywhere,
and have all places of sanctuary taken from them ; yet do I
know how over-boldly at all times I adventure to equal
myself unto my filchings, and to march hand in hand with
them j not without a fond hardy hope that I may perhaps
be able to blear the eyes of the judges from discerning
them. But it is as much for the benefit of my application
as for the good of mine invention and force. And I do not
furiously front, and body to body wrestle with those old
champions : it is but by flights, advantages, and false offers
I seek to come within them, and if I can, to give them a
fall I do not rashly take them about the neck, I do but
touch them, nor do I go so far as by my bargain I would
seem to do ; could I but keep even with them, I should

28 ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE,

then be an honest man ; for I seek not to venture on them,
but where they are strongest To do as I have seen some,
that is, to shroud themselves under other arms, not daring
so much as to show their fingers' ends unarmed, and to botch
up all their works (as it is an easy matter in a common
subject, namely, for the wiser sort) with ancient inventions,
here and there huddled up together. And in those who
endeavoured to hide what they have filched from others, and
make it their own, it is first a manifest note of injustice^ then
a plain argument of cowardliness; who having nothing of any
worth in themselves to make show of, will yet under the coun-
tenance of others* sufficiency go about to make a fair offer :
moreover (oh great foolishness),to seek by such cozening tricks
to forestall the ignorant approbation of the common sort,
nothing fearing to discover their ignorance to men of under-
standing (whose praise only is of value) who will soon trace
out such borrowed ware. As for me^ there is nothing I will
do less. I never speak of others, but that I may the more
speak of myself. This concerneth not those mingle-mangles
of many kinds of stuff, or as the Grecians call them,
Rhapsodies, that for such are published, of which kind
I have (since I came to years of discretion) seen divers
most ingenious and witty ; amongst others, one under the
name of Capilupus; besides many of the ancient stamp.
These are wits of such excellence as both here and else-
where they will soon be perceived, as our late famous writer
Lipsius, in his learned and laborious work of the Politics :
yet whatsoever come of it, forsomuch as they are but
follies, my intent is not to smother them, no more than
a bald and hoary picture of mine, where a painter hath
drawn not a perfect visage, but mine own. For, howso-
ever, these are but my humours and opinions, and I deliver
them but to show what my conceit is, and not what ought

ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE. 29

to be believed. Wherein I aim at nothing but to display
myself, who peradventure (if a new prenticeship change
me) shall be another to-morrow. I have no authority to ^^y^
purchase belief, neither do I desire it ; knowing well that I
am not sufficiently taught to instruct others. Some, having
read my precedent chapter, told me not long since, in mine
own house, I should somewhat more have extended myself
in the discourse concerning the institution of children.
Now, Madam, if there were any sufficiency in me touching
that subject, I could not better employ the same than to
bestow it as a present upon that little lad, which ere long
threateneth to make a happy issue from out your honour-
able womb; for, Madam, you are too generous to begin
with other than a man child. And having had so great
a part in the conduct of your successful marriage, I may
challenge some right and interest in the greatness and
prosperity of all that shall proceed from it : moreover, the
ancient and rightful possession, which you from time to
time have ever had, and still have, over my service, urgeth
me, with more than ordinary respects, to wish all honour,
welfare^ and advantage to whatsoever may in any sort
concern you and yours. And truly my meaning is but to\
show that the greatest difficulty, and importing all human /
knowledge, seemeth to be in this point, where the nurture/
and institution of young children is in question. For, as
in matters of husbandry, the labour that must be used
before sowing, setting, and planting, yea in planting itself,
is most certain and easy. But when that which was sown,
se^ and planted cometh to take life, before it come to
ripeness much ado and . great variety of proceeding \
belongeth to it So in men; it is no great matter to
get them, but, being born, what continual cares, what
diligent attendance, what doubts and fears, do daily wait

-J.

i

f

30 JESSA VS OF MONTAIGNE.

to their parents and tutors, before they can be nurtured
and brought to any good ! The foreshow of their inclina-
tion whilst they are young is so uncertain, their humours
so variable, their promises so changing, their hopes so
false, and their proceedings so doubtful, that it is v^
hard (yea, for the wisest) to ground any certain judgment
or assured success upon them. Behold Cjrmon, view
Themistocles, and a thousand others, how they have
differed, and fallen to better from themselves, and deceive
the expectation of such as knew them. The young whelps
both of dogs and bears at first sight show their natural
disposition, but men headlong embracing this custom or
fashion, following that humour or opinion, admitting this
or that passion, allowing of that or this law, are easily
changed, and soon disguised; yet it is hard to force the
natural propension or readiness of the mind, whereby it
followeth that for want of heedy foresight in those that
could not guide their course well, they often employ much
time in vain to address young children in those matters
whereunto they are not naturally addicted. All which
difficulties notwithstanding, mine opinion is, to bring them
up in the best and most profitable studies, and that a
man should slightly pass over those fond presages, and
deceiving prognostics, which we over precisely gather in
their infancy. And (without offence be it said) methinks
that Plato in his Commonwealth allowed them too-too much
authority.

Madam, learning joined with true knowledge is an
especial and graceful ornament, and an implement of
wonderful use and consequence — namely, in persons raised
to that degree of fortune wherein you are. I And in good
truth, learning hath not her own true form, nor can she
make show of her beauteous lineaments, if she fall into

/,

ESS A YS OF MONTAIGNE. 31

the hands of base and vile persons. [For, as famous
Torquato Tasso saith : " Philosophy being a rich and noble
queen, and knowing her own worth, graciously smileth
upon and lovingly embraceth princes and noblemen, if they
become suitors to her, admitting them as her minions, and
gently affording them all the favours she can; whereas
upon the contrary, if she be wooed, and sued unto by
clowns, mechanical fellows, and such base kind of people,
she holds herself disparaged and disgraced, as holding no
proportion with them. And therefore see we by experience,
that if a true gentleman or nobleman follow her with any
attention, and wooed her with importunity, he shall learn
and know more of her, and prove a better scholar in one
year than an ungentle or base fellow shall in seven, though
he pursue her never so attentively."] She is much more
ready and fierce to lend her furtherance and direction in
the conduct of a war, to attempt honourable actions, to
command a people, to treat a peace with a prince of foreign
nation, than she is to form an argument in logic, to devise
a syllogism, to canvass a case at the bar, or to prescribe
a receipt of pills. So (noble lady) forsomuch as I cannot
persuade myself that you will either forget or neglect this
point, concerning the institution of yours, especially having
tasted the sweetness thereof, and being descended of so
noble and learned a race, — for we yet possess the learned
compositions of the ancient and noble Earls of Foix, from
out whose heroic loins your husband and you take your
offspring; and Francis Lord of Candale, your worthy
uncle, doth daily bring forth such fruits thereof, as the
knowledge of the matchless quality of your house shall
hereafter extend itself to many ages, — I will therefore make
you acquainted with one conceit of mine, which is contrary
to the common use I hold, and that is all I am able to

33 ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE.

afford you concerning that matter, the charge of the
tutor which you shall appoint your son, in the choice of
whom consisteth the whole substance of his education and
bringing up; on which are many branches depending,
which (forasmuch as I can add nothing of any moment
to it) I will not touch at alL And for that point, wherein
I presume to advise him, he may ^oJtCx forth give credit
unto it as he shall see just cause..XTo a gentlemac/bom
of noble parentage, and heir of a house that aipaeth at true
learning, and in it would be disciplined, not so much for
game or commodity to himself (because so abject an end
is far unworthy the grace and favour of the Muses^ and
besides, hath a regard or dependency of others), nor for
\ external show and ornament, but to adorn and enrich his
^\J inward mind, desiring rather to shape and institute an able
and sufficient man than a bare learned man ; my desire is
therefore that the parents or overseers of such a gentleman
be very circumspect and careful in choosing his director,
whom I would rather commend for having a well composed
and temperate brain, than a fulT' stuffed head, yet both will
do well. And I would rather prefer wisdom, judgment,
civil customs, and modest behaviour than bare and mere
literal learning; and that in his charge he hold a new
course. Some never ces^se brawling in their scholars' ears
(as if they were still pouring in a tunnel) to follow their
book, yet is their charge nothing else but to repeat what
hath been told them before. I would have a tutor to
correct this part, and that at first entrance, according to
the capacity of the wit he hath in hand, he should begin
to make show of it, making him to have a smack of all
things, and how to choose and distinguish them, without
help of others, sometimes opening him the way, other
times leaving him to open it by himself. I would not have

JSSSA YS OF MONTAIGNE. 33

him to invent and speak alone, but suffer his disciple to
speak when his turn cometh. Socrates, and after him
Arcesilaus, made their scholars to speak firs^ and then
would speak themselves. Obest plerumque its qui discere /
voluntf auctoritas earutn qui docent:^ '*Most commonly the ^
authority of them that teach hinders them that would
leapj:^

y\\, is therefore meet that he make him first trot on before
him, whereby he may the better judge of his pace, and so
guess how long he will hold out, that accordingly he may
fit his strength ; for want of which proportion we often mar
alL And to know how to make a good choice, and how
far forth one may proceed (still keeping a due measure),
is one of the hardest labours I know. It is a sign of a
noble, and effect of an undaunted spirit, to know how to
second, and how far forth he shall condescend to his
childish proceedings, and how to guide them. As for
myself, I can better and with more strength walk up than
down a hilly/T'hose which, according to our common
£aishion, unifertake with one self-same lesson, and like
manner of education, to direct many spirits of divers forms
and different humours, it is no marvel if among a multitude
of children they scarce meet with two or three that reap
any good fruit by their discipline, or that come to any
perfection. I would not only have him to demand an
account of the words contained in his lesson, but of the
sense and substance thereof, and judge of the profit he
hath made of it, not by the testimony of his memory, but
by the witness of his life. That what he lately learned he
causes him to set forth and portray the same into sundry
shapes, and then to accommodate it to as many different
and several subjects, whereby he shall perceive whether he

^ Cic, De Nat, 1. i.

34 JSSSA YS OF MONTAIGNE

have yet apprehended the same, and therein enfeofifed him-
self, at due times taking his instruction from the institution
given by Plato. It is a sign of crudity and indigestion for
a man to yield up his meat even as he swallowed the same ;
the stomach hath not wrought its full operation unless it
has changed form and altered fashion of that which was
given him to boil and concoct

We see men gape after no reputation but learning, and
when they say, such a one is a learned man, they think they
have said enough. Our mind doth move at others' pleasure^
and tied and forced to serve the fantasies of others, being
brought under by authority, and forced to stoop to the lure
of their bare lesson ; we have been so subjected to harp
upon one string that we have no way left us to descant
upon voluntary; our vigour and liberty is clean extinct
Nunquam tutela sua fiunt: "They never come to their
own tuition.'' It was my hap to be familiarly acquainted
with an honest man at Pisa, but such an Aristotelian as he
held this infallible position, that a conformity to Aristotle's
doctrine was the true touchstone and squire of all solid
imaginations and perfect verity; for whatsoever had no
coherency with it was but fond chimeras and idle humours;
inasmuch as he had known all, seen all, and said all. This
proposition of his being somewhat over amply and injuri-
ously interpreted by some made him a long time after to
be troubled in the inquisition of Rome. I^ would havftJlinau
. make his sc holar na rrowly to sift all things with discretions^

\| and-hSBoiir nothing inTHsTTSaiH^jMneFe aUfHori^OTlupon

'trustj^ Aristotle's prinripT^^'^Thntr^'^iT^-iTrT'^H^YiftQij'i mtffT^

iim than the Stoics or Epicureans. Let this diversity of judg-
j ments be proposed unto him : if he can, he shall be able to
distinguish the truth from falsehood ; if not, he will remain
doubtful

ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE. 35

Chs noH men ehe safer dubbiar n^aggraia,^

No less it pleaseth me
To doubt, than wise to be.

For if by bis own discourse be embrace tbe opinions of
Xenopbon or of Plato^ tbey sball be no longer tbeirs, but y^
his. He th at merdy follpweth another tracetb notbingi
and seek^jtb.JQQtbingi-iiV^fi sumus sub Rege^ sibi quisque se
vindicet:^ "We are not under a king's command; every one
may challenge himself, for let him at least know that be
knoweth." It is requisite he endeavour as much to feed
himself with their conceits as labour to learn their pre-
cepts; which, so be know how to apply, let him hardly
forget where or whence he had them. Truth and reason
are common to all, and are no more proper unto him that
spake them heretofore than unto him that shall speak them
hereafter. And it is no more according to Plato's opinion
than to mine, since both he and I understand and see alike.
The bees do here and there suckle this and cull that
flower, but afterwards they produce the honey, which is
peculiarly their own, then is it no more thyme or marjoram.
So of pieces borrowed of others, he may lawfully alter,
transform, and confound them, to shape out of them a
perfect piece of work, altogether his own ; always provided
his judgment, his travel, study, and institution tend to
nothing but to frame the same perfect. Let him hardly
conceal where or whence he hath had any help, and make
no show of anything, but of that which he hath made him-
self. Pirates, pilchers, and borrowers make a show of their
purchases and buildings, but not of that which they have
taken from others : you see not the secret fees or bribes
lawyers take of their clients, but you shall manifestly
discover the alliances they make, the honours they get for

^ Dante, Inferno^ cant. xi. 93. * Sen., Epist. xxxiii.

/

36 ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE.

their children, and the goodly houses they build. No man
makes open show of his receipts, but every one of his
gettings. Th e good that c omes pf study X^-at leasLshoukl
come) is to prov e j^gl^fiTijjyisej ry and honestey . It is the
understanding power (said Epicharmus) that seeth and
heareth, it is it that profiteth all and disposeth all, that
moveth, swayeth, and ruleth all: all things else are but
blind, senseless, and without spirit. And truly in barring
him of liberty to do anything of himself, we make him
thereby more servile and more coward. Who would ever
\ inquire of his scholar what he thinketh of rhetoric, of
grammar, of this or of that sentence of Cicero? Which
things thoroughly feathered (as if they were oracles) are let
fly into our memory ; in which both letters and syllables
are substantial parts of the subject. To know by rote is no
perfect knowledge, but to keep what one hath committed
to his memory's charge is commendable : what a man
directly knoweth that will he dispose of, without turning
N still to his book or looking to his pattern. A mere bookish
-"^ sufficiency is unpleasant. All I expect of it is an embel-
lishing of my actions, and not a foundation of them,
according to Plato's mind, who saith constancy, fiiith, and
sincerity are true philosophy; as for other sciences, and
tending elsewhere, they are but garish paintings. I would
fain have Paluel or Pompey, those two excellent dancers of
our time, with all their nimbleness, teach any man to do
their lofty tricks and high capers, only with seeing them
done, and without stirring out of his place, as some
\ pedantical fellows would instruct our minds without moving
or putting it in practice. And glad would I be to find one
that would teach us how to manage a horse, to toss a pike,
to shoot off a piece, to play upon the lute, or to warble with
the voice, without any exercise, as these kind of men would

ESS A YS OF MONTAIGNE. 37

teach us to judge, and how to speak well, without any
exercise of speaking or judging. In which kind of life^ or
as I may term it, prenticeship, what action or object soever
presents itself unto our eyes may serve us instead of a
sufficient book. A pretty prank of a boy, a knavish trick of
^ P^g^ ^ foolish part of a lackey, an idle tale or any
discourse else, spoken either in jest or earnest, at the table
or in company, are even as new subjects for us to work
upon: for furtherance whereof, commerce or common
society among men, visiting of foreign countries, and
observing of strange fashions, are very necessary, not only to
be able (after the manner of our young gallants of France)
to report how many paces the church of Santa Rotonda is
in length or breadth, or what rich garments the courtesan
Signora Livia weareth, and the worth of her hosen ; or as
some do, nicely to dispute how much longer or broader the
face of Nero is, which they have seen in some old ruins of
Italy, than that which is made for him in other old monu-
ments elsewhere. But they should principally observe and
be able to make certain relation of the humours and fashions
of those countries they have seen, that they may the better
know how to correct and prepare their wits by those of
others. I would therefore have him begin even from his
infancy to travel abroad ; and first, that at one shoot he
may hit two marks, he should see neighbour countries,
namely, where languages are most different from ours ; for
unless a Qi^n's tongue be fashioned unto them in his youth,
^Q shaUxever attain to the true pronunciation of them. if
be once grow in years. Moreover, we see it received as a
common opinion of the wiser sort, that it agreeth not with
reason that a child be always nuzzled, cockered, dandled,
and brought up in his parents' lap or sight; forsomuch as
their natural kindness, or (as I may call it) tender fondness.

J

/

/

/

38 ESSA VS OF MONTAIGNE.

causeth often even the wisest to prove so idle, so over-
nice, and so base-minded. For parents are not capable,
neither can they find in their hearts to see them checked,
corrected, or chastised, nor endure to see them brought up
so meanly, and so far from daintiness, and many times so
dangerously, as they must needs be. And it would grieve
them to see their children come home from those exercises
that a gentleman must necessarily acquaint himself with,
sometimes all wet and bemired, other times sweaty and full
of dust, and to drink being either extreme hot or exceeding
cold ; and it would trouble them to see him ride a rough,
untamed horse, or with his weapon furiously encounter a
skilful fencer, or to handle or shoot off a musket ; against
which there is no remedy, if he will make him prove a
sufficient, complete, or honest man : he must not be spared
in his youth ; and it will come to pass that he shall many
times have occasion and be forced to shock the rules of

physic.

Viiofnque sub die et trepidis agai

In rebus, ^

Lead he his life in open air,
And in afiiUrs full of despair.

" It is not sufficient to make his mind strongs his muscles
must also be strengthened : the mind is over-borne if it be
not seconded ; and it is too much for her alone to dischaxge
two offices. I have a feeling how mine panteth, being
joined to so tender and sensible a body, and that lieth so
heavy upon it. And in my lecture I often perceive how
my authors in their writings sometimes commend examples
for magnanimity and force, that rather proceed from a thick
skin and hardness of the bones. I have known men,
women, and children bom of so hard a constitution that a

^ Hor. 1. L, Od, ii. 4.

£SSA VS OF MONTAIGNE, 39

blow with a cudgel would less hurt them than a fillip
would do me, and so dull and blockish that they will
neither stir tongue nor eyebrows, beat them never so
much. When wrestlers go about to counterfeit the philo-
sophers' patience^ they rather show the vigour of their
sinews than of their heart. For the custom to bear travail
is to tolerate grief : Labor caiium obducit doiori :^ "Labour
worketh a hardness upon sorrow." He must be inured
to suffer the pain and hardness of exercises, that so he
may be induced to endure the pain of the colic, of
cautery, of falls, of sprains, and other diseases incident to
man's body: yea, if need require^ patiently to bear imprison-
ment and other tortures, by which sufferance he shall come
to be had in more esteem and account; for according
to time and place the good as well as the bad man may
haply fall into them; we have seen it by experience.
Whosoever striveth against the laws threatens good men
with mischief and extortion. Moreover, the authority of
the tutor (who should be sovereign over him) is by the
cockering and presence of the parents hindered and inter*
rupted ; besides the awe and respect which the household
bears him, and the knowledge of the means, possibilities,
and greatness of his house, are in my judgment no small
lets in a young gentleman. In this school of commerce / t/
and society among men I have often noted this vice, that
in lieu of taking acquaintance of others we only endeavour
to make ourselves known to them ; and we are more ready
to utter such merchandise as we have than to engross and
purchase new commodities. Silence and modesty are
qualities vef y con venient to. civil conversation. It is also
necessary that a^ young man be rather taught to be dis*
creetly sparing and close-handed than prodigally wasteful

1 Cic, Tusc. Qu, L ii.

40 ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE.

and lavish in his expenses, and moderate in husbanding
his wealth when he shall come to possess it And not to
take pepper in the nose for every foolish tale that shall be
spoken in his presence, because it is an uncivil importunity
to contradict whatsoever is not agreeing to our humour : let
him be pleased to correct himself. And let him not seem
to blame that in others which he refuseth to do himself nor
go about to withstand common fashions, Zice^ sapere sine
/ iwmfa^ sine invidia:^ "A man may be wise without
' ^ostentation, without envy." Let him avoid those imperious
images of the world, those uncivil behaviours and diildish
ambition wherewith, God wot, too too many are possessed;
that is, to make a fair show of that which is not in him;
endeavouring to be reputed other than indeed he is; and as
if reprehension and new devices were hard to come by, he
would by that means acquire unto himself the name of
some peculiar virtue. As it pertaineth but to great poets
to use the liberty of arts, so is it tolerable but in noble
minds and great spirits to have a pre-eminence above
ordinary fashions. Si quid Socrates et Aristippus contra
morem et consuetudinem fecerunty idem sibi ne arbitretur
licere; Magis enim illi et divinis bonis hanc licentiam asse-
quebantur:^ *' If Socrates and Aristippus have done aught
against custom or good manner, let not a man think he may
do the same; for they obtained this licence by their great
and excellent good part" He shall be taught not to enter
rashly into discourse or contesting, but when he shall
encounter with a champion worthy his strength. And then

C would I not have him employ all the tricks that may fit his
turn, but only such as may stand him in most stead. That
Ife be taught to be curious in making choice of his reasons,
loving pertinency, and by consequence brevity. That

* Sen.,^/w/. ciii. f. * Cic, Off,\.'\,

ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE. 41

above all, he be instructed to yield, yea to quit his weapons
unto truth, as soon as he shall discern the same, whether it
proceed from his adversary, or upon better advice from
himself; for he shall not be preferred to any place of
eminence above others for repeating of a prescribed part ;
and he is not engaged to defend any cause, further than he
may approve it; nor shall he be of that trade where the
liberty for a man to repent and re-advise himself is sold for
ready money. Neque, ui omnia^ que prascripta et imperaia
sint^ defendat, necessitate ulla cogitur:"^ "Nor is he enforced
by any necessity to defend and make good all that is pre-
scribed and commanded him." If his tutor agree with my
humour, he shall frame his affection to be a most loyal and
true subject to his prince, and a most affectionate and
courageous gentleman in all that may concern the honour
of his sovereign or the good of his country, and endeavour
to suppress in him all manner of affection to undertake any
action otherwise than for a public good and duty. Besides
many inconveniences, which greatly prejudice our liberty
.by reason of these particular bonds, the judgment of a man
that is waged and bought, either it is less free and honest,
or else it is blemished with oversight and ingratitude. A
mere and precise courtier can neither have law nor will to
speak or think otherwise than favourably of his master, who
among so many thousands of his subjects hath made choice
of him alone, to institute and bring him up with his own
hand. These favours, with the commodities that follow
minion courtiers, corrupt (not without some colour of
reason) his liberty, and dazzle his judgment It is there-
fore commonly seen that the courtier's language differs from
other men's in the same state, and to be of no great credit
in such matters. Let the refore his conscience and virtue

* Cic*, Acad, Qu. 1. iv.

/^2 ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE.

' shine in his speech, and reason be his chief direction.

Nl>et him be taught to confess such faults as he shaTT

J discover in his own discourses, albeit none other perceive

f them but himself; for it is an evident show of judgment,

I and effect of sincerity, which are the chiefest qualities he

aimeth at. That wilfully to strive, and obstinately to

contest in words, are common qualities, most apparent in

basest minds; that to re-advise and correct himself and

when one is most earnest, to leave an ill opinion, are rare,

noble, and philosophical conditions. Being in company,

he shall be put in mind to cast his eyes round about and

everywhere; for I note that the chief places are usually

seized upon by the most unworthy and less capable, and

that height of fortune is seldom joined with sufficiency. I

have seen that whilst they at the upper end of a board

^ were busy entertaining themselves with talking of the

beauty of the hangings about a chamber, or of the taste of

some good cup of wine, many good discourses at the lower

^ end have utterly been lost He shall weigh the carriage of

■_ every man in his calling, a herdsman, a mason, a stranger,

' or a traveller ; all must be employed, every one according
to his worth, for all helps to make up household ; yea, the
folly and the simplicity of others shall be as instructions to
him. By controlling the graces and manners of others, he
shall acquire unto himself envy of the good and contempt
of the bad. Let him hardly be possessed with an honest
curiosity to search out the nature and causes of all things ;
let him survey whatsoever is rare and singular about him ;
a building, a fountain, a man, a place where any battle hath
been fought, or the passages of Caesar or Charlemagne.

Qua tellus sit Unfa gelu, qua putris ah astu^
Ventus in Italiam quis bene velaferati}

^ Prop. 1. iv., EL iiii 39«

ESSA VS OF MONTAIGNE. 43

What land is parched with heat, what clogged with frost.
What wind drives kindly to th' Italian coast.

He shall endeavour to be familiarly acquainted with the
customs, with the means, with the state, with the depend-
ancies and alliances o£.all princes; they are things soon
and pleasant to be learned, and most profitable to be
known. In this acquaintance of men, my intending is that^
he chiefly comprehend them that live but by the memory
of books. He shall, by the help of histories, inform himself
of the worthiest minds that were in the best ages. It is a
frivolous study, if a man list, but of invaluable worth to
such as can"" make use of it, and as Plato saith, the only
study the Lacedaemonians reserved for themselves. What
profit shall he not reap, touching this point, reading the
lives of our Plutarch? Always conditioned, the master
bethinketh himself whereto his charge tendeth, and that he
imprint not so much in his scholar's mind the date of the
ruin of Carthage, as the manners of Hannibal and Scipio,
nor so much where Marcellus died, as because he was
unworthy of his devoir he died there; tl ^t he teach him
not so much to know histories as to judge of them. It is
amongst things that best agree with my humour, the subject
to which our spirits do most diversely apply themselves. I
have read in Titus Livius a number of things, which per^
adventure others never read, in whom Plutarch haply read
a hundred more than ever I could read, and which perhaps
the author himself did never intend to set down. To some
kind of men it is a mere grammatical study, but to others
a perfect anatomy of philosophy; by means whereof the
secretest part of our nature is searched into. There are in
Plutarch many ample discourses most worthy to be known;
for in my judgment he is the chief work-master of such
works, whereof there are a thousand, whereat he hath but

44 I^^SSA YS OF MONTAIGNE.

sligluly glanced ; for with his finger he doth but point us
out a way to walk in, if we list; and is sometimes pleased
to give but a touch at the quickest and main point of a
discourse, from whence they are by diligent study to be
drawn, and so brought into open market As that saying
of his, That the inhabitants of Asia served but one alone,
because they could not pronounce one only syllable, which
is Non, gave perhaps both subject and occasion to my
friend Boetie to compose his book of voluntary servitude.
If it were no more but to see Plutarch wrest a slight action
to man's life, or a word that seemeth to bear no such sense,
it will serve for a whole discourse. It is pity men of
understanding should so much love brevity; without doubt

V their reputation is thereby better, but we the worse.
Plutarch had rather we should commend him for his
judgment than for his knowledge; he loveth better to leave

^ a kind of longing desire in us of him, than a satiety. He
knew very well that even in good things too much may be
said; and that Alexandridas did justly reprove him who
spake very good sentences to the Ephores, but they were
over-tedious. "Oh, stranger," quoth he, "thou speakest
what thou oughtest, otherwise then thou shouldest" Those
that have lean and thin bodies stuff them up with bom-
basting. And sucjj. as have but poor matter will puff it up
with lofty words. fThere is a marvellous clearness, or, as I
may term it, an enhghtening of man's judgment drawnfrom

the commerce of men, and. by frequentipgji^bjj
world^; we are all so contrived and compact in ourselves,
that our sight is made shorter by the length of our^nose^
When Socrates was demanded whence he was, he answeredf
not of Athens, but of the world; for he, who had his
imagination more full and further stretching, embraced all
the world for his native city, and extended his acquaintance^

ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE. 45

»

his society, and afifections to all mankind ; and not as we
do, that look no further than our feet. If the frost chance/
to nip the vines about my village, my priest doth presently I
argue that the wrath of God hangs over our head, and \
threateneth all mankind; and judg^ that the pip is |
already fallen upon the cannibals, jt

In viewing these intestine and 'civil broils of ours, who
doth not exclaim that this world's vast frame is near unto a
dissolution, and that the day of judgment is ready to fall on
us ? never remembering that many worse revolutions have
been seen, and that whilst we are plunged in grief, and
overwhelmed in sorrow, a thousand other parts of the world
besides are blessed with happiness^ and wallow in pleasures,
and never think on us ; whereas, when I behold our lives,
our licence, and impunity, I wonder to see them so mild
and easy. He on whose head it haileth, thinks all the
hemisphere besides to be in a storm and tempest. And as
that duU-pated Savoyard said, that if the silly king of
France could cunningly have managed his fortune, he
might very well have made himself chief steward of his lord's
household, whose imagination conceived no other greatness
than his master's ; we are all insensible of this kind of error,
an error of great consequence and prejudice. But who-
soever shall present unto his inward eyes, as it were in a
table, the idea of the great image of our universal mother
nature, attired in her richest robes, sitting in the throne of
her majesty, and in her visage shall read so general and so
constant a variety ; he that therein shall view himself, not
himself alone, but a whole kingdom, to be in respect of a
great circle but the smallest point that can be imagined, he
only can value things according to their essential greatness
and proportion. This great universe (which some multiply
as species under one genus) is the true looking-glass wherein

46 ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE.

we roust look, if we will know whether we be of a good

C stamp or in the right bias. To conclude, I would have this
world's frame to be my scholar's choice bo(Ji^-So many
sG^hge humours, sundry seclS^'^TSrymg judgments, divers
opinions, different laws, and fantastical customs teach us to
judge rightly of ours, and instruct our judgment to acknow-
ledge his imperfections and natural weakness, which is no
easy an apprenticeship. So many innovations of estates, so
many falls of princes, and changes of public fortune, may
and ought to teach us not to make so great account of
our^. So many names, so many victories, and so many
conquests buried in dark oblivion, makes the hope to
perpetuate our names but ridiculous, by the surprising of
ten Argo-letters, or of a small cottage, which is known but
by his fall. The pride and fierceness of so many strange and
gorgeous shows ; the pride-puffed majesty of so many courts,
and of their greatness, ought to confirm and assure our
sight, undauntedly to bear the affronts and thunder-claps df
ours, without feeling our eyes. So many thousands of men,
low-laid in their graves before us, may encourage us not to
fear, or be dismayed to go meet so good company in the
other world; and so of all things else. Our life (said
Pythagoras) draws near unto the great and populous
assemblies of the Olympic games, wherein some, to get the
glory and to win the goal of the games, exercise their bodies
with all industry ; others, for greediness of gain, bring thither
merchandise to sell; others there are (and those be not
the worst) that seek after no other good, but to mark how,
wherefore, and to what end, all things are done ; and to be
spectators or observers of other men's lives and actions, that
so they may the better judge and direct their own. Unto
examples may all the most profitable discourses of philo-
sophy be sorted, which ought to be the touchstone of

ESSAYS OF MONTAIGNE. 47

human actions, and a rule to square them by, to whom may
be said,

~—^uid fas optar€^ quid aspsr
Utile nummus hahet^ pcUria charisque propinquis
Quantum elargiri deceat^ quern te Deus esse
lussit^ ethumana qua parte locatus es in re,^
Quid sumus, out quidnam victuri gijptimurj'^

What thou ma/st wish, what profit may come clear.
From new-stamped coin, to friends and coantry dear
What thou ought'st give : whom' God would have thee he,
And in what part amongst men he placed thee.
What we are, and wherefore,
To live here we were bom.

What it is to know, and not to know (which ought to be
the scope of study), what valour, what temperance, and
what justice is : what difference there is between ambition
and avarice, bondage and freedom, subjection and liberty,
by which marks a man may distinguish true and perfect
contentment, and how far forth one ought to fear or
apprehend death, grief, or shame.

Et quo quemque modo fugidique fer&tque laborem.^

How ev'ry labour he may ply.
And bear, or ev'ry labour fly.

What wards or springs move us, and the causes of
so many motions in us. For meseemeth that the first
discourses wherewith his conceit should be sprinkled,
ought to be those that rule his manners and direct his
sense ; which will both teach him to know himself and how
to live and how to die well Among the liberal sciences,
let us begin with that which makes us free. Indeed, they
may all, in some sort stead us, as an instruction to our life,
and use of it, as all other things else serve the same to

1 Pers., Sat. iii. 69. « Ibid. 67. » Virg., yEn. 1. iii. 853.

48 ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE.

some purpose or other. ( But let us make especial choice of
that which may directly ahd pertinently serve the samey If
we could restrain and adapt the appurtenances of odr life
to their right bias and natural limits^ we should find the
best part of the sciences that now are in use^ clean out of
fashion with us ; yea, and in those that are most in use^
there are certain by-ways and deep-flows most profitable^
which we should do well to leave, and according to the
institution of Socrate^^imit the course of our studies in
those where profit is wanting, i

taper* aude^

Incipe : vivem/i qui recti prerogat horam,
Rusticus cxpectai dum deJUuai amnis^ at iUe^
Labitur^ et labetur in omne velubilis csvum?-

Be bold to be wise : to begin, be strong.
He that to live well doth the time prolong,
Clown-Iike expects, till down the stream be run.
That runs, and will run, till the world be done.

It is mere simplicity to teach our children,

Quid moveant Pisces, animosaque signa Leenis,
Lotus et Hesperia quid Capricomus aqua,^

What Pisces move, or hot breath'd Leos beams.
Or Capricomus bath'd in western streams,

the knowledge of the stars, and the motion of the eighth
sphere, before their own ;

T( "nXeidSeco'i K&fiol rl 8* darpdai podnew.^

What longs it to the seven stars, and me,
Or those about Bootes be.

Anaximenes, writing to Pythagoras, saith, "With what
sense can I amuse myself in the secrets of the stars, having

1 Hor. 1. i., JSpist. ii. 40. ^ p^p |^ j^^^ ^/ ^ 3^

• Anacr., Od. xvii. 10, 11.

ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE. 49

continually death or bondage before mine eyes ? " For at
that time the kings of Persia were making preparations to
war against his country. All men ought to say so. Being
beaten with ambition, with avarice, with rashness, and with
superstition, and having such other enemies unto life within
him. Wherefore shall I study and take care about the
mobility and variation of the world? When he is once
taught what is fit to make him better and wiser, he shall be
entertained with logic, natural philosophy, geometry, and
rhetoric, then having settled his judgment, look what
science he doth most addict himself unto, he shall in short
time attain to the perfection of it. His lecture shaH be
sometimes by way of talk and sometimes by book; his
tutor may now and then supply him with the same author,
as an end and motive of his institution ; sometimes giving
him the pith and substance of it ready chewed. And if of
himself he be not so thoroughly acquainted with books,
that he may readily find so many notable discourses as are
in them to effect his purpose, it shall not be amiss that
some learned man be appointed to keep him company, who
at any time of need may furnish him with such munition
as he shall stand in need of; that he may afterward
distribute and dispense them to his best use. And that this
kind of lesson be mor^easy and natural than that of Gaza,
who will make question? Those are but harsh, thorny,
and unpleasant precepts ; vain, idle, and immaterial words,
on which small hold may be taken ; wherein is nothing to
quicken the mind. In this the spirit findeth substance to
bide and feed upon. A fruit without all comparison much
better, and that will soon be ripe. It is a thing worthy con-
sideration, to see what state things are brought unto in this
our age ; and how philosophy, even to the wisest, and men
of best understanding, is but an idle, vain, and fantastical

4

so ISSSA YS OF MONTAIGNE,

name, of small use and less worth, both in opinion and
effect. I think these sophistries are the cause of it^ which
have forestalled the ways to come unto it They do very
till that go about to make it seem as it were inaccessible for
{children to come unto, setting it forth with a wrinkled, ghastly,
land frowning visage ; who hath masked her with so counter-
ifeit, pale, and hideous a countenance ? There is nothing
I more beauteous, nothing more delightful, nothing more
gamesome; and as I may say, nothing more fondly
wanton : for she presenteth nothing to our eyes, and
preacheth nothing to our ears, but sport and pastime. A
sad and lowering look plainly declareth that that is not her
haunt. Demetrius the grammarian, finding a company of
philosophers sitting close together in the temple of Delphos^
said unto them, " Either I am deceived, or by your plausible
and pleasant looks, you are not in any serious and earnest
discourse amongst yourselves;'* to whom one of them,
named Heracleon the Megarian, answered, ''Thatbelongeth
to them who busy themselves in seeking whether the future
tense of the verb /?aAA(u hath a double X, or that labour
to find the derivation of the comparatives, x^V^^'i iScXTcoi^, .
and of the superlatives xeipurrov, fikXria-rov^ it is they that
must chafe in entertaining themselves with their science : as
for discourses of philosophy they are wont to glad, rejoice^
and not to vex and molest those that use them.

Deprendas animi tormenta IcUentis in agro
Corpore^ deprendas et gaudia; stimit utrumque
Inde habiium facies,^

You may perceive the torments of the mind,
Hid in sick body, you the joys may find ;
The face such habit takes in either kind.

^ Juven., Sat, ix. i8.

(t

ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE. 51

That mind which harboureth philosophy ought by reason
of her .sound health make that body also sound and
healthy J it ought to make her contentment to through-shine
in all exterior parts; it ought to shapen and model all out-
ward demeanours to the model of it; and by consequence
arm him that doth possess it with a gracious stoutness and
lively audacity, with an active and plea^'ng gesture^ and
with a settled and cheerfal countenance. ^The most evident
token and apparent sign of true wisdom is a constant and
unconstrained rejoicing, whose estate is like unto all things
above the moon, that is ever clear, always bright.^ It is
Baroco and Baralipton that makes their followers im)ve so
base and idle, and not philosophy; they know her not but
by hearsay: what? Is it not she that cleareth all storms of
the mind ? And teacheth misery, famine, and sickness to
laugh ? Not by reason of some imaginary Epicycles, but by
natural and palpable reasons. She aimeth at nothing but
virtue; it is virtue she seeks after; which, as the school
saitfa, is not pitched on the top of an high, steepy, or
inaccessible hill; for they that have come unto^her affirm
that clean contrary she keeps her stand, and holds her
mansion in a fair, flourishing, and pleasant plain, whence,
as from an high watch tower, she surveyeth all things, to be
subject unto her, to whom any man may with great facility
come, if he but know the way or entrance to her palace;
for the paths that lead unto her are certain fresh and shady
green allies, sweet and flowery ways, whose ascent is even,
easy, and nothing wearisome, like unto that of heaven's
vaults. Forsomuch as they have not frequented this virtue,
who gloriously, as in a throne of majesty sits sovereign,
goodly, triumphant, lovely, equally delicious and courageous,
protesting herself to be a professed and irreconcilable
enemy to all sharpness, austerity, fear, and compulsion;

Sa JSSSA ys OF MONTAIGNE.

having nature for her guide, fortune and voluptuousness for
her companions; they according to their weakness have
imaginarily fained her to have a foolish, sad, grim,
quarrelous, spiteful, threatening and disdainful visage, with
an horrid and unpleasant look; and have placed her upon
a craggy, sharp, and unfrequented rock, amidst desert clifis
and uncouth crags, as a scare-crow, or bugbear, to affright
the common people with. Now the tutor, which ought to
know that he should rather seek to fill the mind and store
the Will of his disciple, as much, or rather mor^ with love
and affection, than with awe, and reverence unto virtue,
may show and tell him that poets follow common humours^
making him plainly to perceive, and as it were palpably to
feel, that the gods have rather placed labour and sweat at
the entrances which lead to Venus* chambers, than at the
doors that direct to Pallas' cabinets.

And when he shall perceive his scholar to have a sensible
feeling of himself, presenting Bradamant or Angelica before
him, as a mistress to enjoy, embellished with a natural,
active, generous, and unspotted beauty not ugly or giant-
like, but blithe and lively, in respect of a wanton, soft,
affected, and artificial flaring beauty; the one attired like
unto a young man, coifed with a bright shining helmet, the
other disguised and dressed about the head like unto an
impudent harlot, with embroideries, frizzlings, and carcanets
of pearls : he will no doubt deem his own love to be a man
and no woman, if in Im choice he differ from that effeminate
shepherd of Phrygia.>^In this new kind of lesson he shall
declare unto him that the prize, the glory, and height of
true virtue consisted in the facility, profit, and pleasure of
his exercises; so far from difficulty and incumbrances^ that
qhildren as well as men, the simple as soon as the wise, may
come unto her.j Discretion and temperance, not force or

ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE, 53

waywardness, are the instruments to bring him unto her,
Socrates (virtue's chief favourite), that he might the better
walk in the pleasant, natural, and open path of her progresses,
doth voluntarily and in good earnest quit all compulsion.
She is the nurse and foster-mother of all human pleasures,
who in making them just and upright, she also makes them
sure and sincere. By moderating them, she keepeth them
in ure and breath. In limiting and cutting them off whom
she refuseth, she whetsus on toward those she leaveth unto
us; and plenteously leaves us them which Nature pleaseth,
and like a kind mother giveth us over unto satiety, if not
unto wearisomeness, unless we will peradventure say that the
rule and bridle which stayeth the drunkard before drunken-
ness, the glutton before surfeiting, and the letcher before the
losing of his hair, be the enemies of our pleasures. If
common fortune fail her, if clearly scapes her; or she
cares not for her, or she frames another unto herself,
altogether her own, not so fleeting nor so rowling. She
knoweth the way how to be rich, mighty, and wise, and
how to lie in sweet-perfumed beds. She loveth life; she
delights in beauty, in glory, and in health. But her proper
and particular office is, first to know how to use such goods
temperately, and how to lose them constantly. An office
much more noble than severe, without which all course of
life is unnatural, turbulent, and deformed, to which one
may lawfully join those rocks, those incumbrances, and
hideous monsters. If so it happen that his disciple
prove of so different a condition, that he rather love to
give ear to an idle fable than to the report of some noble
voyage, or other notable and wise discourse, when he shall
hear it; that at the sound of a drum or clang of a trumpet,
which are wont to rouse and arm the youthly heat of his
companions, turneth to another that calleth him to see a

54 ^SSA YS OF MONTAIGNE.

play, tumbling, juggling tricks, or other idle lose-time sports;
and who for pleasure's sake doth not deem it more delight-
some to return all sweaty and weary from a victorious
combat, from wrestling or riding of a horsey than from a
tennis-court or dancing-school, with the prize or honour of
such exerciser The best remedy I know for such a one is»
to put him prentice to some base occupation, in some good
town or other, yea, were he the son of a duke; according
to Plato's rule, who saith, "That children must be placed,
not according to their father's conditions, but the faculties
of their mind." Since it is philosophy that teacheth us to
live, and that infancy, as well as other ageS| may plainly
read her lessons in the same, why should it not be imparted
unto young scholars ?

Udum et molU lutum est^ nunc nunc prop&randtiSy et acri
Fingendus sine fine rota^-

He's moist and soft mould, and must by-and-by
Be cast, made up, while wheel whirls readily.

We are taught to live when our life is well-nigh spent
Many scholars have been infected with that loathsome and
marrow-wasting disease before ever they came to read
Aristotle's treatise of Temperance. Cicero was wont to say,
"That could he out-live the lives of two men, he should
never find leisure to study the lyric poets." And I find
these sophisters both worse and more unprofitable. Our
child is engaged in greater matters, and but the first fifteen
or sixteen years of his life are due unto pedantismi, the rest
unto action; let us therefore employ so short time as we
have to live in more necessary instructions. It is an abuse;
remove these thorny quiddities of logic, whereby our life
can no whit be amended, and betake ourselves to the simple
discourses of philosophy; know how to choose and fitly to

1 Pers., Sai. iii. 23.

£SSA YS OF MONTAlGNtL, 55

make use of them : they are much more easy to be con-
ceived than one of Boccaccio's tales. A child coming from
nurse is more capable of them than he is to learn to read
or write. Philo sophy hath discourses, whereof infanc][,^a&.
well as decaying old age^ay make good use. Tamof
Plutarch's mind, which is, that Aristotle did not so much
amuse his great disciple about the arts how to frame
syllogisms, or the principles of geometry, as he endeavoured
to instruct him with good precepts concerning valour,
prowess, magnanimity, and temperance, and an undaunted
assurance not to fear anything; and with such munition he
sent him, being yet very young, to subdue the empire of
the world, only with 30,000 footmen, 4000 horsemen, and
42,000 crowns in money. As for other arts and sciences,
he saith Alexander honoured them, and commended their
excellency and comeliness; but for any pleasure he took in
them, his affection could not easily be drawn to exercise

them.

-petite hinc juvenesque senesque

Finem animo certum^ miserisque viatica canis?-

Yonng men and old| draw hence (in your affairs)
Your minds' set mark, provision for grey hairs.

It is that which Epicurus said in the beginning of his
letter to Memiceus: "Neither let the youngest shun nor
the oldest weary himself in philosophising, for who doth
otherwise seemeth to^say, that either the season to live
happily is not yet come, or is already past." Yet would I
not have this young gentleman pent up, nor carelessly cast
off to the heedless choler, or melancholy humour of the
hasty schoolmaster. I would not have his budding spirit
corrupted with keeping him fast tied, and as it were
labouring fourteen or fifteen hours a day poring on his

* Pers., Sat, v. 64.

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book, as some do, as if he were a day-labouring man;
neither do I think it fit if at any time^ by reason of some
solitary or melancholy complexion, he should be seen with
an over-indiscreet application given to his book, it should
be cherished in him, for that doth often make him both
inapt for civil conversation and distracts him from better
employments. How many have I seen in my days, by an
over-greedy desire of knowledge, become as it were foolish?
Carneades was so deeply plunged and, as I may say,
besotted in it, that he could never have leisure to cut his
hair or pare his nails ; nor would I have his noble manners
obscured by the incivility and barbarism of others. 7^6
French wisdom hath long since proverbially been spoken of
as very apt to conceive study in her youth, but most inapt
to keep it long. In good truth, we see at this day that
there is nothing lovelier to behold than the young children
of France; but for the most part they deceive the hope
which was fore-apprehended of them ; for when they once
become men there is no excellency at all in them. I have
heard men of understanding hold this opinion, that the
colleges to which they are sent (of which there are store)
do thus besot them ; whereas to our scholar, a cabinet, a
garden, the table, the bed, a solitariness, a company,
morning and evening, and all hours shall be alike unto him,
all places shall be a study for him; for philosophy (as a
former of judgments and modeller of customs) shall be his
principal lesson, having the privilege to intermeddle herself
with all things and in all places. Isocrates the orator,
being once requested at a great banquet to speak of his art,
when all thought he had reason to answer, said, *' It is not
now time to do what I can, and what should now be done
I cannot do it; for to present orations, or to enter into
disputation of rhetoric, before a company assembled together

I

ESS A YS OF MONTAIGNE. 57

to be merry, and make good cheer, would be but a medley
of harsh and jarring music" The like may be said of all
other sciences. But touching philosophy — namely, in that
point where it treateth of man, and of his duties and offices
— it hath been the common judgment of the wisest that in
regard of the pleasantness of her conversation she ought
not to be rejected, neither at banquets nor at sports. And
Plato having invited her to his solemn feast, we see how
kindly she entertaineth the company with a mild behaviour,
fitly suiting herself to time and place, notwithstanding it be
one of his most learned and profitable discourses.

Mquk pauperihus prodesty locupktibus aquiy
Et negUcta aqui pueris senihusque nocebit,^

Poor men alike, alike rich men it easeth,
Alike it, scorned, old and young displeaseth.

So doubtless he shall less be idle than others ; for even
as the paces we bestow walking in a gallery, although they
be twice as man/ more, weary us not so much as those we
spend in going a set journey ; so our lesson being passed
over, as it were, by chance, or way of encounter, without
strict observance of time or place, being applied to all our
actions, shall be digested and never felt. All sports and
exercises shall be a part of his study; running, wrestling,
music, dancing, hunting, and managing of arms and horses.
I would have the exterior demeanour or decency and the
disposition of his person to be fashioned together with his
mind; for it is not a mind, it is not a body that we
erect, but it is a man, and we must not make two parts of
him. And, as Plato saith, they must not be erected one
without another, but equally be directed, no otherwise than
a couple of horses matched to draw in one self-same team.

^ Hor. 1. L| Epist, cxxv.

/

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And to hear him, doth he not seem to employ more time
and care in the exercises of his body ; and to think that
the mind is together with the same exercised, and not the
contrary? As for other matters, this institution ought to
be directed by a sweet-severe^mildness. Not as some do,
who in lieu of gently bidding c^lSren to the banquet of

C letters, present them with nothing but horror and cruelty.
Let me have this violence and compulsion removed, there
Yi nothing that, in my seeming, doth more bastardise and
dizzy a well-born and gentle nature. If you would have
him stand in awe of shame and punishment, do not so
much inure him to it ; accustom him patiently^ o endure
sweat and cold, the sharpness of the wind, tiie heat of the
sun, and how to despise all hazards. Remove from him all
niceness and quaintness in clothing, in lying, in eating, and
in drinking ; fashion him to all things, that he prove nol
fair and wanton, puling boy, but a lusty and vigorous j:
When I was a child, being a man, and now am old, I h
ever judged and believed the same. But amongst other
things I could never away with this kind of discipline used
in most of our colleges. It had perad venture been less
/ hurtful if they had somewhat inclined to mildness or
^y gentle entreaty. It is a very prison of capti vated y outh,

and proves dissolute in punishing it before it be^so Xlomt
upon them when they are going to their lesson, and you
hear nothing but whipping and brawling, both of children
tormented and masters besotted with anger and chafing.
How wide are they which go about to allure a child's mind
to go to its book, being yet but tender and fearful, with a
stern, frowning countenance, and with hands full of rods!
OK, wicked and pernicious manner of teaching ! which
Quintilian hath very well noted, that this imperious kind of
authority — namely, this way of punishing of children — draws

ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE. 59

many dangerous inconveniences within. How much more
decent were it to see their school-houses and forms strewed
with green boughs and flowCkS, than with bloody birchen
twigs ! If it lay in me I would do as the philosopher^
Speusippus did, who caused the pictures of Gladness and/
Joy, of Flora and of the Graces, to be set up round about/
his school-house. Where their profit lietlv-there should
also be their recreation. Those meats ought to be sugarea
over that are healthful for children's stomachs, and those
made bitter that are hurtful for them. It is strange to see
how careful Plato showeth himself in framing of his laws
about the recreation and pastime of the youth of his city,
and how far he extends himself about their exercises, sports,
songs, leaping, and dancing, whereof he saith that severe
antiquity gave the conduct and patronage unto the gods
themselves — namely, to Apollo, to the Muses, and to
Minerva. Mark but how far forth he endeavoureth to give a
thousand precepts to be kept in his places of exercises both
of body and mind. As for learned sciences, he stands not
much upon them, and seemeth in particular to commend
poesy but for music's sake. All strangeness and self-
particularity in our manners and conditions is to be
shunned as an enemy to society and dvil conversation.
Who would not be astonished at Demophon's complexion,
chief steward of Alexander's household, who was wont to
sweat in the shadow, and quiver for cold in the sun? I
have seen some to startle at the smell of an apple more
than at the shot of a piece; some to be frighted with a
mousey some ready to cast their gorge at the sight of a mess
of cream, and others to be scared with seeing a feather bed
shaken ; as Germanicus, who could not abide to see a cock,
or hear his crowing. There may haply be some hidden
property of nature which in my judgment might easily be

6o ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE.

removed, if it were taken in time. Institution hath gotten
this upon me (I must confess with much ado), for, except
beer, all things else that are man's food agree indifferently
with my taste. The body being yet supple, ought to be
accommodated to all fashions and customs; and (always
provided his appetites and desires be kept under) let a
young man boldly be made fit for all nations and com-
panies, yea, if need be, for all disorders and surfeitings;
let him acquaint himself with all fashions, that he may be
able to do all things, and love to do none but those that
are commendable. Some strict philosophers commend not,
but rather blame Calisthenes for losing the good favour of
his master Alexander, only because he Wj^ld not pledge
him as much as he had drunk to him.r^He shall laugh,
jest, dally, and debauch himself with his pHnce. And in
his debauching I would have him out-go all his fellows in
vigour and constancy, and that he omit not to do evil,
neither for want of strength or knowledge, but for lack of
I will Muitum interest utrum peccare quis nolity aut nesdat:^
I "There is a great difference, whether one have no will or
\ no wit to do amiss.'^N I thought to have honoured a
\ gentleman (as great ^nm'anger, and as far from such riotous
disorders as any is in France) by inquiring of him in very
good company how many times in all his life he had been
drunk in Germany during the time of his abode ther^
about the necessary affairs of our king ; who took it even
as I meant it, and answered three times, telling the time
and manner how. I know some who for want o^ that
quality have been much perplexed when they have had
occasion to converse with that natioa I have often noted
with great admiration that wonderful nature of Alcibiades,
to see how easily he could suit himself to so divers^

^ Hor., Episi, xvii. 23. ^

ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE. 6i

fashions and different humours, without prejudice unto his
health ; sometimes exceeding the suroptuousness and pomp
of the Persians, and now and then surpassing the austerity
and frugality of the Lacedaemonians ; as reformed in Sparta;
as voluptuous in Ionia. . .^

Omnis Aristippum decM color ^ et status^ et res,'^

AU colours, states, and things are fit
For courtly Aristippus* wit.

Such a one would I frame my disciple,

qtum duplici panno patient ia velat^

MiraboTy vita via si conversa decebit.

Whom patience clothes with suits of double kind,
I muse, if he another way will find.

Personamque feret non inconcinnus utramque,'^

He not unfitly may

Both parts and persons play.

Lo, here my lessons, wherein he that acteth them, profiteth
more than he that but knoweth them, whom if you see, you
hear, and if you hear him you see him. God forbid, saith
somebody in Plato, that to philosophise be to learn many
things, and to exercise the arts. Hanc amplissimam omnium
artium bene vivendi disdplinam^ vita magis quam litteris
persequnti sunt^ "This discipline of living well, which is
the amplest of all other arts, they followed rather in their
lives than in their learning or writing." Leo, Prince of the
Phliasians, inquiring of Heraclides Ponticus what art he
professed, he answered, "Sir, I profess neither art nor
science; but I am a philosopher." Some reproved Dio-
genes, that being an ignorant man, he did nevertheless
meddle with philosophy, to whom he replied, "So much

* Hon, Epist. xvii. 25. " lb, 29. ' Cic, Tusc, Qu. I. iv.

69 £SSA yS OF MONTAIGNE.

the more reason have I, and to greater purpose do I meddle
with it** Hegesias prayed him upon a time to read some
book unto him : " You are a merry man/' said he ; "as you
choose natural and not paintec^right and not counterfeit figs
to eat, why do you not likewise choose, not the painted and
written, but the true and natural exercises?" HgjbalLnoL
^jnuch repeat as act his lesson. In his actions shall he
make repetition of "the SSirieT "We must observe whether
there be wisdom in his enterprises, integrity in his
demeanour, modesty in his gestures, justice in his actions,
judgment and grace in his speech, courage in his sickness,
moderation in his sports, temperance in his pleasures, order
in the government of his house, and indifference in his
taste, whether it be flesh, fish, wine, or water, or whatsoever
he feedeth upon. Qui disciplinam suam non ostentationem
scientuB sed legem vitce putet: quique ohtemperet ipse sibi^ et
decretis pareaty "Who thinks his learning not an ostenta-
; tion of knowledge, but a law of life, and himself obeys

n/ himself, and doth what is decreed."

The true mirror of our discourses is the course of our
lives. 2^uxidamus answered one that demanded of him
why the Lacedaemonians did not draw into a book the
ordinances of prowess, that so their young men might read
them. " It is," saith he, " because they would rather
accustom them to deeds and actions than to books and
writings." Compare at the end of fifteen or sixteen years
one of these collegial Latinisers, who hath employed all that
while only in learning how to speak, to such a one as I
mean. The world is nothing but babbling and words, and
I never saw man that doth not rather speak more than he
ought than less. Notwithstanding half our age is consumed
that way. We are kept four or five years learning to under-

^ Cic, Tusc, Qu. 1. ii.

ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE. 63

stand bare words, and to join them into clauses, then as
long in proportioning a great body extended into four or
five parts ; and five more at least ere we can succinctly know
how to mingle, join, and interlace them handsomely into a
subtle fashion and into one coherent orb. Let us leave it
to those whose profession is to do nothing else. Being
once on my journey to Orleans, it was my chance to meet
upon that plain that lieth on this side Clery with two
Masters of Arts, travelling toward Bordeaux, about fifty
paces one from another ; far off behind them, I descried a
troop of horsemen, their master riding foremost, who was
the E^l of Rochefoucauld ; one of my servants inquiring of
the first of those Masters of Arts what gentleman he was
that followed him; supposing my servant had meant his
fellow-scholar, for he had not yet seen the earl's train,
answered pleasantly, '* He is no gentleman, sir, but a gram-
marian, and I am a logician." Now, we that contrariwise
seek not to frame a grammarian, nor a logician, but a com-
plete gentleman, let us give them leave to misspend their
time; we have elsewhere, and somewhat else of more
import to do. So that our disciple be well and sufficiently \
stored with matter, words will follow apace, and if they
will not follow gently, he shall hail them on perforce. I
hear some excuse themselves that they cannot express their
meaning, and make a semblance that their heads are so
full stuffed with many goodly things, but for want of
eloquence they can neither utter nor make show of them.
It is a mere foppery. And will you know what, in my
seeming, the cause is ? They are shadows and chimeras,
proceeding of some formless conceptions, which they cannot '■
distinguish or resolve within, and by consequence are not
able to produce them inasmuch as they understand not
themselves ; and if you but mark their earnestness, and how

64 £:SSA YS OF MONTAIGNE.

they stammer and labour at the point of their delivery, you
would deem that what they go withal is but a conceiyiDgi
and therefore nothing near down-lying ; and that they do
but lick that imperfect and shapeless lump of matter. As
for me, I am of opinion, and Socrates would have it so^ that
he who had a clear and lively imagination in his mind may
easily produce and utter the same, although it be in Ber-
gamasc or Welsh, and if he be dumb, by signs and tokens.

Verbaque pravisam rem non invita sequifUur, ^

When matter we foreknow,
Words voluntary flow.

As one said, as poetically in his prose. Cum res animum
occupavercy verba ambiunt;^ "When matter hath possessed
their minds, they hunt after words ; " and another : Ipsa res
verba rapiunt :^ "Things themselves will catch and carry
words.*' He knows neither ablative, conjunctive, substan-
tive, nor grammar, no more doth his lackey, nor any oyster-
wife about the streets, and yet if you have a mind to it he
will entertain you your fill, and peradventure stumble as
little and as seldom against the rules of his tongue, as the
best Master of Arts in France. He hath no skill in rhetoric,
nor can he with a preface forestall and captivate the gentle
reader's goodwill; nor careth he greatly to know it In
good sooth, all this garish painting is easily defaced, by the
lustre of an in-bred and simple truth ; for these dainties and
quaint devices serve but to amuse the vulgar sort, unapt
and incapable to taste the most solid and firm meat; as
Afer very plainly declareth in Cornelius Tacitus. The
ambassadors of Samos being come to Cleomenes, King of
Sparta, prepared with a long prolix oration to stir him up

^ Hor., Art, Poet, 311. ^ Sen., Controv, 1. vii. proae.

' Cic, De Fin. \, iii. c 5.

ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE. 65

to war against the tyrant Policrates, after he had listened a
good while unto them, his answer was : '* Touching your
exordium or beginning I have forgotten it ; the middle I
remember not ; and for your conclusion I will do nothing
in it." A fit, and (to my thinking) a very good answer;
and the orators were put to such a shift, as they knew not
what to reply. And what said another ? The Athenians,
from out two of their cunning architects, were to choose
one to erect a notable great frame ; the one of them more
affected and self-presuming, presented himself before them,
with a smooth fore-premeditated discourse about the
subject of that piece of work, and thereby drew the judg-
ments of the common people unto his liking ; but the other
in few words spake thus : " Lords of Athens, what this man
hath said I will perform." In the greatest earnestness of
Cicero's eloquence many were drawn into a kind of admira-
tion ; but Cato jesting at it, said, " Have we not a pleasant
consul ? " A quick, cunning argument, and a witty saying,
whether it go before or come after, it is never out of season.
If it have no coherence with that which goeth before, nor
mth what cometh after, it is good and commendable in
itself. I am none of those that think a good rhyme to
make a good poem ; let him hardly (if so he please) make a
short syllable long, it is no great matter ; if the invention be
rare and good, and his wit and judgment have cunningly
played their part. I will say to such a one, he is a good
poet, but an ill versifier.

Emuncta naris^ durus componere versus, ^

A man whose sense could finely pierce,
But harsh and hard to make a verse.

I

^ Hor, 1. i., So/, iv. 8.

66 £SSA VS OF MONTAIGNE.

Let a man (saith Horace) make his work lose all seams,
measures, and joints.

Tempera certa modbsquef «/ quodprhu^ arditu wrimm tst?-
Tosterius facias^ praponem ultima primis :
Invemas etiam disjecH membra Poeta*^

Set times and moods, make you the first word last,
The last word first, as if they were new cast :
Yet find th' unjointed poet's joints stand £ut

He shall for all that nothing gainsay himself, every piece
will make a good show. To this purpose answered
Menander those that chid him, the day being at hand in
which he had promised a comedy, and had not b^;un the
same, "Tut-tut," said he, "it is already finished; there
wanteth nothing but to add the verse unto it;'' for, having
ranged and cast the plot in his mind, he made small account
of feet, of measures, or cadences of verses, which indeed
are but of small import in regard of the rest Since great
Ronsard and learned Bellay have raised our French poesy
unto that height of honour where it now is, I see not
one of these petty ballad-makers, or prentice doggerel
rhymers, that doth not bombast his labours with high-
swelling and J)eaven-disembowelling words, and that doth
not marshal his cadences very near as they da Plus sanat
quam valet :^ "The sound is more than the weight or
worth." And for the vulgar sort, there were never so many
poets, and so few good ; but as it hath been easy for them
to represent their rhymes, so come they far short in imitating
the rich descriptions of the one, and rare inventions of the
other. But what shall he do, if he be urged with sophistical
subtilties about a syllogism ? A gammon of bacon makes
a man drink, drinking quencheth a man's thirst; ergo^ a

1 Hor. 1. !., Sa\ iv. 58. » Jbid, 62. » Sen., Episi. xl.

ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE. 67

gammon of bacon quencheth a man's thirst Let him mock "
at it, it is more witty to be mocked at than to be answered.
Let him borrow this pleasant counter-craft of Aristippus :
''Why shall I unbind that, which being bound, doth so
much trouble me?" Some one proposed certain logical
quiddities against Cleanthes, to whom Chrisippus said :
Use such juggling tricks to play with children, and divert
not the serious thoughts of an aged man to such idle
matters. If such foolish wiles, Contorta et aculeata sophis-
mata}- ''Intricate and stinged sophisms," must persuade
a lie, it is dangerous ; but if they prove void of any effect,
and move him but to laughter, I see not why he shall
beware of them. Some there are so foolish that will go
a quarter of a mile out of the way to hunt after a quaint
new word, if they once get in chase : Aut qui non verba
rebus aptatii, sed res extrinsecus arcessunt^ quibus verba
conveniant: "Or such as fit not words to matter, but fetch
matter from abroad, whereto words be fitted." And
another. Qui alicujus verbi decore flacentis^ vocentur ad id
quod non prqposuerant scribere:^ "Who are allured by the
grace of some pleasing word, to write what they intended
not to write.'' I do more willingly wind up a witty notable
sentence, that so I may sew it upon me^ than unwind my
thread to go fetch it Contrariwise, it is for words to serve
and _j^it upoa the matter, and not for matter to attend
upgnword^ jmd if the French tongue cannot reach unto it,
let the Gascony, or any other. I would have the matters
to surmount, and so fill the imagination of him that
hearkeneth, that he have no remembrance at all of the
words. It is a natural, simple, and unaffected speech
that I love, so written as it is spoken, and such upon the
paper as it is in the mouth, a pithy, sinewy, full, strongs

1 Cic, Acad. Qu, 1. iv. » Sen., BpisL UiU

68 ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE.

compendious and material speech, not so delicate and
affected as vehement and piercing.

Hae demum sapiei dictio qtuB ftriit.^

In fine, that word is wisely fit

Which strikes the fence, the mark doth hit

Rather difficult than tedious, void of affection, free, loose^
and bold, that every member of it seems to make a body ;
not pedantical, nor friar-like, nor lawyer-like, but rather
downright, soldier-like. As Suetonius calleth that of Julius
Cffisar, which I see no reason wherefore he calleth it I
have sometimes pleased myself in imitating that licentious-
ness or wanton humour of our youths, in wearing of their
garments ; as carelessly to let their cloaks hang down over
one shoulder ; to wear their cloaks scarf or bawdrikwise,
and their stockings loose hanging about their legs. It
represents a kind of disdainful fierceness of these foreign
embellishings, and neglect carelessness of art But I
commend it more being employed in the course and form
of speech. All manner of afifectation, namely, in the liveli-
ness and liberty of France, is unseemly in a courtier. And
in a monarchy every gentleman ought to address himself
unto a courtier's carriage. Therefore do we well somewhat
to incline to a native and careless behaviour. I like not a
contexture where the seams and pieces may be seen. As
in a well compact body, what need a man distinguish and
number all the bones and veins severally? Quci veritati
operant dat oratio^ incomposita sit et simplex?^ Quis accurate
loquitur nisi qui vult putide loquil^ "The speech that
intendeth truth must be plain and unpolished : who
speaketh elaborately but he that means to speak
unfavourably?" That eloquence offereth injury unto

' Epitaph m Lucan, 6. * Sen., Epist, xl. • lb., Epist. Ixxv.

ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE. 69

things which altogether draws us to observe it As in
apparel it is a sign of pusillanimity for one to mark
himself in some particular and unusual fashion, so
likewise in common speech, for one to hunt after new
phrases and unaccustomed quaint words, proceedeth from
a scholastical and childish ambition. Let me use none
other than are spoken in the halls of Paris. Aristophanes
the grammarian was somewhat out of the way when he
reproved Epicurus for the simplicity of his words, and
the end of his art oratory which was only perspicuity in
speech. The imitation of speech, by reason of the facility
of it, foUoweth presently a whole natioa The imitation
of judging and inventing comes more slow. The greater
number of readers, because they have found one self-same
kind of gown, suppose most falsely to hold one like body.
Outward garments and cloaks may be borrowed, but never
the sinews and strength of the body. Most of those that
converse with me speak like unto these essays ; but I know
not whether they think alike. The Athenians (as Plato
averreth) have for their part great care to be fluent and
eloquent in their speech; the Lacedaemonians endeavour
to be short and compendious; and those of Crete labour
more to be plentiful in conceits than in language. And
these are the best. Zeno was wont to say that he had
two sorts of disciples : the one he called c^iXoXoyovs^ curious
to learn things, and those were his darlings; the other
he termed \oyo<i>iXov^^ who respected nothing more than
the language. Yet can no man say but that to speak
well is most gracious and commendable, but not so excel-
lent as some make it; and I am grieved to see how we
employ most part of our time about that only. I would
first know mine own tongue perfectly, then my neigh-
bours with whom I have most commerce. I must needs

70 ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE.

acknowledge that the Greek and Latin tongues are great
ornaments in a gentleman, but they are purchased at ove^
high a rate. Use it who list, I will tell you how they
may be gotten better, cheaper, and much sooner than is
ordinarily used, which was tried in myself. My late £Bither,
haying, by all the means and industry that is possible for a
man, sought amongst the wisest and men of best under-
standing to find a most exquisite and ready way of teaching,
being advised of the inconveniences then in us^ was given
to understand that the lingering while and best part of our
youth that we employ in learning the tongues, which cost
them nothing, is the only cause we can never attain to that
absolute perfection of skill and knowledge of the Greeks
and Romans. I do not believe that to be the only cause.
But so it is, the expedient my father found out was this:
that being yet at nurse, and before the first loosing of my
tongue, I was delivered to a German, who died since
(a most excellent physician in France), he being then
altogether ignorant of the French tongue, but exquisitely ^
ready and skilful in the Latin. This man, whom my father
had sent for the purpose, and to whom he gave very great
entertainment, had me continually in his arms, and wad
mine only overseer. There were also joined unto him two
of his countrymen, but not so learned ; whose charge was
to attend, and now and then to play with me ; and all these
together did never entertain me with other than the Latin
' tongue. As for others of his household, it was an inviolable
rule that neither himself, nor my mother, nor man, nor
maid-servant, were suffered to speak one word in my
company, except such Latin words as every one had learned
to chat and prattle with me. It were strange to tell how
every one in the house profited therein. My father and
my mother learned so much Latin, that for a need thejr

ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE. 7 1

could understand it when they heard it spoken, even so
did all the household servantSi namely, such as were nearest
and most about me. To be short, we were all so Latinisedi
that the towns round about us had their share of it;
insomuch as even at this day many Latin names, both of
workmen and of their tools, are yet in use amongst them.
And as for myself, I was about six years old, and could
understand no more French or Perigordine than Arabic;
and that without art, without books, rules, or grammar,
without whipping or whining, I had gotten as pure a Latin
tongue as my master could speak, the rather because I
could neither mingle nor confound the same with other
tongues. If for .an essay they would give me a theme,\
whereas the Esishion in colleges is to give it in French, I
had it in bad Latin, to reduce the same into good. And
NicEolastSoiicEy, wGo~Eath written De cotnitiis Romanorum;
William Guerente, who hath commented Aristotle ; George
Buchanan, that famous Scottish poet, and Mark Antony
Mure^ whom (while he lived) both France and Italy to
this day acknowledge to have been the best orator: all
which have been my familiar tutors, have often told me
that in mine infancy I had the Latin tongue so ready and so
perfect, that themselves feared to take me in hand. And
Buchanan, who afterwards I saw attending on the Marshal
of Brissac, told me he was about to write a treatise of the
institution of children, and that he took the model and
pattern from mine ; for at that time he had the charge and
bringing up of the young Earl of Brissac, whom since we
have seen prove so worthy and so valiant a captain. As
for the Greek, wherein I have but small understanding, my
fother purposed to make me learn it by art ; but by new
and unaccustomed means, that is, by way of recreation and
ezerdse. We did toss our declinations and conjugations to

72 ESSAYS OF MONTAIGNE.

and fro^ as they do who by way of a certam game at fables
learn both arithmetic and geometry. For, amongst other
things he had especially been persuaded to make me taste
and apprehend the fruits of duty and science by an unforced
kind of will, and of mine own choice, and without any
compulsion or rigour to bring me up in all mildness and
liberty; yea, with such kind of superstition that, whereas
some are of opinion that suddenly to awaken young
children, and as it were by violence to startle and fright
them but of their dead sleep in a morning (wherein
they are more heavy and deeper plunged than we) doth
Vreatly trouble and distemper their brains, he would every
piorning cause me to be awakened by (he sound of some
[instrument; and I was never without a servant who to that
Ipurpose attended upon me. This example may serve to
judge of the rest ; as also to commend the judgment and
tender affection of so careful and loving a father : who is
not to be blamed, though he reaped not the fruits answer-
able to his exquisite toil and painful manuring. Two
things hindered the same : first, the barrenness and unfit soil;
for howbeit I were of a sound and strong constitution^ and
of a tractable and yielding condition, yet was I so heavy, so
sluggish, and so dull, that I could not be roused (yea, were
it to go to play) from out mine idle drowsiness. What I
saw, I saw it perfectly ; and under this heavy and as it were
Lethe complexion did I breed hardy imaginations and
opinions far above my years. My spirit was very slow, and
would go no further than it was led by others; my appre-
hension blockish, my invention poor; and besides, I had a
marvellous defect in my weak memory : it is theref<»e no
wonder if my father could never bring me to any perfectioiL
Secondly, as those that in some dangerous sickness, moved
with a kind of hopeful and greedy desire of perfect health

ESSA YS OF MONTAiGNE. 73

again, give ear to every leech or empiric, and follow all
counsels, the good man being exceedingly fearful to commit
any oversight, in a matter he took so to heart, suffered him-
self at last to be led away by the common opinion which,
like unto the cranes, followeth over those that go before,
and yielded to custom, having those no longer about him
that had given him his first directions, and which they had
brought out of Italy. Being but six years old, I was sent to
the College of Guienne, then most flourishing and reputed
the best in France, where it is impossible to add anything
to the great care he had both to choose the best and most
sufficient masters that could be found to read unto me, as
also for all other circumstances pertaining to my education ;
wherein, contrary to usual customs of colleges, he observed
many particular rules. But so it is, it was ever a college.
My Latin tongue was forthwith corrupted, whereof by
reason of discontinuance I afterwards lost all manner of
use; which new kind of institution stood me in no other
stead but that at my first admittance it made me to over-
skip some of the lower forms, and to be placed in the
highest For at thirteen years of age, that I left the college,
I had read over the whole course of philosophy (as they call
it), but with so small profit that I can now make no account
of it The first taste or feeling I had of books was of the \
pleasure I took in reading the fables of Ovid's Metamor-'
phases; for, being but seven or eight years old, I would;
steal and sequester myself from all other delights, only to
read them: forasmuch as the tongue wherein they were
written was to me natural ; and it was the easiest book I
knew, and by reason of the matter therein contained most ^
agreeing with my young age. For of King Arthur, of
Launcelot du Lake, of Amadis, of Huon of Bordeaux, and
such idle time-consuming and wit-besotting trash of books

74 £^SSA YS OF MONTAIGNE.

wherein youth doth commonly amuse itself, I was not so
much as acquamted with their names^ and to this day know
not their bodies, nor what they contain : so exact was my
discipline. Whereby I became more careless to study my
other prescribed lessons. And well did it fall out for my
purpose that I had to deal with a very discreet master, who
out of his judgment could with such dexterity wink at and
second my untowardness, and such other faults that were
in me. For by that means I read over Virgil's jEneados^
Terence, Plautus, and other Italian comedies, allured there-
unto by the pleasantness of their several subjects. Had he
been so foolishly severe or so severely froward as to cross
this course of mine, I think verily I had never brought any-
thing from the college but the hate and contempt of boofcs,
as doth the greatest part of our nobility. Such was his dis-
cretion, and so warily did he behave himself that he saw
and would not see: he would foster and increase my
longing, suffering me but by stealth and by snatches to glut
myself with those books, holding ever a gentle hand over
me concerning other regular studies. For the chiefest
thing my father required at their hands (unto whose charge
he had committed me) was a kind>|rfw(^|^Dnditioned
mildness and facility of complexion.^%id/ to say truth,
mine had no other fault but a certain dull languishing and
heavy slothfulness. The danger was not, I should do ill,
but that I should do nothing.

No man did ever suspect I would prove a bad but an un*
profitable man, foreseeing in me 'rather a kind of idleness
than a voluntary craftiness. I am not so self-conceited but
I perceive what hath followed. The complaints that are
daily buzzed in mine ears are these : that I am idle, cold,
and negligent in offices of friendship and duty to my
parents and kinsfolks ; and touching public offices, that I

ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE. 75

am over singular and disdainful And those that are most^>
injurious cannot ask, wherefore I have taken, and why I
have not paid? but may rather demand, why I do not quit,
and wherefore I do not give? I would take it as a favour
they should wish such effects of supererogation in me. But
they are unjust and over partial that will go about to exact
ths^t from me which I owe not with more rigour than they
will exact from themselves that which they owe ; wherein if
they condemn me they utterly cancel both the gratifying of
the action and the gratitude which thereby would be due to
me. Whereas the active well-doing should be of more con-
sequence, proceeding from my hand, in regard I have no
passive at all. Wherefore I may so much the more freely
dispose of my fortune, by how much more it is mine^ and of
myself that am most mine own. Notwithstanding, if I were
a great blazoner of mine own actions, I might peradventure
bar such reproaches, and justly upbraid some, that they are
not so much offended because I do not enough as for that
I may, and it lies in my power to do much more than I do.
Yet my mind ceased not at the same time to have peculiar
unto itself well settled motions, true and open judgments
concerning the objects which it knew; which alone^ and
without any help or communication, it would digest And
amongst other things I verily believe it would have proved
altogether incapable and unfit to yield unto force or stoop
unto violence. Shall I account or relate this quality of my
infancy, which was a kind of boldness in my looks, and
gentle softness in my voice, and affability in my gestures,
and a dexterity in conforming myself to the parts I under-
took? for before the age of the

AHer ab undecimo turn me vix ceperat annus :^

^ Virg., JBuc, Eel. viii. ^9.

76 £SSA YS OF MONTAIGNE.

Yean had I (to make even)
Scarce two above eleven.

I have undergone and represented the chiefest parts in the
Latin tragedies of Buchanan, Guerente, and of Muret,
which in great state were acted and played in our College of
Guienne ; wherein Andreas Goveanus, our rector principal,
who as in all other parts belonging to his charge was with-
out comparison the chiefest rector of France^ and myself
(without ostentation be it spoken) was reputed, if not a
chief master, yet a principal actor in them. It is an
exercise I rather commend than disallow in young gentle-
men ; and have seen some of our princes (in imitation of
some of former ages), both commendably and honestly, in
their proper persons act and play some parts in tragedies.
It hath heretofore been esteemed a lawful exercise and a
tolerable profession in men of honour, namely, in Greece.
Aristoni tragico actori rem aperit: huic ct genus etfortuna
honesta erant: nee arSy quia nihil tale apud Grcecos pudori
est^ ea deformabat:'^ " He imparts the matter to Ariston, a
player of tragedies, whose progeny and fortune were both
honest ; nor did his profession disgrace them, because no
such matter is a disparagement amongst the Grecians."

And I have ever accused them of impertinency that
condemn and disallow such kinds of recreations, and blame
those of injustice that refuse good and honest comedians,
or (as we call them) players, to enter our good towns, and
grudge the common people such public sports. Politic and
well-ordered commonwealths endeavour rather carefully to
unite and assemble their citizens together; as in serious
offices of devotion, so in honest exercises of recreation.
Common society and loving friendship is thereby cherished

^ Li v., Deo, ilL L iv.

ESS A YS OF MONTAIGNE.

and increased. And besides, they cannot have more formal
and regular pastimes allowed them than such as are acted
and represented in open view of all, and in the presence of the
magistrates themselves. And if I might bear sway, I would
think it reasonable that princes should sometimes, at their
proper charges, gratify the common people with them, as
an argument of a fatherly affection and loving goodness
towards them ; and that in populous and frequented cities
there should be theatres and places appointed for such
spectacles, as a diverting of worse inconveniences and
secret actions. But to come to my intended purpose, there
is no better way to allure the affection and to entice the
appetite ; otherwise a man shall breed but asses laden with
books. With jerks of rods they have their satchels full of
learning given them to keep. Which to do well one must
not only harbour in himself, but wed and marry the same 1
with his mind.

IT IS FOLLY TO REFER TRUTH OR FALSEHOOD TO

OUR SUFFICIENCY.

It is not peradventure without reason that we ascribe
the facility of believing and easiness of persuasion unto
simplicity and ignorance; for meseemeth to have learnt
heretofore that belief was, as it were, an impression con-
ceived in our mind, and according as the same was found
either more soft or of less resistance it was easier to imprint
anything therein. Ut necesse est lancem in libra ponderibus
impositis deprimi : sic animum perspicuis cedere:'^ "As it is

^ Cic, Acad, Qu. L iv.

78 ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE.

necessary a scale must go down the balance n^en weights
are put into it, so must a mind yield to things that are
manifest." Forasmuch, therefore, as the mind being most
empty and without counterpoise, so much the more easily
doth it yield under the burden of the first persuasion. And
that's the reason why children, those of the common sort,
women, and sick folks, are so subject to be misled, and sa
easy to swallow gudgeons. On the other side, it is a sottish
presumption to disdain and condemn that for false which
unto us seemeth to bear no show of likelihood or truth,
which is an ordinary fault in those who persuade themselves
to be of more sufficiency than the vulgar sort So was I
sometimes wont to do, and if I heard anybody speak
either of ghosts walking, of foretelling future things, of
enchantments, of witchcrafts, or any other thing reported
which I could not well conceive, or that was beyond my
reach —

Somnia^ terrores magtcos^ miracula^ sagas,
Noctumos lemures^ porteniaque TVtessala — ^

Dreams, magic terrors, witches, uncouth wonders,
Night-walking sprites, Thessalian conjur'd thunders—

I could not but feel a kind of compassion to see the poor
and silly people abused with such follies. And now I
perceive that I was as much to be moaned myself. . Not that
experience hath since made to discern anything beyond my
former opinions ; yet was not my curiosity the cause of it,
but reason hath taught me that so resolutely to condemn a
thing for false and impossible is to assume unto himself the
advantage, to have the bounds and limits of God's will, and
of the power of our common mother Nature tied to his
sleeve ; and that there is no greater folly in the world than to

^ Hor. 1. ii,, Ep, ii. 208.

ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE. 79

reduce them to the measure of our capacity and bounds
of our sufficiency. If we term those things monsters or
miracles to which our reason cannot attain, how many such y
do daily present themselves unto our sight ? Let us con-
sider through what clouds, and how blindfold we are led to
the lcnowl6dg& brmost things that pass our hands. Verily
we shall find it 19 rather custom than science that removeth
the strangeness of them from us —

-jam nemofessus saturusque videndi^

Suspicer§ in cali dignatur lucida templa?-

Now no man tir'd with glut of contemplation
Deigns to have heav'n's bright church in admiration.

And that those things, were they newly presented unto
us, we should doubtless deem them as much or more
unlikely and incredible than any other.

n nunc primum mortalibus adsini

Ex improvise , ceu tint objecta repenii^

Nil magis his rebus pcUrat mirabile dici^

Aut minus anti quod auderentfore credere gentesJ^

If now first on a sadden they were here
'Mongst mortal men, object to eye or ear.
Nothing than these things would more wondrous be,
Or that men durst less think ever to see.

He who had never seen a river before, the first he saw he
thought it to be the ocean ; and things that are the greatest
in our knowledge we judge them to be the extremest that
nature worketh in that kind.

Scilicet etfluvius qui non esi maximus^ ei est
Qui non anti aliquem majorem vidit^ et ingens
Arbor homoque videtur^ et omnia de genere omni
Maxima qua vidit quisque^ hac ingentia fingit,^

* Lucret I. ii. ' Ibid, 1042. * Id. vi. 671.

8o ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE.

A stream none of the greatest, may so seem
To him, that never saw a greater stream.
Trees, men, seem huge, and all things of all sorts.
The greatest one hath seen, he huge reports.

Consueiudine oculorum assucscunt animi neque admir-
antur, neque requirunt rationes earum rerum^ quas semper
vident:'^ "Minds are acquainted by custom of their eyes,
nor do they admire or inquire the reason of those things
which they continually behold." The novelty of things
doth more incite us to search out the causes than their
greatness. We must judge of this infinite power of
nature with more reverence, and with more acknowledg-
.ment of our own ignorance and weakness. How many
things of small likelihood are there witnessed by men
worthy of credit, whereof if we cannot be persuaded we
should at least leave them in suspense? For to deem them
impossible is by rash presumption to presume and know
how far possibility reacheth. If a man did well understand
what difference there is between impossibility and that
which is unwonted, and between that which is against the
course of nature and the common opinion of men, in not
believing rashly, and in not disbelieving easily, the rule
of nothing-too-much, commanded by Chilon, should be
observed. When we find in Froissart that the Earl of Foix
(being in Bearne) had knowledge of the defeature at
Juberoth of King John of Castile the morrow next it
happened, and the means he allegeth for it, a man may
well laugh at it. And of that which our annals report,
that Pope Honorius, the very same day that King Philip
Augustus died at Mantes, caused his public funerals to
be solemnised, and commanded them to be celebrated
throughout all Italy. For the authority of the witnesses hath

^ Cic, Nat, Deor, 1. ii.

£SSA YS OF MONTAIGNE. 8x

peradventure no sufficient warrant to restrain us. But what
if Plutarch, besides divers examples which he allegeth of
antiquity, saith to have certainly known, that in Domitian's
time the news of the battle lost by Antonius in Germany,
many days' journeys thence, was published in Rome and
divulged through the world the very same day it succeeded.
And if Caesar holds that it hath many times happened that
report hath foregone the accident, shall we not say that
those simple people have suffered themselves to be cozened
and seduced by the vulgar sort, because they were not as
clear-sighted as we? Is there anything more dainty, more
unspotted, and more lively than Pliny's judgment, whenso*
ever it pleaseth him to make show of it ? Is there any
farther from vanity ? I omit the excellency of his learning
and knowledge, whereof I make but small reckoning. In
which of those two parts do we exceed him ? Yet there is
no scholar so meanly learned but will convince him of
lyingi and read a lecture of contradiction against him upon
the progress of nature's works. When we read in Bouchet
the miracles wrought by the relics of St Hilary, his credit
is not sufficient to bar us the liberty of contradicting him;
yet at random to condemn all such-like histories seemeth to
me a notable impudence. That famous man, St Augustine,
witnesseth to have seen a blind child to recover his sight
over the relics of St Gervaise and Protaise at Milan ; and a
woman at Carthage to have been cured of a canker by the
sign of the holy cross, which a woman newly baptised made
unto her ; and Hesperius, a familiar friend of his, to have
expelled certain spirits that molested his house with a little
of the earth of our Saviour's sepulchre, which earth being
afterwards transported into a church, a paralytic man was
immediately therewith cured ; and a woman going in pro-
cession, having as she passed by with a nosegay touched

6

82 ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE.

the case wherein St Stephen's bones were^ and ivith the
same afterward rubbed her eyes, she recovered her sight,
which long before she had utterly lost; and divers other
examples which he afiirmeth to have been an assistant
himself. What shall we accuse him o^ and two otha: holy
bishops, Aurelius and Maximinus, whom he calleth for his
witnesses? Shall it be of ignorance, of simplicity, of
malice, of facility, or of imposture ? Is any man living so
impudent that thinks he may be compared to them,
whether it be in virtue or piety, in knowledge or judgment,
in wisdom or sufficiency ? Qui utrattonem nuUam afferrenty
ipsa auctoriiate me frangerent :'^ "Who though they alleged
no reason, yet might subdue me with theu: very authority."
It is a dangerous fond hardiness, and of consequence^
besides the absurd temerity it draws with it, to despisei what
we conceive not. For, after that according to your best
understanding, you have established the limits of truth and
bounds of falsehood, and that it is found you must neces-
sarily believe things wherein is more strangeness than in
those you deny, you have already bound yourself to
abandon them. Now that which methinks brings as much
disorder in our consciences, namely, in these troubles of
religion wherein we are, is the dispensation Catholics make
of their belief. They suppose to show themselves very
moderate and skilful, when they yield their adversaries any
of those articles now in question. But besides that they
perceive not what an advantage it is for him that chargeth
you, if you but once begin to yield and give them ground,
and how much that encourageth him to pursue his point
Those articles which they choose for the lightest are often-
times most important JEither a man must whollv submit
himself to the authority of our ecclesiastiod policy, or

* Cic, Dtv» T. I. ' "^ "^

ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE. 83

altogether dispense himself from it; it is not for us to
determine what part of obedience we owe mito it And
moreover, I may say it, because I have made trial of it,
having sometimes used this liberty of my choice, and
particular election, not regarding certain points of the
observance of our Church, which seem to bear a face
either more vain or more strange ; coming to communicate
them with wise men, I have found that those things have a
most solid and steady foundation, and that it is but foolish-
ness and ignorance makes us receive them with less respect
and reverence than the rest Why remember we not what
and how many contradictions we find and feel even in our
own judgment ? How many things served us but yesterday
as articles of faith, which to-day we deem but fables ? Glory
and curiosity are the scourges of our souls. The latter
induceth us to have an oar in every ship, and the former
forbids us to leave anything unresolved or undecided.

V

OF FRIENDSHIP.

Considering the proceeding of a painter's work I have, a
desire hath possessed me to imitate him. He maketh
choice of the most convenient place and middle of every
wall there to place a picture, laboured with all his skill and
sufficiency ; and all void places about it he filleth up with
antique boscage or grotesque works, which are fantastical
pictures, having no grace, but in the variety and strangeness
of them. And what are these my compositions, in truth,
other than antique works and monstrous bodies, patched
and huddled up together of divers members, without any

84 ESS A yS OF MONTAIGNE.

certain or well ordered figure, having neither order, de-
pendency, nor proportion, but casual and framed by chance?

Definit inpiscem mulUrformosa supemi?-

A woman fair for parts superior,
Ends in a fish for parts inferior.

Touching this second point I go as far as my painter,
but for the other and better part I am far behind ; for my
sufficiency r'eacheth not so far as that I dare undertake a
rich, a polished, and, according to true skill, an art«like
table. I have advised myself to borrow one of Steven de
la Boetie^ who with this kind of work shall honour all the
world. It is a discourse he entitled Voluntary Servitude,
but those who have not known him have since very pro-
perly re-baptised the same The Against-one. In his first
youth he wrote, by way of essay, in honour of liberty
against tyrants, fix, hath long since been dispersed amongst
men of understanding, not without great and well-deserved
commendations; for it is full of wit, and containeth as
much learning as may be, yet doth it differ much from the
best he can do. And if in the age I knew him in he would
have undergone my design to set his fantasies down in
writing, we should doubtless see many rare things, and
which would very nearly approach the honour of antiquity;
for especially touching that part of Nature's gifts, I know
none may be compared to him. But it was not long of
him that ever this treatise came to man's view, and I believe
he never saw it since it first escaped his hands, with certain
other notes concerning the edict of January, famous by
reason of our intestine war, which haply may in other places
find their deserved praise. It is all I could ever recover of
his relics (whom when death seized, he by his last will and

* Hor., Art, Pott 4.

ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE. 85

testament left with so kind remembrance heir and executor
of his library and writings), besides the little book I since
caused to be published; to which his pamphlet I am par-
ticularly most bounden, forsomuch as it was the instru-
mental means of our first acquaintance. For it was shown
me long time before I saw him, and gave me the first
knowledge of his name, addressing and thus nourishing
that unspotted friendship which we (so long as it pleased
God) have so sincerely, so entire and inviolably maintained
between us, that truly a man shall not commonly hear of
the like, and amongst our modern men no sign of any such
is seen. So many parts are required to the erecting of such
a one, that it may be counted a wonder if fortune once in
three ages contract the like. There is nothing to which
Nature hath more addressed us than to society. And
Aristotle saith that perfect law-givers have had more regardful
care of friendship than of justice. And the utmost drift of
its perfection is this. For generally, all those amities which
are forged and nourished by voluptuousness or profit, public
or private need, are thereby so much the less fair and
generous, and so much the less true amities, in that they
intermeddle other causes, scope, and fruit with friendship,
than itself alone; nor do those four ancient kinds of
friendships, natural, social, hospitable, and venerian, either
particularly or conjointly beseem the same. That from
children to parents may rather be termed respect. Friend-
fhip is nourished by communication, which by reason of
the over-great disparity cannot be found in them, and
would haply ofiend the duties of nature; for neither all
the secret thoughts of parents can be communicated unto
children, lest it might engender an unbeseeming familiarity
between them, nor the admonitions and corrections (which
are the chiefest offices of friendships) could be exercised

86 ESS A YS OF MONTAIGNE.

from children to parents. There have nations been found
where by custom children killed their parents, and others
where parents slew their children, thereby to avoid the
hindrance of inter-bearing one another in after-times, for
naturally one dependeth from the ruin of another. There
have philosophers been found disdaining this natural con-
junction. Witness Aristippus, who being urged with the
affection he owed his children, as proceeding from his loins,
began to spit, saying. That also that excrement proceeded
from him, and that also we engendered worms and lice.
And that other man, whom Plutarch would have persuaded
to agree with his brother, answered, '' I care not a straw the
more for him, though he came out of the same womb I
did." Verily the name of brother is a glorious name, and >
full of loving-kindness, and therefore did he and I term
one another sworn brother. But this commixture, dividence,
and sharing of goods, this joining wealth to wealth, and that
the riches of one shall be the poverty of another, doth
exceedingly distemper and distract all brotherly alliance and
conjunction. If brothers should '^conduct the progress of 1
their advancement and thrift in one same path and course,
they must necessarily oftentimes hinder and cross one
another. Moreover, the correspondence and relation that
begetteth these true and mutually perfect amities, why shall
it be found in these ? The father and the son may very
well be of a far differing complexion, and so may brothers.
He is my son, he is my kinsman ; but he may be a fool, a
bad, or a peevish-minded man. And then according as
they are friendships which the law and duty of nature doth
command us, so much the less of our own voluntary choice
and liberty is there required unto it. And our genuine
liberty hath no production more properly her own, than
that of affection and amity. Sure I am, that concerning

ESSA YS OP MONTAIGNE. Sy

the same I have assayed all that might be, having had the
best and most indulgent father that ever was, even to his
extremest age, and who from father to son was descended
of a famous house, and touching this rare-seen virtue of
brotherly concord very exemplary —

€£ ipse

Notus infratres animi paiemij-

To his brothers known so kind,
As to bear a father's mind.

To compare the affection toward women unto it, although
it proceed from our own free choice, a man cannot, nor
may it be placed in this rank. Her fire I confess it to be

( neque enim est dea nescia nostri

Qua dulum curis miscet amaritiem, ) '

(Nor is that goddess ignorant of me,

"Whose bitter-sweets with my cares mixed be.)

more active, more fervent, and more sharp. But it is a
rash and wavering fire, waving and divers : the fire of an
ague Subject to fits and stints, and that hath but slender
hold&st of us. In true friendship it is a general and
universal heat, and equally tempered, a constant and settled
heat, all pleasure and smoothness, that hath no pricking or
stinging in it, which the more it is in lustful love, the more
is it but a raging and mad desire in following that which
flies US9

Come segue la lepre il cacciatore
AlfreddOi aX caldOf alia montagna, aJ lito^
Ne piu Vestima poi che presa vede,
E sol dietro a chifugge affretta il piede,^

* Hor. 1. ii., Od, ii. 6. ' Catul., Epig* Ixvi.

' Ariost., can. x. st 7.

88 ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE.

£v*ii as the huntsman doth the hare punue.
In cold, in heat, on mountains, on the shore.
But cares no more, when he her ta'en espies,
Speeding his pace only at that which flies.

As soon as it creepeth into the terms of friendship, that
is to say, in the agreement of wits^ it languisheth and
vanisheth away ; enjoying doth lose it, as having a corporal
end, and subject to satiety. On the other side, friendship
is enjoyed according as it is desired ; it is neither bred
nor nourished, nor increaseth but in jouissance, as being
spiritual, and the mind being refined by use custom.
Under this chief amity these fading affections have some-
times found place in me, lest I should speak of him who in
his verses speaks but too much of it. So are these two
passions entered into me in knowledge one of another, but
in comparison never ; the first flying a high, and keeping a
proud pitch, disdainfully beholding the other to pass her
points far under it. Concerning marriage, besides that it is
a covenant which hath nothing free but the entrance^ the
continuance being forced and constrained, depending else-
where than from our will, and a match ordinarily concluded
to other ends, a thousand strange knots are therein com-
monly to be unknit, able to break the web, and trouble the
whole course of a lively affection; whereas in friendship
there is no commerce or business depending on the same^
but itself. Seeing (to speak truly) that the ordinary
sufficiency of women cannot answer this conference and
communication, the nurse of this sacred bond ; nor mm
their minds strong enough to endure the pulling of^h^
knot so hard, so fast, and durable. And truly, if with-
out that, such a genuine and voluntary acquaintance
might be contracted, where not only minds had this
entire jouissance, but also bodies a share of the alliance^

ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE. 89

and where a man might wholly be engaged. It is certain
that friendship would thereby be more complete and full ;
but this sex could never yet by any example attain unto it,
and is by ancient schools rejected thence. And this other
Greek licence is justly abhorred by our customs, which
notwithstanding, because according to use it had so
necessary a disparity of ages and difference of offices
between lovers, did no more sufficiently answer the perfect
union and agreement which here we require : Quts est enim
iste amor amicituBf cur neque defor mem adak scentem quis-
quam amat^ neque formosum senemf^ "For what love is
this of friendship ? why doth no man love either a deformed
young man or a beautiful old man?'' For even the
picture the Academy makes of it will not (as I suppose)
disavow me to say thus in her behalf. That the first fury,
inspired by the son of Venus in the lover's heart, upon the
object of tender youth's-flower, to which they allow all
insolent and passionate violences an immoderate heat may
produce, was simply grounded upon an external beauty, a
^dse image of corporal generation ; for in the spirit it had
no power, the sight whereof was yet concealed, which was
but in his infancy, and before the age of budding. For if
this fury did seize upon a base-minded courage, the means
of its pursuit were riches, gifts, favour to the advancement
of dignities, and such-like vile merchandise, which they
reprove. If it fell into a more generous mind, the inter-
positions were likewise generous. Philosophical instruc-
tions, documents to reverence religion, to obey the laws,
to die for the good of his country; examples of valour,
wisdom, and justice; the lover endeavouring and studying
to make himself acceptable by the good grace and beauty
of his mind (that of his body being long since decayed),

* Cic, Tusc, Qu, iv. c 33.

90 ESS A YS OF MONTAIGNE.

hoping by this mental society to establish a more firm and
permanent bargain. When this pursuit attained the effect
in due season (for by not requiring in a lover he should
bring leisure and discretion in his enterprise, they require it
exactly in the beloved; forasmuch as he was to judge of
an internal beauty, of difficult knowledge, and abstruse
discovery), then by the interposition of a spiritual beauty
was the desire of a spiritual conception engendered in the
beloved. The latter was here chiefest; the corporal,
accidental and second, altogether contrary to the lover.
And therefore do they prefer the beloved, and verify that
the gods likewise prefer the same; and greatly blame the
poet ^schylusi who in the love between Achilles and
Fatroclus ascribeth the lover's part unto Achilles, who was
in the first and beardless youth of his adolescency, and the
fairest of the Grecians. After this general community, the
mistress and worthiest part of it, predominant and exercising
her offices (they say the most available commodity did there
by redound both to the private and public). That it was the
force of countries received the use of it, and the principal
defence of equity and liberty, witness the comfortable loves
of Hermodius and Aristogiton. Therefore name they it
sacred and divine, and it concerns not them whether the
violence of tyrants or the demissness of the people be
against them. To conclude, all that can be alleged in favour
of the Academy is to say, that it was a love ending in
friendship, a thing which hath no bad reference unto the
Stoical definition of love: Amorem conatum esse aniicituB
faciendce ex pulchritudinis specie:^ "That love is an endeavour
of making friendship by the show of beauty." I return
to my description in a more equitable and equal manner.
Omnino amicitice^ corroboratis jam confirmatisque ingeniis ei

^ Cic, Tusc, Qu, iv. c* 34*

ESS A YS OF MONTAIGNE. 9 1

atatUms^ judicand<B sunt:^ ''Clearly friendships are to be
judged by wits, and ages already strengthened and con-
firmed." As for the rest, those we ordinarily call friends
and amities are but acquaintances and familiarities, tied
together by some occasion or commodities, by means
whereof our minds are entertained. In the amity I speak
of they intermix and confound themselves one in the other
with so universal a commhcture that they wear oat and can
no more find the seam that hath conjoined them together.
If a man urge me to tell wherefore I loved him, I feel it
cannot be expressed but by answering, because it was he,
because it was myself. There is beyond all my discourse,
and besides what I can particularly report of it, I know not
what inexplicable and fatal power, a mean and mediatrhc
of this indissoluble union. We sought one another before
we had seen one another, and by the reports we heard one
of another which wrought a greater violence in us than
the reason of reports may well bear; I think by some secret
ordinance of the heavens we embraced one another by our
names. And at our first meeting, which was by chance at
a great feast and solemn meeting of a whole township, we
found ourselves so surprised, so known, so acquainted, and
so combinedly bound together, that from thenceforward
nothing was so near unto us as one unto another. He
wrote an excellent Latin satire since published, by which
he excuseth and expoundeth the precipitation of our
acquaintance, so suddenly come to her perfection. Since
it must continue so short a time, and begun so late (for we
were both grown men, and he some years older than
myself), there was no time to be lost. And it was not to
be modelled or directed by the pattern of regular and
remiss friendship, wherein so many precautions of a long

^ Cic., Amie.

9a ESSA VS OF MONTAIGNE.

and preallable conversation are required. This hath no
other idea than of itself, and can have no reference but to
itselfl It is not one especial consideration, nor two, nor
three, nor four, nor a thousand. It is I wot not what kind
of quintessence, of all this commixture^ which having seized
all my will induced the same to plunge and lose itself in
his, which likewise having seized all his will brought it to
lose and plunge itself in mine with a mutual greediness
and with a semblable concurrence. I may truly say lose,
reserving nothing unto us that might properly be called our
own, nor that was either his or mine. When Lelius in the
presence of the Roman consuls, who after the condemna-
tion of Tiberius Gracchus pursued all those that had been
of his acquaintance, came to inquire of Caius Blosius (who
was one of his chiefest friends) what he would have done
for him, and that he answered, "All things." *'What, all
things?" replied he. "And what if he had willed thee tQ
burn our temples?" Blosius answered, "He would never
have commanded such a thing." "But what if he had
done it?" replied Lelius. The other answered, "I would
have obeyed him." If he were so perfect a friend to
Gracchus as histories report, he needed not offend the
consuls with this last and bold confession^ and should not
have departed from the assurance he had of Gracchus's
mind. But yet those who accuse this answer as seditious
understand not well this mystery, and do not presuppose
in what terms he stood, and that he held Gracchus's will
in his sleeve, both by power and knowledge. They were
rather friends than citizens, rather friends than enemies
of their country, or friends of ambition and trouble.
Having absolutely committed themselves one to anotheti
they perfectly held the reins of one another's inclination,
and let this yoke be guided by virtue and conduct of reason

ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE. 93

(because without them it is altogether impossible to com-
bine and proportion the same). The answer of Blosius
was such as it should be. If their affections miscarried,
according to my meaning, they were neither friends one to
other nor friends to themselves. As for the rest, this
answer sounds no more than mine would do to him that
would in such sort inquire of me, if your will should
command you to kill your daughter, would you do it? and
that I should consent unto it ; for that beareth no witness
of consent to do it, because I am not in doubt of my will,
and as little of such a friend's will. It is not in the. power
of the world's discourse to remove me from the certainty
I have of his intentions and judgments of mine ; no one of
its actions might be presented unto me, under what shape
soever, but I would presently find the spring and motion of
it Our minds have jumped so unitedly together, they have
with so fervent an affection considered of each other, and
with likb affection so discovered and sounded, even to the
very bottom of each other's heart and entrails, that I did
not only know his, as well as mine own, but I would
(verily) rather have trusted him concerning any matter of
mine than m3rself. Let no man compare any of the other
common friendships to this. I have as much knowledge of
them as another, yea of the most perfect of their kind; yet
will I not persuade any man to confound their rules, for so a
man might be deceived. In these other strict friendships a
man must march with the bridle of wisdom and precaution
in his hand ; the bond is not so strictly tied but a man may
in some sort distrust the same. Love him (said Chilon) as
if you should one day hate him again. Hate him as if you
should love him again. This precept, so abominable in
this sovereign and mistress amity, is necessary and whole-
some in the use of vulgar and customary friendships, towards

94 ^SSA YS OF MONTAIGNE.

which a man must employ the sa3ring Aristotle was wont so
often to repeat, "Oh, you my friends; there is no perfect
friend"

In this noble commerce^ offices and benefits (nurses of
other amities) deserve not so much as to be accounted of:
this confusion so full of our wills is cause of it ; for even as
the friendship I bear unto myself admits no increase^ by
any succour I give myself in any time of need, whatsoever
the Stoics allege, and as I acknowledge no thanks unto
myself for any service I do unto myself, so the union of
such friends, being truly perfect, makes them lose the
feeling of such duties, and hate and expel from one
another these words of division and difference: benefit,^
good deed, duty, obligation, acknowledgment, prayer, thanks,
and such their like. All things being by effect common
between them: wills, thoughts, judgments, goods, wives,
children, honour, and life; and their mutual' agreement,
being no other than one soul in two bodies, according to
the fit definition of Aristotle, they can neither lend nor give
out to each other. See here the reason why law-makers, to
honour marriage with some imaginary resemblance of this
divine bond, inhibit donations between husband and wife,
meaning thereby to infer that all things should peculiarly
be proper to each of them, and that they have nothing to
divide and share together. If in the friendship whereof I
speak one might give unto another, the receiver of the
benefit should bind his fellow. For, each seeking more
than any other thing to do each other good, he who 3rields
both matter and occasion is the man showeth himself
liberal, giving his friend that contentment to effect towards
him what he desireth most When the philosopher
Diogenes wanted money, he was wont to say that he
redemanded the same of his friends, and not that he

ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE. 95

demanded it And to show how that is practised by effect,
I will relate an ancient singular example. Eudamidas the
Corinthian had two friends, Charixenus a Sycionian, and
Aretheus a Corinthian. Being upon his death-bed, and very
poor, and his two friends very rich, thus made his last will
and testament : '' To Aretheus, I bequeath the keeping of
my mother, and to maintain her when she shall be old.
To Charixenus the marrying of my daughter, and to give
her as great a dowry as he may; and in case one of them
chance to die before, I appoint the survivor to substitute
his charge, and supply his place." Those that first saw this
testament laughed and mocked at the same ; but his heirs
being advertised thereoi^ were very well pleased, and received
it with singular contentment And Charixenus, one of them,
dying five days after Eudamidas, the substitution being
declared in favour of Aretheus, he carefully and very kindly
kept and maintained his mother, and of five talents that he
was worth he gave two and a half in marriage to one only
daughter he had, and the other two and a half to the
daughter of Eudamidas, whom he married both in one day.
This example is very ample, if one thing were not, which is the
multitude of friends. For this perfect amity I speak of is
indivisible ; each man doth so wholly give himself unto his
friend, that he hath nothing left him to divide elsewhere ;
moreover, he is grieved that he is not double, triple, or quad-
ruple, and hath not many souls, or sundry wills, that he might
confer them all upon this subject. Common friendships may
be divided ; a man may love beauty in one, facility of be-
haviour in another, liberality in one, and wisdom in another,
paternity in this, fraternity in that man, and so forth ; but
this amity which possesseth the soul, and sways it in all
sovereignty, it is impossible it should be double. If two at
one instant should require help, to which would you run ?

96 ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE.

Should they crave contrary offices of you, what order would
you follow ? Should one commit a matter to your silence^
which if the other knew would greatly profit him, what
course would you take? Or how would you discharge
yourself? A singular and principal fiiendship dissolveth all
other duties, and freeth all other obligations. The secret I
have sworn not to reveal to another, I may without perjury
impart it unto him who is no other but myseUl It is a
great and strange wonder for a man to double himself; and
those that talk of tripling know not nor cannot reach unto
the height of it. " Nothing is extreme that hath his like."
And he who shall presuppose that of two I love the one as
well as the other, and that they inter-love one another, and
love me as much as I love them, he multiplieth in brothe^
hood, a thing most singular, and a lonely one, and than
which one alone is also the rarest to be found in the world.
The remainder of this history agreeth very well with what I
said ; for, Eudamidas giveth us a grace and favour to his
friends to employ them in his need ; he leaveth them as his
heirs of his liberality, which consisteth in putting the means
into their hands to do him good. And doubtless the force
of friendship is much more richly shown in his deed than in
Aretheus'. To conclude, they are imaginable effects to him
that hath not tasted them, and which makes me wonder*
fully to honour the answer of that young soldier to Cyrus^
who, inquiring of him what he would take for a horse with
which he had lately gained the prize of a race, and whether
he would change him for a kingdom? ''No, surely, my
liege (said he), yet would I willingly forego him to gain
a true friend, could I but find a man worthy of so precious
an alliance." He said not ill in saying '* could I but find."
For a man shall easily find men fit for a superficial acquaint-
ance ; but in this, wherein men negotiate from the very

JESS A VS OF MONTAIGNE. 97

centre of their hearts^ and make no spare of anything, it is
most requisite all the wards and springs be sincerely wrought
and perfectly true. In confederacies, which hold but by
one end, men have nothing to provide for, but for the
imperfections, which particularly do interest and concern
that end and respect. It is no great matter what religion
my physician or lawyer is of; this consideration hath nothing
common with the offices of that friendship they owe me.
So do I in the familiar acquaintances that those who serve
me contract with me. I am nothing inquisitive whether
a lackey be chaste or no, but whether he be diligent. I fear
not a gaming muleteer, so much as if he be weak ; nor a
hot swearing cook, as one that is ignorant and unskilful ; I
never meddle with saying what a man should do in the
world — there are over many others that do it — but what
myself do in the world.

Mihi sic usus est : Tidi, ut opus est factor face, ^

So is it requisite for me ;

Do thou as needful is for thee.

Concerning £imiliar table-talk, I rather acquaint myself
with and follow a merry conceited humour, than a wise man.
And in bed I rather prefer beauty than goodness ; and in
society or conversation of familiar discourse, I respect
rather sufficiency, though without prud^hommie^ and so of
all things else. Even as he that was found riding upon an
hobby-horse^ playing with his children besought him who
thus surprised him not to speak of it until he were a father
himseli^ supposing the tender fondness and fatherly passion
which then would possess his mind should make him an
impartial judge of such an action ; so would I wish to
speak to such as had tried what I speak of, but knowing

^ Ter., Heau, act i. sc i, 28.

98 ESSA YS OF MOKTAIGNE.

how far such an amity is from the common use, and how
seldom seen and rarely found, I look not to find a competent
judge. For even the discourses which stem antiquity hath
left us concerning this subject, seem to me but faint and
forceless in respect of the feeling I have of it And in that
point the effects exceed the very precepts of philosophy.

Nil ego coniulerim jueundo sanus amtcoJ^

For me, be I weU in my wit.
Nought, as a merry friend, so fit

Ancient Menander accounted him happy that had but
met the shadow of a true friend; verily he had reason to say
so, especially if he had tasted of any ; for truly, if I com-
pare all the rest of my forepassed life^ which although I
have, by the mere mercy of God, passed at rest and ease, and
except the loss of so dear a friend, free from all grievous
affliction, with an ever-quietness of mind, as one that have
taken my natural and original commodities in good pay-
ment, without searching any others ; if, as I say, I compare
it all unto the four years I so happily enjoyed the sweet
company and most dear society of that worthy man, it is
nought but a vapour, nought but a dark and irksome light
Since the time I lost him,

quern semper acerdum,
Semper honorafum (sic Dii voluistis) kabeboJ^

Which I shall ever hold a bitter day,
Yet ever honoured (so my God t' obey).

I do but languish, I do but sorrow; and even those
pleasures all things present me with, instead of yielding me
comfort, do but redouble the grief of his loss. We were

^ Hor. 1. i.. Sat, vii. 44. ^ Virg., ^n, iii. 49.

ESSAYS OF MONTAIGNE. 99

copartners in all things. All things were with us at half;
methinks I have stolen his part from him.

Nee fas esse ulla me voluptate hUfrui

Decrevi^ tantisper dum iUe ahest mem fiurticeps^

I have set down, no joy enjoy I may,
As long as he my partner is away.

I was so accustomed to be ever two, and so inured to be
never single, that methinks I am but half myself.

JUam mea si partem amma iulit^

Maiuriar vis, quid moror altera.

Nee ekarus aeque nee superstes.

Integer t Jlle dies tUramque
Duxit ruinam,^

Since that part of my soul riper fiite reft me,
Why stay I here the other part he left me ?
Nor so dear, nor entire, while here I rest;
That day hath in one ruin both opprest.

There is no action can betide me, or imagination possess
me, but I hear him saying, as indeed he would have done
to me ; for even as he did excel me by an infinite distance
in all other sufficiencies and virtues, so did he in all offices
and duties of friendship.

Quis desiderio sitpudor aut modus.
Tarn ehari capitis ? •

What modesty or measure may I bear»
In want and wish of him that was so dear ?

O miserof rater adempte mihi !
Omnia tecum unh perierunt gaudia nostra*

Qua tuus in vita dukis aiebat amor^
Tu mea, iu moriens fregisti commodafraterj^

^ Ten, Heau, act L so. i, 97.
' Hor. I. ii., Od, xviL 7. ^ CatuL, Eleg» iy. 20^ 92, 23, 95.
» Id. I. i., Od. xxiv. i. » Ibid. 21.

loo ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE.

Tecum und Ma esi nostra sepuUa amima,
Cujus ego interitu iota de nuntefugam

Hoc studio^ aiqut omnes deUcias animuX
Alioquar f audiero nunquam tua verba loquentem t *

Nunquam ego te vitafrater amoHKor^
Aspician posthac ? at certi sempor amabo^

O brother, rest from miserable me,
All our delights are perished with thee.
Which thy sweet love did nourish in my breath.
Thou all my good hast spoiled in thy death :
With thee my soul is all and whole enshrined^
At whose death I have cast out of my mind
All my mind's sweet-meats, studies of thiakind;
Never shall I hear thee speak, speak with thee 7
Thee brother, than life dearer, never see?
Yet shalt thou ever be belov'd of me.

But let us a little hear this young man speak, being but
sixteen years of age.

Because I have found thb work to have since been
published (and to an ill end) by such as seek to trouble and
subvert the state of our commonwealth, nor caring whether
they shall reform it or no ; which they have fondly inserted
among other writings of their invention, I have revdked my
intent, which was to place it here. And lest the author's
memory should any way be interested with those that could
not thoroughly know his opinions and actions, they shaU
understand that this subject was by him treated of in his
infancy, only by way of exercise, as a subject, common,
bare-worn, and wire-drawn in a thousand books. I will
never doubt but he believed what he wrote, and wrote as
he thought ; for he was so conscientious that no lie did ever
pass his lips, yea were it but in matters of sport or play;
and I know, that had it been in his choice, he would rather

1 Catul., EL iv. 94. » Ibid 25. » EL i. 9.

ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE. loi

have been born at Venice than at Sarlac ; and good reason
why. But he had another maxim deeply imprinted in his
mind, which was, carefully to obey, and religiously to sub-
mit himself to the laws under which he was bom. There
was never a better citizen, nor more affected to the welfare
and quietness of his country, nor a sharper enemy of the
changes, innovations, new fangles, and hurly-burlies of his
time. He would more willingly have employed the utmost
of his endeavours to extinguish and suppress, than to favour
or further them. His mind was modelled to the pattern of

other best ages. '

/

OF SOLITARINESS.

Let us leave apart this outworn comparison betweien a
solitary and an active life ; and touching that goodly $aying
under which ambition and avarice shroud themselves that
we are hot born for our particular, but for the public good.
Let us boldly refer ourselves to those that are engaged; and
let them beat their conscience, if on the contrary the states,
the charges, and this trash of the world are not rather sought
and sued for to draw a private commodity from the public.
The bad and indirect means where through in our age men
canvass and toil to attain the same, do manifestly declare
the end thereof to be of no great consequence. Let us
answer ambition, that herself gives us the taste of solitari-
ness. For what doth she shun so much as company? What
seeketh she more than elbow-room ? There is no place but
there are means and ways to do well and ill. Nevertheless
if the saying of Bias be true, " That the worst part is the

loa ESS A yS OF MONTAIGNE.

greatest;** or that which Ecclesiastes saith, "That of a
thousand there is not one good."

Rari quipp$ honi: numero vix sunt Midem, psat
Tkebarumparta^ vel divitis osiia NiU: ^

Good men are rare, so many scarce (I fear)
As gates of Thebes, months of rich Nilas were.

Contagion is very dangerous in a throng. A man must
imitate the vicious or hate them : both are dangerous ; fc^
to resemble them is perilous, because they are many, and to
hate many is hazardous, because they are dissemblable,
and merchants that travel by sea have reason to take heed
that those which go in the same ship be not dissolute, blas-
phemers, and wicked, judging such company unfortunate.
Therefore Bias said pleasantly to those that together with
him passed the danger of a great storm, and called to the
gods for help, *' Peace, my masters, lest they should hear
that you are here with me." And of a more military example,
Albuqerque, viceroy in India for Emanuel, King of Portugal,
in an extreme danger of a sea tempest, took a young
boy upon his shoulders, for this only end, that in
the common peril his innocence might be his warrant
and recommending to God's favour to set him on
shore; yet may a wise man live everywhere contented,
yea and alone, in the throng of a palace; but if he
may choose, he will (saith he) avoid the sight of it If
need require, he will endure the first; but if he may have
his choice, he will choose the latter. He thinks he hath
not sufficiently rid himself from vices if he must also con-
test with other men's faults. Charondas punished those
for wicked that were convicted to have frequented lewd
companies. There is nothing so dissociable and sociable

1 Juv., Sat, xiii. 26.

ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE. 103

as man, the one for his vice, the other for his nature. And
I think Antisthenes did not satisfy him that upbraided him
with his conversation with the wicked, saying, "That
physicians live amongst the sick." Who if they stead
sick men's healths, they impair their own by the infection,
continual visiting, touching, and frequenting of diseases.
Now (as I suppose) the end is both one, thereby to live
more at leisure and better at ease. But man doth not
always seek the best way to come unto it, who often
supposeth to have quit affairs when he hath but changed
them. There is not much less vexation in the government
of a private family than in the managing of an entire state ;
wheresoever the mind is busied, there it is all. And though
domestic occupations be less important, they are as impor-
tunate. Moreover, though we have freed ourselves from
the court and from the market, we are not free from the
principal torments of our life.

r atio et prudentia euros,
Non locus effusi lati niaris arbiter aufert^

Reason and wisdom may set cares aside,
Not place the arbiter of seas so wide.

Shift we or change we places never so often, ambition,
avarice, irresolution, fear, and concupiscences never leave
us.

Et post equitem sedet atra cura.*

Care, looking grim and black, doth sit
Behind his back that rides from it

They often follow us, even into immured cloisters, and into
schools 01 philosophy ; nor do hollow rocks, nor wearing of
hair-shirts, nor continual fastings, rid us from them.

1 Hor. L I, Epist, xi. 25. ' Ilor. 1. iii., Od, i. 39.

104 £SSA VS OF MONTAIGI/E.

Haret Utteri UthaUs arumdo.^

The shift that death implied
Sticks by the flying side.

It was told Socrates that one was no whit amended by his
travel : '* I believe it well (said he), for he carried himself
with him."

Quid terras alio caUnies

Sole mutamus t patrid quis exul

Se quoquefugii f*

Why change we soils warm'd with another sun ?
Who from home banished hath himself outrun?

If a man do not first discharge both himself and his mind
from the burthen that presseth her, removing from place to
place will stir and press her the more ; as in a ship, wares
well stowed and closely piled take up least room ; you do a
sick man more hurt than good to make him change places,
you settle an evil in removing the same ; as stakes or poles,
the more they are stirred and shaken, the faster they stick,
and sink deeper into the ground. Therefore is it not
enough for a man to have sequestered himself' from the
concourse of people, is it not sufficient to shift place; a
man must also sever himself from the popular conditions
that are in us. A man must sequester and recover himself
from himself.

rupijam vincula, dicas, *

Nam luctata cams nodum arripit, aitamen ilia
Citmfugity d colic trahitur pars knga catena,^

You will say haply I my bonds have quit,
Why so the striving dog the knot hath bit ;
Yet when he fiies, much chain doth follow it.

We carry our fetters with us; is it not an absolute liberty;

^ Virg., ^n, 1. iv. 73. * Hor. 1. ii., Od, xvL 18.

* Pers., Sat, v. 138.

£SSA ys OF MONTAIGNE, 105

we still cast back our looks towards that we have left
behind; our mind doth still run on it; our fancy is full
of it.

nisipurgatum est pectus^ quapralia nobis.

Atque pericula tunc ingratis insinuandum t
Quanta conscindunt hominem cupidinis acres
SoUicitum curcBy quanttque perinde timores t
Qut'dve superdia, spurcUia^ ac petulantia^ quant as
Efficiunt clcuieSy quid hixus, desidiesque f ^

Unless our breast be parg'd, what wars must we,
What perils then, though much displeased, see ?
How great fears, how great cares of sharp desire
Do careful man distract, torment, entire ?
Uncleanness, wantonness, sloth, riot, pride,
How great calamities have these implied?

Our evil is rooted in our mind, and it cannot escape from
itself.

In culpa est animus ^ qui se non effugit unquam,^

The mind in greatest fault must lie
Which from itself can never fly.

Therefore must it be reduced and brought into itself.
It is the true solitariness, and which may be enjoyed even
in the frequency of peopled cities and kings' courts ; but it
is more commodiously enjoyed apart. Now since we under-
take to live solitary and without company, let us cause our
contentment to depend of ourselves. Let us shake off all
bonds that tie us unto others. Gain we that victory over
us that in good earnest we may live solitary, and therein
live at our ease. Stilpon having escaped the combustion
of his city, wherein he had lost both wife and children, and
all his goods ; Demetrius Poliorcetes, seeing him in so great
a ruin of his country with an unaffrighted countenance,

* Lucr., 1. V. 44. * Hor. 1. i., £pist, xiv. 13.

to6 ESSA ys OF MONTAIGNE.

demanded of him whether he had received any loss. He
answered no ; and that (thanks given to God) he had lost
nothing of his own. It is that which Antisthenes the
Philosopher said very pleasantly, "That man ought to
provide himself with munitions that might float upon the
water, and by swimming escape the danger of shipwreck
with him." Verily "a man of understanding hath lost
nothing if he yet have himself." When the city of Nola
was overrun by the Barbarians, Paulinus, bishop thereoi^
having lost all he had there, and being their prisoner,
prayed thus unto God: "O Lord, deliver me from feeling
of this loss ; for Thou knowest as yet they have touched
nothing that is mine." The riches that made him rich, and
the goods which made him good, were yet absolutely whole.
Behold what it is to choose treasures well, that may be
freed from injury, and to hide them in a place where no
man may enter, and which cannot be betrayed but by
ourselves. A man that is able may have wives, children,
goods, and chiefly health, but not so tie himself unto them
that his felicity depends on them. We should reserve a
storehouse for ourselves, what need soever change;
altogether ours, and wholly free, wherein we may hoard
up and establish our true liberty, and principal retreat
and solitariness, wherein we must go alone to ourselves,
take out ordinary entertainment, and so privately that no
acquaintance or communication of any strange thing may
therein And place; there to discourse, to meditate and
laugh, as without wife, without children, and goods,
without train or servants ; that if by any occasion they be
lost it seem not strange to us to pass it over ; we have a
mind moving and turning in itself; it may keep itself
company ; it hath wherewith to ofiend and defend, where-
with to receive, and wherewith to give. Let us not fear

£SSA YS OF MONTAIGNE. loy

that we shall faint and droop through tedious and mind-
trying idleness in this solitariness.

In soHs sis tibiturba locis.

Be thon, when with thee is not any,
As good unto thyself as many.

Virtue is contented with itself, without discipline, without
words, and without effects. In our accustomed actions,
of a thousand there is not one found that regards us \ he
whom thou seest so furiously, and as it were beside himself,
to clamber or crawl up the city walls or breach, as a point
blank to a whole volley of shot, and another, all wounded
and scarred, crazed and faint, and well-nigh hunger-starved,
resolved rather to die than to open his enemy the gate and
give him entrance; dost thou think he is there for himself?
No, verily. It is peradventure for such a one whom neither
he nor so many of his fellows ever saw, and who happily
takes no care at all for them, but is therewhile wallowing
up to the ears in sensuality, sloth, and all manner of carnal
delights. This man, whom about midnight, when others
take their rest, thou seest come out of his study, meagre
looking, with eyes trilling, phlegmatic, squalid, and spauling,
dost thou think that plodding on his books he doth seek
how he shall become an honester man, or more wise, or
more content ? There is no such matter. He will either
die in his pursuit, or teach posterity the measure of Plautus'
verses and the true orthography of a Latin word. Who
doth not willingly chop and counterchange his health, his
ease, yea and his life, for glory and for reputation? the
most unprofitable, vain, and counterfeit coin that is in use
with us. Our death is not sufficient to make us afraid ; let
us also charge ourselves with that of our wives, of our
children, and of our friends and people. Our own affitirs

io8 ESS A YS OF MONTAIGNE.

do not sufficiently trouble and vex us. Let us also drudge^
toil, vex, and torment ourselves with our neighbours' and
friends' matters.

Viih quemquhmne haminem in animum ituttiuere^ amt
Pararey quad sii charius^ qu^ ipse est sibif^

Fie, that a man shoald cast, that ought, than he
Himself of himself more belov'd should be.

Solitariness, meseemeth, hath more appearance and
reason in those which have given their most active and
flourishing age into the world, in imitation of Thales. We
have lived long enough for others, live we the remainder of
our life unto ourselves : let us bring home our cogitations
and inventions unto ourselves and unto our ease. It is no
easy matter to make a safe retreat: it doth over-much
trouble us with joining other enterprises unto it, since God
gives us leisure to dispose of our dislodging. Let us pre-
pare ourselves unto it, pack we up our baggage. Let us
betimes bid our company farewell. Shake we off these
violent holdfasts which elsewhere engage us, and estrange
us from ourselves. These so strong bonds must be untied,
and a man must eftsoons love this or that, but wed nothing
but himself; that is to say, let the rest be our own, yet not
so combined and glued together that it may not be sundered
without flaying us, and therewithal pull away some piece of
our own. The greatest thing of the world is for a man to
know how to be his own. It is high time to shake off
society, since we can bring nothing to it. And he that
cannot lend, let him take heed of borrowing. Our forces
fail us j retire we them, and shut them up into ourselves.
He that can suppress and confound in himself the offices
of so many amities, and of the company, let him do it In

' Ter., Adel, actL sc. I, 13.

ESS A YS OF MONTAIGNE. 1 09

this fall, which makes us inutile irksome, and importunate
to others^ let him take heed he be not importunate, irk-
some, and unprofitable to himsel£ Let him flatter, court,
cherish himself, and above all let him govern himself,
respecting his reason and fearing his conscience, so that he
may not without shame stumble or trip in their presence.
Rarum est enim^ut satis se quisque vereatur: "For it is a
rare matter that every man sufficiently should stand in awe
and reverence of himself." Socrates saith, " That young
men ought to be instructed, and men exercised in well-
doing; and old men withdraw themselves from all civil and
military negotiations, living at their own discretion, without
obligation to any certain office." There are some com-
plexions more proper for these precepts of retreat than
others. Those which have a tender and demiss apprehen-
sion, a squeamish affection, a delicate will, and which
cannot easily subject or employ itself (of which both by
natural condition and propense discourse I am one), will
better apply themselves unto this counsel than active minds
and busy spirits; which embrace all, everywhere engage,
and in all things passionate themselves; that offer, that
present and yield themselves to all occasions. A man
must make use of all these accidental commodities, and
which are without us, so long as they be pleasing to us, but
not make them our principal foundation. It is not so ; nor
reason, nor nature permit it. Why should we against their
laws subject our contentment to the power of others?
Moreover, to anticipate the accidents of fortune ; for a man
to deprive himself of the commodities he hath in possession,
as many have done for devotion, and some philosophers by
discourse ; to serve themselves, to lie upon the hard
ground, to pull out their own eyes, to cast their riches into
the sea, to seek for pain and smart (some by tormenting

I lo ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE.

this life for the happiness of another; others pUicJkig
themselves on the lowest step, thereby to warrant diemr
selves from a new fall) is the action of an excessive virtue.
Let sterner and more vigorous complexions make their
lurking glorious and exemplar.

-iuia etparvula taudo^

Ckm res deficiunt^ satis inter vilia fortis :
Veri^m uhi quid melius contingit et unetius^ idem
Has sapere, et solos aio bene rnvere, quorum
Conspicitur nitidis fundata pecunia villis,^

When riches fiEiil, I praise the safe estate,

Though small : base things do not high thoughts abate.

But when 'tis better, finer with me, I

They only live well, and are wise, do cry,

Whose coin in feir farms doth well-grounded lie.

There is work enough for me to do without going so £eur.
It sufiSceth me, under fortune's favour, to prepare myself for
her disfavour; and being at ease, as far as imagination
may attain unto^ so represent the evil to come unto
myself; even as we inure ourselves to tilts and tourneys,
and counterfeit war in time of peace. I esteem not
Arcesilaus the philosopher less reformed because I know
him to have used household implements of gold and silver,
according as the condition of his fortune gave him leave.
I rather value him the more than if he had not done it,
forasmuch as he both moderately and liberally made use
of them. I know unto what limits natural necessity goeth ;
and I consider a poor almsman begging at my door to
be often more plump-cheeked, in better health and liking,
than I am : then do I enter into his estate, and essay to
frame and suit my mind unto his bias. And so over-
running other examples, albeit I imagine death, poverty,

^ Hor. 1. i., Epist» xv. 42.

ESSAYS OF MONTAIGNE. iii

contempt, and sickness to be at my heels, I easily resolve
myself not to apprehend any fear of that which one of
less worth than myself doth tolerate and undergo with
such patience : and I cannot believe that the baseness or
shallowness of understanding can do more than vigour
and far-seeing, or that the effects and reason of discretion
cannot reach to the effects of custom and use. And
knowing what slender holdfast these accessory commo-
dities have, I omit not in full jouissance of them humbly
to beseech God of his mercy (as a sovereign request) to
make me contented with myseli^ and with the goods pro-
ceeding from me. I see some gallantly-disposed young
men, who, notwithstanding their fair-seeming show, have
many boxes full of pills in their coffers at home, to take
when the rheum shall assail them, which so much the
less they fear when they think the remedy to be at hand.
So must a man do : as also if he feel himself subject to
some greater infirmity, to store himself with medicaments
that may assuage, supply and stupify the part grieved.
The occupation a man should choose for such a life
must neither be painful nor tedious, otherwise in vain
should we account to have sought our abiding there,
which depends from the particular taste of every man.
Mine doth no way accommodate itself to husbandry.
Those that love it must with moderation apply them-
selves unto it

ConetUur sibi res, non se submittere rebus ^

Endeavour they things to them to submit,
Not them to things (if they have Horace wit).

Husbandry is otherwise a servile office^ as Sallust termeth
it It hath more excusable parts, as the care of gardening,

^ Hor., EpisL i. 19.

1 1 2 ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE.

which Xenophon ascribeth to Cyrus. A mean or
mediocrity may be found between this base and vile
carking care, extended and full of toiling labour, which
we see in men that wholly plunge themselves therein,
and that profound and extreme retchlessness to let all
things go at six and seven, which is seen lA others.

Democriti picas edit agelhs

Culiaquef dum peregr^ est animus sine corpore velox?-

Cattle destroyed Democritus his sets,
While his mind bodiless vagaries fets.

But let us hear the counsel which Pliny the younger
giveth to his friend Cornelius Rufus touching this point
of solitariness: "I persuade thee in this full-gorged and
fat retreat wherein thou art, to remit this base and abject
care of husbandry unto thy servants, and give thyself to
the study of letters^ whence thou mayest gather something
that may altogether be thine own" He meaneth reputa-
tion : like unto Cicero's humour, who saith that he will
employ his solitariness an^ residence from public afiairs
to purchase unto himself by his writings an immortal life.

usque adeone

Scire tuum nihil est, nisite scire hoc sciat alter t^

Is it then nothing worth that thou dost know.
Unless what thou dost know, thou others show?

It seemeth to be reason, when a man speaketh to with-
draw himself from the world, that one should look beyond
him. These do it but by halves. Indeed they set their
match against the time they shall be no more; but
pretend to reap the fruit of their designs, when they shall
be absent from the world, by a ridiculous contradiction
The imagination of those who through devotion seek

1 Hor., Epist, xii. 12. ^ Pers., Sat, i. 27.

£SSA VS OF MONTAIGNE. 1 1 3

solitariness^ filling their minds with the certainty of
heavenly promises, in the other life, is much more
soundly consorted. They propose God as an object
infinite in goodness and incomprehensible in power,
unto thmnselves. The soul hath therein, in all free
liberty, wherewith to glut herself. Afflictions and sorrows
redound to their profit, being employed for the purchase
and attaining of health and eternal gladness. Death,
according to one's wish, is a passage to so perfect an
estate. The sharpness of their rules is presently made
smooth and easy by custom, and carnal concupiscences
rejected, abated, and lulled asleep by refusing them; for
nothing entertaineth them but use and exercise^ This
only end of another life, blessedly immortal, doth rightly
merit we should abandon the pleasures and commodities
of this our life. And he that can enlighten his soul with
the flame of a lively faith and hope, really and constantly,
in his solitariness doth build unto himself a voluptuous and
delicious life, far surmounting all other lives. Therefore
doth neither the end nor middle of this counsel please me.
We are ever falling into a relapse from an ague to a burn-
ing fever. This plodding occupation of books is as painful
as any other, and as great an enemy unto health, which
ought principally to be considered. And a man should not
suffer himself to be inveigled by the pleasure he takes in
them: it is the same pleasure that loseth the thriving
husbandman, the greedy covetous, the sinning voluptuous,
and the puffed-up ambitious. The wisest men teach us
sufficiently to beware and shield us from the treasons of
our appetites, and to discern true and perfect pleasures
from delights blended and intermingled with more pain.
For most pleasures (say they) tickle, fawn upon, and

embrace us, with purpose to strangle us, as did the thieves

8

114 ESS A YS OF MONTAIGNE.

whom the Egyptians termed Philistas. And if the head-
ache would seize upon us before drunkenness, we would
then beware of too much drinking; but sensuality, the
better to entrap us, marcheth before^ and hideth her
track from us. Books are delightful; but if by continual
frequenting them we in the end lose both health and
cheerfulness (our best parts), let us leave them. I am one
of those who think their fruit can no way countervail this
loss. As men that have long time felt themselves enfeebled
through some indisposition, do in the end yield to the
mercy of phjrsic, and by art have certain rules of life
prescribed them, which they will not transgress: so he
that withdraws himself, as distasted and over-tired with
the common life, ought likewise to frame and prescribe
this unto the rules of reason ; direct and range the same
by premeditation and discourse. He must bid all manner
of travail farewell, what show soever it bear ; and in general
shun all passions that any way impeach the tranquillity of
mind and body, and follow the course best agreeing with

his humour.

Unusquisque sua naverit ire via,^

His own way every man
Tread out directly can.

A man must give to thriving husbandry, to laborious
study, to toilsome hunting, and to every other exercise,
the utmost bounds of pleasure; and beware he engage
himself no further, if once pain begin to intermeddle itself
with her ; we should reserve business and negotiations only
for so much as is behooveful to keep us in breath, and
to warrant us from the inconveniences which the other
extremity of a base, faint-hearted idleness draws after it

1 Propert. 1. ii., £/. xxv. 38.

ESS A YS OF MONTAIGNE. 1 1 5

There are certain barren and thorny sciences, which for
the most part are forged for the multitude; they should
be left for those who are for the service of the world. As
for myself, I love no books but such as are pleasant and
easy, and which tickle me^ or such as comfort and counsel
m^ to direct my life and death.

taciturn sylvas inter reptare sahibres

Curantem quidquid dignum sapients bonSque est^

Silently creeping 'midst the wholesome wood
With care what's for a wise man and a good.

The wiser sort of men, having a strong and vigorous
mind, may frame unto themselves an altogether spiritual
life. But mine being common, I must help to uphold my-
self by corporal commodities: and age having eftsoons
despoiled me of those that were most suitable to my
fantasy, I instruct and sharpen my appetite to those
remaining most sortable this other season. We must
tooth and nail retain the use of this life's pleasures,
which our years snatch from us one after another —

Carpamus dulcia^ nostrum est^

Quhd vivis : cinis et manes etfabulafies,*

Pluck we sweet pleasures : we thy life give thee.
Thou shalt a tale, a ghost, and ashes he.

Now concerning the end of glory, which Pliny and
Cicero propose unto us, it is far from my discourse. The
most opposite humour to solitary retiring is ambition.
'•Glory and rest are things that cannot squat in one
same form." As far as I see, these have nought but their
arms and legs out of the throng, their mind and intent
is further and more engaged in them than ever it was.

1 Hor. 1. I, Epist. iv. " Pers., Sat, v. 155.

1 16 jESSA VS of MONTAIGNE.

Tutf^ vdulii aurioiUs aUenis coUigis escas f ^

Gatberest thou dotard at these yean.
Fresh baits, fine food, for other*8 ears ?

They have gone back that they might leap the better, and
with a stronger motion make a nimbler offer amidst the
multitude. Will you see how they shoot short by a
corn's breadth? Let us but counterpoise the advice of
two philosophers, and of two most different sects: the
one writing to Idomeneus, the other to LuciUus, their
friends, to divert them from the managing of affairs and
greatness unto a solitary kind of life. "You have," say
they, "lived hitherto swimming and floating adrift, come
and die in the haven ; you have given the past of your
life unto light, give the remainder unto darkness." It is
impossible to give over occupations if you do not also
give over the fruits of them ; therefore clear yourself from
all care and glory. There is great danger lest the glittering
of your fore-passed actions should over-much dazzle you,
yea, and follow you even to your den. Together with
other concupiscences, shake off that which cometh from
the approbation of others. And touching your knowledge
and sufficiency, take you no care of them ; they will lose no
whit of their effect, if yourself be anything the better for
them. Remember but him who being demanded to what
purpose he toiled so much about an art which could by
no means come to the knowledge of many: "Few are
enough for me; one will suffice, yea, less than one will
content me," answered he. He said true : you and another
are a sufficient theatre one for another ; or you to yourself
alone. Let the people be one unto you, and one be all the
people to you. It is a base ambition to go about to draw

^ Pers., Sat, L 22.

ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE. 117

glory from one's idleness and from one's lurking hole. A
man must do as some wild beasts, which at the entrance of
their caves will have no manner of footing seen. You
must no longer seek what the world saith of you, but how
you must speak unto yourself: withdraw yourself into your-
self; but first prepare yourself to receive yourself. It were
folly to trust to yourself if you cannot govern yourself A
man may as well fail in solitariness as in company; there are
ways for it, until such time as you have framed yourself such
that you dare not halt before yourself, and that you shall
be ashamed of and bear a kind of respect unto yourself —
Obversentur species honestm animo /^ " Let honest ideas still
represent themselves before your mind."^ Ever present
Cato, Phocion, and Aristides unto your imagination, in
whose presence even fools would hide their faults, and
establish them as controllers of all your intentions. If
they be disordered and untuned, their reverence will order
and tune them again : they will contain you in a way to be
contented with yourself; to borrow nothing but from your-
self, to settle and stay your mind in assured and limited
cogitations, wherein it may best please itself, and having
gotten knowledge of true felicities, which according to the
measure a man understands them, he shall accordingly
enjoy, and with them rest satisfied, without wishing a
further continuance either of life or name. Lo here the
counsel of truly pure and purely true philosophy, not of
a vainglorious, boasting, and prating philosophy, as is that
of the two first.

* Cic, Tusc, Qu. 1. ii, * Sen., £ftsf, xi.

ii8 ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE.

OF THE INEQUAUTY THAT IS BETWEEN US.

Plutarch saith in some place that "he finds no such
great difference between beast and beast, as he findeth
diversity between man and man." He speaketh of the
sufficiency of the mind and of internal qualities. Verily I
find Epaminondas so far (taking him as I suppose him)
from some that I know (I mean capable of common sense)
as I could find in my heart to endear upon Plutarch, and
say there is more difference between such and such a man
than there is diversity between such a man and such a^east

Hem ffir viro quidpraitai t ^

O Sir, how much hath one
Another man outgone ?

And that there be so many degrees of spirits as there are
steps between heaven and earth, and as innumerable. But
concerning the estimation of men, it is marvel that, except
ourselves, no one thing is esteemed but for its proper quali-
ties. We commend a horse because he is strong and
nimble,

volucrem

Sic laudamus equum^facili cut pluritna palma
Firvety it exuUai rauco victoria circo^

We praise the horse that hears most hells with flying.
And triumphs most in races hoarse with crying,

and not for his furniture ; a greyhound for his swiftness, not
for his collar ; a hawk for her wing, not for her cranes or
bells. Why do we not likewise esteem a man for that
which is his own ? He hath a goodly train of men following
him, a stately palace to dwell in, so great credit amongst

* Ter., Phor. act v. sc. 3. " Juven., ScU, viii. 57.

£SSA YS OF MONTAIGNE. 1 1 9

men, and so much rent coming in. Alas, all that is
about him and not in him. No man will buy a pig in a
poke. If you cheapen a horse, you will take his saddle and
clothes from him, you will see him bare and abroad ; or if he
be covered as in old times they wont to present them unto
princes to be sold, it is only his least necessary parts, lest
you should amuse yourself to consider his colour or breadth
of his crupper; but chiefly to view his legs, his head, his
eyes, and his foot, which are the most remarkable parts, and
above all to be considered and required in him.

Regibui hie mos est, ubi epios mereaniur^ opertos
Inspiciunt^ ne sifacies^ ut sctpe^ decora
MollifuUapede $st^ emptarem inducat hiantetn^
Quodpulchra eiunes^ breve quod caputs ardtta cermx?-

This is kings' manner, when they horses buy.
They see him bare, lest if, as oft we try.
Fair face have soft hoofs, gull'd the buyer be,
They buttocks round, short head, high crest may see.

When you will esteem a man, why should you survey him
all wrapped and enveloped ? He then but showeth us those
parts which are no wit his own, and hideth those from us
by which alone his worth is to be judged. It is the goodness
of the sword you seek after, and not the worth of the scab-
bard ; for which peradventure you would not give a farthing
if it want its lining. A man should be judged by himself,
and not by his complements. And as an ancient saith very
pleasantly : Do you know wherefore you esteem him tall ?
You account the height of his pattens. The base is no part
of his stature ; measure him without his stilts. Let him lay
aside his riches and external honours, and show himself in
hi^ shirt Hath he a body proper to his functions, sound

1 Ilor. 1. i., Sai. ii. 86.

120 £SSA yS OF MONTAIGNE.

and cheerful ? What mind hath he ? Is it fair, capable and
unpolluted, and happily provided with all her necessary
parts? Is she rich of her own or of others' goods ? Hath
fortune nothing of hers to survey therein? If broad-waking
she will look upon a naked sword ; if she care not which
way her life goeth from her, whether by the mouth or by the
throat, whether it be settled, equable^ and contented. It is
that a man must see and consider, and thereby judge the
extreme differences that are between us. Is he

sapiens^ sihiqtu imperiosus^

Quern tuqtu pauperies^ neque mors^ neque vincuia terreni^
Responsarg cupidimbus^ coniimnere honores
Fortis^ et in seipso totus teres atque rotundus.
Extemi ne quid valeat per iazfe morari^
In quern manca ruii semper forluna f ^

A wise man, of himself commander high,
Whom want, nor death, nor hands can terrify,
Resolv'd t' afifiront desires, honours to scorn,
All in himself, close, round, and neatly-home.
As nothing outward on his smooth can stay,
'Gainst whom still fortune makes a lame assay.

Such a man is five hundred degrees beyond kingdoms and
principalities ; himself is a kingdom unto himself.

Compare unto him the vulgar troops of our men, stupid,
base, servile, wavering, and continually floating on the
tempestuous ocean of divers passions which toss and retoss
the same, wholly depending of others. There is more
difference than is between heaven and earth, and yet such
is the blindness of our custom that we make little or no
account of it Whereas, if we consider a cottager and a
king, a noble and a handicraftsman, a magistrate and a

^ Hor. 1. ii., Sat. vii. 83.

ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE. i a i

private man, a rich man and a poor, an extreme disparity
doth immediately present itself unto our eyes, which, as
a man may say, differ in nothing but in their clothes. In
Thrace, the king was after a pleasant manner distinguished
from his people, and who was much endeared. He had a
religion apart ; a god several unto himself, whom his subjects
might no ways adore. It was Mercury ; and he disdained
their gods, which were Mars, Bacchus, and Diana; yet are
they but pictures which make no essential dissemblance.
For, as interlude players, you shall now see them on the stage
play a king, an emperor, or a duke, but they are no sooner
off the stage but they are base rascals, vagabond abjects,
and porterly hirelings, which is their natural and original
condition. Even so the emperor, whose glorious pomp
doth so dazzle you in public. View him behind the curtain,
and you see but an ordinary man, and peradventure more
vile and more silly than the least of his subjects. I//e
heatus introrsum est; isHus bracteata falicitas est : ^ " One is
inwardly happy; another's felicity is plated and gilt over."
Cowardice, irresolution, ambition, spite, anger, and envy
move and work in him as in another ; and fear, and care,
and suspect haunt and follow him, even in the midst of his
armed troops. Doth the ague, the megrim, or the gout
spare him more than us ? When age shall once seize on
his shoulders, can then the tall yeomen of his guard dis-
charge him of it ? When the terror of ruthless, baleful death
shall assail him, can he be comforted by the assistance of
the gentlemen of his chamber? If he chance to be jealous
or capricious, will our louting curtsies, or putting off of hats,
bring him in tune again ? His bedstead enchased all with
gold and pearls hath no virtue to allay the pinching pangs
of the colic.

1 Sen., Epist, cxv.

laa ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE.

N$c calidm dtim dictdtmi c^rpcr^fAns^
Tixtilibui si inpichtrii §stroqu€ rubenti
lacteris^ ftidm sipUMa m visU cubandum est^-

Fevers no sooner from thy body fly
If thou on arras or red scarlet lie
Tossing, than if thon rest
On coverlets home-dressed.

The flatterers of Alexander the Great made him believe
that he was the son of Jupiter ; but being one day forehurt,
and seeing the blood gush out of his wounds : ** And what
think you of this? (said he unto them). Is not this blood of a
lively red hue, and merely human? Methinks it is not of that
temper which Homer faineth to trill from the gods' wounds.**
Hermodorus the poet made certain verses in honour of
Antigonus, in which he called him the son of Phoebus ; to
whom he replied, " My friend, he that emptieth my dose-
stool knoweth well there is no such matter." He is but a
man at all assays. And if of himself he be a man ill-bom,
the empire of the whole world cannot restore him.

Whatsoever the goods of fortune are, a man must have a
proper sense to favour them. It is the enjoying, and not
the possessing of them, that makes us happy.

He is a fool, his taste is wallowish and distracted, he
enjoyeth it no more than one that hath a great cold doth
the sweetness of Greek wine, or a horse the riches of a costly
faired furniture wherewith he is trapped. Even as Plato
saith, " That health, beauty, strength, riches, and all things
else he calleth good are equally as ill to the unjust as good
to the just ; and the evil contrariwise." And then, where
the body and the soul are in ill plight, what need these
external commodities? seeing the least prick of a needle
and passion of the mind is able to deprive us of the pleasure

^ Lucret. 1. ii. 34.

JSSSA YS OF MONTAIGNE. 123

of the world's monarchy. The first fit of an ague, or the
first gird that the gout gave him, what avails his goodly
titles of majesty ?

Totus et argento conJkUus^ toius et auro : ^

All made of silver fine.

All gold pure from the mine.

Doth he not forthwith lose the remembrance of his palaces
and states ? If he be angry or vexed, can his principality
keep him from blushing, firom growing pale, from gnashing
his teeth like a Bedlam ? Now if it be a man of worth, and
well born, his royalty and his glorious titles will add but
little unto his good fortune.

He seeth they are but illusions and vain deceits. He
may haply be of King Seleucus's advice: "That he who
foreknew the weight of a sceptre, should he find it lying on
the ground^ he would not deign to -take it up." This he
said by reason of the weighty, irksome, and painful charges
that are incident unto a good king. Truly, it is no small
matter to govern others, since so many crosses and diffi-
culties offer themselves, if we will govern ourselves well.
Touching commanding of others, which in show seemeth
to be so sweet, considering the imbecility of man's judg-
ment, and the difficulty of choice in new and doubtful
things, I am confidently of this opinion, that it is much
more easy and plausible to follow than to guide ; and that
it is a great settling of the mind to be tied but to one
beaten path, and to answer but for himself.

C/t satiils muUojam sit^ parere quietum,
Qudm regeri imperio res velle,^

Much better 'tis in quiet to obey,

Than to desire with king's power all to sway.

1 Tibul. i, EL vii. 71. « Luc. 1. v. 1137.

124 ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE.

Seeing Cyrus said, ''That it belongs not to a man to
command that is not of more worth than' those whom he
commandeth." But King Hieron in Xenophon addeth
moreover, ''That in truly enjoying of carnal sensualities,
they are of much worse condition than private men, foras-
much as ease and facility depriveth them of that sour-sweet
tickling which we find in them."

Pinguis amor nimiumque potem^ in tadia nobis
Vertiiur, $t stomacho dulcis ut esca nocet."^

Fat, over-powerful love doth loathsome grow.
As fulsome sweetmeats stomachs overthrow.

Think we that high-minded men take great pleasure in
music? The satiety thereof makes it rather tedious unto
them. Feasts, banquets^ revels, dancinp, masks^ and
tourneys rejoice them that but seldom see them, and
that have much desired to see them; the taste of which
becometh cloysome and unpleasing to those that daily see
and ordinarily have them. Nor do ladies tickle those that
at pleasure and without suspect may be glutted with them.
He that cannot stay till he be thirsty can take no pleasure
in drinking. Interludes and comedies rejoice and make
us merry, but to players they are tedious and tasteless.
Which to prove, we see it is a delight for princes, and a
recreation for them, sometimes to disguise themselves, and
to take upon them a base and popular kind of life.

Nothing doth sooner breed a distaste or satiety than
plenty. What longing lust would not be allayed to see
three hundred women at his disposal and pleasure, as hath
the Grand Turk in his Seraille ? And what a desire and
show of hawking had he reserved to himself from, his
ancestors, that never went abroad without seven thousand

1 Ovid, Amor. 1. ii., EL xix. 25.

ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE. 1 25

falconers at least? Besides which, I think the lustre of
greatness brings no small incomnrodities to the enjoying
of sweeter pleasures ; they lie too open and are too much
in sight And I wot not why a man should longer desire
them to conceal or hide their fault; for what in us is
indiscretion the people judgeth to be tyranny, contempt,
and disdain of the laws in them. And besides the ready
inclination unto vice, it seemeth they also add unto it the
pleasure of gourmandising, and to prostrate public observ-
ances under their feet Verily Plato in his Gorgias defineth
him to be a tyrant that in a city hath leave and power to
do whatever he list And therefore often the show and
publication of their vice hurteth more than the sin itself.
Every man feareth to be spied and controlled, which they
are even in their countenances and thoughts ; all the people
esteeming to have right and interest to judge of them.
And we see that blemishes grow either lesser or bigger
according to the eminence and light of the place where
they are set, and that a mole or a wart in one's forehead
is more apparently perceived than a scar in another place.
And that is the reason why poets feign Jupiter's loves to
have been effected under other countenances than his own ;
and of so many amorous shifts and love practices they
impute to him, there is but one (as far as I remember)
where he is to be seen in his greatness and majesty. But
return we to Hieron: he also relateth how many incom-
modities he findeth in his royalty, being so barred that
he cannot at his liberty travel to go whither he pleaseth,
being as it were a prisoner within the limits of his country,
and that in all his actions he is encircled and hemmed in
with an importunate and tedious multitude. Truly, to see
our princes all alone, sitting at their meat, beleaguered round
with so many talkers, whisperers, and gazing beholders,

1 2 6 £SSA VS OF MONTAIGNE.

unknown what they are or whence they come, I have often
rather pitied than envied them. King Alphonstis was wont
to say that "burthen-bearing asses were in that in fax better
condition than kings ; for their masters suffer them to feed
at their ease^ whereas kings cannot obtain that privilege of
their servants." And it could never fall into my mind
that it might be any special commodity to the life of a
man of understanding to have a score of find-faults^ pick-
thanks, and controllers about his close-stool, nor that the
service of a man that hath a thousand pounds rent a year,
or that hath taken Casal, or defended Sienna, is more
commodious or acceptable to him than that of a sufficient
and well-experienced groom. Prince-like advantages are in
a manner but imaginary pre-eminences. Every degree <rf
fortune hath some image of principality. Caesar termeth
all the lords which in his time had justice in France to
be kinglets, or petty kings. And truly, except the name
of sire, we go very far with our kings. Look but in the
provinces remote and far from the court ; as, for example^
in Brittany, the attending train, the flocking subjects, the
number of officers, the many affairs, the diligent service,
the obsequious ceremonies of a lord that liveth retired,
and in his own house, brought up amongst his own servants,
tenants, and followers. And note also the high pitch of
his imaginations and humours, there is no greater royalty
can be seen. He heareth no more talk of his master than
of the Persian king, and happily but once a year; and
knows but some far-stretched and old kindred or pedigree,
which his secretary finds or keeps upon some ancient
record or evidence. Verily our laws are very free, and
the burthen of sovereignty doth scarcely concern a gentle^
man of France twice in his whole life. JSssential and
effectual subjection amongst us doth not respect any bift

\

ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE. 127

such as allure themselves unto it, and that affect to honour,
and love to enrich themselves by such service. For he
that can shroud and retire himself in his own home, and
can manage and direct his house without suits in law, or
quarrel with his neighbours, or domestic encumbrances,
is as free as the Duke of Venice. Paucos servitus^ plures
servttutem tenent:^ "Service holds few, but many hold
service." But above all things Hieron seemeth to complain
that he perceiveth himself deprived of all mutual friendship,
reciprocal society, and familiar conversation, wherein con-
sisteth the most perfect and sweetest fruit of human life.
For what undoubted testimony of affection and goodwill
can I expect or exact from him that, will he or nill he,
oweth me all he hath, all he can ? Can I make account
of his humble speech, of his low lowting curtsey, or of his
courteous offers, since it lieth not in his power to refuse
them me? The honour we receive of those which fear and
stand in awe of us, is no true honour. Such respects are
rather due to royalty, to majesty, than to me.

'^—maximum hoc ngni honum est^
Quod facta domini cogUur poptUus sui
Quhmferre^ torn laudare,^

This is chief good of princes' domination,

Subjects are forced their sov'reign's acts and fashions

To bear with patience, pass with commendations.

Do I not see that both the bad and the good king are
served alike? That he who is hated and he that is beloved
are both courted ^like ? And the one as much fawned upon
as the other? My predecessor was served with the same
appearances, and waited upon with the like ceremonies,
and so shall my successor be. If my subjects offend me
not, it is no testimony of any good affection. Wherefore

^ Sen., BpisL xxii. ' Sen., Thyest.y act ii. sc i.

1 28 ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE.

shall I take it in that senses since they cannot if they
would ? No man foUoweth me for any friendship that is
between him and me, inasmuch as no firm friendship can
be contracted where is so small relation, so slender con:e-
spondence, and such disparity. My high d^ree hath
excluded me from the commerce of men. There is too
great an inequality and distant disproportion. They follow
for countenance and of custom, or rather my fortune than
myself, hoping thereby to increase theirs. Whatsoever they
say, all they do unto me is but a gloss, and but dissimulation,
their liberty being everywhere bridled and checked by the
great power I have over them. I see nothing about me but
inscrutable hearts, hollow minds, feigned looks, dissembled
speeches, and counterfeit actions. His courtiers one day
commended Julian the Emperor for ministering of rights
and doing of justice. "I should easily grow proud," saith
he, "for these praises, if they came from such as durst
either accuse or discommend my contrary actions, should I
commit any." All the true commodities that princes have
are common unto them with men of mean fortune. It is
for gods to mount winged horses, and to feed on ambrosia.
They have no other sleep, nor no other appetite than ours.
Their steel is of no better temper than that wherewith we
arm ourselves. Their crown, their diadem can neither hide
them from the sun, nor shelter them from the rain. Dio-
clesian, that wore one, so much reverenced and so fortunate^
did voluntarily resign the same, to withdraw himself unto
the pleasure of a private life ; but a while after, the urgent
necessity of public affairs requiring his presence, and that
he should return to reassume his charge again, he answered
those that solicited him unto it, " You would never under*
take to persuade me to that had you but seen the goodly
ranks of trees which inyself have planted in mine orchard,

ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE, 1 29

or the fair musk melons I have set in my garden." Accord-
ing to Anacharsis' opinion, ''The happiest estate of a
well-ordered commonwealth should be where, all other
thinp being equally common, precedency should be mea-
sured and preferments suited according to virtue and
desert, and the contrary according to vice/' At what time
King Pyrrhus undertook to pass into Italy, Cyneas, his wise
and trusty counsellor, going about to make him perceive
the vanity of his ambition, one day bespake him thus:
** My good sir," said he, " to what end do you prepare for
so great an enterprise?" He answered suddenly, "To
make myself lord of Italy." " That done, what will yon do
then ? " replied Cyneas. " I will then pass," said Pyrrhus,
" into Gaul,' and then into Spain." ** And what after-
wards?" "I will then invade Africa, and subdue the
same ; and at last, when I shall have brought all the world
under my subjection, I will then take my rest, and live con-
tented at mine ease.'* " Now, for God's sake, sir," replied
Cyneas, '* tell me what hinders you that you be not now, if
so you please, in that estate ? Wherefore do you not now
place yourself where you mean to aspire, and save so much
danger, so many hazards, and so great troubles as you
interpose between both ? "

Nitnirum quia non bene norat qua esset habendi
Finisy et omnino quoad erf scat vera voluptas?-

The cause forsooth, he knew not what should be the end
Of having, nor how far true pleasure should extend.

I will conclude and shut up this treatise with an ancient
verse, which I singularly applaud and deem fit to this
purpose.

Mores cuique suijingunl fortunam.^

Ev'ry man's manners and his mind,
His fortune to him frame and find.

^ Lucr. 1. V. ' Corn. Nepos, Vit, AtHcu Cic, Paradox, v.

9

1 50 ESS A YS OF MONTAIGNE.

OF THE INCONSTANCY OF OUR ACTIONS.

Those which exercise themselves in controlling human
actions find no such let in any one part as to piece them
together and bring them to one same lustre, for they
commonly contradict one another so strangely, as it seemeth
impossible they should be parcels of one warehouse.
Young Marias is sometimes found to be the son of Mars,
and other times the child of Venus. Pope Boni&ce the
Eighth is reported to have entered into his charge as a fox,
to have carried himself therein as a lion, and to have died
like a dog. And who would think it was Nero^ that lively
image of cruelty, who being required to sign (as the custom
was) the sentence of a criminal offender that had been
condemned to die, that ever he should answer, " Oh, would
to God I could never have written?" So near was his
heart grieved to doom a man to death. The world is so
full of such examples that every man may store himself;
and I wonder to see men of understanding trouble them-
selves with sorting these parcels: since (meseemeth) ine-
solution is the most apparent and common vice of our
nature^ as witnesseth that famous verse of Publius the
comedian :

Malum consilium est, quod mutari non potest?-

The counsel is but bad,
Whose change may not be had.

There is some appearance to judge a man by the most
common conditions of his life, but seeing the natural
instability of our customs and opinions, I have often
thought that even good authors do ill and take a wrong

^ Publius, Mim, ap,^ Aul. Gell. 1. xvii. c. 14.

ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE. 131

course wilfully to opinionate themselves about framing a
constant and solid contexture of us. They choose a
universal air, and following that image range and interpret
all a man's actions ; which, if they cannot wrest sufficiently,
they remit them unto dissimulation. Augustus hath escaped
their hands; for there is so apparent, so sudden and
continual, a variety of actions found in him through the
course of his life, that even the boldest judges and strictest
censurers have been fain to give him over, and leave him
undecided. There is nothing I so hardly believe to be in
man as constancy, and nothing so easy to be found in him
as inconstancy. He that should distinctly and part by part
judge of him, should often jump to speak truth. View all
antiquity over, and you shall find it a hard matter to choose
out of a dozen of men that have directed their life unto one
certain, settled, and assured course, which is the surest
drift of wisdom. For to comprehend all in one word, saith
an ancient writer, and to embrace all the rules of our life
into one, it is at all times to will, and not to will one same
thing. I would not vouchsafe (saith he) to add anything,
always provided the will be just ; for, if it be unjust, it is
impossible it should ever continue one. Verily, I have
heretofore learned that vice is nothing but a disorder and
want of measure, and by consequence it is impossible to
fasten constancy unto it. It is a saying of Demosthenes
(as some report) that consultation and deliberation is the
beginning of all virtue, and constancy the end and perfection.
If by reason or discourse we should take a certain way, we
should then take the fairest ; but no man hath thought on it.

Quodpetiit^ spemit^ repetit quod nuper omisit
^stuaty et vita disconvenit ordine toto}-

^ Hor. 1. i., Epist. i. 98.

132 ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE.

He tcoms that which he soug^ty seeks that he aoorn'd <tf late,
He flows, ebbs, disagrees in his life's whole estate.

Our ordinary manner is to follow the inclination of our
appetite this way and that way, on the left and on the right
hand, upward and downward, according as the wind of
occasions doth transport us; we never think on what we
would have, but at the instant we would have it, and
change as that beast that takes the colour of the place
wherein it is laid. What we even now purposed we alter
by-and-by, and presently return to our former bias; all is
but changing, motion, and inconstancy :

Ducimur ui ntrvis cUienis mobile lignum?-

So are we drawn, as wood is shoved.
By others' sinews each way moved.

We go not, but we are carried, as things that float, now
gliding gently, now hulling violently, according as the water
is either stormy or calm.

nSnne videmus

Quid sibi quisque velit nescire et quarere semper,
Commutare locum quasi onus deponere possit f*

See we not, every man in his thought's height
Knows not what he would have, yet seeks he straight
To change place, as he could lay down bis weight ?

Every day new toys, each hour new fantasies, and our
humours move and fleet with the fleetings and movings of
time.

Tales sunt hominum mentes, quali Paler ipse
Jupiter auctifero lustravit lumine terras,^

Such are men's minds, as that great God of might
Surveys the earth with increase bearing light

We float and waver between divers opinions; we
' Hor. I. ii., Sat. vii. 82. " Lucret. 1. iii. 1070.

wiU

Lucret. 1. iii. lo^o.
^ Cic, Fragm,

ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE. 133

nothing freely, nothing absolutely, nothing constantly.
Had any man prescribed certain laws or established assured
policies in his own head, in his life should we daily see to
shine an equality of customs, an assured order and an
infallible relation from one thing to another (Empedocles
noted this deformity to be amongst the Agrigentines, that
they gave themselves so over unto delights as if they should
die to-morrow next, and built as if they should never die),
the discourse thereof were easy to be made. As is seen in
young Cato: he that touched but one step of it hath
touched all. It is a harmony of well according tunes, and
which cannot contradict itself. With us it is clean contrary,
so many actions, so many particular judgments are there
required. The surest way (in mine opinion) were to refer
them unto the next circumstances, without entering into
further search, and without concluding any other conse-
quence of them. During the late tumultuous broils of our
mangled estate, it was told me that a young woman not far
from me hSld headlong cast herself out of a high window,
with intent to kill herself, only to avoid the ravishment of a
rascally base soldier that lay in her house, who offered to
force her; and, perceiving that with the fall she had not
killed herself, to make an end of her enterprise she would
have cut her own throat with a knife, but that she was
hindered by some that came into her. Nevertheless, having
sore wounded herself, she voluntarily confessed that the
soldier had yet but urged her with importunate requests,
suing solicitations, and golden bribes, but she feared he
would in the end have obtained his purpose by compulsion ;
by whose earnest speeches, resolute countenance, and gored
blood (a true testimony of her chaste virtue), she might
appear to be the lively pattern of another Lucrece, yet
know I certainly that, both before that time and afterward,

134 ^SSA YS OF MONTAIGNE.

she had been enjoyed of others upon easier composition.
And as the common saying is : Fair and soft, as squeamish-
honest as she seems, although you miss of your intent,
conclude not rashly an inviolable chastity to be in your
mistress ; for a groom or a horse-keeper may find an^ hour
to thrive in, and a dog hath a day. Antigonus having
taken upon him to favour a soldier of hiS| by reason of his
virtue and valour, commanded his physicians to have great
care of him, and see whether they could recover him of a
lingering and inward disease which had long tormented
him, who, being perfectly cured, he, afterward perceiving
him to be nothing so earnest and diligent in his affairs,
demanded of him how he was so changed from himself and
become so cowardish: ''Yourself, good sir," answered he,
" have made me so by ridding me of those infirmities
which so did grieve me that I made no account of my life.^
A soldier of Lucullus, having by his enemies been robbed
of all he had, to revenge himself undertook a notable and
desperate attempt upon them; and having recovered his
losses, Lucullus conceived a very good opinion of him, and
with the greatest shows of assured trust and loving-kindness
he could bethink himself, made especial account of him,
and in any dangerous enterprise seemed to trust and
employ him only :

Verbis qua timido quoque possent adden men/em,^

With words, which to a coward might
Add courage, had he any spright

"Employ," said he unto him, "some wretch-stripped and

robbed soldier,"

quanfumzns rusticus idi/,

Ibit eb quo vis, qui zonam ptrdidii^ inquit^

^ Hor. 1« il, EpisU iL 34* ^ Ibid»^ 37.

ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE. 135

None is, saitb he^ so clownish, but will on,
Where you will have him, if his purse be gone,

and absolutely refused to obey him. When we read that
Mahomet, having outrageously rated Chasan, chief leader of
his Janizers, because he saw his troops well-nigh defeated by
the Hungarians, and he to behave himself but faintly in the
fight, Chasan without making other reply, alone as he was,
and without more ado, with his weapon in his hand, rushed
furiously in the thickest throng of his enemies that he first
met withal, of whom he was instantly slain. This may haply
be deemed rather a rash conceit than a justification, and a
new spite than a natural prowess. He whom you saw yester-
day so boldly venturous, wonder not if you see him a dastardly
meacock to-morrow next; for either anger or necessity,
company or wine, a sudden fury or the clang of a trumpet,
might rouse up his heart and stir up his courage. It is no
heart nor courage so framed by discourse or deliberation.
These circumstances have settled the same in him. There-
fore it is no marvel if by other contrary circumstance he
become a craven and change copy. This supple variation
and easy yielding contradiction which is seen in us hath
made some to imagine that we had two souls, and others
two faculties; whereof every one as best she pleaseth
accompanieth and doth agitate us ; the one towards good,
the other towards evil. Forasmuch as such a rough
diversity cannot well sort and agree in one simple subject.
The blast of accidents doth not only remove me according
to his inclination; for, besi(^es, I remove and trouble myself
by the instability of my posture, and whosoever looketh
narrowly about himself shall hardly see himself twice in the
same state. Sometimes I give my soul one visage and
sometimes another, according unto the posture or side I lay
her in. If I speak diversely of myself it is because I look

136 ESS A YS OF MOT^AIGI^E.

diversely upon myself. All contrarities are found in her,
according to some turn or removing, and in some fashion
or other j shamefaced, bashful, insolent, chaste^ luxurious,
peevish, prattling, silent, fond, doting, laborious, nice,
delicate, ingenious, slow, dull, froward, humorous, debon-
aire, wise, ignorant, false in words, tru&<peaking, both
liberal, covetous, and prodigal. All these I perceive in
some measure or other to be in me, according as I stir or
turn myself; and whosoever shall heedfuUy survey and
consider himself shall find this volubility and discordance
to be in himself, yea and in his very judgment I have
nothing to say entirely, simply, and with solidity of myself
without confusion, disorder, blending, mingling, and, in one
word, Distinguo is the most universal part of my logic
Although I ever purpose to speak good of good, and rather
to interpret those things that will bear it, unto a good
sense; yet is it that the strangeness of our condition
admitteth that we are often urged to do well by vice itsel(
if well-doing were not judged by the intention only.
Therefore may not a courageous act conclude a man to be
valiant. He that is so, when just occasion servetb, shall
ever be so, and upon all occasions. If it were -an habitude
of virtue and not a sudden humour, it would make a man
equally resolute at all essays, in all accidents. Such alone^
as in company; such in a single combat, as in a set battle.
For whatsoever some say, valour is all alike, and not one in
the street or town, and another in the camp or field. As
courageously should a man bear a sickness in his bed as a
hurt in the field, and fear death no more at home in his
house than abroad in an assault. We should not then see
one same man enter the breach, or charge his enemy with
an assured and undoubted fierceness, and afterward having
escaped that, to vex, to grieve and torment himself like

ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE, 137

unto a silly woman, or faint-hearted milksop for the loss of
a suit, or death of a child. If one chance to be carelessly
base-minded in his infancy, and constantly resolute in
poverty; if he be timorously fearful at sight of a barber's
razor, and afterward stoutly undismayed against his enemies'
swords; the action is commendable, but not the man.
Divers Grecians (saith Cicero) cannot endure to look their
enemy in the face, yet are most constant in their sick-
nesses; whereas the Cimbrians and Celtiberians are mere
contrary. Nihil enim potest esse aquabile^ quod non a certa
ratione proficiscatur:^ "For nothing can bear itself even
which proceedeth not from resolved reason." There is no
valour more extreme in its kind than that of Alexander;
yet it is but in species, nor everywhere sufficiently full and
As incomparable as it is, it hath its blemishes,
reason that in the idlest suspicions he appre-
the conspiracies of his followers against his life,
so earnestly to vex and so desperately to
search and pursuit whereof he
^h so vehement and indiscreet an
such a demiss fear, that even his
natural reason is thereby subverted. Also the superstition
wherewith he is so thoroughly tainted beareth some show
of pusillanimity. And the unlimited excess of the repent-
ance he showed for the murder of Clitus is also a witness of
the inequality of his courage. Our matters are but parcels
huddled up and pieces patched together, and we endeavour
to acquire honour by false means and untrue tokens.
Virtue will not be followed but by herself; and if at any
time we borrow her mask, upon some other occasion she
will as soon pull it from our face. It is a lively hue and
strong dye, if the soul be once dyed with the same

.^ Cic., Tusc, Qu, ii. c. 27.

138 ESSA VS OF MONTAIGNE.

perfectly, and which will never fade or be gone, except it
carry the skin away with it Therefore to judge a man we
must a long time follow and very curiously mark his steps;
whether constancy do wholly subsist and continue upon her
own foundation in him. Cui vwendi via constderata atque
provisa est:^ "Who hath forecast and considered the way of
life ; " whether the variety of occurrences make him change
his pace (I mean his way, for his pace may either be
hastened or slowed) let him run on; such a one (as sayeth
the imprease of our good Talbot) goeth before the wind
It is no marvel (saith an old writer) that hazard hath such
power over us, since we live by hazard. It is impossible
for him to dispose of his particular actions that hath
not in gross directed his life unto one certain end. It
is impossible for him to range all pieces in order that hath
not a plot or form of the total frame in his head. What
availeth the provision of all sorts of colours unto one that
knows not what he is to draw. No man makes any certain
design of his life, and we deliberate of it but by parcels. A
skilful archer ought first to know the mark he aimeth at,
and then apply his hand, his bow, his string, his arrow, and
his motion accordingly. Our counsels go astray because
they are not rightly addressed, and have no fixed end. No
wind makes for him that hath no intended port to sail unta
As for me, I allow not greatly of that judgment which some
made of Sophocles, and to have concluded him sufficient in
the managing of dc^mestic matters, against the accusation
of his own son, only by the sight of one of his tragedieSi
Nor do I commend the conjecture of the Parians^ sent to
reform the Milesians, as sufficient to the consequence they
drew thence. In visiting and surveying the isle^ they
marked the lands that were best husbanded, and observed

^ Cic, Farad, v.

ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE. 1 39

the country houses that were best governed. And having
registered the names of their owners, and afterward made
an assembly of the townsmen of the city, they named and
instituted those owners as new governors and magistrates,
judging and concluding that being good husbands and
careful of their household affairs, they must consequently
be so of public matters. We are all framed of flaps and
patchesi and of so shapeless and diverse a contexture that
every piece and every moment playeth its part. And there
is as much difference found between us and ourselves as
there is between ourselves and others. Magnam remputa^
unum hominem agere: " Esteem it a great matter to play but
one man."

Since ambition may teach men both valour, temperance^
liberality, yea and justice; since covetousness may settle in
the mind of a shop prentice-boy, brought up in ease and
idleness, a dreadless assurance to leave his home-bred ease,
and forego his place of education, and in a small barque to
yield himself unto the mercy of blustering waves, merciless
winds, and wrathful Neptune; and that it also teacheth
discretion and wisdom ; and that Venus herself ministereth
resolution and hardiness unto tender youth as yet subject to
the discipline of the rod, and teacheth the ruthless soldier
the soft and tenderly effeminate heart of women in their
mother's laps —

Hoc duce custodes furtim transgressa jcuentes^
Adjuvenem tenebris sola puella venit?-

The wench by stealeth her lodg'd guards having stript,
By this guide, sole, i'th dark, to'th yonker skipt.

It is no part of a well-grounded judgment simply to judge
ourselves by our exterior actions. A man must thoroughly

1 Tib. L iL, EUg, I 75.

140 ESS A YS OF MONTAIGNE.

sound himself, and dive into his heart, and there see by
what wards or springs the motions stir. But forsomuch as
it is a hazardous and high enterprise, I would not have so
many to meddle with it as do.

OF DRUNKENNESS.

The world is nothing but variety and dissemblance. Vices
are all alike^ inasmuch as they are all vices. And so do
haply the Stoics mean it. But though they are equally
vices, they are not equal vices; and that he who hath
started a hundred steps beybnd the limits

Qmos ultra cUraque nequit consistere r$ctum^
On ibis side, or beyond tbe wbicb,
No man can bold a right true pitch —

is not of worse condition than he that is ten steps short of
it, is no whit credible ; and that sacrilege is not worse than
the stealing of a colewort out of a garden.

Nee vificet ration tantumdem tU peccety idemque^
Qui ieneros caules alieni fregerit horti^
Et qui nocturnus diimm sacra legerit,^

No reason can evict, as great or same sin taints
Him that breaks in another's garden tender plants.
And him that steals by night things consecrate to saints.

There is as much diversity in that as in any other thing.
The confusion of order and measure of crimes is dangerous.
Murderers, traitors, and tyrants have too much gam by
it ; it is no reason their conscience should be eased, in that

^ Hor. 1. i., Sat. i. 107. ^ Hor. 1. i., Sat, iiL 115.

ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE. 141

some other Is either idle or lascivious, or less assiduous
unto devotioa Every man poiseth upon his fellow's sin,
and elevates his owa Even teachers do often range it ill
in my conceit As Socrates said, that the chiefest office of
wisdom was to distinguish goods and evils. We others, to
whom the best is ever in vice, should say the like of know-
ledge to distinguish vices, without which, and that very
exact, both virtuous and wicked men remain confounded
and unknown. Now drunkenness amongst others appeareth
to me a gross and brutish vice. The mind hath more part
elsewhere; and some vices there are which (if it may law-
fully be spoken) have a kind of I wot not what generosity
in them. Some there are that have learning, diligence^
valour, prudence, wit, cunning, dexterity, and subtlety
joined with them; whereas this is merely corporal and
terrestrial And the grossest and rudest nation that liveth
amongst us at this day is only that which keepeth it in
credit Other vices but alter and distract the understand-
ing, whereas this utterly subverteth the same, and
astonisheth the body.

cAm vini vis penetravit^

Consequiiur gravitas niembrorumi prapediuniur
Crura vactllanii^ tardescit lingua^ madet nuns,
Nant oculiy clamor, singuUus^ jurgia gliscunt,'^

When once the force of wine hath inly pierced,
Limb's heaviness is next, legs fain would go,
But reeling cannot, tongue drawls, minds dispersed,
Eyes swim, cries, hiccups, brabbles grow.

The worst estate of man is where he loseth the know-
ledge and government of himself. And amongst other
things it is said that as must wine boiling and working in
a vessel, works and sends upwards whatever it containeth

^ Lucret., 1. iii. 479.

143 £SSAYS OF MONTAIGNE.

in the bottom, * so doth wine cause those that drink
excessively of it to work up and break out their most con-
cealed secrets.

t u saptenHum
CureUf et arcanum jocoso
Consilium retegis Lyao,^

Thou (wine-cup) doest by wine reveal
The cares which wise men would conceal,
And dose drifts at a merry meal.

Josephus reporteth that by making an ambassador to
tipple-square, whom his enemies had sent unto him, he
wrested all his secrets out of him. Nevertheless^ Augustus
having trusted Lucius Piso, that conquered Thrace, with
the secretest afiairs he had in hand, had never cause to be
discontent with him; nor Tiberius with Cossus, to y^hom
he imparted all his most serious counselsi although we know
them both to have so given themselves to drinking of wine
that they were often fain to be carried from the Senate, and
both were reputed notable drunkards.

Hestemo inflaium vewks de more Lyao,^

Veins puffed up, as it used alway
By wine which was drunk yesterday.

And as faithfully as the complot and purpose to kill
Caesar committed unto Cimber, who would daily be drunk
with quaffing of wine, as unto Cassius, that drunk nothing
but water, whereupon he answered very pleasantly, "What!
shall I bear a tyrant that am not able to bear wine ? " We
see our carousing toss-pot German soldiers, when they are
most plunged in their cups and as drunk as rats, to have
perfect remembrance of their quarter, of the watchword,
and of their files.

It is assured that antiquity hath not greatly described

* Hor. 1, iii., Od, xxi. 14. ^ Virg., Buc, Eel. vi. 15.

ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE. 143

this vice. The compositions of divers philosophers speak
but sparingly of it Yea, and some of the Stoics deem
it not amiss for man sometimes to take his liquor roundly,
and drink drunk, thereby to recreate his spirits.

I/bc qucqus virhUum quondam certamine magnum
Socraiem paimam promeruisse feruni^

They say, in this too, Socrates the wise,
And great in virtue's combats, bares the prize.

Cato^ that strict censurer and severe corrector of others,
hath been reproved for much drinking.

Narratur ei prisci Caionis
Sape mero caluisie virtusJ^

'Tis said, by use of wine repeated.
Old Cato's virtue oft was heated.

Cyrus, that so far-renowned king, amongst his other com-
mendations, meaning to prefer himself before his brother
Artaxerxes, and get the start of him, allegeth that he could
drink better and tipple more than he. And amongst the
best policed and formalest nations, the custom of drinking
and pledging of healths was much in use. I have heard
Silvius, that excellent physician of Paris, affirm that to pre-
serve the vigour of our stomach from impairing, it is not
amiss once a month to rouse up the same by this excess of
drinking, and lest it should grow dull and stupid thereby to
stir it up. And it is written that the Persians, after they
had well tippled, were wont to consult of their chiefest
af&irs. My taste, my relish, and my complexion are sharper
enemies unto this vice than my discourse, for besides that
I captivate more easily my conceits under the authority of
ancient opinions, indeed I find it to be a fond, a stupid,
and a base kind of vice, but less malicious and hurtful

^ Cor. Gal,, El, i. ' Hor. 1. iii., Od, xxi. 11.

144 £SSA VS OF MONTAIGNE.

than others; all which shock and with a sharper edge
wound public society. And if we cannot give ourselves
any pleasure except (as they say) it cost us something, I
find this vice to be less chargeable unto our conscience than
others; besides, it is not hard to be prepared, difficult to be
found; a consideration not to be despised. A man well
advanced in years and dignity, amongst three principal
commodities he told me to have remaining in life, counted
this; and where shall a man more rightly find it than
amongst the natural ? But he took it ill, delicateness and
the choice of wines is therein to be avoided. If you pre-
pare your voluptuousness to drink it with pleasure and
daintily neat, you tie yourself unto an inconvenience to
drink it other than is always to be had. A man must have
a milder, a loose and freer taste. To be a true drinker, a
man should not have so tender and squeamish a palate.
The Germans do in a manner drink equally of all sorts of
wine with like pleasure. Their end is rather to gulp it
down freely than to taste it kindly. And to say truth,
they have it better cheap. Their voluptuousness is more
plenteous and fuller. Secondarily, to drink afler the French
manner, as two draughts and moderately, is over-much to
restrain the favours of that god. There is more time and
constancy required thereunto. Our forefathers were wont
to spend whole nights in that exercise, yea oftentimes they
joined whole long days unto them. And a man must pro-
portion his ordinary more large and firm. I have in my
days seen a principal lord, a man of great employment and
enterprises, and famous for good successi who without
straining himself and eating but an iOTdinary meal's meat,
was wont to drink little less than five bottles of wine^ yet
at his rising seemed to be nothing distempered, but rather,
as we have found to our no small cost in managing our

ESS A YS OF MONTAIGNE. 145

affairs^ over-wise and considerate.. The pleasure of that
whereof we would make account in the course of our life
ought to be employed longer space. It were necessary, as
shop-boys or labouring people, that we should refuse no occa-
sion to drink and continually to have this desire in our mind.
It seemeth that we daily shorten the use of this, and that
in our houses (as I have seen in mine infancy) breakfasts,
nunchions, and beavers should be more frequent and often
used than nowadays they are. And should we thereby in
any sort proceed towards amendment ? No, verily. But it
may be that we have much more given ourselves over unto
paillardise and all manner of luxury than our fathers were.

The incommodities of age, which need some help and
refreshing, might with some reason beget in me a desire or
longing of this faculty, for it is in a man the last pleasure
which the course of our years stealeth upon us. Good
fellows say that natural heat is first taken in our feet j thav
properly belongeth to infancy. From thence it ascendeth
unto the middle region, where it is settled and continueth a
long time, and in mine opinion there produceth the only
true and moving pleasures of this corporal life. Other
delight and sensualities in respect of that do but sleep. In
the end, like unto a vapour which by little and little
exhaleth and mounteth aloft, it comes unto the throat and
there makes her last abode. Yet could I never conceive
how any man may either increase or prolong the pleasure of
drinking beyond thirst, and in his imagination frame an
artificial appetite, and against nature. My stomach could
not well reach so far ; it is very much troubled to come to
an end of that which it takes for his need. My constitution
is to make no account of drinking but to succeed meat,
and therefore do I ever make my last draught the greatest

And forasmuch as in age we have the roof of our mouths

10

136 ESS A YS OF AfOT^AIGlh:.

diversely upon myself. All contrarities are found in her,
according to some turn or removing, and in some fiEishion
or other; shamefaced, bashful, insolent, chaste^ luxurious,
peevish, prattling, silent, fond, doting, laborious, nice,
delicate, ingenious, slow, dull, froward, humorous, debon-
aire, wise, ignorant, false in words, true-speaking, both
liberal, covetous, and prodigal. All these I perceive in
some measure or other to be in me, according as I stir or
turn myself; and whosoever shall heedfully survey and
consider himself shall find this volubility and discordance
to be in himself, yea and in his very judgment I have
nothing to say entirely, simply, and with solidity of mysel(
without confusion, disorder, blending, mingling, and, in one
word, Distinguo is the most universal part of my logic
Although I ever purpose to speak good of good, and radier
to interpret those things that will bear it, unto a good
sense; yet is it that the strangeness of our conditton
admitteth that we are often urged to do well by vice itsd(
if well-doing were not judged by the intention only.
Therefore may not a courageous act conclude a man to be
valiant. He that is so, when just occasion serveth, shall
ever be so, and upon all occasions. If it were*an habitude
of virtue and not a sudden humour, it would make a man
equally resolute at all essays, in all accidents. Such alone^
as in company; such in a single combat, as in a set battle.
For whatsoever some say, valour is all alike, and not one in
the street or town, and another in the camp or field. As
courageously should a man bear a sickness in his bed as a
hurt in the field, and fear death no more at home in his
house than abroad in an assault. We should not then see
one same man enter the breach, or charge his enemy with
an assured and undoubted fierceness, and afterward having
escaped that, to vex, to grieve and torment himself like

ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE. 137

unto a silly woman, or faint-hearted milksop for the loss of
a suit, or death of a child. If one chance to be carelessly
base-minded in his infancy, and constantly resolute in
poverty; if he be timorously fearful at sight of a barber's
razor, and afterward stoutly undismayed against his enemies'
swords; the action is commendable, but not the man.
Divers Grecians (saith Cicero) cannot endure to look their
enemy in the face, yet are most constant in their sick-
nesses; whereas the Cimbrians and Celtiberians are mere
contrary. Nihil enitn potest esse cequabiky quod non a certa
ratione proficiscatur :^ "For nothing can bear itself even
which proceedeth not from resolved reason." There is no
valour more extreme in its kind than that of Alexander;
yet it is but in species, nor everywhere sufficiently full and
unive rsaL As incomparable as it is, it hath its blemishes,
whicfaflpTe reason that in the idlest suspicions he appre-
hende^bt the conspiracies of his followers against his life,
we s^^Bkn so earnestly to vex and so desperately to
troubi^BUnself. Jn search and pursuit whereof he
demeani^kimse||M^h so vehement and indiscreet an
injustice, {fflH^^^uch a demiss fear, that even his
natural reason is thereby subverted. Also the superstition
wherewith he is so thoroughly tainted beareth some show
of pusillanimity. And the unlimited excess of the repent-
ance he showed for the murder of Clitus is also a witness of
the inequality of his courage. Our matters are but parcels
huddled up and pieces patched together, and we endeavour
to acquire honour by false means and untrue tokens.
Virtue will not be followed but by herself; and if at any
time we borrow her mask, upon some other occasion she
will as soon pull it from our face. It is a lively hue and
strong dye, if the soul be once dyed with the same

^ Cic., Tusc* Qu. ii c. 27.

148 £SSA YS OF MONTAIGNE.

him ; being near the brim of a precipice^ he must cry out
like a child. Nature having purposed to reserve these light
marks of her authority unto herself inexpugnable unto our
reason, and to the Stoic virtue ; to teach him his mortality
and our insipidity. He waxeth pale for fear, he blusheth
for shame, he groaneth feeling the colic, if not with a
desperate and loud-roaring voice, yet with a low, smothered,
and hoarse-sounding noise. Giddy-headed poets, that fain
what they list, dare not so much as discharge their heroes
from tears.

Let it suffice him to bridle his affections and moderate
his inclinations; for it is not in him to bear them away.
Plutarch himself, who is so perfect and excellent a judge
of human actions, seeing Brutus and Torquatus to Idll
their own children, remaineth doubtful whether virtue
could reach so far, and whether such men were not
rather moved by some other passion. All actions beyond
the ordinary limits are subject to some sinister interpre*
tacion. Forasmuch as our taste doth no more come
unto that which is above it than to that which is under
it. I^t us omit that other sect which maketh open pro-
fession of fierceness. But when in the very same sect
which is esteemed the ihost demiss we hear the brags
of Metrodorus : Occupavi te^ Fortuna^ atque cepi ; omnesque
aditus tuos interciust\ ut ad me aspirare twn posses?'
'' Fortune, I have prevented, caught, and overtaken thee.
I have mured and rammed up all thy passages, whereby
thou mightest attain unto me:'' when Anaxarchus, by
the appointment of Nicocreon, the tyrant of Cipres, being
laid along in a trough of stone, and smitten with iron
sledges, ceaseth not to cry out, " Strike, smite, and break;
it is not Anaxarchus, it is but his vail you martyr so *!*

^ Metr., CiCf Tusc. Qw. 1. v.

ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE. 149

when we hear our martyrs in the midst of a flame cry
aloud unto the tyrant, "This side is roasted enough,
chop it, eat it, it is full roasted, now begin on the
other:" when in Josephm we hear a child all to rent
with biting snippers, and pierced with the breath of
Antiochus, to defy him to death, cry with a loud-assured
and undismayed voice, "Tyrant, thou losest time; lo, I
am still at mine ease; where is that smarting pain,
where are those torments, wherewith whilom thou didst
so threaten me? My constancy doth more trouble thee
than I have feeling of thy cruelty. Oh, faint-hearted varlet,
dost thou yield when I gather strength? Make me to
faint or shrink, cause me to moan or lament^ force me
to ]rield and sue for grace if thou canst; encourage thy
satellites, harden thy executioners; lo, how they droop
and have no more power; arm them, strengthen them,
flesh them," verily we must needs confess there is some
alteration and some fiiry (bow holy soever) in those
minds, when we come unto these Stoic evasions: I
had rather be furious than voluptuous; the saying of
Antisthenes, "Rather would I be mad than merry;"
when Sextius telleth us, he had rather be surprised with
pain than sensuality; when Epicurus undertakes to have
the gout to wantonise and fawn upon him, and refusing
ease and health, with a hearty cheerfulness defy all evils,
and scornfully despising less sharp griefs, disdaining to
grapple with them, he blithely desireth and calleth for
sharper, more forcible and worthy of him.

Spumantemque dari^ pecora inter inertia^ votis
Optataprum^ aut fulvum descendere tnonte leonem;^

He wish'd, 'mongst heartless beasts, some foaming boar
Or mountain lion would come down and roar.

» Virg., /En, 1. iv. 158.

1 50 ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE.

Who would not judge them to be pranks of a courage
removed from his wonted seat ? Our mind cannot out of
her place attain so high. She must quit it and raise
herself aloft, and taking the bridle in her teeth, carry and
transport her man so far that afterwards he wonders at
himself, and rests amazed at his actions. As in exploits
of war, the heat and earnestness of the fight doth often
provoke the noble-minded soldiers to adventure on so
dangerous passages that afterwards, being better advised,
they are the first to wonder at it As also poets are
often surprised and rapt with admiration at their own
labours, and forget the trace by which they pass so
happy a career. It is that which some term a fury or
madness in them. And as Plato saith that a settled and
reposed man doth in vain knock at Poes/s gate, Aristotle
likewise saith that no excellent mind is freely exempted
from some or other intermixture of folly. And he hath
reason to call any startling or extraordinary conceit (how
commendable soever), and which exceedeth our judg-
ment and discourse, folly. Forsomuch as wisdom is an
orderly and regular managing of the mind, and which
she addresseth with measure, and conducteth with pro-
portion, and taketh her own word for it. Plato
disputeth thus: that the faculty of prophesying and
divination is far above us, and that when we treat it
we must be beside ourselves: our wisdom must be
darkened and overshadowed by sleep, by sickness^ or
by drowsiness; or by some celestial fury ravished from
her own seat

ESSA YS OF M<XNTAIGNE. 1 5 1

OF BOO]

I MAKB no doubt but it shall oftc^ befell me to speak of
things which are better, apd with Aiore truth, handled by
such as are their crafts-masters. Here is simply an essay
of my natural faculties, and no whit of those I have
acquired. And he that shall tax me with ignorance shall
have no great victory at my hands ; for hardly could I give
others reasons for my discourses that give none unto myself,
and am not well satisfied with them. He that shall make
search after knowledge, let him seek it where it is : there is
nothing I profess less. These are but my fantasies, by
which I endeavour not to make things known but by myself.
They may haply one day be known unto me, or have been
at other times, according as fortune hath brought me where
they were declared or manifested. But I remember them
no more. And if I be a man of some reading, yet I am a
man of no remembering, I conceive no certainty, except it
be to give notice how far. the knowledge I have of it doth
now reach. Let no man busy himself about the matters,
but on the fashion I give them. Let that which I borrow
be surveyed, and then tell me whether I have made good
choice of ornaments to beautify and set forth the invention
which ever comes from me. For I make others to relate
(not after mine own fantasy, but as it best falleth out) what
I cannot iso well express, either through unskill of language
or want of judgment I number not my borrowings, but I
weigh them ; and if I would have made their number to
prevailt I would have had twice as many. They are all, or
almost all, of so famous and ancient names that methinks
they sufficiently name themselves without me. If in
reasons, comparisons, and arguments I transplant any
into my soil, or confound them with mine own, I purposely

I Sa ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE.

conceal the author, thereby to bridle the rashness of these
hasty censures that are so headlong cast upon all manner of
compositions, namely, young writings of men yet living;
and in vulgar that admit all the world to talk of them, and
which seemeth to convince the conception and public
design alike. I will have them to give Plutarch a bob
upon mine own lips, and vex themselves in wronging
Seneca in me. My weakness must be hidden under such
great credits. I will love him that shall trace or unfeather
me ; I mean through clearness of judgment, and by the
only distinction of the force and beauty of my discourses.
For myself, who for want of memory am ever to seek how
to try and refine them by the knowledge of their countryi
know perfectly, by measuring mine own strength, that my
soil is no way capable of some over-precious flowers that
therein I find set, and that all the fruits of my increase could
not make it amends. This am I bound to answer for if 1
hinder myself, if there be either vanity or fault in my dis-
courses that I perceive not, or am not able to discern if[
they be shown me. For many faults do often escape our
eyes ; but the infirmity of judgment consisteth in not being
able to perceive them when another discovereth them unto
us. Knowledge and truth may be in us without judgment,
and we may have judgment without them ; yea, the acknow-
ledgment of ignorance is one of the best and surest testi-
monies of judgment that I can find. I have no other
sergeant of band to marshal my rhapsodies than fortune.
And look how my humours or conceits present themselves^ so
I shufHe them up. Sometimes they press out thick and three*
fold, and other times they come out languishing one by one
I will have my natural and ordinary pace seen as loose and
as shuffling as it is. As I am, so I go on plodding. And
besides these are matters that a man may not be Ignorant

ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE. 1 53

o( and rashly and casually to speak of them. I would wish
to have a more perfect understanding of things, but I will
not purchase it so dear as it cost /My intention is to pass
the remainder of my life quietly ^d not laboriously, in rest
and not in care. There is nothing I will trouble or vex
myself about, no not for science itself what esteem soever
it be of. I do not search and toss over books but for an
honester recreation to please, and pastime to delight myself;
or if I study, I only endeavour to find out the knowledge
that teacheth or handleth the knowledge of myself, and
which may instruct me how to die well and how to live well

Has mens ad metas sudet oportet equus,^

My horse must sweating run,
That this goal may be won.

If, in reading, I fortune to meet with any difficult points, I
fret not myself about them, but after I have given them a
charge or two I leave them as I found them. Should I
earnestly plod upon them I should lose both time and my-
self for I have a skipping wit. What I see not at the first view,
\ shall less see it if I opinionate myself upon it I do
nothing without blitheness ; and an over-obstinate continua-
tion and plodding contention doth dazzle, dull, and weary
the same ; my sight is thereby confounded and diminished.
I must therefore withdraw it, and at fits go to it again.
Even as to judge well of the lustre of scarlet we are taught
to cast pur eyes over it, in running over by divers glances,
sudden glimpses, and reiterated reprisings. If one book
seem tedious unto me I take another, which I follow not
with any earnestness, except it be at such hours as I am
idle, or that I am weary with doing nothing. I am not
greatly affected to new books, because ancient authors are,

new books, because an

1 Propert. 1. iv., EL L 7a

154 ^SSA VS OF M0NTA16NE,

in my judgment, more full and pithy; nor am I much
addicted to Greek books, forasmuch as my understanding
cannot well rid his work with a childish and apprentice
intelligence. Amongst modem books merely pleasant, I
esteem Boccaccio's Decameron^ Rabelais, and the kisses of
John the second (if they may be placed under this title)^
worth the painstaking to read them. As for Amadis
and such-like trash of writings, they had never the credit so
much as to allure my youth to delight in them. This I will
say more, either boldly or rashly, that this old and heavy-
passed mind of mine will no more be pleased with Aristotle,
or tickled with good Ovid ; his facility and quaint inven-
tions, which heretofore have so ravished me, they can
nowadays scarcely entertain me. I speak my mind
freely of all things, yea, of such as peradventure exOsed
my sufficiency, and that no way I hold to be of my
jurisdiction. What my conceit is of them is told also to
manifest the proportion of my insight, and not the measure
of things. If at any time I find myself distasted of Plato's
AxiochuSt as of a forceless work, due regard had to such an
author, my judgment doth nothing believe itself. It is not
so foolhardy, or self-conceited, as it durst dare to oppose
itself against the authority of so many other famous ancient
judgments which he reputeth his regents and masters, and
with whom he had rather err. He chafeth with, and con-
demneth himself, either to rely on the superficial sense,
being unable to pierce into the centre, or to view the thing
by some false lustre. He is pleased only to warrant himself
from trouble and unruliness. As for weakness, he acknow-
ledgeth and ingeniously avoweth the same. He thinks to
give a just interpretation to the appearances which his con-
ception presents unto him, but they are shallow and imper-
fect. Most of iEsop's fables have divers senses, and

. £SSA yS OF MONTAIGNE. 1 5 5

several interpretations. Those which mythologise them,
choose some kind of colour well suiting with the fable ; but
for the most part, it is no other than the first and superficial
gloss. There are others more quick, more sinewy, more
essential, and more internal, into which they could never
penetrate ; and thus think I with them.\^ But to follow my
course, I have ever deemed that in poesy^ Virgil, Lucretius,
Catullus, and Horace, do doubtless by far hold the first
rank ; and especially Virgil in his Georgics^ which I esteem
to be the most accomplished piece of work of poesy. In
comparison of which one may easily discern that there are
some passages in the jEneid to which the author (had he
lived) would no doubt have given some review or correction.
The fifth book whereof is (in my mind) the most absolutely
perfect I also love Lucan, and willingly read him, not so
much for his style as for his own worth and truth of his opinion
and judgment As for good Terence, I allow the quaint-
ness and grace of his Latin tongue, and judge him wonder-
ful conceited and apt, lively to represent the motions and
passions of the mind, and the condition of. our manners ;
our actions make me often remember him. I can never
read him so often but still I discover some new grace and
beauty in him. Those that lived about Virgil's tim^ com-
plained that some would compare Lucretius unto him. I
am of opinion that verily it is an unequal comparison ; yet
can I hardly assure myself in this opinion whensoever I find
myself entangled in some notable passage of Lucretius. If
they were moved at this comparison, what would they say
now of the fond, hardy, and barbarous stupidity of those
which nowadays compare Ariosto unto him? Nay, what
would Ariosto say of it himself?

O seclum insipiens et infacetum. ^
1 Catul., Epig, xl. 8.

I s6 ESSA yS OF MONTAIGNE.

O age that bath no wit,
And small conceit in it.

I think oar ancestors had also more reason to cry out
against those that blushed not to equal Plautus unto Terence
(who makes more show to be a gentleman) than Lucretius
unto Virgil This one thing doth greatly advantage the
estimation and preferring of Terence, that the father of the
Roman eloquence, of men of his quality doth so often make
mention of him ; and the censure which the chief judge of
the Roman poets giveth of his companion. It hath often
come into my mind how such as in our days give themselves
to composing of comedies (as the Italians, who are very
happy in them) employ three or four arguments of Terence
and Plautus to make up one of theirs. In one only comedy
they will huddle up five or six of Boccaccio's tales. That
which makes them so to charge themselves with matter is
the distrust they have of their own sufficiency, and that they
are not able to undergo so heavy a burden with their own
strength. They are forced to find a body on which they
may rely and lean themselves ; and wanting matter of their
own wherewith to please us, they will have the story or tale
to busy and amuse us ; whereas in my author's it is clean
contrary: the elegancies, the perfections^ and ornaments
of his manner of speech make us neglect and lose the long-
ing for his subject. His quaintness and grace do still retain
us to him. He is everywhere pleasantly conceited,

Liquidus puroque simillinms amni^

So clearly neat, so neatly clear,
As he a fine pure river were,

and doth so replenish our mind with his graces that we
forget those of the fable. The same consideration draws

^ Hor. 1. iL, EpisL ii. 12a

ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE. \ 5 7

me somewhat further. I perceive that good and ancient
fantastical, new-fangled, Spagniolised and Petrarchistical
poets have shunned the affectation and inquest, not only of
elevations, but also of more sweet and sparing inventions,
which are the ornament of all the poetical works of succeed-
ing ages. Yet is there no competent judge that findeth
them wanting in those ancient ones, and that doth not
much more admire that smoothly equal neatness, continued
sweetness, and flourishing comeliness of Catullus's epigrams,
than all the sharp quips and witty girds wherewith Martial
doth whet and embellish the conclusions of his. It is the
same reason I spake of erewhile, as Martial of himself
Minus illi ingenio hborandum fuit^ in cujus locum materia
successeraO "He needed the less work with his wit, in
place whereof matter came in supply." The former without
being moved or pricked cause themselves to be heard loud
enough ; they have matter to laugh at everywhere, and need
not tickle themselves; whereas these must have foreign
help ; according as they have less spirit, they must have
more body. They leap on horseback because they are not
sufficiently strong in their legs to march on foot Even as
in our dances, those base-conditioned men that keep danc-
ing schools, because they are unfit to represent the port and
decency of our nobility, endeavour to get commendation by
dangerous lofty tricks, and other strange tumbler-like frisks
and motions. And some ladies make a better show of
their countenances in those dances, wherein are divers
changes, cuttings, turnings, and agitations of the body, than
in some dances of state and gravity, where they need but
simply to tread a natural measure, represent an unaffected
carriage, and their ordinary grace. And as I have also seen
some excellent lourdans or clowns, attired in their ordinary

^ Mart, Prof, 1. viiL

158 ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE.

workaday clothes, and with a common homely counten-
ance, afford us all the pleasure that may be had from their
art j but prentices and learners that are not of so high a
form besmear their faces, to disguise themselves, and in
motions counterfeit strange visages and antics to induce us
to laughter. This my conception is nowhere better dis-
cerned than in the comparison between Virgil's jEneid and
Orlando Furioso. The first is seen to soar aloft with full-
spread wings, and with so high and strong a pitch, ever
following his point ; the other faintly to hover and flutter
from tale to tale, and as it were skipping from bough to
bough, always distrusting his own wings, except it be for
somb short flight, and for fear his strength and breath should
fail him, to sit down at every field's end.

Excursusque breves tentat,^

Out-leaps sometimes he doth assay,
But very short, and as he may.

Lo here then, concerning this kind of subjects, what
authors please me best. As for my other lesson, which
somewhat more mixeth profit with pleasure, whereby I learn
to range my opinions and address my conditions, the books
that serve me thereunto are Plutarch (since he spoke
French) and Seneca ; both have this excellent commodity
for my humour, that the knowledge I seek in them is
there so scatteringly and loosely handled, that whosoever
readeth them is not tied to plod long upon them, where-
of I am incapable. And so are Plutarch's little works
and Seneca's Epistles^ which are the best and most profitable
parts of their writings. It is no great matter to draw
me to them, and I leave them where I list For
they succeed not and depend not one of another. Both

^ Vixg.f.jEn. 1. iv. 194.

ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE. 159

jump and suit together, in most true and profitable opinions.
And fortune brought them both into the world in one age.
Both were tutors unto two Roman emperors; both were
strangers, and came from far countries; both rich and
mighty in the commonwealth, and in credit with their
masters. Their instruction is the prime and cream of
philosophy, and presented with a plain, unaffected, and
pertinent fashion. Plutarch is more uniform and constant ;
Seneca more waving and diverse. This doth labour, force,
and extend himself, to arm and strengthen virtue against
weakness, fear, and vicious desires; the other seemeth
nothing so much to fear their force or attempt, and in a
manner scorneth to hasten or change his pace about them,
and to put himself upon his guard. Plutarch's opinions are
Platonical, gentle^ and accommodable unto civil society;
Seneca's stoical and epicurean, further from common use,
but in my conceit more proper, particular, and more solid.
It appeareth in Seneca that he somewhat inclineth and
yieldeth to the tyranny of the emperors which were in his
dajTS, for I verily believe it is with a forced judgment he
condemneth the cause of those noble-minded murderers
of Caesar ; Plutarch is everywhere free and open-hearted ;
Seneca full-fraught with points and sallies ; Plutarch stuffed
with matters.- The former doth move and inflame you
more; the latter content, please, and pay you better. This
doth guide you, the other drive you on. As for Cicero,
of all his works, those that treat of philosophy (namely
moral) are they which best serve my turn and square with
my intent But boldly to confess the truth (for since the
bars of impudence were broken down all curbing is taken
away),. his manner of writing seemeth very tedious unto me^
as doth all such-like stuff. For his prefaces, definitions,
divisions, and etymologies consume the greatest part of his

(

i6o ESSAYS OF MONTAIGNE.

works ; whatsoever quick, witty, and pithy conceit is in him
is surcharged and confounded by those his long and far-
fetched preambles. If I bestow but one hour in reading
them, which is much for me, and let me call to mind what
substance or juice I have drawn from him, for the most
part I find nothing but wind and ostentation in him ; for he
is not yet come to the arguments which make for his
purpose, and reasons that properly concern the knot or
pith I seek after. These logical and Aristotelian ordinances
are not available for me, who only endeavour to become
more wise and sufficient, and not more witty or eloquent.
I would have one begin with the last point : I understand
sufficiently what death and voluptuousness are ; let not a
man busy himself to anatomise them. At the first reading
of a book I seek for good and solid reasons that may
instruct me how to sustain their assaults. It is neither
grammatical subtleties nor logical quiddities, nor the witty
contexture of choice words or arguments and syllogisms,
that will serve my turn. I like those discourses that give
the first charge to the strongest part of the doubt ; his are
but flourishes, and languish everywhere. They are good
for schools, at the bar, or for orators and preachers, where
we may slumber ; and though we wake a quarter of an hour
after, we may find and trace him soon enough. Such a
manner of speech is fit for those judges that a man would
corrupt by hook or crook, by right or wrong, or for children
and the common people, unto whom a man must tell all,
and see what the event would be. I would not have a man
go about and labour by circumlocutions to induce and win
me to attention, and that (as our heralds or criers do) they'
shall ring out their words : Now hear me, now listen, or
ho^yes. The Romans in their religion were wont to say
" Hoc age," which in ours we say "Sursum corda." There

£SSA YS OF MONTAIGNE. 1 6 1

are so many lost words for me. I come ready prepared
from my house. I need no allurement nor sauce, my
stomach is good enough to digest raw meat. And whereas
with these preparatives and flourishes, or preambles, they
think to sharpen my taste or stir my stomach, they cloy and
make it wallowish. Shall the privilege of times excuse me
from this sacrilegious boldness, to deem Plato's Dialogisms
to be as languishing, by over-filling and stuffing his matter ?
And to bewail the time that a man who had so many
thousands of things to utter, spends about so many, so long,
so vain, and idle interlocutions and preparatives? My
ignorance shall better excuse me, in that I see nothing in
the beauty of his language. I generally inquire after books 1/
that use sciences, and not after such as institute them./'
The two first, and Pliny, with others of their rank, have no
Ifoc age in them, they will have to do with men that have
forewarned themselves ; or if they have, it is a material and
substantial Ifoc age, and that hath its body apart. I like-
wise love to read the Epistles and ad Atticum, not only
because they contain a most ample instruction of the
history and affairs of his times, but much more because in
them I descry his private humours. For (as I have said
elsewhere) I am wonderful curious to discover and know
the mind, the soul, the genuine disposition and natural
judgment of my authors. A man ought to judge their
sufficiency and not their customs, nor them by the show of
their writings, which they set forth on this world's theatre.
I have sorrowed a thousand times that ever we lost the
book that Brutus wrote of Virtue. Oh, it is a goodly thing ,1
to learn the theory of such as understand the practice well.l|
But forsomuch as the sermon is one thing and the preacher
another, I love as much to see Brutus in Plutarch as in

himself; I would rather make choice to know certainly

II

i

162 ^SSA YS OP MONTAIGNE. .

what talk he had in his tent with some of his ^miliar
friends, the night foregoing the battle, than the speech be
made the morrow after to his army ; and what he did in his
chamber or closet, than what in the senate or market-
place. As for Cicero, I am of the common judgment,
that besides learning there was no exquisite eloquence in
him. He was a good citizen, of an honest, gentle nature^
as are commonly fat and burly men, for so was he ; but,
to speak truly of him, full of ambitious vanity and remiss
niceness. And I know not well how to excuse him, in tbat
he deemed his poesy worthy to be published. It is no
great imperfection to make bad verses, but it is an imper-
fection in him that he never perceived* how unworthy they
|were of the glory of his name. Concerning his eloquence^
it is beyond all comparison, and I verily believe that none
shall ever equal it. Cicero the younger, who resembled his
father in nothing but in name, commanding in Asia, chanced
one day to have many strangers at his board, and amongst
others one Csestius, sitting at the lower end, as the manner
is to thrust in at great men's tables. Cicero inquired of
one of his men what he was, who told him his name ; but
he dreaming on other matters, and having forgotten what
answer his man made him, asked him his name twice or
thrice more : the servant, because he would not be troubled
to tell him one thing so often, and by some circumstance to
make him to know him better, " It is," said he, "the saftie
Csestius of whom some have told you that, in respect of his
own, maketh no account of your father's eloquence." Cicero,
being suddenly moved, commanded the said poor Csestius
to be presently taken from the table and well whipped in his
presence. Lo here an uncivil and barbarous host Even
amongst those which (all things considered) have deemed
his eloquence matchless and incomparable, others there

JSSSA YS OF MONTAIGNE. 1 63

have been who have not spared to note some faults in
it As great Brutus said, that it was an eloquence broken, /
halting, and disjointed, ^tf^/^m et elumbem: "Incoherent./
and sinewless." Those orators that lived about his age
reproved also in him the curious care he had of a certain
long cadence at the end of his clauses, and noted these
words, esse videatur^ which he so often useth. As for
me, I rather like a cadence that falleth shorter, cut like
iambics; yet doth he sometimes confound his numbers,
but it is seldom. I have especially observed this one
place: Egp vero me minus diu senem esse mallem^ quam
esse senemy antequam essem:^ "But I had rather not be
an old man, so long as I might be, than to be old before
I should be." Historians are my right hand, for they are
pleasant and easy; and therewithal the man with whom
I desire generally to be acquainted may more lively and
perfectly be discovered in them than in any other com-
position; the variety and truth of his inward conditions,
in gross and by retail ; the diversity of the means of his
collection and composing, and of the accidents that threaten
him. Now those that write of men's lives, forasmuch as
they amuse and busy themselves more about counsels than
events, more about that which cometh from within than
that which appeareth outward, they are fittest for me.
And that's the reason why Plutarch above all in that kind
doth best please me. Indeed, I am not a little grieved that
we have not a dozen of Laertius, or that he is not more
known or better understood, for I am no less curious to
know the fortunes and lives of these great masters of the
world than to understand the diversity of their decrees and
conceits. In this kind of study of history a man must,
without distinction, toss and turn over all sorts of authors,

^ Cic, De Senect.

.*■ ■^

i64 £SSA ys OF MONTAIGNE.

both old and new, both French and others, if he will learn
the things they so diversely treat o£ But methinks that
\ Csesar above all doth singularly deserve to be studied, not
only for the understanding of the history as of himself; so
much perfection and excellency is there in him more than
in others, although Sallust be reckoned one of the number.
Verily, I read that author with a little more reverence and
respect than commonly men read profane and human
works, sometimes considering him by his actions and
wonders of his greatness, and other times weighing the
purity and inimitable polishing and elegancy of his tongue^
which (as Cicero saith) hath not only exceeded all his-
torians, but haply Cicero himself; with such sincerity in
his judgment, speaking of his enemies, that except the false
colours wherewith he goeth about to cloak his bad causey
and the corruption and filthiness of his pestilent ambition,
t am persuaded there is nothing in him to be found fault
with ; and that he hath been over-sparing to speak of him-
self, for so many notable and great things could never be
executed by him unless he had put more of his own into
them than he setteth down. I love those historians that
are either very simple or most excellent The simple, who
have nothing of their own to add unto the story, and have
but the care and diligence to collect whatsoever come to
their knowledge, and sincerely and faithfully to register all
things, without choice or culling, by the naked truth leave
our judgment more entire and better satisfied.

Such amongst others (for example's sake) plain and well-
meaning Froissart, who in his enterprise hath marched
with so free and genuine a purity, that having committed
some oversight, he is neither ashamed to acknowledge nor
afraid to correct the same, wheresoever be hath either notice
or warning of it ; and who representeth unto us the diversity

ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE. 165

of the news then current and the different reports that were
made unto him. The subject of an history should be
naked, bare, and formless; each man according to his
capacity or understanding may reap commodity out of
it The curious and most excellent have the sufficiency
to cull and choose that which is worthy to be known, and
may select of two relations that which is most likely : from
the condition of princes and of their humours, they con-
clude their counsels and attribute fit words to them ; they
assume a just authority and bind our faith to theirs. But
truly that belongs not to many.* Such as are between both
(which is the most common fashion), it is they that spoil
all ; they will needs chew our meat for us and take upon
them a law to judge, and by consequence to square and
incline the story according to their fantasy ; for, where the
judgment bendeth one way, a man cannot choose but wrest
and turn his narration that way. They undertake to choose
things worthy to be known, and now and then conceal
either a word or a secret action from us, which would much
better instruct us, omitting such things as they understand
not as incredible, and happily such matters as they know not
how to declare, either in good Latin or tolerable French.
Let them boldly install their eloquence and discourse ; let
them censure at their pleasure, but let them also give us
leave to judge after them ; and let them neither alter nor
dispense by their abridgments and choice anything belong-
ing to the substance of the matter; but let them rather
send it pure and entire with all her dimensions unto us.
Most commonly (as chiefly in our age) this charge of
writing histories is committed unto base, ignorant, and
mechanical kind of people, only for this consideration that
they can speak well ; as if we sought to learn the grammar
of them ; and they have some reason, being only hired tp

]

i66 ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE.

that end, and publishing nothing but their tittle^ttle to
aim at nothing else so much. Thus, with store of choice
and quaint words and wire-drawn phrases, they huddle
up and make a hodge-pot of a laboured contexture of the
reports which they gather in the market-places or such
other assemblies. The only good histories are those that
are written by such as commanded or were employed them-
selves in weighty affairs, or that were partners in the conduct
of them, or that at least have had the fortune to manage
others of like quality. Such in a manner are all tiie
Grecians and Romans. For many eye-witnesses having
written of one same subject (as it happened in those times
when greatness and knowledge did commonly meet), if any
fault or oversight have passed them, it must be deemed
exceedingly light and upon some doubtful accident What
may a man expect at a physician's hand that discourseth of
war, or of a bare scholar treating of princes' secret designs?
If we shall but note the religion which the Romans had in
that, we need no other example. Asinius Pollio found some
mistaking or oversight in Caesar's Commentaries^ whereinto
he had fallen, only because he could not possibly oversee
all things with his own eyes that happened in his army, but
was fain to rely on the reports of particular men, who often
related untruths unto him; or else because he had not
been curiously advertised and distinctly informed by bis
lieutenants and captains of such matters as they in bis
absence had managed or effected. Whereby may be seen
that nothing is so hard or so uncertain to be found out
as the certainty of the truth, since no man can put any
assured confidence'^concerning the truth of a battle, neither
in the knowledge of him that was general or commanded
over it, nor in the soldiers that fought, of anything that
hath happened amongst them; except after the manner

ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE. 167

of a strict point of law, the several witnesses are brought
and examined face to foce^ and that all matters be nicely
and thoroughly sifted by the objects and trials of the
success of every accident Verily the knowledge we have
of bur own affairs is much more barren and feeble. But
this hath sufficiently been handled by Bodin, and agreeing
with my conception. Somewhat to aid the weakness of my
memory and to assist her great defects ; for it hath often
been my chance to light upon books which I supposed to
be new and never to have read, which I had not under-
standing to diligently read and run over many years before,
and all bescribbled with my notes. I have a while since
accustomed myself to note at the end of my book (I mean
such as I propose to read but once) the time I made an
end to read it, and to set down what censure or judgment
I gave of it ; that so it may at least at another time repre-
sent unto my mind the air and general idea I had conceived
of the author in reading him. I will here set down the
copy of some of my annotations, and especially what I
noted upon my Guicciardini about ten years since — (for
what language soever my books speak unto me I speak
unto them in mine own). He is a diligent historiographer,
and from whom in my conceit a man may as exactly learn
the truth of such afiairs as passed in his time as of any
other writer whatsoever; and the rather because himself
hath been an actor of most part of them and in very
honourable place. There is no sign or appearance that
ever he disguised or coloured any matter, either through
hatred, malice, favour, or vanity; whereof the free and
impartial judgments he giveth of great men, and namely
of those by whom he had been advanced or employed
in his important charges, as of Pope Clement the
Seventh, beareth undoubted testimony. Concerning the

1 68 ESS A YS OF MONTAIGNE.

parts wherein he most goeth about to prevail, which are
his digressions and discourses, many of them are very
excellent and enriched with fair ornaments, but he hath
too much pleased himself in them; for endeavouring to
omit nothing that might be spoken, having so full and
large a subject, and almost infinite, he proveth somewhat
languishing, and giveth a taste of a kind of scholastical
tedious babbling. Moreover, I have noted this, that of so
several and divers arms, successes, and effects he judgeth of;
of so many and variable motives, alterations, and counsels
that he relateth, he never referreth any one unto virtue,
religion, or conscience; as if they were all extinguished
and banished from the world. And of all actions, bow
glorious soever in appearance they be of themselves, he
doth ever impute the cause of them to some vicious and
blameworthy occasion, or to some commodity and profit
It is impossible to imagine that amongst so infinite a
number of actions whereoif he judgeth, some one have not
been produced and compassed by way of reason. No
corruption could ever possess men so universally but that
some one must of necessity escape the contagion; which
makes me to fear he hath had some distaste or blame
in his passion, andMt hath happily fortuned that he hath
judged or esteemed of others according to himself. In
my Philip de Comines there is this : In him you shall
find a pleasing, sweet, and gently gliding speech, fraught
with a purely sincere simplicity, his narration pure and
unaffected, and wherein the author's unspotted good mean-
ing doth evidently appear, void of all manner of vanity or
ostentation speaking of himself, and free from all affection
or envy speaking of others ; his discourses and persuasions
accompanied more with a well-meaning zeal and mere verity
than with anv laboured and exquisite sufficiency, and all

JSSSA YS OF MONTAIGNE. 169

through with gravity and authority, representing a man
well-born and brought up in high negotiations. Upon the
memoirs and history of Monsieur du Bellay : it is ever a
well-pleasing thing to see matters written by those that
have assayed how and in what manner they ought to be
directed and managed ; yet can it not be denied but that
in both these lords there will manifestly appear a great
declination from a free liberty of writing, which clearly
shineth in ancient writers of their kind : as in the Lord of
Jouinille, familiar unto Saint Louis; Eginard, Chancellor
unto Charlemagne ; and of more fresh memory in Philip de
Comines. This is rather a declamation or pleading for
King Francis against the Emperor Charles the Fifth, than
a history. I will not believe they have altered or changed
anything concerning the generality of matters, but rather
to wrest and turn the judgment of the events many times
against reason to our advantage, and to omit whatsoever
they supposed to be doubtful or ticklish in their master's
life. They have made a business of it : witness the recoilings
of the Lords of Momorancy and Byron, which therein are
forgotten ; and which is more, you shall not so much as
find the name of the Lady of Estampes mentioned at all.
A man may sometimes colour and haply hide secret
actions, but absolutely to conceal that which all the world
knoweth, and especially such things as have drawn on
public effects, and of such consequence, it is an inexcusable
defect, or as I may say unpardonable oversight To con-
clude, whosoever desireth to have perfect information and
knowledge of King Francis the First, and of the things that
happened in his time, let him address himself elsewhere if
he will give any credit unto me. The profit he may reap
here is by the particular description of the battles and
exploits of war wherein these gentlemen were present^

1 70 ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE.

some privy conferences, speeches, or secret actions of some
princes that then lived, and the practices managed, or
negotiations directed by the Lord of Langeay, in which
doubtless are very many things well worthy to be known,
and diverse discourses not vulgar.

OF CRUELTY,

Methinks virtue is another manner of thing, and much
more noble than the inclinations unto goodness which in
us are engendered. Minds well born, and directed by
themselves, follow one same path, and in their actions
represent the same visage that the virtuous da But virtue
importeth and soundeth somewhat I wot not what greater
and more active than by a happy complexion, gently and
peaceably, to suffer itself to be led or drawn to follow
reason. He that through a natural facility and genuine
mildness should neglect or contemn injuries received)
should no doubt perform a rare action, and worthy com-
mendation ; but he who being touched and stung to the
quick with any wrong or offence received, should arm him-
self with reason against this furiously blind desire of
revenge, and in the end after a great conflict yield himself
master over it, should doubtless do much more. The first
should do well, the other virtuously ; the one action might
be termed goodness, the other virtue. For it seemeth that
the very name of virtue presupposeth diflficulty, and in-
ferreth resistance, and cannot well exercise itself without an
enemy. It is peradventure the reason why we call God
good, mighty, liberal, and just, but we term him not

£SSA YS OF MONTAIGNE, 1 7 1

virtuous. His works are all voluntary, unforced, and with-
out compulsion. Of philosophers, not only Stoics, but
also Epicureans — (which phrasing I borrow of the common
received opinion, which is false, whatsoever the nimble
saying or witty quipping of Arcesilaus implied, who answered
the man that upbraided him, how divers men went from his
school to the Epicureans, but none came from thence to
him. I easily believe it (said he), for of cocks are many
capons made, but no man could ever yet make a cock of a
capon. For truly in constancy and rigour of opinion and
strictness of precepts, the Epicurean sect doth in no sort
yield to the Stoic. And a Stoic acknowledging a better
faith than those disputers who, to contend with Epicurus
and make sport with him, make him to infer and say what
he never meant, wresting and wire-drawing his words to a
contrary sense, arguing and syllogising, by the grammarian's
privilege, another meaning by the manner of his speech, and
another opinion than that they knew he had either in his
mind or manners, saith that he left to be an Epicurean for
this one consideration amongst others, that he findeth
their pitch to be over-high and inaccessible : " And those
that are called lovers of pleasures are lovers of honesty and
justice, and do reverence and retain all sorts of virtue ") — of
Stoic and Epicurean philosophers, I say, there are divers who
have judged that it was not sufficient to have the mind well
placed, well ordered, and well disposed unto virtue ; it was
not enough to have our resolutions and discourse beyond
all the affronts and checks of fortune ; but that, moreover,
it was very requisite to seek for occasions whereby a man
might come to the trial of it. They will diligently quest
and seek out for pain, smart, necessity, want, and contempt,
that so they may combat them, and keep their mind in
breath : " Virtue provoked adds much to itself." It is one

1 7a £SSA YS OF MONTAIGNE.

of the reasons why Epaminondas (who was of a third sect),
by a very lawful way, refuseth some riches fortune had put
into his hands, to the end (as he saith) he might have cause
to strive and resist poverty, in which want and extremity
he ever continued after.

Socrates did in my mind more undauntedly inure himself
to this humour, maintaining for his exercise the peevish
frowardness of his wife, than which no essay can be more
vexful, and is a continual fighting at the sharp. Metellus
of all the Roman senators he only having undertaken with
the power of virtue to endure the violence of Satuminus,
tribune of the people in Rome, who by main force went
about to have a most unjust law pass in favour of the
communalty, by which opposition, having incurred all the
capital pains that Saturninus had imposed on such as
should refuse it, entertained those that led him to the place
of execution with such speeches : That to do evil was a
thing very easy and too demissly base, and to do well where
was no danger was a common thing ; but to do well where
was both peril and opposition was the peculiar office of
a man of virtue. These words of Metellus do clearly
represent unto us what I would have verified ; which is,
that virtue rejecteth facility to be her companion. And
that an easeful, pleasant, and declining way by which the
regular steps of a good inclination of nature are directed is
not the way of true virtue. She requireth a craggy, rough,
and thorny way. She would either have strange difficulties
to wrestle withal (as that of Metellus), by whose means
fortune herself is pleased to break the roughness of his
course ; or such inward encumbrances as the disordinate
appetites and imperfections of our condition bring unto her.
Hitherto I have come at good ease ; but at the end of this
discourse one thing cometh into my mind, which is that tb?

ESS A YS OF MONTAIGNE. 173

soul of Socrates, which is absolutely the most perfect that ever
came to my knowledge, would, according to my account,
prove a soul deserving but little commendation. For I can
conceive no manner of violence or vicious concupiscence in
him. I can imagine no manner of difficulty or compulsion
in the whole course of his virtue. I know his reason so
powerful, and so absolute mistress over him, that she can
never give him way in any vicious desire, and will not
suffer it so much as to breed in him. To a virtue so exquisite
and so high raised as his is I can persuade nothing.
Methinks I see it march with a victorious and triumphant
pace, in pomp and at ease, without let or disturbance. If
virtue cannot shine but by resisting contrary appetites, shall
we then say it cannot pass without the assistance of vice,
and oweth him this, that by his means it attaineth to
honour and credit? What should also betide of that
glorious and generous Epicurean voluptuousness that makes
account effeminately to pamper virtue in her lap, and there
wantonly to entertain it, allowing it for her recreation,
shame, reproach, agues, poverty, death, and tortures ? If I
presuppose that perfect virtue is known by combating sorrow
and patiently undergoing pain, by tolerating the fits and
agonies of the gout, without stirring out of his place ; if for
a necessary object I appoint her sharpness and difficulty,
what shall become of that virtue which hath attained so
high a degree as it doth not only despise all manner of pain,
but rather rejoiceth at it, and when a strong fit of the colic
shall assail it, to cause itself to be tickled, as that is
which the Epicureans have established, and whereof divers
amongst them have by their actions left most certain proofs
unto us? As also others have, whom in effect I find to
haye exceeded the very rules of their discipline. Witness
Cato the younger : when I see him die, tearing and mangling

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his entrails, I cannot simply content myself to believe that
at that time he had his soul wholly exempted from all
trouble or free from vexation. I cannot imagine he did
only maintain himself in this march or course which the
rule of the Stoic sect had ordained unto him, settled, with-
out alteration or emotion, and impassible. There was, in
my conceit, in this man's virtue over-much cheerfulness and
youthfulness to stay there. I verily believe he felt a kind
of pleasure and sensuality in so noble an action, and that
therein he more pleased himself than in any other he ever
performed in his life. "So departed he his life^ that he
rejoiced to have found an occasion of death.'' I do so
constantly believe it, that I make a doubt whether he would
have had the occasion of so noble an exploit taken from
him. And if the goodness which induced him to embrace
public commodities more than his own did not bridle me, I
should easily fall into this opinion, that he thought himself
greatly beholding unto fortune to have put his virtue unto
so noble a trial, and to have favoured that robber to tread
the ancient liberty of his country under-foot In which
action methinks I read a kind of unspeakable joy in his
mind, and a motion of extraordinary pleasure, joined to
a manlike voluptuousness, at what time it beheld the
worthiness, and considered the generosity and haughtiness
of his enterprise, not urged or set-on by any hope of glory,
as the popular and effeminate judgments have judged
For that consideration is over-base to touch so generous,
so haughty, and so constant a heart ; but for the beauty of
the thing itself, which he who managed all the springs and
directed all the wards thereof, saw much more clearer, and
in its perfection, than we can do. Philosophy hath done
me a pleasure to judge that so honourable an action had
been indecently placed in any other life than in Cato's^ and

JSSSA YS OF MONTAIGNE, 175

that only untp his it appertained to make such an end.
Therefore did he with reason persuade both his son and the
senators that accompanied him to provide otherwise for
themselves. "Whereas nature had afforded Cato an
incredible gravity, and he had strengthehed it by continual
constancy, and ever had stood firm in his purposed designs,
rather to die than behold the tyrant's faca" Each death
should be such as the life hath been. By dying we become
no other than we were. I ever interpret a man's death by
his life. And Jf a man shall tell me of any one undaunted
in appearance, joined unto a weak life, I imagine it to
proceed of some weak cause, and suitable to his life. The
ease therefore of his death, and the facility he had acquired
by the vigour of his mind, shall we say, it ought to abate
something of the lustre of his virtue. And which of those
that have their spirits touched, be it never so little, with the
true tincture of philosophy, can content himself to imagine
Socrates only free from fear and passion in the accident of
his imprisonment, of his fetters, and of his condemnation ?
And who doth not perceive in him not only constancy and
resolution (which were ever his ordinary qualities), but also
a kind of I wot not what new contentment, and careless
rejoicing in his last behaviour and discourses. By the
startling at the pleasure which he feeleth in clawing of his
legs after his fetters were taken off, doth he not manifestly
declare an equal glee and joy in his soul for being rid of his
former incommodities, and entering into the knowledge of
things to come ? Cato shall pardon me (if he please), his
death is more tragical and further extended, whereas this
in a certain manner is more fair and glorious. Aristippus
answered those that bewailed the same, "When I die, I
pray the gods send me such a death." A man shall plainly
perceive in the minds of these two men, and of such as

176 ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE.

imitate them (for I make a question whether ever they
could be matched), so perfect an habitude unto virtue, that
it was even converted into their complexion. It is no
longer a painful virtue, nor by the ordinances of reason, for
the maintaining of which their mind must be strengthened.
It is the very essence of their soul ; it is her natural and
ordinary habit They have made it such by a long exercise
and observing the rules and precepts of philosophy, having
lighted upon a fair and rich nature. Those vicious passions
which breed in us find no entrance in them. The vigour
and constancy of their souls doth suppress and extinguish
all manner of concupiscences so* soon as they but begin to
move. Now that it be not more glorious, by an undaunted
and divine resolution, to hinder the growth of temptations,
and for a man to frame himself to virtue, so that the very
seeds of vice be clean rooted out, than by main force to
hinder their progress ; and having suffered himself to be
surprised by the first assaults of passion, to arm and bandy
himself, to stay their course and suppress them. And that
this second effect be not also much fairer than to be simply
stored with a facile and gentle nature, and of itself distasted
and in dislike with licentiousness and vice, I am persuaded
there is no doubt. For this third and last manner seemeth
in some sort to make a man innocent, but not virtuous ;
free from doing ill, but not sufficiently apt to do well
Seeing this condition is so near unto imperfection and
weakness, that I know not well how to clear their confines
and distinctions. The very names of goodness and inno-
cency are for this respect in some sort names of contempt
I see that many virtues, as chastity, sobriety, and temper*
ance, may come unto us by means of corporal defects and
imbecility. Constancy in dangers (if it may be termed
constancy), contempt of death, patience in misfortunes,

ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE. 177

may happen, and are often seen in men, for want of good
judgment in such accidents, and that they are not appre-
hended for such as they are indeed. Lack of apprehension
and stupidity do sometimes counterfeit virtuous effects. As
I have often seen come to pass, that some men are com-
mended for things they rather deserve to be blamed. An
Italian gentleman did once hold this position in my
presence, to the prejudice and disadvantage of his nation :
that the subtilty of the Italians and the vivacity of their
conceptions was so great that they foresaw such dangers
and accidents as might betide them so far off that it was not
to be deemed strange if in times of war they were often
seen to provide for their safety, yea, before they had
perceived the danger ; that we and the Spaniards, who were
not so wary and subtle^ went further, and that before we
could be frighted with any peril we must be induced to see
it with our eyes, and feel it with our hands, and that even
then we had no more hold; but that the Germans and
Swiss, more shallow and leaden-headed, had scarce the
sense and wit to re-advise themselves at what times they
were even overwhelmed with misery, and the axe ready to
fall on theur heads. It was peradventure but in jest that
he spake it, yet is it most true that in the art of warfare new
trained soldiers, and such as are but novices in the trade^
do often headlong and hand-oyer-head cast themselves into
dangers with more inconsideration than afterward when
they have seen and endured the first shock, and are better
trained in the school of perils.

Lo here the reason why, when we judge of a particular
action, we must first consider many circumstances, and
thoroughly observe the man that hath produced the same
before we name and censure it. But to speak a word of
myself: I have sometimes noted my friends to term that

12

178 ESSAYS OF MONTAIGNE.

wisdom in me which was but mere fortune, and to deem
that advantage of courage and patience that was advantage
^ judgment and opinion ; and to attribute one title for
another unto me, sometimes to my profit, and now and
then to my loss. As for the rest, I am so far from attaining
unto that chief and most perfect degree of excellency,
where a habitude is made of virtue^ that even of the second
I have made no great trial. I have -not greatly striven to
bridle the desires wherewith I have found myself urged and
pressed. My virtue is a virtue, or to say better innocency,
accidental and casual Had I been bom with a less regular
oomplexion, J imagine my state had been very pitiful, and
it would have gone hard with me^ for I could never perceive
any great constancy in my soul to resist and undergo
passions had they been anything violent I cannot foster
quarrels, or endure contentions in my house. So am I not
greatly beholding unto myself in that I am exempted from
many vices.

- I am more indebted to my fortune than to my reason for
i^ She hath made me to be bom of a race famous for
integrity and honesty, and of a very good father. I wot not
well whether any part of his humours have descended into
me, or wiiether the domestic examples and good institution
of my infancy have insensibly set their helping hand unto
it, or whether I were otherwise so born.

But so it is, that naturally of myself I abhor and detest
all manner of vices. The answer of Antisthenes to one
that demanded of him which was the best thing to be
learned, " To unlearn evil," seemed to be fixed on this image,
or to have an aim at this. I abhor them (I say) with so
natural and so innated an opinion, that the very same instinct
and impression which I sucked from my nurse I have so kept
that no occasions could ever make me alter the same; no^

ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE. 179

not mine own discourses, which, because they have been
somewhat lavish in noting or taxing something of the common
course, could easily induce me to some actions which this
my natural inclination makes me to hate. I will tell you a
wonder, I will tell it you indeed. I thereby find in many
things more stay and order in my manners than in my opinion,
and my concupiscence less debauched than my reason.
Aristippus established certain opinions so bold in favour of
voluptuousness and riches, that he made all philosophy to
mutiny against him. And Epicurus, whose positions are
irreligious and delicate, demeaned himself in his life very
laboriously and devoutly. He wrote to a friend of his.
that he lived but with brown bread and water, and entreated
him to send him a piece of cheese against the time he was
to make a solemn feast May it be true that to be perfectly
good we must be so by a hidden, natural, and universal
propriety, without law, reason, and example ? The disorders
and excesses wherein I have found myself engaged are not
(God be thanked) of the worst. I have rejected and con-
demned them in myself according to their worth, for my^
judgment was never found to be infected by them. Arid,
on the other side I accuse them more rigorously in
i^yself than in another. But that is all. As for the rest,
I apply but little resistance unto them, and suffer myself
over-easily to incline to the other side of the balance,
except it be to order and impeach them from being com-
mixed with others, which (if a man take not good heed
unto himself) for the most part entertain and interchain
themselves the one with the other. As for mine, I have, as
much as it hath Iain in my power, abridged them, and kept
them as single and as alone as I could.

For, as touching the Stoics* opinion, who say that when
the wise man worketh, he worketh with all his virtues:

i8o ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE.

together; howbeit, according to the nature of the action,
there be one more apparent than other (to which purpose
the similitude of man's body might, in some sort, serve
their turn; for the action of choler cannot exercise itself,
except all the humours set to their helping hand, although
choler be predominant), if thence they will draw a like
consequence, that when the offender trespasseth, he doth it
with all the vices together, I do not so easily believe them,
or else I understand them not; for, in effect, I feel the
contrary. They are sharp, witty subtilties, and without
substance, about which philosophy doth often busy itsel£
Some vices I shun; but others I eschew as much as any
saint can do. The Peripatetics do also disavow this con-
nexity and indissoluble knitting together* And Aristotle
is of opinion that a wise and just man may be both intem-
perate and incontinent Socrates avowed unto them, who
in his physiognomy perceived some inclination unto vice,
that indeed it was his natural propension, but that by dis-
cipline he had corrected the same. And the familiar fHends
of the philosopher Stilpo were wont to say, that being bom
subject unto wine and women, he had, by study, brought
himself to abstain from both. On the other side^ what
good I have, I have it by the lot of my birth; I have it
neither by law nor prescription, nor by any apprenticeship.
The innocency that is in me is a kind of simple, plain
innocency, without vigour or art Amongst all other vices,
there is none I hate more than cruelty, both by nature and
judgment, as the extremest of all vices. But it is with such
a yearning and faint-heartedness, that if I see but a
chicken's neck pulled off, or a pig stuck, I cannot choose
but grieve, and I cannot well endure a silly dew-bedabbled
hare to groan when she is seized upon by the hounds,
although hunting be a violent pleasure. Those that are to

ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE. i8i

withstand voluptuousness do willingly use this argument,
to show it is altogether vicious and unreasonable. That
where she is in her greatest prime and chief strength, she
doth so over-sway us, that reason can have no access unto
us, and for a further trial, allege the experience we feel and
have of it in our acquaintance with women.

Where they think pleasure doth so far transport us
beyond ourselves, that our discourse, then altogether over-
whelmed, and our reason wholly ravished in the gulf of
sensuality, cannot by any means discharge her function. I
know it may be otherwise; and if a man but please, he
may sometimes, even upon the very instant, cast his mind
on other conceits. But she must be strained to a higher
key, and heedfully pursued.

But to return to my former discourse, I have a very
feeling and tender compassion of other men's afflictions,
and should more easily weep for company's sake, if possible
for any occasion whatsoever I could shed tears. There is
nothing sooner moveth tears in me than to see others weep,
not only feignedly, but howsoever, whether truly or forcedly.
I do not greatly wail for the dead, but rather envy them.
Yet do I much wail and moan the dying. The cannibals
and savage people do not so much offend me with roasting
and eating of dead bodies, as those which torment and
persecute the living. Let any man be executed by law,
how deservedly soever, I cannot endure to behold the
execution with an unrelenting eye. Some one going about
to witness the clemency of Julius Caesar, "He was," saith
he, " tractable and mild in matters of revenge." Having
compelled the pirates to yield themselves unto him, who
had before taken him prisoner and put him to ransom,
forasmuch as he had threatenedjo have them all crucified,
he condemned them to that kind of death, but it was

1 82 ESSA yS OF MONTAIGNE.

after he had caused them to be strangled Philemon's
secretary, who would have poisoaed him, had no sharper
punishment of him than an ordinary death. As for me^
even in matters of justice, whatsoever is beyond a simple
death, I deem it to be mere cruelty; and especially amongst
us, who ought to have a regardful respect that their souls
should be sent to heaven, which cannot be, having first by
intolerable tortures agitated, and, as it were, brought them
to despair. A soldier, not long since, being a prisoner, and
perceiving from aloft a tower, where he was kept, that
store of people flocked together on a green, and carpenters
were busy at work to erect a scafTord, supposing the same
to be for him, as one desperate, resolved to kill himself,
and searching up and down for something to make himself
away, found nothing but an old rusty cart nail, which
fortune presented him with; he took it, and therewithal,
with all the strength he had, struck and wounded himself
twice in the throat, but seeing it would not rid him of life,
he then thrust it into his belly up to the head, where he left
it fast sticking. Shortly after, one of his keepers coming
in unto him, and yet living, finding him in that miserable
plight, but weltering in his gore-blood and ready to gasp his
last, told the magistrates of it, which, to prevent time before
he should die, hastened to pronounce sentence against him;
which, when he heard, and that he was only cotidemned to
have his head cut off, he seemed to take heart of grace
again, and to be sorry for what he had done, and took some
comfortable drinks, which before he had refused, greatly
thanking the judges for his unhoped gentle condemnation;
and told them, that for fear of a more sharply-cruel and
intolerable death by law, he had resolved to prevent it by
some violent manner of death, having by the preparations
he had seen the carpenters make, and by gathering of

USSA yS OF MONTAIGNE. 183

people together, conceived an opinion that they woul4
torture him with some horrible torment, and seemed to be
delivered from death only by the change of it. Were I
worthy to give counsel, I would have these examples of
rigour, by which superior powers go about to keep the com-
mon people in awe, to be only exercised on the bodies of
criminal malefactors ; for, to see them deprived of Christian
burial, to see them haled, disbowelled, parboiled, and
quartered, might happily touch the common sort as much as
the pains they make the living to endure : howbeit in effect
it be little or nothing, as saith God, " Those that kill the
body, but have afterwards no more to do."

It was my fortune to be at Rome upon a day that one
Catena, a notorious highway, thief, was executed; at his
strangling no man of the company seemed to be moved to
any wrath, but when he came to be quartered, the executioner
gave no blow that was not accompanied with a piteous voice
and hearty exclamation, as if every man had had a feeling
sympathy, or lent his senses to the poor mangled wretch
Such inhuman outrages and barbarous excuses should be
exercised against the rind, and not practised against the
quick. The £g3rptians, so devout and religious, thought
they did sufficiently satisfy divine justice in sacrificing
painted and counterfeit hogs unto it: an over-hardy in-
vention to go about with. pictures and shadows to appease
God, a substance so essential and divine. I live in an age
wherein we abound with incredible examples of this vice,
through the licentiousness of our civil and intestine wars ;
and read all ancient stories, be they never so tragical, you
shall find none to equal those we daily see practised But
that hath nothing made me acquainted with it I could
hardly be persuaded before I had seen it, that the world
could have afforded so marble-hearted and savage-minded

1 84 ES&4 yS OF MONTAIGI^E.

men, that for the only pleasure of murder would commit it;
then cut, mangle, and hack other members in pieces; to
rouse and sharpen their wits, to invent unused tbrtures and
unheard-of torments ; to devise new and unknown deaths,
and that in cold blood, without any former enmity or
quarrel, or without any gain or profit, and only to this end,
that they may enjoy the pleasing spectacle of the languishing
gestures, pitiful motions, horror-moving yellings, deep-
fetched groans, and lamentable voices of a dying and
drooping maa For that is the extremest point whereunto
the cruelty of man may attain. *^That one man should
kill another, neither being angry nor afiraid, but only to
look on." As for me, I could never so much as endure,
without remorse or grief, to see a poor, silly, and innocent
beast pursued and killed, which is harmless and void of
defence, and of whom we receive no offence at all. And as
it commonly happeneth, that when the stag begins to be
embossed, and finds his strength to fail him, having no
other remedy left him, doth yield and bequeath himself
unto us that pursue him, with tears suing to us for mercy,
was ever a grievous spectacle unto me. I seldom take any
beast alive but I give him his liberty. Pythagoras was
wont to buy fishes of fishers and birds of fowlers to set
them free again.

Such as by nature show themselves bloody-minded
towards harmless beasts, witness a natural propension unto
cruelty. After the ancient Romans had once inured
themselves without horror to behold the slaughter of wild
beasts in their shows, they came to the murder of men and
gladiators. Nature (I fear me) hath of her own self added
unto man a certain instinct to inhumanity. No man taketh
delight to see wild beasts sport and wantonly to make much
one of another. Yet all are pleased to see them tug,

ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE. 185

mangle^ and intertear one another. And- lest anybody
should jest at this sympathy which I have with them,
Divinity itself willeth us to show them some favour ; and,
considering that one self-same master (I mean that incom-
prehensible world's framer) hath placed all creatures in this
his wondrous palace for his service, and that they, as well
as we^ are of his household, I say it hath some reason to
enjoin us to show some respect and affection towards them.
Pythagoras borrowed Metempsychosis of the Egyptians,
but since it hath been received of divers nations, and
especially of our Druids.

The religion of our ancient Gauls inferred that souls,
being eternal, ceased not to remove and change place from
one body to another, to which fantasy was also intermixed
some consideration of divine justice. For, according to
the soul's behaviours, during the time she had been
with Alexander, they said that God appointed it another
body to dwell in, either more or less painful, and suitable to
her condition.

If the soul had been valiant, they placed it in the body
of a lion ; if voluptuous, in a swine ; if faint-hearted, in a
stag or a hare; if malicious, in a fox ; and so of the rest,
until that being purified by this punishment, it reassumed
and took the body of some other man again.

As touching that alliance between us and beasts, I make
no great account of it, nor do I greatly admit it, neither of
that which divers nations, and namely of the most ancient
and noble, who have not only received beasts into their
society and company, but allowed them a place far above
themselves, sometimes deeming them to be familiars and
favoured of their gods, and holding them in a certain awful
respect and reverence more than human, and others
acknowledging no other god nor no other divinity than

i86 ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE.

they. "Beasts by the barbarians were made sacred for
some benefit"

And the very same interpretation that Plutarch giveth
unto this error, which is very well taken, is also honourable
for them. For, he saith, that (for example sake) it was
neither the cat nor the ox that the Egyptians adored, but
that in those beasts they worshipped some image of divine
faculties. In this patience and utility, and in that vivacity,
or as our neighbours the Burgundians with all Germany
the impatience to see themselves shut up;* whereby they
represented the liberty which they loved and adored beyond
all other divine faculty, and so of others. But when
amongst the most moderate opinions I meet with some
discourses that go about and labour to show the near
resemblance between us and beasts, and what share they
have in our greatest privileges, and with how much likeli-
hood they are compared unto us, truly I abate much of our
presumption, and am easily removed from that imaginary
sovereignty that some give and ascribe unto us above all
other creatures. If all that were to be contradicted, yet is
there a kind of respect and a general duty of humanity
which tieth us not only unto brute beasts that have life and
sense, but even unto trees and plants. Unto men we owe
justice, and to all other creatures that are capable of it,
grace and benignity. There is a kind of interchangeable
commerce and mutual bond between them and us. I am
not ashamed nor afraid to declare the tenderness of my
childish nature, which is such that I cannot well reject my
dog if he chance (although out of season) to fawn upon me,
or beg of me to play with him.

ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE. 187

WE TASTE NOTHING PURELY.

The weakness of our condition causeth that things in their
natural simplicity and purity cannot fall into our use. The
elements we enjoy are altered; metals likewise, yea gold,
must be impaired with some other stuff to make it fit for
our service. Nor virtue so simple, which Ariston, Pyrrho^
and Stoics made the end of their life, hath been able
to do no good without composition; nor the CjH'enaic
sensuality or Aristippian voluptuousness. " Of the plea-
sures and goods we have, there is none exempted from
some mixture of evil and incommodity."

medio defonte leporum

Surgit amari-aliquid^ quod in ipsis Jloribus angai?-

From middle spring of sweets some bitter springs,
Which in the very flower smartly stings.

Our exceeding voluptuousness hath some air of groaning
and wailing. Would you not say it dieth of anguish ? Yea,
when we forge its image in her excellency we deck it with
epithets of sickish and dolorous qualities : languor, effemin-
acy, weakness, fainting, and morbidness, a great testimony
of their consanguinity and consubstantiality. Excessive joy
hath more severity than jollity; extreme and full content
more settledness than cheerfulness. Ipsa fcelicitas, se nisi
temperate premit:^ "Felicity itself, unless it temper itself,
distempers us." Ease consumeth us. It is that which an
old Greek verse saith of such a sense : " The gods sell us
all the goods they give us ; " that is to say, they give us not
one pure and perfect, and which we buy not with the price
of some evil Travail and pleasure, most unlike in nature,
are notwithstanding followed together by a kind of I wot
^ Lucr. 1. iv. 12, 24v ' Sent., Quare^ etc.

i88 ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE.

not what natural conjunction. Socrates saith that some
god attempted to huddle up together and confound sorrow
and voluptuousness; but being unable to effect it, he
bethought himself to couple them together, at least by the
tail Metrodorus said that in sadness there is some alloy
of pleasure. I know not whether he meant anything else^
but I imagine that for one to inure himself to melancholy,
there is some kind of purpose of consent and mutual
delight; I mean besides ambition, which may also be
joined unto it. There is some shadow of delicacy and
quaintness which smileth and fawneth upon us even in the
lap of melancholy. Are there not some complexions that
of it make their nourishment ?

est quadamjlere voluptasJ-

It is some pleasure yet
With tears our cheeks to wet

And one Attalus, in Seneca, saith the remembrance of our
last friends is as pleasing to us as bitterness in wine that is
over old.

Minister veteris puer faJemi
Ingere mi calices amariores;^

Sir boy, my servitor of good old wine,
Bring me my cup thereof, bitter, but fine.

And as of sweetly-sour apples, nature discovereth this con-
fusion unto us; painters are of opinion that the motions
and wrinkles in the face which serve to weep serve also to
laugh. Verily, before one or other be determined to
express which, behold the picture's success, you are in
doubt toward which one inclineth. And the extremity
of laughing intermingles itself with tears. Nullum sine

^ Ovid., Trist. 1. iv., Eleg, iii. 37. ? Cat., Lyr, Eleg, xxiv. I.

ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE. 189

auctoratmnto malum est:^ '' There is no evil without some
obh'gation." When I imagine man fraught with all the
commodities may be wished, let us suppose all his several
members were for ever possessed with a pleasure like unto
that of generation, even in the highest point that may be : .
I find him to sink under the burden of his ease, and
perceive him altogether Unable to bear so pure, so constant,
and so universal a sensuality. Truly he flies when he is
even upon the nick, and naturally hasteneth to escape it, as
from a step whereon he cannot stay or contain himself, and
feareth to sink into it When I religiously confess myself
unto myself, I find the best good I have hath some vicious
taint And I fear that Plato in his purest virtue (I that am
as sincere and loyal an esteemer thereof, and of the virtues
of such a stamps as any other can possibly be), if he had
nearly listened unto it (and sure he listened very near), he
would therein have heard some harsh tune of human
mixture, but an obscure tune, and only sensible unto him-
sel£ Man all in all is but a botching and partly-coloured,
work. The very laws of justice cannot subsist without
some commixture of injustice. And Plato saith they under-
take to cut off hydras' heads that pretend to remove all
incommodities and inconveniences from the laws. Omne
magnum exemplum hahet aliquid ex iniquo^ quod contra
singulos uHlitate publica rependiiur:^ "Every great example
hath some touch of injustice which is required by the
common good against particulars," saith Tacitus. It is
likewise true that for the use of life and service of public
society there may be excess in the purity and perspicuity
of our spirits. This piercing brightness hath over-much
subtility and curiosity. They should be made heavy and
dull to make them the more obedient to example and

^ Sen., Epig. Ixix. ' Tacit., Ann, 1. xiv., Cassu

I90 ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE.

practice^ and they must be thickened and obscured to
proportion them to this shady and terrestrial life. There-
fore are vulgar and less wire-drawn wits found to be more
fit and happy in the conduct of affairs ; and the exquisite
and high-raised opinions of philosophy unapt and unfit to
exercise. This sharp vivacity of the spirit, and this supple
and restless volubility, troubleth our negotiations. Human
enterprises should be managed more grossly and super-
ficially, and have a good and great part of them left for the
rights of fortune. Affairs need not be sifted so nicely and
so profoundly. A man loseth himself about the l^psidera-
tions of so many contrary lustres and diverse forms.
Volutantilms res inter se pugnanUs^ cbtorpuerant anitm:^
" Their minds were astonished while they revolved things.
so different" It is that which our elders report of
Simonides; because his imagination concerning the
question Hieron the king had made unto him (which
the better to answer he had divers days allowed him to
think of it) presented sundry subtle and sharp considera-
tions unto him ; doubting which might be the likeliest, hie
altogether despaireth of the truth. Whosoever searidieth
all the circumstances and embraceth all the consequences
thereof, hindereth his election. A mean engine doth
equally conduct and sufficeth for the executions of great
and little weights. It is commonly seen that the best
husbands and the thriftiest are those who cannot tell how
they are so; and that these cunning arithmeticians do
seldom thrive by it I know a notable prattler and an
excellent blazoner of all sorts of husbandry and thrift, who
hath most piteously let ten thousand pounds sterling a year
pass from him. I know another who saith he consulteth
better than any man of his counsel, and there cannot be a

* Liv., Dec. iv. 1. ii.

ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE, 1 9 1

more proper man to see unto or of more sufficiency; not-
withstanding, when he cometh to any execution, his own
servants find he is far- otherwise; this I say without
mentioning or accounting his ill-luck.

OF ANGER AND CHOLER.

Plutarch is every way admirable, but especially where he
judgeth of human actions. The notable things he reporteth
may be perceived in the coinparison of Lycurgus and
Numa, speaking of the great simplicity we commit in
leaving young children under the government and charge of
their fathers and parents. Most of our policies or common-
wealths, saith Aristotle (as the Cyclops were wont), commit
the conduct of their wives and charge of their children to
all men, according to their foolish humour or indiscreet
fantasies. And well-nigh none but the Lacedasmonian and
Cretensian have resigned the discipline of children to the
laws. Who seeth not that in an estate all things depend on
nurture and education? And all the while, without dis-
cretion. It is wholly left to the parents' mercy how foolish and
wicked soever they be. Amongst other things, how often
(walking through our streets) have I desired to have a play
or comedy made in revenge of young boys, which I saw
thumped, misused, and well-nigh murdered by some hare-
brained, moody, and through choler-raging fathers and
mothers, from out whose eyes a man might see sparkles of
rage to startle.

rahiejecur incendente feruntur

Priscipiies, ut saxajugis abrupta, quibus mons
Subtrahitur^ cHvoque latus pendente recedit :^

* Juv., Sat. vi. 548.

1 93 ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE.

They headlong run with rage, which doth inflame their livers
Like stones that broken fall from mountain-tops in shivers,
The hill withdraws, and they are rolled
From hanging cliff which leaves their hold,

(And according to Hypocrates, the most dangerous in-
firmities are those which disfigure the face), and with a
loud thundering voice often to follow children tliat came but
lately from nurse, which after prove lame, maimed, blockish,
and dull-pated with blows; and yet our laws make no
account, of it, as if these sprains and unjointings of limbs,
or these maims were no members of our commonwealth.

GrcUum est quodpatria civem populoque dedisti^
Si fads ut patria sit idoneus^ uHlis agris^
Utilis ei bellorum et pacts rebus agendis.^

That you to.th' country give a man, 'tis acceptable.
If for the country fit you make him, for fields able.
Of peace and war for all achievements profitable.

There is no passion so much transports the sincerity of
judgment as doth anger. No man would make conscience
to punish that judge by death who in rage or choler had
condemned an ofifender. And why should fathers be
allowed to beat, or schoolmasters be suffered to whip
children, or to punish them, being angry? It is no longer
correction but revenge. Punishment is unto children as
physic, and would any man endure a physician that were
angry and wroth against his patient ? Ourselves (did we
well), during the time of our anger, should never lay hands
on our servants. So long as our pulse panteth and we feel
any concitation, so long remit we the party; and things will
seem far otherwise unto us if we once come to our senses
again, and shall better bethink us. Then is it passion that
commands. It is passion that speaketh, and not we.

^ Juv., Sat. xiv. 70.

ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE. 193

Athwart it, faults seem much greater unto us, as bodies do
athwart a foggy mist Whoso is hungry useth meat, but
whoso will use chastisement should never hunger nor thirst
after it. Moreover, corrections given with discretion and
moderation are more gently received, and with more good
to him that receiveth them. Otherwise he shall never think
to have i)een justly condemned by a man who is transported
by rage and choler, and for his justification allegeth the
extraordinary motions of his master, the inflammation of
his face, his unwonted oaths, his chafing, his unquietness,
and his rash precipitation.

Ora tument ira, nigrescuni sanguine vena,
Lumina Gorgoneo savins igne micant?-

The face with anger sweUs, the veins grow black with blood.
The eyes more fiercely shine than Gorgon's fiery mood.

Suetonius writeth that Caius Rabirius having by Caesar
been condemned, nothing did him so much good towards
the people (to whom he appealed) to make him obtain his
suit, as the sharpness and over-boldness which Cassar had
declared in that judgment. Saying is one thing and doing
another. A man must consider the sermon apart and the
preacher several. Those have made themselves good sport
who in our days have gone about to check the verity of our
church by the ministefs' vice : she fetcheth her testimony
from elsewhere. It is a foolish manner of arguing, and
which would soon reduce all things to a confusion. An
honest man may sometimes have false opinions, and a
wicked man may preach truth ; yea, such a one as believes it
not Verily it is a pleasing harmony when doing and
saying go together. And I wiU not deny but saying when
deeds follow is of more efficacy and authority. As said
Eudamidas when he heard a philosopher discourse of war :

^ Ovid, ArU Am, 1. iii. 53.

1 94 £SSA ys OF MONTAIGNE.

these speeches are good, but he that speaks them is not to
be believed, for his ears were never accustomed to hear the
clang of trumpets nor rattling of drums. And Qeomenes^
hearing a rhetorician speak of valour, burst out into an
extreme laughter ; whereat the other being ofifended, he said
unto him : '' I would do as much if it were a swallow should
speak of it, but were he an eagle I should gladly hear him."
Meseemeth I perceive in ancient men's writings that he
who speaks what he thinketh toucheth nearer the quick
than he who counterfeits. Hear Cicero speak of the love
of liberty, then listen to Brutus ; their words will tell you
and sound in your ear, the latter was a man ready to
purchase it with the price of his life. Let Cicero, that
father of eloquence, treat of the contempt of death, and let
Seneca discourse of the same ; the first draws it on lan-
guishing, and you shall plainly perceive he would fein
resolve you of a thing whereof he is not yet resolved him-
self. He giveth you no heart, for himself hath none;
whereas the other doth rouse, animate, and inflame you. I
never look upon an author, be they such as write of virtue
and of actions, but I curiously endeavour to find out what
he was himself. For the Ephori of Sparta, hearing a dis-
solute liver propose a very beneficial advice unto the people,
commanded him to hold his peace, and desired an honest
man to assume the invention of it unto himself and to pro-
pound it Plutarch's compositions, if they be well savoured,
do plainly manifest the same unto us ; and I am persuaded
I know him inwardly : yet would I be glad we had some
memories of his own life ; and by the way I am fallen into
this discourse, by reason of the thanks I owe unto Aulus
Geliius, in that he hath left us written this story of lus
manners, which fitteth my story of anger. A slave of his,
who was a lewd and vicious man, but yet whose ears were

ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE. 195

somewhat fed with phflosophical documents, having for
some foults by him committed, by the commandment of
Plutarch his master, been stripped naked, whilst another
servant of his whipped him, grumbled in the beginning that
he was whipped without reason and had done nothing ; but
in the end mainly crying out, he fell to railing and wronging
his master, upbraiding him that he was not a true philo-
sopher, as he vaunted himself to be, and how he had often
heard him say that it was an unseemly thing^in a man to be
angry. And that he had made a book of it ; and now, all
plunged in rage and engulfed in choler, to cause him so
crueUy to be beaten was clean contrary to his own writing.
To whom Plutarch, with an unaltered and mild-sqttled
countenance, said thus unto him: ''What, thou rascal,
whereby dost thou judge I am now angry? Doth my
countenance, doth my voice, doth my colour, or doth my
speech give thee any testimony that I am either moved or
choleric? Meseemeth mine eyes are not staringly wild,
nor my face troubled, nor my voice frightful or distempered.
Do I wax red? Do I foam at the mouth? Doth any
word escape me I may repent hereafter ? Do I startle and
quake ? Do I rage and ruffle with anger ? For to tell thee
true, these are the right signs of choler and tokens of anger."
Then turning to the party that whipped him: "Continue
still thy work," quoth he, " whilst this fellow and I dispute
\ ' of the matter." This is the report of Gellius. Architas
Tarentinus, returning from a war where he had been captain-
general, found his house all out of order, husbandry all
spoiled, and by the ill-government of his bailiff his ground
all waste and unmanured ; and having called for him, said
thus: "Away, bad man, for if I were not angry I would
have thee whipped for this." Plato likewise, being vexed
and angry with one of his slaves, commanded Speusippus to

196 ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE.

punish him, excusing himself that now being angry he
would not lay hands upon him. Charilus the Lace-
daemonian, to an Helot who behaved himself over insolently
and audaciously towards him, '' By the gods (saith he), if I
were not now angry, I would presently make thee die.** It
is a passion which pleaseth and flattereth itsel£ How
many times being moved by any false suggestion, if at that
instant we be presented with any lawful defence or true
excuse^ do we fall into rage against truth and innocency
itself? Touching this purpose, I have retained a wonderful
example of antiquity. Piso, in divers other respects a man
of notable virtue, being angry, and chafing with one of his
soldiers, who returning from forage or boot-haling, could
not give him an account where he had left a fellow-soldier
of his, and thereupon concluding he had killed or made him
away, forthwith condemned him to be hanged. And being
upon the gallows and ready to die^ behold his companion
who had straggled abroad, coming home, whereat all the
army rejoiced very much, and after many embracings and
signs of joy between the two soldiers, the hangman brought
both unto Piso, all the company hoping it would be a great
pleasure unto him; but it fell out clean contrary, for
through shame and spite, his wrath, still burning, was
redoubled, and with a sly device his passion instantly
presented to his mind, he made three guilty, forsomuch as
one of them was found innocent, and caused them all three
to be despatched : the first soldier because he was already
condemned ; the second, which had straggled abroad, by
reason he was the cause of his fellow's death; and the hang-
man for that he had not fulfilled his general's commandment
Those who have to deal with froward and skittish women
have no doubt seen what rage they will fall into, if when
they are most angry and chafing a man be silent and patient,

V

ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE. 197

and disdain to foster their anger and wrath. Celius the
orator was by nature exceedingly fretful and choleric. To
one who was' with him at supper, a man of a mild and gentle
conversation, and who because he would not move him,
seemed to approve whatever he said, and yield to him in
everything, as unable to endure his peevishness should so
pass without some nourishment, burst out into a rage and
said unto him : " For the love of God, deny me something,
that we may be two." So women are never angry but to
the end a man should again be angry with them, therein
imitating the laws of love. Phocion to a man who troubled
his discourse with brawling and scolding at him in most
injurious manner, did nothing else but hold his peace, and
give him what leisure he would to vent his choler, which
done, without taking any notice of it, began his discourse
again where he had left it off. There is no reply so sharp
as such silent contempt. Of the most choleric and testy
man of France (which is ever an imperfection, but more
excusable in a military man, for it must needs be granted
there are in that profession some men who cannot well
avoid it) I ever say he is the patientest man I know to
bridle his choler ; it moveth and transporteth him with such
fury and violence —

•—— magna veltUi cutnflamma sonore

Virgea suggeritur costis undantis aheni,

EjcuUhntque asiu latices, furit intus aquai

Fumidus atque aUe spumis exubercU amnts^

Nee jam se capU unda^ volat vapor ater ad auras^-^

As when a faggot flame with burring sounds
Under the ribs of boiling cauldron lies,
The water sweUs with heat beyond the bounds,
Whence steaming streams raging and foaming rise.
Water out-runs itself, black vapours fly to skies—

^ Virg., ^n. I 462.

198 £SSA YS OF MONTAIGNE.

that he must cruelly enforce himself to moderate the same.
And for my part I know no passion I were able to smother
with such temper and abide with such resolution. I would
not set wisdom at so high a rate. I respect not so much
what he doth as how much it cost him not to do worse.
Another boasted in my presence of his behaviour^s order
and mildness, which in truth is singular. I told him that
indeed it was much, namely, in men of so eminent a quality
as himself was, on whom all eyes are fixed, always to show
himself in a good temper; but that the chiefest point
consisted in providing inwardly and for himself; and that
in mine opinion it was no discreet part inwardly to fret:
which, to maintain that mark and formal outward appear-
ance, I feared he did. Choler is incorporated by concealing
and smothering the same, as Diogenes said to Demosthenes,
who fearing to be seen in a tavern withdrew himself into the
same. The more thou recoilest back, the further thou goest
into it. I would rather persuade a man, though somewhat
out of season, to give his boy a wherret on the ear, than to
dissemble this wise, stern or severe countenance, to vex and
fret his mind. And I would rather make show of my
passions than smother them to my cost^ which being vented
and expressed, become more languishing and weak : better
it is to let its point work outwardly, than bend it against
ourselves. Omnia vitia in aperto leviora sunt: et tunc
femiciosissima, quunt simuiaia sanitate subsidunt:^ "All
vices are then less perilous when they lie open to be seen,
but then most pernicious when they lurk under counter-
feited soundness." I ever warn those of my household who
by their office's authority may sometimes have occasion to
be angry, first to husband their anger, then not employ it
upon every slight cause ; for that impeacheth the eflfect and

^ Sen., Epist, Ivi.

ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE, 199

worth of it Rash and ordinary brawling is converted to a
custom, and that's the reason each man contemns it. That
which you employ against a servant for any thieving is not
perceived, because it is the same he hath sundry times seen
you use against him if he have not washed a glass well or
misplaced a stooL Secondly, that they be not angry in
vain, but ever have regard their chiding come to his ears
with whom they are offended; for commonly some will
brawl before he come in their presence, and chide a good
while after he is gone —

Et secum petulans amentia certat^

Madness makes with itself a fray,
Which fondly doth the wanton play —

and wreak their anger against his shadow, and make the
storm fall where no man is either chastised or interested
but with the rumour of their voice, and sometimes with such
as cannot do withal. I likewise blame those who, being
angry, will brave and mutiny when the party with whom
they are offended is not by. These rhodomontades must
be employed on such as fear them.

MugUus veluii chm prima in pralia taurus
Terrificos ciet, atque irasci in comua tentat^
Arhoris obnixus trufico, veniosque lacessit
' IciibuSf et sparsa ad pugnam proludit arena,^

As when a furious bull to his first combat moves
His terror-breeding lows, his horn to anger proves,
Striving against a tree's trunk, and the wind with strokes.
His preface made to fight with scattered sand, provokes.

When I chance to be angry it is in the eamestest manner
that may be, but yet as briefly and as secretly as is possible.
I lose myself in hastiness and violence, but not in trouble.

1 Claud., in En, 1. i. 48. " Virg., Mn, I. xii. 103.

too ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE. •

So that let me spend all manner of injurious words at
random and without all heed, and never respect iq place my
points pertinently, and where they may do most hurt; for
commonly I employ nothing but my tongue. My boys
escape better cheap in great matters than in small trifles.
Slight occasions surprise me^ and the mischief is that after
you are once fallen into the pits it is no matter who thrusts
you in, you never cease till you come to the bottom.
The fall presseth, hasteneth, moveth, and furthereth itsel£
In great occasions I am pleased that they are so justj
that everybody expects a reasonable anger to ensue. I
glorify myself to deceive their expectation. Against these
I bandy and prepare myself ; they make me summon up
my wits and threaten to carry me very far if I would follow
them. I easily keep myself from falling into them, and if I
stay for them I am strong enough to reject the impulsion of
this passion, what violent cause soever it hath. But if it
seize upon and once preoccupy me, what vain cause
soever it hath, it doth clean transport me : I condition thus
with those that may contest with me, when you perceive me
to be first angry, be it right or wrong, let me hold on my
course, I will do the like to you whenever it shall come to
my lot. The rage is not engendered but by the concurrency
of cholers, which are easily produced one of another, and
are not born at one instant Let us allow every man his
course, so shall we ever be in peace. Oh profitable pre-
scription, but of an hard execution! I shall some time
seem to be angry for the order and direction of my house,
Without any just emotion. According as my age yieldeth
my humours more sharp and peevish, so do I endeavour to
oppose myself against them, and if I can I will hereafter
enforce myself to be less froward and not so testy, as I shall
have more excuse and inclinations to be so; although I

£SSA YS OF MONTAIGNE. 201

have heretofore been in their number that are least A
word more to conclude this chapter. Aristotle saith choler
doth sometimes serve as arms unto virtue and valour. It is
very likely: notwithstanding such as gainsay him, answer
pleasantly, it is a weapon of a new fashion and strange use.
For we move other weapons, but this moveth us; our hand
doth not guide it, but it directeth our hand; it holdeth us,
and we hold not it

\

OF PROFIT AND HONESTY.

No man living is free from speaking foolish things ; the ill-
luck is, to speak them curiously ;

Na iste magno conatu magnas nugas dixerit.

This fellow sure with much ado,
Will tell great tales and trifles too.

That concerneth not me; mine slip from me with as
little care as they are of small worth, whereby they speed
the better. I would suddenly quit them, for the least cost
were in them. Nor do I buy or sell them but for what
they weigh. I speak unto paper as to the first man I meet.
That this is true, mark well what follows. To whom
should not treachery be detestable, when Tiberius refused
it on such great interest? One sent him word out of
Germany, that if he thought it good, Arminius should be
made away by poison. He was the mightiest enemy the
Romans had, who had so vilely used them under Varus,
and who only impeached the increase of his domination
in that country. His answer was, that the people of Rome

^ Ter., Heatii. act iv. so. li

202 BSSA YS OF MONTAIGNE.

were accustomed to be revenged on their enemies by open
courses^ with weapons in hand ; not by subtle sleights, nor
in hugger-mugger: thus left he the profitable for the
honest He was (you will say) a cozener. I believe it;
that's no wonder in men of his profession. But the con-
fession of virtue is of no less consequence in his mouth
that hateth the same, forsomuch as truth by force doth
wrest it from him ; and if he will not admire it in him, at
least, to adorn himself, he will put it on. Our composition,
both public and private, is full of imperfection ; yet there
is nothing in nature unserviceable, no not inutility itself;
nothing thereof hath been insinuated in this huge universe
but holdeth some fit place therein. Our essence is cemented
with crazed qualities; ambition, jealousy, envy, revenge^
superstition, despair, lodge in us, with so natural a posses-
sion, as their image is also discerned in beasts ; yea, and
cruelty, so unnatural a vice, for in the midst of compassion
we inwardly feel a kind of bitter-sweet pricking of malicious
delight to see others suffer ; and children feel it also :

Suaue mart magno turbantibus aquora vefUis^
£ terra magnum alterius spectare laborem,^

'Tis sweet on grand seas, when winds waves turmoil.
From land to see another's grievous toiL

The seed of which qualities, who should root out of man,
should ruin the fundamental conditions of our life. In
matter of policy, likewise, some necessary functions are not
only base, but faulty vices find therein a seat, and employ
themselves in the stitching up of our frame, as poisons in the
preservation of our health. If they become excusable
because we have need of them, and that common necessity
effaceth their true property, let us resign the acting of this

^ Lucr., I. ii. I.

ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE. 203

part to hardy citizens, who stick not to sacrifice their
honours and consciences, as those of old, their lives for
their country's avail and safety. We that are more weak
had best assume tasks of more ease and less hazard. The
commonwealth requireth some to betray, some to lie, and
some to massacre: leave we that commission to people
more obedient and more pliable. Truly I have often been
vexed to see our judges, by fraud or false hopes of favour
or pardon, draw on a malefactor to betray his offence,
employing therein both cozenage and impudence. It were
fit for justice and Plato himself, who favoureth this custom,
to furnish me with means more suitable to my humour. 'Tis
a malicious justice, and in my conceit no less wounded it by
self than by others. I answered not long since, that hardly
could I betray my prince for a particular man, who should
be very sorry to betray a particular man for my prince. And
loath not only to deceive, but that any be deceived in me ;
whereto I will neither furnish matter nor occasioa In that
little business I have managed between our princes, amid
the divisions and sub-divisions which at this day so tear
and turmoil us, I have curiously heeded that they mistake
me not^ nor muffled themselves in my mask.. The pro-
fessors of that trade hold themselves most covert; pretend-
ing and counterfeiting the greatest indifference and nearness
to the cause they can. As for me, I o£fer myself in my
liveliest reasons, in a form most mine own; a tender and
young negotiator, and who had rather fail in my business
than in myself. Yet hath this been hitherto with so good
hap (for surely fortune is in these matters a principal actor)
that few have dealt between party and party with less
suspicion and more inward favour. I have in all my pro-
ceedings an open fashion, easy to insinuate and give itself
credit at first acquaintance. Sincerity, plainness, and naked

204 ESSAYS OF MONTAIGNE.

truth, in what age soever, find also their opportunity and
employment Besides, their liberty is little called in ques-
tion, or subject to hate, who deal without respect to their
own interest. And they may truly use the answer of
Hyperides unto the Athenians, complaining of his bitter
invectives and sharpness of his speech : consider not my
masters whether I am free, but whether I be so, without
taking aught, or bettering my state by it My liberty also
hath easily discharged me from all suspicion of faintness,
by its vigour (nor for bearing to speak anything, though it
bit or stung them; I could not have said worse in their
absence) and because it carrieth an apparent show of
simplicity and carelessness. I pretend no other fruit by
negotiating than to negotiate; and annex no long pursuits
or propositions to it Every action makes his particular
game, win he if he can. Nor am I urged with the passion
of love or hate unto great men; nor is my will shackled
with anger or particular respect I regard our kings with
an affection simply lawful and merely civil, neither moved
nor unmoved by private interest; for which I like myself
the better. The general and just cause binds me no more
than moderately, and without violent fits. I am not subject
to these piercing pledges and inward gags. Cly oler and
hate are beyond^the duty of justice, and are passions fitting
only tliose who se_reason Is^ iibr s ufficient to hold them to
their duty> Utatur motu animi^ qui uti ratione non potest:
''Let him use the motion of his mind that cannot use
reason. " AJUawftinn tendorw are of them§c)v^g tPmppraM>j
if not, they are altered into seditious and unlawful It is
that makes me march everywhere with my head aloft, my
face and heart open. Verily (and I fear not to avouch it)
I could easily for a need bring a candle to Saint Michael,
and another to his dragon, as the good old woman. I will

ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE. 205

•

follow the best side to the fire, but not into it^ if I can
choose. If need require, let Montaigne, my manor4iouse,
be swallowed up in public ruin; but if there be no such
necessity, I will acknowledge myself beholding unto fortune
if she please to save it; and for its safety, employ as much
scope as my endeavours can afford me. Was it not Atticus
who^ cleaving to the right but losing side, saved himself by
his moderation, in that general shipwreck of the world,
amidst so many changes and divers alterations ? To private
men, such as he was, it was more easy. And in such kind
of business I think one dealeth justly not to be too forward
to insinuate or invite himself. To hold a staggering or
middle course, to bear an unmoved affection, and without
inclination in the troubles of his county and pubh'c
divisions,! deem neither seemly nor honest: Ea non media^
sed nulla via est velut eoentum expectantium^ quo fortune
eonsilia sua appUcent: '' That is not the midway, but a mad
way, or no way, as of those that expect the event with intent
to apply their designs as fortune shall fall out.'' That may
be permitted in the affairs of neighbours. So did Gelon,
the tyrant of Syracuse, suspend his inclination in the
barbarian wars against the Greeks, keeping ambassadors
at Delphos, with presents, to watch on what side the
victory would lights and to apprehend the fittest occasion of
reconcilement with the victors. It were a kind of treason to
do so in our own affairs and domestic matters, wherein of
necessity one must resolve and take a side; but for a man
that hath neither charge nor express commandment to urge
him not to busy or intermeddle himself therein, I hold it
more excusable (yet frame I do not this excuse for myself)
than in foreign and strange wars, wherewith, according to
our laws, no man is troubled against his will. Nevertheless,
those who wholly engage themselves into them may carry

9o6 ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE.

such an order and temper as the storm (without offending
him) may glide over their head. Had we not reason to
hope as much of the deceased Bishop of Orleans^ Lord
of Moniillters? And I know some who at this present
worthily bestir themselves, in so even a feshion or pleasing
a manner, that they are likely to continue on foot, whatso-
ever injurious alteration or fiedl the heavens may prepare
against us. I hold it only fit for kings to be angry with
kings, and mock at those rash spirits who^ firom the bravery
of their hearts, offer themselves to so unjuroportionate
quarrels. For one undertaketh not a particular quarrel
against a prince, in marching against him openly and
courageously for his honour, and according to his duty; if
he love not such a man, he doth better — at least he
esteemeth him. And the cause of laws especially, and
defence of the ancient state, has ever found this privilege,
that such as for their own interest disturb the same^ excuse
(if they honour not) their defenders. But we ought not
term duty (as nowadays we do) a sour rigour and intestine
crabbedness, proceeding of private interest and passion;
nor courage a treacherous and malicious proceeding. Their
disposition to frowardness and mischief, they entitle zeal
That's not the cause doth heat them, 'tis their own interest
They kindle a war, not because it is just, but because it is
war. Why may not a man bear himself between enemies
featly and faithfully ? Do it, if not altogether with an equal
(for it may admit different measure), at least with a sober
affection, which may not so much engage you to the one,
that he look for all at your hands. Content yourself with a
moderate proportion of their favour, and to glide in troubled
waters without fishing in them. The other manner of
offering one's uttermost endeavour to both sides implieth
less discretion than conscience. What knows he to whom

£SSA YS OF MONTAIGNE. 9oj

you betray another, as much your friend as himself, but you
will do the like for him when his turn shall come. He
takes yon for a villain; whilst that he hears you, and gathers
out of you, and makes his best use of your disloyalty. For
double fellows are only beneficial in what they bring, but
we must look they carry away as little as may be. I carry
nothing to the one which I may not (having opportunity)
say unto the other, the accent only changed a little; and
report either but in different or known or common things.
No benefit can induce me to lie unto them; what is
entrusted to my silence I conceal religiously, but take as
little in trust as I can. Prince's secrets are a troublesome
charge to such as have nought to do with them. I ever by
my good will capitulate with them, that they trust me with
very little; but let them assuredly trust what I disclose unto
them. I always knew more than I would. An open
speech opens the way to another, and draws all out, even
as wine and love. Philippides, in my mind, answered King
Lysimachus wisely when he demanded of him what of his
wealth or state he should impart unto him : '' Which and
what you please (quoth he) so it be not your secrets." I see
every one mutiny, if another conceal the depth or mystery
of the affairs from him, wherein he pleaseth to employ him,
or have but purloined any circumstance from him. For
my part, I am content one tell me no more of his business
than he will have me know or deal in; nor desire I that my
knowledge exceed or strain my word. If I must needs be
the instrument of cozenage, it shall at least be with safety
of my conscience. I will not be esteemed a servant, nor
so affectionate, nor yet so faithful, that I be judged fit to
betray any man. Who is unfaithful to himself may be
excused if he be faithless to his master. But princes enter-
tain not men by halfs, and despise bounded and conditional

968 ESSj4 YS of MONTATGNE.

service. What remedy? I freely tell them my limits; foi
a slave I must not be but untorgasfi^ which yet I cannot
compass; and they are to blame, to exact from a free man
the like subjection unto their service^ and the same'obliga*
tion, which they may from those they have made and
bought, and whose fortune dependeth particularly and
expressly on theirs. The laws have delivered me from
much trouble; they have chosen me a side to follow, and
appointed me a master to obey; all other superiority and
duty ought to be relative unto that, and be restrained. Yet^
may it not be concluded, that if my affection should other-
wise transport me, I would presently afford my helping band
unto it WilL^nd desires are a law t^ fh#>mg/>iyftff^ j^^nng
are tQj^ceixfi it of public institutions. All these proceed-
ings of mine are somewhat dissonant from our forms.
They should produce no great effect, nor hold out Icmg
among us. Innocency itself could not in these times ntx
negotiate without dissimulation, nor traffic without lying.
Neither are public functions of my diet; what my profession
requires thereto^ I furnish in the most private manner I can.
Being a child, I was plunged into them up to the ears, and
had good success; but I got loose in good time. I have
often since shunned meddling with them, seldom accepted,
and never required ; ever holding my back towards
ambition; but if not as rowers, who go forward as it
were backward; yet so, as I am less beholding to resolu-
tion than to my good fortune, that I was not wholly
embarked in them. For there are courses less against
my taste, and more comfortable to my carriage^ by
which, if heretofore it had called me to the service of the
commonwealth, and my advancement unto credit in the
world, I know that in following the same I had exceeded
the reason of my conceit Those which commonly say

ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE. 209

against my profession that what I term liberty, simplicity,
and plainness in my behaviour, is art, cunning, and subtilty ;
and rather discretion than goodness, industry than nature,
good wit than good hap ; do me more honour than shame.
But truly they make my cunning over-cunning. And who-
soever hath traced me and nearly looked into my humours,
111 lose a good wager if he confess not that there is no rule
in their school could, amid such crooked paths and divers
windings, square and report this natural motion, and
maintain an appearance of liberty and licence, so equal and
inflexible; and that all their attention and wit is not of
power to bring them to it The way to truth is but ene
and simple^ that of particular profit and benefit of affairs
a man hath in charge, double, uneven, and accidental. I
have often seen these counterfeit and artificial liberties
in practice, but most commonly without success. They
favour of iEsop's ass, who in emulation of the dog laid
his two fore feet very jocundly upon his master's shoulders ;
but look how many blandishments the pretty dog received,
under one, so many bastinadoes were redoubled upon the
poor ass's back. Id maxime quemque decet : quod est
cuiusque suum maxime:'^ "That becomes every man
especially which is his own especially." I will not deprive
cousinage of her rank, that were to understand the world
but ill; I know it hath often done profitable service, it
supporteth, yea and nourisheth the greatest jart of men's
vacations.

^TEere are some lawful vices ; as many actions, or good
or excusable, unlawful. Justice in itself natural and
universal is otherwise ordered, and more nobly distributed,
than this other especial and national justice, restrained and
suited to the need of our policy : Vert juris germanceque

1 Cic, Off. 1. I.

14

2 1 o JSSSA yS OF MONTAIGNE.

justitia solidam et expressam effigiem nullam tenemus: umbra
€t imaglnibus utimur:^ "We have no lively nor life-like
portraiture of upright law and natural justice : we use but
the shadows and colours of them." So that wise Dandamys,
hearing the lives of Socrates, Pythagoras, and Diogenes
repeated, in other things judged them great and worthy
men, but over-much subjected to the reverence of the
laws; which, to authorise and second, true virtue is to
decline very much from its natural vigour, and not only by
their permission, but persuasions, divers vicious actions are
committed and take place. Ex Senatusconsultis pkbis-
quescitis scelera exercentur: "Even by decrees of counsel
and by statute laws are mischiefs put in practice." I follow ^
the common phrase, which makes a difference between
profitable and honest things, terming some natural actions
which are not only profitable but necessary, dishonest and
filthy. As for my part, both my word and faith are as the *-
rest, pieces of this common body ; their best effect is the
public service : that's ever presupposed with me. But as if
one should command me to take the charge of the rolls or
records of the palace, I would answer, I have no skill in
them j or to be a leader of pioneers, I would say, I am
called to a worthier office. Even so, who would go about
to employ me, not to murder or poison, but to lie^ betray,
and forswear myself, I would tell him. If I have robbed or
stolen anything from any man, send me rather to the
gallows. For a gentleman may lawfully speak, as did the
Lacedaemonians, defeated by Antipater, upon the points of
their agreement : " You may impose as heavy burdens and
harmful taxes upon us as you please, but you lose your
time to command us any shameful or dishonest things.'^
Every man should give himself the oath which the Egyptiaim

* Cic, Off, 1. 3.

ESS A YS OF MONTAIGNE. 2 1 1

kings solemnly and usually presented to their judges:
Not to swerve from their consciences what command soever
they should receive from themselves to the contrary. In
such commissions there is an evident note of ignominy and
condemnation. And whosoever gives them you, accuseth
you; and if you conceive them right, gives you them as a
trouble and burthen. As much as the public affairs amend
by your endeavours, your own impaireth; the better you
do, so much the worse do you. And it shall not be
new, nor peradventure without shadow of justice, that
he who setteth you a work becometh your ruin. "If
treason be in any case excusable it is only then, when
'tis employed to punish and betray treason." We shall
find many treacheries to have been not refused, but
punished by them in whose favour they were undertaken.
Some rules in philosophy are both false and faint. The
example proposed unto us of respecting private utility
before faith given hath not sufficient power by the circumi-
stance they add unto it Thieves have taken you, and on
your oath to pay them a certain sum of money have set you
at liberty again. They err that say an honest man is quit
of his word and faith without paying, being out of their
hands. There is no such matter. What fear and danger
hath once forced me to will and consent unto, I am bound
to will and perform, being out of danger and fear. And
although it have but forced my tongue and not my will, yet
am I bound to make my word good and keep my promise.
For my part, whefi it hath sometimes unadvisedly overrun
my thought, yet have I made a conscience to disavow the
same. Otherwise we should by degrees come to abolish
all the right a third man taketh and may challenge of our
promises. Quasi verb forti viro vis possit adhiberi: ^ " As

1 Cic, Off, 1. iii.

2 1 2 JSSSA YS OF MONTAIGNE.

though any force could be used upon a valiant man." Tis
only lawful for our private interest to excuse the breach of
promise^ if we have rashly promised things in themselves
wicked and unjust. For the right of virtue ought to over-
rule the right of our bond. I have heretofore placed
Epaminondas in the first rank of excellent men, and now
recant it not Unto what high pitch raised he the con-
sideration of his particular duty ? who never slew man he
had vanquished ; who for that invaluable good of restoring
his country her liberty made it a matter of conscience to
murder a tyrant or his accomplices without a due and
formal court of law, and who judged him a bad man, how
good a citizen soever, that amongst his enemies and in the
fury of a battle spared not his friend or his host Lo here
a mind of a rich composition. He matched unto the most
violent and rude actions of men goodness and courtesy, yea
and the most choice and delicate that may be found in the
school of philosophy. This so high-raised courage, so
swelling and so obstinate against sorrow, death, and poverty,
was it nature or art made it relent, even to the utmost strain
of exceeding tenderness and debonairity of complexion?
Being clothed in the dreadful livery of steel and blood, he
goeth on crushing and bruising a nation, invincible to all
others but to himself, yet mildly relenteth in the midst of a
combat or confusion when he meets with his host or with
his friend. Verily this man was deservedly fit to command
in war, which in the extremest fury of his innated rage
made him to feel the sting of courtesy and remorse of
gentleness than when, all inflamed, it foamed with fury and
burned with murder. It is a miracle to be able to join any
show of justice with such actions. But it only belongeth to
the unmatched courage of Epaminondas, in that confused
plight, to join mildness and facility of .the most gentle

ESS A YS OF MONTAIGNE. 2 1 3

behayiour that ever was unto them, yea, and pure innocency
itself. And whereas one told the Mamertins that statutes
were of no force against armed men ; another to the tribune
of the people, that the times of justice and of war were two ;
a third, that the confused noise of war and clangour of arms
hindered him from understanding the sober voice of the
laws, this man was not so much as impeached from con-
ceiving the mild sound of civility and kindness. Borrowed
he of his enemies the custom of sacrificing to the Muses
(when he went to the wars) to qualify by their sweetness
' and mildness that martial fury and hostile surliness ? Let
us not fear, after so great a master, to hold that some things
are unlawful, even against our fellest enemies; that public
interest ought not to challenge all of all against private
interest. Manente memoria etiam in dissidio publicorum
fxderum privati juris : "Some memory of private right
continuing even in disagreement of public contracts."

tt nulla potetUia vires

Prastandif ne quidpeccet amicus, habet : ^

No power hath so great might
To make friends still go right

And that all things be not lawful to an honest man, for
the service of his king, the general cause and defence of
the laws. Non enim f atria prastat omnibus officiis, et ipsi
conducit pios habere dves in parentes : * " For our country is
not above all other duties ; it is good for the country to
have her inhabitants use piety towards their parents." It is
an instruction befitting the times. We need not harden
our hearts with these plates of iron and steel ; it sufficeth
our shoulders be armed with them. It is enough to dip
our pens in ink, too much to dye them in blood. If it be

1 Ovid, Pont. 1. i., Bl. viii. 37. " Cic, Q^ L Hi.

2 1 4 £SSA ys OF MONTAIGNE,

greatness of courage and the effect of a rare and singular
virtue to neglect friendship^ despise private respects and
bonds, one's word and kindred, for the common good and
obedience of the magistrate, it is verily able to excuse us
from it if we but allege that it is a greatness unable to lodge
in the greatness of Epaminondas's courage. I abhor the
enraged admonitions of this other unruly spirit.

dum tela micant, turn tfospietoHs imago

Ulla^ nee aduersa conspectifronteparentes
Commoveant^ vultus gladio iurhante verembsJ^

While swords are brandish'd, let no show of grace
Once move you, nor your parents face to hcCy
But with your swords disturb their reverend grace.

Let us bereave wicked, bloody, and traitorous dispositions
of this pretext of reason ; leave we that impious and exor-
bitant justice, and adhere unto more human imitati ons.
Oh, what may time and example bring to pass! In an
encounter of the civil wars against Cinna, one of Pompey's
soldiers having unwittingly slain his brother, who was on
the other side, through shame and sorrow presently killed
himself; and some years after, in another civil war of the
said people, a soldier boldly demanded a reward of his
captains for killing his own brother. Falsely dowejrgue
honour, and the beauty of an action, by llsjrqfit_and
conclude as ill to think every one is bound unto it, and that
it is honest if it be commodious.

Omnia nonpariter rerum sunt omnibus apta,^

All things alike to aU
Do not well-fitting fall.

Choose we out the most necessary and most beneficial
matter of human society, it will be ^marriage; yet is it
1 Lucan, 1. vii. 320. » Ovid, Epist. L iii., EL viii. 7.

£SSA YS OF MONTAIGNE. 2 1 5

that the saints' counsel findeth and deemeth the contrary
side more honest, excluding from it the most reverend
vocation of men, as we to our races assign such beasts as
are of least esteem.

OF REPENTING.

Others fashion man, I repeat him, and represent a par-
ticular one but ill-made, and whom were I to form anew,
he should be far other than he is; but he is now made/
And though the lines of my picture change and vary, yet
lose they not themselves. The world runs all on wheels.
All things therein move without intermission ; yea, the
earth, the rocks of Caucasus, and the Pyramids of Egypt,
both with the public and their own motion. Constancy
itself is nothing but a languishing and wavering dance. I
cannot settle my object ; it goeth so unquietly and stagger-
ing, with a natural drunkenness; I take it in this plight,
as it is at the instant I amuse myself about it, I describe
not the essence but the passage ; not a passage from age to
age, or as the people reckon, from seven years to seven, but
from day to day, from minute to minute. My history must
be fitted to the present I may soon change, not only
fortune, but intention. It is a counter-roll of divers and
variable accidents and irresolute imaginations, and some-
times contrary ; whether it be that myself am other, or that
I apprehend subjects by other circumstances and considera*
tions. Howsoever, I may perhaps gainsay myself, but
truth (as Demades said) I never gainsay. Were my mind
settled I would not essay, but resolve myself. It is still a

5 1 6 J^SSA YS OF MONTAIGNE.

prentice and a probationer. I propose a mean life and
without lustre; 'tis all one. Thej fasten all moral philo-
sophy as well to a popular and private life as to one of
richer stuff. Every man beareth the whole stamp of human
condition. Authors communicate themselves unto the world
by some special and strange mark; I the first, by my
general disposition, as Michael de Montaigne, not as a
grammarian, or a poet, or a lawyer. If the world complain
_ I speak too much of myself, I complain it thinks no more
of itself. But is it reason, that being so private in use I
should pretend to make myself public in knowledge ? Or
is it reason I should produce into the world, where fashion
and art have such sway and command, the raw and simple
effects of nature, and of a nature as yet exceeding weak ?
To write books without learning, is it not to make a wall
without stone or such-like thing? Conceits of music are
• directed by art, mine by hap. Yet have I this according to
learning, that never man handled subject he understood or
knew better than I do this I have undertaken, being therein
V the most cunning man alive.

Secondly, that never man waded further into this matter,
nor more distinctly sifted the parts and dependancies of it,
nor arrived more exactly and fully to the end he proposed
unto himself To finish the same, I have need of naught
but faithfulness, which is therein as sincere and pure as
may be found I speak truth, not my bellyful, but as much
as I dare ; and I dare the more the more I grow into years,
for it seemeth custom alloweth old age more liberty to
babble, and indiscretion to talk of itself It cannot herein
be as in trades, where the craftsman and his work do often
differ. Being a man of so sound and honest conversation,
wrote he so foolishly? Are such learned writings come
from a man of so weak a conversation ? who hath but an

ESS A YS OF MONTAIGNE. 1 1 7

ordinary conceit, and writeth excellently, one may say his
capacity is borrowed, not of himself. A skilful man is not
skilful in all things ; but a sufficient man is sufficient every-
where, even unto ignorance. Here my book and myself
march together, and keep one pace. Elsewhere one may ^
dommend or condemn the work without the workman, here ^
not; who toucheth one toucheth the other. He who
shall judge of it without knowing him shall wrong himself
more than me, he that icnows it hath wholly satisfied me.
Happy beyond my merit if I get this only portion of public
approbation, as I may cause men of understanding to think
I had been able to make use and benefit of learning, had
I been endowed with any, and deserved better help of
memory; excuse we here what I often say, that I seldom
repent myself, and that my conscience is contented with
itself; not of an angel's or a horse's conscience, but as of a
man's conscience. Adding ever this clause, not of cere-
mony, but of true and essential submission : that I speak
inquiring and doubting, merely and simply referring myself,
from resolution, unto common and lawful opinions. I
teach not, I report; no vice is absolutely vice which
ofiendeth not, and a sound judgment accuseth not; for
the deformity and incommodity thereof is so palpable, as
peradventure they have reason who say it is chiefly pro-
duced by sottishness and brought forth by ignorance, so
hard is it to imagine one should know it without hating it.
Malice sucks up the greatest part of her own venom, and
therewith poisoneth herself. Vice leaveth, as an ulcer in
the flesh, a repentance in the soul, which still scratcheth
and bleedeth itself. For reason effaceth other griefs and
sorrows, but engendereth those of repentance ; the more
irksome because inward, as the cold and heat of agues is
more offensive than that which comes outward. I account

2 1 8 ESS A VS OF MONTAIGNE.

vices (but each according to their measure) not only those
which reason disallows and nature condemns, but such as
man's opinion hath forged as false and erroneous, if laws
and custom authorise the same. In like manner there is
no goodness but gladdens an honest disposition. There is
truly I wot not what kind or congratulation of well doing
which rejoiceth in ourselves, and a generous jollity that
accompanieth a good conscience. A mind courageously
vicious may happily furnish itself with security, but it
cannot be fraught with this self-joining delight and satis-
faction. It is no small pleasure for one to feel himself
preserved from the contagion of an age so infected as
ours, and to say to himself could a man enter and see
even into my soul, yet should he not find me guilty either
of the affliction or ruin of anybody, nor culpable of envy
or revenge, nor of public ofifence against the laws, nor
tainted with innovation^ trouble, or sedition, nor spotted
with falsifying of my word; and although the liberty of
times allowed and taught it every man, yet could I nevef
be induced to touch the goods or dive into the purse of
any Frenchman, and have always lived upon mine own
as well in time of war as peace, nor did I ever make use of
any poor man's labour without reward. These testimonies
of an unspotted conscience are very pleasing, which natural
joy is a great benefit unto us, and the only payment never
faileth us. To ground the recompense of virtuous actions
upon the approbation of others is to undertake a most
uncertain or troubled foundation, namely, in an age so
corrupt and times so ignorant as this is ; the vulgar people's
good opinion is injurious. Whom trust you in seeing what
is commendable? God keep me from being an honest
man, according to the description I daily see made of
honour, each one by himself. Qua fuerant vMa^ mores

ESS A YS OF MONTAIGNE, 219

sunt: "What erst were vices are now grown fashions."
Some of my friends have sometimes attempted to school
me roundly, and sift me plainly, either of their own motion,
or invited by me, as to an office, which to a well-composed
mind, both in profit and lovingness, exceedeth all the duties
of sincere amity. Such have I ever entertained with open
arms of courtesy and kind acknowledgment But now to
speak from my conscience, I often found so much false
measure in their reproaches and praises, that I had not
greatly erred if I had rather erred than done well after their
fashion. Such as we especially, who live a private life not
exposed to any gaze but our own, ought in our hearts
establish a touchstone, and there to touch our deeds and
try our actions, and accordingly, now cherish and now
chastise ourselves. I have my own laws and tribunal to
judge of me, whither I address myself more than anywhere
else. I restrain my actions according to other, but extend
them according to myself None but yourself knows rightly
whether you be demiss and cruel, or loyal and devout
Others see you not, but guess you by uncertain conjectures.
They see not so much your nature as your art. Adhere not
then to their opinion, but hold unto your own. T\io tibi
judicto est utendum. Virtuiis et vitiorum grave ipsius con-
scientice pondus est: qua sublata jacent omnia .-^ " You must
use your own judgment. The weight of the very conscience
of vice and virtues is heavy: take that away and all is
done." But whereas it is said that repentance nearly
foUoweth sin, seemeth not to imply sin placed in his rich
array, which lodgeth in us as in his proper mansion. One
may disavow and disclaim vices that surprise us, and
whereto our passions transport us, but those which by long
habits are rooted in a strong, and anchored in a powerful

' Cic., Nat. Deer, I. iiL

220 £SSA YS OF MONTAIGNE.

will, are not subject to contradiction. Repentance is but a
denying of our will, and an opposition of our fantasies which
diverts us here and there. It makes some disavow his
former virtue and continency.

Qua mens est hodie, cur eadem non puero fuit^
Vel cur his animis incolumes ncn redeunt gena ? ^

Why was not in a youth same mind as now ?
Or why bears not this mind a youthful brow ?

'vj That is an exquisite life which even in his own private
keepeth itself in awe and order. Every one may play the
juggler, and represent an honest man upon the stage ; but
within, and in bosom, where all things are lawful, where all
is concealed, to keep a due rule or formal decorum, that's
the point The next degree is to be so in one's own home^
and in his ordinary actions, whereof we are to give account
to nobody, wherein is no study, nor art; and therefore
Bias describing the perfect state or a family whereof (saith
he) the master be such inwardly by himself, as he is out-
wardly, for fear of the laws, and respect of men's speeches.
And it was a worthy saying of Julius Drusus to those work-
men which for three thousand crowns offered so to reform
his house that his neighbours should no more overlook
into it : '*I will give you six thousand (said he), and contrive
it so that on all sides every man may look into it" The
custom of Agesilaus is remembered with honour, who in
his travel was wont to take up his lodging in churches, that
the people and gods themselves might pry into his private
actions. Some have been admirable to the world, in whom
nor his wife, nor his servants ever noted anything remark-
able. "Few men have been admired of their familiars.
No man hath been a prophet, not only in his house, but in

1 Hor., Car. I. iv,, Od, x. 7.

ESS A ys OF MONTAIGNE. 2 2 1

his own country," saith the experience of histories. Eren
so in things of nought And in this base example is the
image of greatness discerned. In my climate of Gascony
they deem it a jest to see me in print The further the
knowledge which is taken of me is from my home, of so
much more worth am I. In Guienne I pay printers, in
other places they pay me. Upon this accident they ground,
who living and present keep dose-lurking to purchase credit
when they shall be dead and absent I had rather have
less. And I cast not myself into the world, but for the
portion I draw from it That done, I quit it The people
attend on such a man with wonderment, from a public act,
unto his own doors ; together with his robes he leaves o£f his
part, falling so much the lower by how much higher he was
mounted. View him within, there all is turbulent, dis-
ordered, and vile. And were order and formality found in
him, a lively, impartial, and well-sorted judgment is required
to perceive and fully to discern him in these base and
private actions. Considering that order is but a dumpish
and drowsy virtue : to gain a battle^ perform an ambassage,
and govern a people, are noble and worthy actions; to
chide, laugh, sell, pay, love, hate, and mildly and justly to
converse both with his own and with himself; not to relent,
and not gainsay himself are things more rare, more difficult,
and less remarkable.

Retired lives sustain that way, whatever some say, offices
as much more crabbed and extended than other lives do.
And private men (saith Aristotle) serve virtue more hardly
and more highly attend her than those which are magistrates
or placed in authority. We prepare ourselves unto eminent
occasions more for glory than for conscience. The nearest
way to come unto glory were to do that for conscience
which we do for glory. And meseemeth the virtue of

927 ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE.

Alexander representeth much less vigour in her large
theatre than that of Socrates in his base and obscure
exercitation. I easily conceive Socrates in the room of
Alexander; Alexander in that of Socrates I cannot If
any ask the one what he can do he will answer, '' Conquer
the world ; '' let the same question be demanded of the
other, he will say, " Lead my life conformably to its natural
condition;'' a science much more generous, more important,
and more lawful.

The worth of the mind consisteth not in going high, but
in marching orderly. Her greatness is not exercised in
greatness ; in mediocrity it is. As those which judge and
touch us inwardly make no great account of the brightness
of our public actions^ and see they are but streaks and points
of clear water surging from a bottom otherwise slimy and
full of mud ; so those who judge us by this gay outward
appearance conclude the same of our inward constitution,
and cannot couple popular faculties as theirs are, unto these
other faculties which amaze them so far from their level
So do we attribute savage shapes and ugly forms unto
devils. As who doth not ascribe high-raised eyebrows, open
nostrils, a stern, frightful visage, and a huge body unto
Tamberlaine, as is the form or shape of the imagination ve
have fore-conceived by the brute of his name? had any
heretofore showed me Erasmus, I could hardly have been
induced to think but whatsoever he had said to his boy or
hostess had been adages and apophthegms. We imagine
much more fitly an artificer upon his close stool than a
great judge, reverend for his carriage and regardful for
his sufficiency; we think that from those high thrones
they should not abase themselves so low as to live.
As vicious minds are often incited to do well by some
strange impulsion, so are virtuous spirits moved to do ill.

ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE. 223

They must then be judged by their settled estate, when
they are near themselves, and as we say, at home, if at any
time they be so ; or when they are nearest unto rest, and in
their natural seat Natural inclinations are by institution
helped and strengthened, but they neither change nor
exceed. A thousand natures in my time have a thwart, a
contrary discipline escaped toward virtue or toward vice.

Sic ubi dcsueta silxfis in carcere clausa,
Mansuevere fera^ et vultus posuere minaces,
Atque hominem didicere pati, si torrida parum
Venii in ora cruor^ redeunt rdbiesque furorque^
AdmonittRque iument gustato sanguine fauces ^
Fervetf et ^ trepido vix abstinet ira magistro?-

So when wild beasts, disused from the wood,
Fierce looks laid down, grow tame, closed in a cage,
Taught to hear man, if then a little blood
Touch their hot lips, fury returns and rage ;
Their jaws by taste admonish'd swell with veins.
Rage boils, and from £unt keeper scarce abstains.

These original qualities are not grubbed out, they are but
covered and hidden. The Latin tongue is to me in a
manner natural j I understand it better than French ; but
it is now forty years I have not made use of it to speak,
nor much to write; yet in some extreme emotions and
sudden passions, wherein I have twice or thrice fallen, since
my years of discretion, and namely, once, when my father
being in perfect health, fell all alone upon me in a swoon, I
have ever, even from my very heart, uttered my first words
in Latin; nature rushing and by force expressing itself
against so long a custom; the like example is alleged of
divers others. Those which in my time have attempted to
correct the passions of the world by new opinions, reform
the vices of appearance; those of essence they leave

^ Lucan, 1. iv. 237.

224 ^SSA YS OF MONTAIGNE.

untouched if they increase them not And their increase is
much to be feared. We willingly protract all other well-
doing upon these external reformations of less cost and of
greater merit ; whereby we satisfy good-cheap, other natural
consubstantial and intestine vices. Look a little into the
course of our experience. There is no man (if he listen to
himself) that doth not discover in himself a peculiar form of
his, a swaying form which wrestleth against the institution,
and against the tempests of passions, which are contrary
unto him. As for me, I feel not myself much agitated by a
shock ; I commonly find myself in mine own places as are
sluggish and lumpish bodies. If I am not close and near
unto myself, I am never far o£f; my debauches or excesses
transport me not much. There is nothing eictreme and
strange; yet have I found fits and vigorous lusts. The
true condemnation, and which toucheth the common fashion
of our men, is that their very retreat is full of corruption
and filth. The idea of their amendment is blurred
and deformed; their repentance crazed and faulty very
near as much as their sia Some, either because they
are so fast and naturally joined unto vice, or through
long custom have lost all sense of its ugliness. To
others (of whose rank I am) vice is burdensome, but they
counterbalance it with pleasure, or other occasions, and
suffer it, and at a certain rate lend themselves unto it,
though basely and viciously. Yet might happily so remote a
disposition of measure be imagined, where with justice the
pleasure might excuse the offence, as we say of profit Not
only being accidental, and out of sin, as in thefts, but even
in the very exercise of it, as in the acquaintance or copula-
tion with women ; where the provocation is so violent, and
as they say, sometimes unresistible. In a town of a kins-
man of mine, the other day, being in Armignac, I saw a

ESS A YS OF MONTAIGNE. 2 2 5

country man, commonly surnamed the Thie^ who himself
reported his life to have been thus. Being bom a beggar,
and perceiving that to get his bread by the sweat of his
brow and labour of his hands would never sufficiently arm
him against penury, he resolved to become a thief, and that
trade had employed all his youth safely, by means of his
bodily strength; for he ever made up harvest and vintage in
other men's grounds, but so far off, and in so great heaps,
that it was beyond imagination one man should in one night
carry away so much upon his shoulders, and was so careful
to equal the prey and disperse the mischief he did, that
the spoil was of less import to every particular man.

He is now in old years indifferently rich; for a man
of his condition (Godamercy his trade) which he is not
ashamed to confess openly, and to reconcile himself with
God, he affirmeth to be daily ready, with his gettings and
other good turns, to satisfy the posterity of those he hath
heretofore wronged or robbed ; which if himself be not of
ability to perform (for he cannot do all at once) he will
charge his heirs withal, according to the knowledge he hath
of the wrongs by him done to every man. By this descrip-
tion, be it true or false, he respecteth theft as a dishonest
and unlawful action, and hateth the same, yet less than
pinching want ; he repents but simply, for in regard it was
so counterbalanced and recompensed, he repenteth not
That is not that habit which incorporates us unto vice, and
confirmeth our understanding in it, nor is it that boisterous
wind which by violent blasts dazzleth and troubleth our
minds, and at that time confounds and overwhelms both us,
our judgment, and all into the power of vice. What I do is
ordinarily full and complete, and I march (as we say) all in
one pace: I have not many motions that hide themselves
and slink away from my reason, or which very near are not

15

226 ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE.

guided by the consent of all my parts, without division, or
intestine sedition : my judgment hath the whole blame or
commendation, and the blame it hath once, it hath ever;
for almost from its birth it hath been one of the same
inclination, course, and force. And in matters of general
opinions, even from my infancy, I ranged myself to the
point I was to hold. Some sins there are outrageous,
violent, and sudden; leave we them.

But those other sins, so often reassumed, determined, and
advised upon, whether they be of complexion, or of pro-
fession and calling, I cannot conceive how they should so
long be settled in one same courage, unless the reason and
conscience of the sinner were thereunto inwardly privy and
constantly willing. And how to imagine or fashion the
repentance thereof, which, he vaunteth, doth sometimes visit
him, seemeth somewhat hard unto me. I am not of
Pythagoras* sect, that men take a new soul, when to receive
oracles they approach the images of gods, unless he would
say with all, that it must be a strange one, new, and lent
him for the time ; our own, giving so little sign of purifi-
cation, and cleanness worthy of that office. They do
altogether against the Stoical precepts, which appoint us to
correct the imperfections and vices we find in ourselves, but
withal forbid us to disturb the quiet of our mind. They
make us believe they feel great remorse, and are inwardly
much displeased with sin ; but of amendment, correction, or
intermission, they show us none. Surely there can be no
perfect health where the disease is not perfectly removed
Were repentance put in the scale of the balance, it would
weigh down sia I find no humour so easy to be counter-
feited as devotion ; if one conform not his life and condi-
tions to it, her essence is abstruse and concealed, her
appearance gentle and stately.

ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE. 2 2 7

For my part, I may in general wish to be other than I
am ; I may condemn and mislike my universal form, I may
beseech God to grant me an undefiled reformation, and
excuse my natural weakness, but meseemeth I ought not to
term this repentance, no more than the displeasure of being
neither Angel nor Cato. My actions are squared to what
I am, and confirmed to my condition. I cannot do better ;
and repentance doth not properly concern what is not in
our power; sorrow doth. I may imagine infinite disposi-
tions of a higher pitch, and better governed than mine, yet
do I nothing better my faculties ; no more than mine arm
becometh stronger, or my wit more excellent, by conceiving
some others to be so. If to suppose and wish a more
nobler working than ours might produce the repentance of
our own, we should then repent us of our most innocent
actions; forsomuch as we judge that in a more excellent
nature they had been directed with greater perfection and
dignity, and ourselves would do the like. When I consult
with my age of my youth's proceedings, I find that commonly
(according to my opinion) I managed them in order. This
is all my resistance is able to perform, I flatter not myself;
in like circumstances, I should ever be the same. It is not
a spot, but a whole dye that stains me. I acknowledge
no repentance that is superficial, mean, and ceremonious.
It must touch me on all sides before I can term it repent-
ance. It must pinch my entrails, and afiiict them as deeply
and thoroughly as God himself beholds me. When in
negotiating many good fortunes have slipped me for want of
good discretion, yet did my projects make good choice,
according to the occurrences presented unto them. Their
manner is ever to take the easier and surer side. I find
that in my former deliberations, I proceeded, after my
rules, discreetly for the subject's state propounded to me;

328 JSSSA YS OF MONTAIGNE.

and in like occasions would proceed alike a hundred years
hence. I respect not what now it is, but what it was, when
I consulted of it. The consequence of all designs consists
in the seasons; occasions pass, and matters change in-
cessantly. I have in my time run into some gross, absurd,
and important errors ; not for want of good advice, but of
good hap. There are secret and indivinable parts in the
objects men do handle, especially in the nature of men and
mute conditions without show, and sometimes unknown of
the very possessors, produced and stirred up by sudden
occasions. If my wit could neither find nor presage them, I
am not offended with it ; the function thereof is contained
within its own limits. If the success bear me^ and favour
the side I refused, there is no remedy ; I fall not out with
myself : I accuse my fortune, not my endeavour ; that's not
called repentance. Phocion had given the Athenians some
counsel, which was not followed ; the matter, against his
opinion, succeeding happily. " How now, Phocion (quoth
one), art thou pleased the matter hath thrived so well?"
<'Yea (said he), and I am glad of it; yet repent not the
advice I gave."

When any of my friends come to me for counsel I bestow
it frankly and clearly, not as (well-nigh all the world doth)
wavering at the hazard of the matter, whereby the contrary
of my meaning may happen; that so they may justly find
fault with my advice ; for which I care not greatly. For
they shall do me wrong, and it became not me to refuse
them that duty. I have nobody to blame for my faults or
misfortunes but myself. For in effect I seldom use the
advice of other unless it be for compliment sake, and where
I have need of instruction or knowledge of the fact Marry
in things wherein nought but judgment is to be employed;
strange reasons may serve to sustain, but not to divert me.

£SSA ys OF MONTAIGNE. iag

I lend a fiivoarable and courteous ear unto them all But
(to my remembrance) I never believed any but mine own.
With me they are but flies and moths, which distract my
will I little regard mine own opinions, other men's I esteem
as little; fortune pays me accordingly. If I take no counsel,
I give as little. I am not much sought after for it, and less
credited when I give it; neither know I any enterprise^
either private or public, that my advice hath directed and
brought to conclusion. Even those whom fortune had
someway tied thereunto, have more willingly admitted the
direction of other's conceit than mine. As one that am
as jealous of the rights of my quiet as of those of my
authority, I would rather have it thus.

Where leaving me, they jump with my profession, which
is wholly to settle and contain me in myself. It is a pleasure
unto me to be disinterested of other men's affairs, and dis-
engaged from their contentions. When suits or businesses
be overpast, howsoever it be^ I grieve little at them. For the
imagination that they must necessarily happen so, puts me
out of pain ; behold them in the course of the universe^ and
enchained in Stoical causes, your fantasy cannot by wish or
imagination remove one point of them, but the whole order
of things must reverse both what is past and what is to come.
Moreover, I hate that accidental repentance which old age
brings with it.

He that in ancient times said he was beholden to years
because they had rid him of voluptuousness, was not of
mine opinion. I shall never give impuissance thanks for
any good it can do me : Nee tarn aversa unquam videbitur
ab opere sua providentia^ ut debilitas inter optima inuenta sit:
" Nor shall foresight ever be seen so averse from her own
work, that weakness be found to be one of the best things."
Our appetites are rare in old age; the blow overpast.

S30 ESSA VS OF MONTAIGNE.

a deep satiety seizeth upon us; therein I see no conscience.
Fretting care and weakness imprint in us an effeminate and
drowsy virtue.

We must not suffer ourselves so fully to be carried into
natural alterations as to corrupt or adulterate our judgment
by them. Youth and pleasure have not heretofore prevailed
so much over me, but I could ever (even in the midst of
sensualities) discern the ugly face of sin; nor can the
distaste which years bring on me at this instant keep me
from discerning that of voluptuousness in vice. Now I am
no longer in it, I judge ,of it as if I were still there. I who
lively and attentively examine my reason, find it to be the
same that possessed me in my most dissolute and licentious
age ; unless, perhaps, they being enfeebled and impaired by
years do make some difference ; and find that what delight
it refuseth to afford me in regard of my bodily health, it
would no more deny me than in times past for the health of
my soul. To see it out of combat, I hold it not the more
courageous. My temptations are so mortified and crazed
as they are not worthy of its oppositions j holding but my
hand before me, I becalm them. Should one present that
former concupiscence unto it, I fear it would be of less
power to sustain it than heretofore it hath been. I see in
it by itself no increase of judgment nor access of bright-
ness j what it now judgeth it did then. Wherefore if there
be any amendment, it is but diseased. Oh, miserable kind
of remedy to be beholden unto sickness for our health. It
is not for our mishap, but for the good success of our
judgment to perform this office. Crosses and afflictions
make me do nothing but curse them. They are for people
that cannot be awakened but by the whip, the course of my
reason is the nimbler in prosperity. It is much more
distracted and busied in the digesting of mischiefs than of

JESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE. 231

delights* I see much clearer in fair weather. Health fore-
warneth me as with more pleasure^ so to betta: purpose
than sickness. I approached the nearest I could unto
amendment ^d regularity, when I should have enjoyed the
same; I should be ashamed and vexed that the misery and
mishap of my old age could exceed the health, attention,
and vigour of my youth ; and that I should be esteemed,
not for what I have been, but for what I am left to be.
" The happy life (in my opinion), not (as said Antisthenes)
the happy death, is it that makes man's happiness in this
world."

I have not preposterously busied myself to tie the tail of
a philosopher unto the head and body of a varlet ; nor that
this paltry end should disavow and belie the fairest,
soundest, and longest part of my life. I will present
myself and make a general muster of my whole, everywhere
uniformly. Were I to live again it should be as I have
already lived. I neither deplore what is past nor dread
what is to come ; and if I be not deceived, the inward parts
have nearly resembled the outward. It is one of the
chiefest points wherein I am beholden to fortune, that in
the course of my body's estate each thing hath been
carried in season. I have seen the leaves, the blossoms,
and the fruit ; and now see the drooping and withering of
it. Happily, because naturally. I bear my present miseries
the more gently because they are in season, and with
greater favour make me remember the long happiness of
my former life. In like manner my discretion may well be
of like proportion in the one and the other time ; but sure
it was of much more performance, and had a better grace,
being fresh, jolly, and full of spirit than now that it is worn,
decrepit, and toilsome.

I therefore renounce these casual and dolorous reforma-

iZ9 £SSA ys OP MONTAIGNE.

tions. God must touch our hearts ; our conscience must
amend of itself, and not by reinforcement of our reason,
nor by the enfeebling of our appetites. Voluptuousness in
itself is neither pale nor discoloured to be- discerned by
blear and troubled eyes. We should afifect temperance and
chastity for itself, and for God'? cause, who hath ordained
them unto us; that which caterers bestow upon us, and
which I am beholden to my colic, is for neither tem-
perance nor chastity. A man cannot boast of contemning
or combating sensuality if he bee her not, or know not her
grace, her force, and most attmctive beauties. I know
them both, and therefore may speak it But methinks our
souls in age are subject unto more importunate diseases
and imperfections than they are in youth. I said so, being
young, when my beardless chin upbraided me ; and I say it
again now that my grey beard gives me authority. We
entitle wisdom, the frowardness of our humours, and the
distaste of present things; but in truth we abandon not
vices so much as we change them ; and in my opinion for
the worse. Besides a silly and ruinous pride, cumbersome
tattle, wayward and unsociable humours, superstition, and
a ridiculous carking for wealth, when the use of it is well-
nigh lost, I find the more envy, injustice, and lewdness in
it. It sets more wrinkles in our minds than on our fore-
heads ; nor are there any spirits, or very rare onesj which in
growing old taste not sourly and mustily. Man marcheth
entirely towards his increase and decrease. View but the
wisdom of Socrates and divers circumstances of his con-
demnation. I daresay he something lent himself unto it
by prevarication of purpose ; being so near, and at the age
of seventy, to endure the benumbing of his spirit's richest
pace, and the dimming of his accustomed brightness.
What metamorphoses have I seen it daily make in divers

ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE. 433

of mine acquaintances? It is a powerful malady which
naturally and imperceptibly glideth into us; there is
required great provision of study, heed, and precaution to
avoid the imperfections wherewith it chargeth us; or at
least to weaken their further progress. I find that notwith-
standing all my entrenchings, by little and little it getteth
ground upon me; I hold out as long as I can, but know
not whither at length it will bring me. Happen what
happen will, I am pleased the world know from what
height I tumbled.

OF THREE COMMERCES OR SOCIETIES.

We must not cleave so fast unto our humours and dis-
positions. Our chiefest sufficiency is to apply ourselves to
divers fashions. It is a being, but not a life, to be tied and
bound by necessity to one only course. The goodliest
minds are those that have most variety and pliableness
in them. Behold an honourable testimony of old Cato.
Huic versatile ingenium sic pariter ad omnia fuit^ ut natum
ad id unutn diceres, quodcunque ageretA **He had a wit so
tumable for all things alike, as one would say he had been
only born for that he went about to do." Were I to dress
myself after mine own manner, there is no fashion so good
whereto I would be so affected or tied as not to know how
to leave and lose it Life is a motion unequal, irregular,
and multiform. It is not to be the friend (less the master)
but the slave of oneself to follow incessantly, and be so
addicted to his inclinations, as he cannot stray from them,
nor wrest them. This I say now, as being extremely

^ liv., Bel. Mac. 1. ix.

«34 JSSSA YS OF MONTAIGNE.

pestered with the importunity of my mind, forsomuch as
she cannot amuse herself but whereon she is busied; nor
employ herself, but bent and whola How light soever the
subject is one gives it, it willingly amplifieth, and wire-
draws the same^ even unto the highest pitch of toil Its
idleness is therefore a painful trade unto me, and offensive
to my health. Most wits hav6 need of extravagant stuf^ to
unbenumb and exercise themselves ; mine hath need of it
rather to settle and continue itself. Vttia otii negptio dis-
cutienda sunt:^ "The vices of idleness should be shaken off
with business.'' For the most laborious care and principal
study of it is to study itself. Books are one of those
businesses that seduce it from study. At the first thoughts
that present themselves it rouseth up and makes proof of
all the vigour it hath. It exerciseth its function sometimes
towards force, sometimes towards order and comeliness, it
rangeth, moderates, and fortifieth. It hath of itself to
awaken the faculties of it. Nature having given it, as unto
all other, matter of its own for advantage, subjects fit
enough whereon to devise and determine. Meditation is a
large and powerful study to such as vigorously can taste
and employ themselves therein. I had rather forge than
furnish my mind.

There is no office or occupation either weaker or stronger
than that of entertaining of one's thoughts according to
the mind, whatsoever it be. The greatest make it their
vocation, Quibus vivere est cogitare^ to whom it is fill one to
live and to meditate. Nature hath also favoured it with
this privilege, that there is nothing we can do so long,
nor action whereto we give ourselves more ordinarily and
easily. It is the work of gods (saith Aristotle), whence
both their happiness and ours proceedeth. Reading seWes

^ Sen., Epist, Ivi.

£SSA YS OF MONTAIGNE. 235

me especially to awake my conceit by divers objects; to
busy my judgment, not my memory. Few entertainments
then stay me without vigour and force. 'Tis true that courtesy
and beauty possess me as much or more than weight and
depth. And because I slumber in all other communica-
tions, and lend but the superficial parts of my attention
unto them, it often befalleth me in such kind of weak and
absurd discourses (discourses of countenance) to blurt out
and answer ridiculous toys and fond absurdities, unworthy
a child; or wilfully to hold my peace; therewithal more
foolishly and uncivilly. I have a kind of raving, fanciful
behaviour that retireth me into myself; and on the other
side a gross and childish ignorance of many ordinary
things ; by means of which two qualities I have in my days
committed five or six as sottish tricks as any one whoso-
ever; which to my derogation may be reported. But to
follow my purpose, this harsh complexion of mine makes
me nice in conversing with men (whom I must pick and
cull out for the nonce) and unfit for common actions. We
live and negotiate with the people: if their behaviour
importune us, if we disdain to lend ourselves to base and
vulgar spirits, which often are as regular as those of a finer
mould ; and all wisdom is unsavoury that is not conformed
to common insipience. We are no longer to intermeddle
either with our or other men's affairs ; and both public and
private forsake such kind of people.

The least wrested and most natural proceedings of our
mind are the fairest; the best occupations those which are
least forced. Good God, how good an office doth wisdom
unto those whose desires she squareth according to their
power. There is no science more profitable. As one may,
was the burden and favoured saying of Socrates: a sentence
of great substance. We must address and stay our desires

936 ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE.

to things most easy and nearest Is it not a fond, peevish
humour in me to disagree from a thousand to whom my
fortune joineth me, without whom I cannot live, to adhere
unto one or two that are out of my commerce and con-
version ; or rather to a fantastical conceit, or fanciful desire,
for a thing I cannot obtain ? My soft behaviours and mild
manners, enemies to all sharpness and foes to all bitterness,
may easily have discharged me from envy and contention.
To be beloved, I say not, but not to be hated, never did
man give more occasion. But the coldness of my conversa-
tion hath with reason robbed me of the goodwill of many,
which may be excused if they interpret the same to other
or worse sense. I am most capable of getting rare amities
and continuing exquisite acquaintances. For so as with so
greedy hunger I snatch at such acquaintances as answer my
taste and square with my humour. I so greedily produce
and headlong cast myself upon them that I do not easily
miss to cleave unto them, and where I light on to make a
steady impression. I have often made happy and successful
trial of it.

In vulgar worldly friendships I am somewhat cold and
barren, for my proceeding is not natural if not unresisted
and with hoisted-fuU sails. Moreover, my fortune having
inured and allured me, even from my infancy, to one sole
singular and perfect amity, hath verily in some sort distasted
me from others, and over deeply imprinted in my fantasy
that it is a beast sociable and for company, and not of
troupe, as said an ancient writer. So that it is naturally a
pain unto me to communicate myself by halves and with
modification, and that servile or suspicious wisdom which
in the conversation of these numerous and imperfect amities
is ordained and proposed unto us, prescribed in these days
especially, wherein one cannot speak of the world but

ESSAYS OF MONTAIGNE. 237

dangerously or falsely. Yet I see that who (as I do) makes
for his end the commodities of his life (I mean essential
commodities) must avoid as a plague these difficulties and
quaintness of humour.

I should commend a high raised mind that could both
bend and discharge itself, that wherever her fortune might
transport her she might continue constant, that could dis-
course with her neighbours of all matters, as of her building,
of her hunting, and of any quarrel, and entertain with
delight a carpenter or a gardener. I envy those which can
be familiar with the meanest of his followe]:s, and vouchsafe
to contract friendship and frame discourse with their own
tenants. Nor do I like the advice of Plato, ever to speak
imperiously unto our attendants without blitheness and sense
of any familiarity, be it to men or women servants. For,
besides my reason, it is inhumanity and injustice to attri-
bute so much unto that prerogative of fortune and the
government Where less inequality is permitted between
the servant and master, is in my conceit the more indif-
ferent Some others study to rouse and raise the mind,
but I to abase and prostrate mine ; it is not faulty but in
extension.

Narras et genus j^aci,

Et pugnata sacro bella sud lUo,

Quo Chium pretio cudum

Mercemur, quis aquam temperet ignibus,

Quoprabente domum^ et quota

Pelignis caream frigoribus^ taces?-

You tell of iEacus the pedigree ;
The wars at sacred Troy you do display.
You teU not at what price a hogshead we
May buy of the best wine ; who shall allay
Wine-fire with water, at whose house to hold.
At what a-clock I may be kept from cold.

^ Hor., Car. L IL 3, Od. xix.

238 ESSA VS OF MONTAIGNE. .

Even as the Lacedaemonian valour had need of modera-
tion, and of sweet and pleasing sounds of flutes to flatter
and allay it in time of war, lest it should run headlong into
rashness and fury ; whereas all other nations use commonly
piercing sounds and strong shouts, which violently excite
and inflame their soldiers' courage. So think I (against
ordinary custom) that in the employment of our spirit we
have fpr the most part more need of lead than wings, of
coldness and quiet than of heat and agitation. Above all,
in my mind, the only way to play the fool well is to seem
wise among fools, to speak as though one's tongue were
ever bent to Fauelar in punfa diforchetta: ^ " To syllabise
or speak mincingly." One must lend himself unto those
he is with, and sometimes aflect ignorance. Set force and
subtilty aside. In common emplo3rments 'tis enough to
reserve order Drag yourself even close to the ground,
they will have it so. The learned stumble willingly on this
block, making continual muster and open show of their
skill, and dispersing their books abroad, and have in these
days so fllled the closets and possessed the ears of ladies
that if they retain not their substance, at least they have
their countenance, using in all sorts of discourse and
subject, how base or popular soever, a new, an afiected and
learned fashion of speaking and writing.

Hoc sertnone pavent^ hoc iram^ gaudia^ euros.
Hoc cuncta ejffundunt animi secreta, quid ultrd, ?
Concumbunt docte,^

They in this language fear, in this they fashion

Their jojrs, their cares, their rage, their inward passion ;

What more ? they learned are in copulation.

And allege Plato and Saint Thomas for things which the
first man they meet would, decide as well, and stand for as

^ Italian proverb. ' Jay., 5ii^. vliS^.

ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE. 239

good a witness. Such learning as could not enter into their
mind hath stayed on their tongues. If the well-bom will
give any credit unto me, they shall be pleased to make their
own and natural riches to prevail and be of worth. They
hide and shroud their forms under foreign and borrowed
beauties. It is great simplicity for anybody to smother
and conceal his own brightness, to shine with a borrowed
light. They are buried and entombed under the art of
CAPSVLATOT^ It is because they do not sufficiently know
themselves. The world contains nothing of more beauty.
It is for them to honour arts, and to beautify embellish-
ment ' What need they more than .to live beloved and
honoured They have and know but too much in that
matter. There needs but a little rousing and inflaming of
the faculties that are in them.

When I see them meddling with rhetoric, with law, and
with logic, and such-like trash, so vain and unprofitable for
their use, I enter into fear that those who advise them to
such things do it that they may have more law to govern
them under that pretence. For what other excuse can I
devise for them ? It is sufficient that without us they may
frame or rule the grace of their eyes unto cheerfulness,
unto severity, and unto mildness; and season a "No" with
frowardness, with doubt, and with favour ; and require not
an interpreter in discourses made for their service. With
this learning they command without control, and over-rule
both regents and schools. Yet if it offend them to yield us
any pre-eminence^ and would for curiosity's sake have part in
books also, poesy is a study fit for their purpose^ being a
wanton, amusing, subtle, disguised, and prattling art; all in
delight, all in show, like to themselves. They may also
select divers commodities out of history. In moral philo-
sophy they may take the discourses which enable them to *

240 ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE.

judge of our humours, to censure our conditions, and to
avoid our guiles and treacheries ; to temper the rashness of
their own desires, to husband their liberty; lengthen the
delights of life, gently to bear the inconstancy of a servant,
the peevishness or rudeness of a husband, the importunity
of years, the unwelcomeness of wrinkles^ and such-like mind-
troubling accidents. Lo here the most and greatest share
of learning I would assign them.

There are some particular, retired, and close dispositions.
My essential form is fit for communication and production.
I am all outward and in appearance born for society and
unto friendship. The solitude I love and commend is
especially but to retire my afifections and redeem my
thoughts unto myself; to restrain and close up^ not my
steps, but my desires and my cares, resigning all foreign
solicitude and trouble, and mortally shunning all manner of
servitude and obligation ; and not so much the throng of
men as the importunity of affairs. Local solitariness (to say
truth) doth rather extend and enlarge me outwardly; I give
myself to State business and to the world more willingly
when I am all alone. At the court, and in press of people,
I close and slink into mine own skin. Assemblies thrust
me again into mysel£ And I never entertain myself so
fondly, so licentiously, and so particularly, as in places of
respect and ceremonious discretion. Our follies make me
not laugh, but our wisdoms do. Of mine own complexion,
I am no enemy to the agitations and stirrings of our courts;
I have there passed great part of my life, and am inured to
be merry in great assemblies ; so it be by intermission, and
suitable to my humour.

But this tenderness and coyness of judgment (whereof I
speak) doth perform tie me unto solitariness. Yea, even in
'mine own houses in the midst of a numerous* family and

JSSSA VS OF MONTAIGNE. 741

most firecpiented houses, I see people more than a good
many, but seldom such as I love to converse or communi-
cate withal. And there I reserve, both for myself and
others, an unaccustomed lil^erty; making truce with cere-
monies, assistance^ and invitings, and such other trouble-
some ordinances of our courtesies (O servile custom and
importtmate manner) ; there every man demeaneth himself
as he pleaseth, and entertaineth what his thoughts affect ;
whereas I keep myself silent, meditating and close, without
offience to my guests or friends.

The men whose familiarity and society I hunt after are
those which are called honest, virtuous, and sufficient ; the
image of whom distaste and divert me from others. It is
(being rightly taken) the rarest of our forms ; and a form
or fashion chiefly due unto nature.

The end or scope of this commerce is principally
and simply familiarity, conference, and frequentation ; the
exercise of minds, without other fruit. In our discourses
all subjects are alike to me : I care not though they want
either weight or depth; grace and pertinency are never
wanting; all therein is tainted with a ripe and constant
judgment, and commixed with goodness, liberty, cheerful-
ness, and kindness. It is not only in the subject of laws
and affairs of princes that our spirit showeth its beauty,
grace, and vigour; it showeth them as much in private
conferences. I know my people by their very silence and
smiling, and peradventure discover them better at a table
than sitting in serious counsel.

Hippomacus said he discerned good wrestlers but by
seeing them march through a street If Learning vouchsafe
to step into our talk, she shall not be refused; yet must
not she be stern, mastering, imperious, and importunate,
as commonly she. is ; but assistant and docile of herself.

342 ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE.

Therein we seek for nothing but recreation and pastime;
when we shall look to be instructed, taught and resolved,
we will go seek and sue to her in her throna Let her, if
she please^ keep from us at that time ; for, as commodious
and pleasing as she is, I presume that for a need we could
spare her presence, and do our business well enough with*
out her. Wits well bom, soundly bred and exercised in
the practice and commerce of men, become gracious and
plausible of themselves. Art is but the check-rule and
register of the productions uttered and conceits produced
by theuL

The company of fair and society of honest women is
likewise a sweet commerce for me : Nam nos ^fuoque aculos
eruditos habetnus:^ "For we also have learned eyes." If
the mind have not so much to solace herself as in the
former, the corporal senses, whose part is more in the
second, bring it to a proportion near unto the other,
although in mine opinion not equal But it is a society
wherein it behoveth a man somewhat to stand upon bis
guard ; and especially those that are of a strong constitu-
tion, and whose body can do much, as in me. In my
youth I heated myself therein and was very violent; and
endured all the rages and furious assaults which poets say
happen to those who, without order or discretion, abandon
themselves over-loosely and riotously unto it. True it is
indeed that the same lash hath since stood me instead of
an instruction.

Quicunque Argolico d$ classe Caphana fiigU^
Semper ab Euboicis vela retorquet aquis,^

Greek sailors that Capharean rocks did fly,
From the Eubcean seas their sails still ply.

1 Cic Farad, • Ovid, 7w/. L i., SL i. 83.

ESSA VS OF MONTAIGNE. 243

It 18 folly to fasten all one's thoughts upon i^ and with
a furious and indiscreet affection to engage himself unto
it; but on the other side, to meddle with it without love
or bond of affection, as comedians do, to play a common
part of age and manners, without aught of their own but
bare-conned words, is verily a provision for one's safety,
and yet but a cowardly one ; as is that of him who would
forego his honour, his profit, or his pleasure, for fear of
danger; for it is certain that the practisers of such courses
cannot hope for any fruit able to move or satisfy a worthy
mind.

One must very earnestly have desired that whereof
he would enjoy an absolute delight: L mean, though
fortune should unjustly favour their intention, which
often happeneth, because there is no woman, how
deformed or unhandsome soever, but thinks herself
lovely, amiable, and praiseworthy, either for her age, her
hair or gait (for there are generally more fair than foul
ones); and the Brachmanian maids wanting other com-
mendations, by proclamation for that purpose, made show
of their matrimonial parts unto the people assembled, to
see if thereby at least they might get them husbands. By
consequence there is not one of them but upon the first
oath one maketh to serve her, will very easily be persuaded
to think well of herself. Now this common treason and
ordinary protestations of men in these days must needs
produce the effects experience already discovereth; which
is, that either they join together, and cast away themselves
on themselves to avoid us, or on their side follow also the
example we give them : acting their part of the play with-
out passion, without care^ and without love, lending them-
selves to this intercourse: Nequt affectui sua out alieno
ohnoxia: "Neither liable to their own nor other folk's

244 ^SSA YS OF MONTAIGNE.

aflfectioa" They think, according to Lyssas' persuasions
in Plato, they may so much the more profitably and
commodiously yield unto us, by how much less we love
them : wherein it will happen as in comedies, the spectators
shall have as much or more pleasure as the comedians.
For my part, I no more acknowledge Venus without Cupid,
than a motherhood without an offspring: they are things
which interlend and interowe one another their essence.
Thus doth this cozening rebound on him that useth it, and
as it cost him little, so gets he not much by it Those
which made Venus a goddess have respected that her
principal beauty was incorporal and spiritual. But she
whom these kind of people hunt after is not so much
as human, nor also brutal ; but such as wild beasts would
not have her so filthy and terrestrial. We see that
imagination inflames them, and desire or lust urgeth them,
before the body : we see in one and other sex, evecT'in
whole herds, choice and distinctions in their affections,
and amongst themselves, acquaintances of long-continued
goodwill and liking. And even those to whom age denieth
bodily strength do yet bray, neigh, roar, skip and wince for
lova Before the deed we see them full of hope and heat ;
and when the body hath played his part, even tickle and
tingle themselves with the sweetness of that remembrance :
some of them swell with pride at parting from it, others
all weary and glutted, ring out songs of glee and triumph.
Who makes no more of it but to discharge his body of
some natural necessity, hath no cause to trouble others
with so curious preparation. It is no food for a greedy
and clownish hunger. As one that would not be accounted
better than I am, thus much I will display of my youth's
wanton errors : not only for the danger of one's health that
follows the game (yet could I not avoid two, although light

ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE. t45

and cursory assaults^ but also for contempt, I have not
much been given to mercenary and common acquaintances.
I have coveted to set an edge on that sensual pleasure by
difficulty, by desire, and for some glory. And liked
Tiberius' fashion, who in his amours was swayed as
much by modesty and nobleness as by any other quality.
And Flora's humour, who would prostitute herself to none
worse than dictators, consuls, or censors^ and took delight
in the dignity and greatness of her lovers, doth somewhat
suit with mine. Surely glittering pearls and silken clothes
add something unto it, and so do titles, nobility, and a
worthy train. Besides which, I made high esteem of the
mind, yet so as the body might not justly be found fault
withal; for, to speak my conscience^ if either of the two
beauties were necessarily to be wanting, I would rather
have chosen to want the mental, whose use is to be
employed in better things. But in the subject of love, a
subject that chiefly hath reference unto the two senses of
seeing and touching, something may be done without the
graces of the mind, but little or nothing without the
corporal Beauty is the true availful advantage of women :
it is so peculiarly theirs, that ours, though it require some
features and different allurements, is not in her right cue or
true bias, unless confused with theirs ; childish and beard-
less. It is reported that such as serve the great Turk under
the title of beauty (whereof the number is infinite) are
dismissed at furthest when they once come to the age of
two and twenty years. Discourse, discretion, together with
the offices of true amity, are better found amongst men ;
and therefore govern they the world's affairs. These two
commerces or societies are accidental and depending of
others; the one is troublesome and tedious for its rarity,
the otfier withers with old age: nor could they have

M ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE.

sufficiently provided for mj lifers necessities. That of
books, wiiich is the third, is much more solid sure and
much more ours ; some other advantages it yieldeth to the
two former, but hath for her share constancy and the facility
of her service. This accosteth and secondeth all my course,
and everywhere assisteth me: it comforts me in age and
solaceth me in solitariness ; it easeth me of the burden of
a wearisome sloth, and at all times rids me of tedious
companies; it abateth the edge of fretting sorrow, on
condition it be not extreme and over-insolent To divert
me from any importunate imagination or insinuating conceit,
there is no better way than to have recourse unto books;
with ease they allure me to them, and with facility they
remove them all. And though they perceive I neither
frequent nor seek them, but wanting other more essential,
lively, and more natural commodities, they never mutiny or
murmur at me; but still entertain me with one and self-same
visage. He may well walk afoot that leads his horse by the
bridle, saith the proverb. And our James, king of Naples
and Sicily, who being fair, yoimg, healthy, a^d in good
plight, caused himself to be carried abroad in a plain
waggon or screen, lying upon a homely pillow of coarse
feathers, clothed in a suit of home-spun grey, and a bonnet
of the same, yet royally attended on by a gallant troop of
nobles, of litters, coaches, and of all sorts of choice led
horses, a number of gentlemen and officers, represented a
tender and wavering austerity. The sick man is not to be
moved that hath his health in his sleeve. In the experience
and use of his sentence, which is most true, consisteth all
the commodity I reap of books. In effect, I make no other
use of them than those who know them not I enjoy them,
as a miser doth his gold; to know that I may enjoy them
'hen I list^ my mind is settled and satisfied with the right

£SSA YS OF MONTAIGNE. 247

of possession. I never travel without books, nor in peace
nor in war; yet do I pass many days and months without
using theuL It shall be anon, say I, or to-morrow, or when
I please; in the meanwhile the time runs away, and passeth
without hunting me. For it is wonderful what repose I
take, and how I continue in this consideration, that they
are at my elbow to delight me when time shall serve; and
in acknowledging what assistance they give unto my life.
This is the best munition I have found in this human
peregrination, and I extremely bewail those men of under-
standing that want the same. I accept with better will all
other kinds of amusements, how slight soever, forsomuch
as this cannot fail me. At home I betake me somewhat the
oftener to my library, whence all at once I command and
survey all my household. It is seated in the chief entry of
my house ; thence I behold under me my garden, my base-
court, my yard, and look even into most rooms of my house.
There wi^out order, without method, and by piecemeal I
tiurn over and ransack now one book and now another.
Sometimes I muse and rave; and walking up and down
I indite and register these my humours, these my con-
ceits. It is placed on the third storey of a tower. The
lowermost is my chapel; the second a chamber with other
lodgings, where I often lie, because I would be alone.
Above it is a great wardrobe. It was in times past the most
unprofitable place of all my hous& There I pass the
greatest part of my life's days, and wear out most hours of
the day. I am never there at nights. Next unto it is a
handsome neat cabinet, able and large enough to receive
fire in winter, and very pleasantly windowed. And if I
feared not care more than cost (care which drives and
diverts me from all business), I might easily join a con-
venient gallery of a hundred paces long and twelve broad

248 BSSA YS OF MONTAIGNE.

on each side of it, and upon one floor; having already, for
some other purpose, found all the walls raised unto a con-
venient height. Each retired place requireth a walk. My
thoughts are prone to sleep if I sit long. My mind goes
not alone, as if ledges did move it Those that study
without books are all in the same case. The form of it is
round, and hath no flat side, but what serveth for my table
and chair. In which bending or circling manner at one
look it ofiereth me the full sight of all my books, set round
about upon shelves or desks, Ave racks one upon another.
It hath three bay windows, of a far-extending rich, and
unresisted prospect, and is in diameter sixteen paces void.
In winter I am less continually there; for my house (as the
name of it importeth) is perched upon an over-peering
hillock, and hath no part more subject to all weathers than
this; which pleaseth me the more, both because the access
unto it is somewhat troublesome and remote^ and for the
benefit of the exercise which is to be respected; and that
I may the better seclude myself from company and keep
encroachers from me, there is my seat that is my throne.
I endeavour to make my rule therein absolute^ and to
sequester that only corner from the community of wife^ of
children, and of acquaintance. Elsewhere I have but a
verbal authority of confused essence. Miserable in my
mind is he who in his own home hath nowhere to be to
himself; where he may particularly court, and at his
pleasure hide or withdraw self. Ambition payeth her
followers well to keep them still in open view, as a statue
in some conspicuous place* Magna servieius est magna
fortuna:'^ "A great fortune is a great bondage." They
cannot be private so much as at their privy. I have deemed
nothing so rude in the austerity of the life which our church-

^ Sen., Cot^f* ixd P4I. c. xxvi.

JESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE, 949

men affect as that in some of their companies they institute
a perpetual society of places and a numerous assistance
amongst them in anything they do. For I deem it some-
what more tolerable to be ever alone than never be able to
be so. If any say to me^ It is a kind of vilifying the Muses
to use them only for sport and recreation, he wots not as I
do what worth, pleasure, sport, and pastime is of ; I had
well-nigh termed all other ends ridiculous. I live from
hand to mouth, and, with reverence be it spoken, I live but
to myself: there end all my designs. Being young, I
studied for ostentation; then a little to enable myself and
become wiser; now for delight and recreation, never for
gain. A vain conceit and lavish humour I had after this
kind of stuff; not only to provide for my need, but some-
what further to adorn and embellish myself withal : I have
since pacrtly left it '' Books have and contain divers pleas-
ing qualities to those that can duly choose them." But
*'no good without pains; no roses without prickles." It
is a pleasure not absolutely pure and neat; no more than
all others; it hath its inconveniences attending on it, and
sometimes weighty ones. The mind is therein exercised,
but the body (the care whereof I have not yet forgotten)
remaineth therewhilst without action, and is wasted, and
ensorrowed. I know no excess more hurtful for me, nor
more to be avoided by me, in this declining age. Lo here
my three most favoured and particular employments. I
speak not of those I owe of duty to the world.

aso ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE.

HOW ONB OUGHT TO GOVERN HIS WILL.

In regard of the common sort of men, few things touch me,
or (to speak properly) sway me ; for it is reason they touch,
so they possess us not I have great need, both by study
and discourse, to increase this privilege of insensibility,
which is naturally crept far into me. I am not wedded
unto many things, and by consequence not passionate of
theuL I have my sight clear, but tied to few objects; my
senses delicate and gentle, but my apprehension and appli-
cation hard and dull I engage mysdf with difficulty. As
much as I can I employ myself wholly to mysel£ And in
this very subject I would willingly bridle and uphold my
affection, lest it be too far plunged therein, seeing it is a
subject I possess at the mercy of others, and over which
fortune hath more interest than mysel£ So as even in my
health, which I so much esteem, it were requisite not to
desire, nor so carefully to seek it, as thereby I might light
upon intolerable diseases. We must moderate ourselves
betwixt the hate of pain and the love of pleasure. Plato
sets down a mean course of life between both. But to
affections that distract me from myself, and divert me else-
where, surely to such I oppose myself with all my force.
Mine opinion is, that one should lend himself to others, and
not give himself but to himself. Were my will easy to
engage or apply itself, I could not continue: I am ever
tender both by nature and custom.

Fugax rerum, securaque in otia naius?-

Avoiding active business,
And born to secure idleness.

Contested and obstinate debates, which in the end would

1 Ovid, Trist. 1. iii., EUg. ii 9-

£SSA yS OF MONTAIGNE. 35 1

give mine adversary advantage^ the issue which would
make my earnest pursuit ashamed, would perchance tor-
ment me cruelly. If I vexed as other men, my soul should
never have strength to bear the alarms and emotions that
follow^ such as embrace much. She would presently be
displaced by this intestine agitation. If at any time I have
been urged to the managing of strange affairs, I have, pro-
mised to undertake them with my hand, but not with my
lungs and liver; to charge, and not to incorporate them
into me; to have a care, but nothing at all to be over-
passionate of them : I look to them, but I hatch them not
I work enough to dispose and direct the domestic troubles
within mine own entrails and veins, without harbouring, or
importune m3rself with any foreign employments ; and am
sufficiently interested with my proper, natural, and essential
afiairs, without seeking others' businesses. Such as know
how much they owe to themselves, and how many offices
of their own they are bound to perform, shall find that
nature hath given them this commission fully ample and
nothing idle. Thou hast business enough within thyself
therefore stray not abroad: men give themselves to hire.
Their faculties are not their own, but theirs to whom they
subject themselves ; their inmates, and not themselves, are
within them. This common humour doth not please me.
We should thriftily husband our mind's liberty, and never
engage it but upon just occasions, which if we judge
impartially are few in number. Look on such as suffer
themselves to be transported and swayed, they do it every-
where ; in little as well as in great matters, to that which
concemeth as easy as to that which toucheth them not
They thrust themselves indifferently into all actions, and are
without life if without tumultuary agitation. In mgiMit sunt
ntgotii causa : *' They are busy tliat they may not be idle^ or

2S2 £SSA VS OF MONTAIGNE.

else in action for action's sake." They seek work but to be
working. It is not so much because they will go as for that
they cannot stand still — much like to a rolling stone, which
never stays until it come to a Ijring place. To some men
emplojrment is a mark of sufficiency and a badge of dignity.
Their spirits seek rest in action, as infants repose in the
cradlp. They may be said to be as serviceable to their
friends as importunate to themselves. No man distributes
his money to others, but every one his life and time. We
are not so prodigal of anything as of those whereof to be
covetous would be both commendable and profitable for us.
I follow a clean contrary course; I am of another com-
plexion ; I stay at home and look to myself. What I wish
for I commonly desire the same but mildly, and desire but
little; so likewise I seldom employ and quietly busy my-
self. Whatever they intend and act they do it with all their
will and vehemency. There are so many dangerous steps,
that for the more security we must somewhat slightly and
superficially slide through the world, and not force it
Pleasure itself is painful in its height.

incedis per ignes^

Subpcsiios ci fieri dotoso}-

You pass through fire (though unafraid)
Under deceitful ashes laid.

The town council of Bordeaux chose me mayor of their
city, being far from France, but farther from any such
thought. I excused myself, and would have avoided it ; but
they told me I was to blame^ the more because the king's
commandment was also employed therein. It is a charge
should seem so much the more goodly because it hath
neither fee nor reward other than the honour in the execu-

* Hor., Car^ L iL» O^ i 7.

ESSA YS.OF MONTAIGNE. 253

tion. It itftsteth two years^ but may continue longer by a
second election, which seldom happeneth. To me it was,
and never had been but twice before : some years past the
Lord of Lansac, and lately to the Lord of Biron, Marshal of
France, in whose place I succeeded, and left mine to the
Lord of Matigon, likewise Marshal of France, glorious by so
noble an assistance.

Uterque bonus pacts beilique minister.

Both, both in peace and war,
Right serriceable are.

Fortune would have a share in my promotion by this
particular circumstance which she of her own added there-
unto, not altogether vain ; for Alexander disdained the
Corinthian ambassadors who offered him the freedom and
bourgeois of their city, but when they told him that Bacchus
and Hercules were likewise in their registers he kindly
thanked them and accepted their offer. At my first arrival
I faithfully deciphered and conscientiously displayed myself
such as I am indeed, without memory, without diligence,
without experience, and without sufficiency; so likewise
without hatred, without ambition, covetousness, and without
violence ; that so they might be duly instructed what service
they might or hope or expect at my hands. And forsomuch
as the knowledge they had of my deceased father, and the
honour they bare unto his memory, had moved them to
choose me to that dignity, I told them plainly I should be
very sorry that any man should work such an opinion in my
will as their afi^irs and city had done in my father's, while
he held the said government whereunto they had called me.
I remembered to have seen him, being an infant and he an
old man, his mind cruelly turmoiled with the public toil,
forgetting the §weet air of bis own house^ whereunto the

S54 JSSSA VS OF MONTAIGNE.

weakness of his age had long before tied him, n^ecting the
care of his health and family, in a manner despising his life,
which as one engaged for them he much endangered, riding
long and painful journeys for them. Such a one was he,
which humour proceeded from the bounty and goodness of
his nature. Never was mind more charitable or more
popular. This course, which I commend in others, I love
not to follow. Neither am I without excuse. He had
heard that a man must forget himself for his neighbour;
that in respect of the general the particular was not to be
regarded. Most of the world's rules and precepts hold this
train to drive us out of ourselves into the wide world, to the
use of public society. They presumed to work a goodly
effect in distracting and withdrawing us from ourselves,
supposing we were by a natural instinct too-too much tied
unto it; and to this end have not spared to say anjrthing.
For to the wise it is no novelty to preach things as they
serve, and not as they are. Truth hath her lets, discom-
modities, and incomparabilities with us. We must not often
deceive others lest we beguile ourselves; and feeble our
eyes, and dull our understanding, thereby to repair and
amend them. Imperiti enim judicant^ et qui frequenter in
hoc ipsuni falkndi sunt^ ne errent: "For unskilful men
judge, who must often even therefore be deceived, lest they
err and be deceived." When they prescribe us to love
three, four, yea fifty degrees of things before ourselves, they
present us with the art of shooters, who to come near the
mark take their aim far above the same. To make a
crooked stick straight we bend in the contrary way. I sup-
pose that in the times of Pallas, as we see in all other
religions, they had some apparent mysteries of which they
made show to all the people, and others more high and
secret, to be imparted only to such as were professed. It is

MSSA yS OF MONTAIGNE. 955

likely that the trae point of friendship which eferj man
oweth to himself is to be found in these. Not a false amity,
which makes us emtaice glory, knowledge, riches, and such-
like^ with a principal and immoderate affection as members
of our being ; nor an effeminate and indiscreet friendship,
wherein happeneth as to the ivy, which corrupts and ruins
the walls it claspeth; but a sound and regular amity,
equally profitable and pleasant. Whoso understandeth all
her duties and exerciseth them, he rightly is endenized in
the Muses' cabinet ; he hath attained the type of human
wisdom and the perfection of our happiness. This man,
knowing exactly what he oweth to himself, findeth that he
ought to employ the use of other men and of the world unto
himself; which to perform he must contribute the duties
and ofiSces that concern him unto public society. He that
lives not somewhat to others liveth little to himself. Qui
sUn amicus est^ scito hunc amicum <nnnibus esse:^ "He that
is friend to himself, know he is friend to all." The principal
charge we have is every man his particular conduct And
for this only we live here. As he that should forget to live
well and religiously, and by instructing and directing others
should think himself acquitted of his duty, would be deemed
a fool ; even so, who forsaketh to live healthy and merrily
himself therewith to serve another, in mine opinion taketh
a bad and unnatural course. I will not that in any charge
one shall take in hand he refuse or think much of his atten-
tion, of his labour, of his steps, of his speech, of his sweat,
and if need be of his blood.

-non ip5§pro ckaris amicis.

Aut patria timidus perire^

Not fearing life to end
For country or dear friend.

^ Sen., BpisU yL f. * Hor., Car. L iv., Od. ix. 51.

aS6 ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE.

But it is only borrowed and accidentally, the mind
remaining ever quiet and in health, nor wiUiout action,
but without vexation or passion; simply to move or be
doing costs it so little that even sleeping it is moving and
doing ; but it must have its motion with discretion, for the
body receiveth the charges imposed on him, justly as they
are ; but the spirit extendeth them, and often to his hind-
rance makes them heavy, giving them what measure it
pleaseth. Like things are effected by divers efforts and
different contentions of will ; the one may go without the
other, for how many men do daily hazard themselves in war
which they regard not, and press into the danger of the
battles, the loss whereof shall no whit break their next
sleep ? Whereas some man in his own house, free from
this danger, which he durst not so much as have looked
towards it, is for the war^s issue more passionate, and there-
with hath his mind more perplexed than the soldier that
therein employeth both his blood and life. I know how to
deal in public charges without departing from myself; this
sharpness and violence of desires hindereth more than stead
the conduct of what we undertake, filling us with impatience
to the events, either contrary or slow, and with bitterness
and jealousy toward those with whom we negotiate. We
never govern that thing well wherewith we are possessed

and directed.

Male cuncia ministrai

Impetus,

Fury and haste do lay all waste,
Misplacing all, disgradng all.

He who therein employeth but his judgment and direction
proceeds more cheerfully, he feigns, he yields, he defers at his
pleasure according to the occasions of necessity ; he fails of
his attempt without torment or affliction, ready and prepared

ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE. ' 257

for a new enterprise. He marcheth always with, the reins
in his hand. He that is besotted with this violent and
tyrannical intention doth necessarily declare much indis-
cretion and injustice. The violence of his desire transports
him. They are rash motions, and if fortune help not much,
of little fruit Philosophy wills us to banish choler in the
punishment of offences; not to the end revenge should be
more moderate^ but contrary, more weighty and surely
set on; whereunto this violence seemeth to be a let.
Choler doth not only trouble but wearieth the executioner's
arms. This passionate heat dulleth and consumes their
force. As in too much speed, festinaiio tarda est : '' hasti-
ness is slow." Haste makes waste, and hinders and stays
itself: Jfsa se velocitas implicat: "Swiftness entangles it-
self." As for example, according as by ordinary custom I
perceive^ covetousness hath no greater let than itself. The
more violent and extended it is, the less effectual and fruitful.
Commonly it gathers wealth more speedily, being masked
with a show of liberality. A very honest gentleman and
my good friend was likely to have endangered the health of
his body by an over-passionate attention and earnest affec-
tion to the afiairs of a prince who was his master. Which
master hath thus described himself unto me : that as
another he discerneth and hath a feeling of the burden of
accidents ; but such as have no remedy, he presently
resolveth to suffer with patience. For the rest, after he hath
appointed necessary provisions, which by the vivacity and
nimbleness of his wit he speedily effects, he then attends the
event with quietness. Verily, I have seen in him, at one instant
a great carelessness and liberty, both in his actions and
countenance, even in important and difficult affairs. I find
him more magnanimous and capable in bad than in good
fortune. His losses are to him more glorious than his

17

as8 ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE.

victories, and his mourning than his triumphs. Consider
how in mere vain and frivolous actions, as at chess, tennis,
and such-like sports, this earnest and violent engaging with
an ambitious desire to win doth presently odl both
mind and limbs into disorder and indiscretion. Where-
in a man doth both dazzle his sight and distemper his whole
body. He who demeaneth himself with most moderation
both m winning and losing is ever nearest unto himself,
and hath his wits best about him. The less he is moved or
passionate in play the more safely doth he govern the same,
and to his great advantage. We hinder the mind's seizure
and holdfast by giving her so many things to seize upon.
Some we should only present unto her, others fasten
upon her, and others incorporate unto her. She may see
and feel all things, but must only feed on herself; and be
instructed in that which properly concerneth her, and which
merely belongeth to her essence and substance. The laws
of nature teach us what is just and fit for us. After the
wise men have told us that according to nature no man is
indigent or wanteth, and that each one is poor but in his
own opinion, they also distinguish subtly the desires pro-
ceeding from nature from such as grow from the disorders
of our fantasy. Those whose end may be discerned are
merely hers ; and such as fly before us, and whose end we
cannot attain, are properly ours. Want of goods may easily
be cured, but the poverty of the mind i;; incurable.

Nam St quod satis est homini^ id satis esse potesset^

Hoc sat eratf nunc, quum hoc non est, qui credimus porro

Divitias ullas animum mi explere potesse?

If it might be enough, that is enough for man.
This were enough, since it is not, how think we can
Now any riches fill
My mind and greedy will?

ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE. 259

Socrates seeing great store of riches, jewels, and predoos
stuff carried in pomp through the city, "Oh, how many
things (quoth he) do not I desire I " Metrodorus lived daily
with the weight of twelve ounces of food ; Epicurus with
less ; Metrodes in winter lay with sheep, and in summer in
the cloisters of churches. Suffidtadidnaiura^ quod posdt ;^
" Nature is sufficient for that which it requires." Cleanthes
lived by his hands, and boasted that if Cleanthes would, he
could nourish another Cleanthes. If that which nature doth
exactly and originally require at our hands for the preservation
of our being is over liltle (as in truth what it is, and how good
cheap our life may be maintained, cannot better be known
or expressed than by consideration that it is so little, and for
the smallness thereof,^ it is out of fortune's reach, and she
can take no hold of it), let us dispense something else unto
ourselves, and call the custom and condition of every one
of us by the name of Nature; Let us tax, and stint, and
feed ourselves according to that measure; let us extend
both our appurtenances and reckonings thereunto. For so
far, meseems, we have some excuse. Custom is a second
nature, and no less powerful. What is wanting to custom,
I hold it a defect ; and I had well-nigh as lief one should
deprive me of my life as refrain or much abridge me of my
state wherein I have lived so long. I am no more upon
terms of any great alteration nor to thrust myself into a new
and unusual course, no not toward augmentation ; it is no
longer time to become other or be transformed ; and as I
should complain if any great adventure should now befall
me, and grieve it came not in time that I might have
enjoyed the same.

Quo mihifortuna^ si ncn comediiur uii ? '
> Sen., Efts/, xc ' Hor. 1. L, S^t. v. 12.

i6o ESSA rs OF MONTAIGNE.

Whereto should I have much.
If I to use it grudge.

I should likewise be grieved at any inward purchase. I
were better in a manner never, than so late, to become an
honest man, and well phictised to live when one l^th no
longer life. J who am ready to depart this world could
e^ily be induced to resign the share of wisdom I b^ve
learned concerning the world's commerce to any other man
new come into the world. It is even as good as mustard
after dinner. What need have I of that good which I
cannot enjoy ? Whereto serveth knowledge if one have no
head ? It is an injury and disgrace of fortune to offer us
those presents which, forsomuch as they fail us when we
should most need them, fill us with a just spite. Guide me
no more; I can go no longer. Of so many dismemberings
that sufficiency hath, patience sufficeth us. Give the
capacity of an excellent treble to a singer that hath his
lungs rotten, and of eloquence to a hermit confined into the
deserts of Arah\2u There needs no art to further a fall.
The end finds itself in the finishing of every work. My
world is at an end, my form is expired. I am wholly of the
time past, and am bound to authorise the same, and thereto
conform my issue. I will say this by way of example, that
the eclipsing or abridging of ten days, which the Pope hath
lately caused, hath taken me so low that I can hardly
recover myself. I follow the years wherein we were wont
fo count otherwise ; so long and ancient a custom doth
challenge and recall me to it again. I am thereby enforced
to be somewhat an heretic, incapable of innovation though
corrective. My imagination maugre my teeth runs still ten
days before or ten behind, and whispers in mine ears, '* This
rule toucheth those which are to come." If health itself, so
sweetly pleasing^ comes to me but by fits, it is rather to give

ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE. 261

me cause of grief than possession of itself : I have nowhese
left me to retire it Time forsakes me, without which
nothing is enjoyed. How small account should I. make of
these great elective dignities I see in the world, and which
are only given to men ready to leave the world, wherein
they regard not so much how duly they shall discharge
them as how little they shall exercise them; from th^
beginning they look to the end. To conclude, I am ready
to finish this man, not to make another. By long custom
this form is changed into substance, and substance and
fortune into nature. I say, therefore, that amongst ^^us
feeble creatures each one is excusable to count that his
own which is comprehended under measure, and yet beyonjd
these limits is nothing but confusion.

It is the largest extension we caa grant pur rights. The
more we amplify our need and possession, the more w«
engage ourselves to the crosses of fortune a^nd adversities.
The career of our desires must be circumscribecL and tied
to- strict bounds of nearest and contiguous commodities.
Moreover, their course should be managed, not in a straight
line having another end, but round, whose two points Iwld
together, and end in ourselves with a^ short copfipass. The
actions governed without this reflections^ I meap a near
and essential reflection, as those of the covetous, of the
ambitious, and so many others that run directly^ point-
blank, the course of which carrieth them away before thein^
are erroneous and crazed actions. Most of our vocations
are like plays. Mundus universus exercet histrioniam : I'AU
the world doth practise stage-playing." We must. play our
parts duly, but as the part of a borrowed personage^
Of a visage and appearance we should not ^pnake.a* rc^^
essence, nor proper of. that which ^a.apother^. We cannot
distinguish the skin from the shirt; it is.su^cjeM/to

• '<* \ ' \

i62 ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE.

disguise the &ce without deforming the breast I see
some transform and transubstantiate themselves into as
many new forms and strange beings as they undertake
charges ; and who emprelate themselves even to the heart
and entrails ; and entrain their offices, even sitting on their
dose stool I cannot teach them to distinguish the saluta-
tions and cappings of such as regard them from those
that respect either their office, their train, or their mula
Tanium se fariuruB ptrtnittunt^ etiam ut naturam dediscani:
'* They give themselves so much over to fortune as they fo^
get nature." They swell in mind and puff up their natural
discourse according to the dignity of their office. The
Mayor of Bordeaux, and Michael, Lord of Montaigne, have
ever been two, by an evident separation. To be an advo-
cate or a treasurer, one should not be ignorant of the craft
incident to such callings. An honest man is not compatible
for the vice and folly of his trade, and therefore ought
not to refuse the exercise of it It is the custom of his
country, and there is profit in it We must live by the
world, and such as we find it, so make use of it But the
judgment of an emperor should be above his empire, and
to see and consider the same as a strange accident He
should know how to enjoy himself apart, and communicate
himself as James and Peter, at least to himsel£ I cannot so
absolutely or so deeply engage myself. When my will ^ves
me to any party, it is not with so violent a bond that my
understanding is thereby infected In the present intestine
trouble of our state my interest hath not made me forget
neither the commendable qualities of our adversaries, nor
the reproachful of those I have followed. They partially
extol whatever is on their side; I do not so much as excuse
the greater number of my friends' actions. A good orator
loseth not his grace by pleading against me. The intricate-

^ £SSA ys OF MONTAIGNE. 263

ness of our debate removed, I have maintained myself in
equanimity and pure indifferency. Neque extra necessitates
heiU^rpracipuum odium gero: "Nor bear I capital hatred
when I am out of the necessity of war." Wherein I glory,
for that commonly I see men err in the contrary. Such as
extend their choler and hatred beyond their affairs (as most
men do) show that it proceeds elsewhence, and from some
private cause; even as one being cured of an ulcer, and his
fever remaineth still, declareth it had a more hidden begin-
ning. It is the reason they bear none unto the cause in
general, and forsomuch as it concerneth the interest of all
and of the state; but they are vexed at it, only for this, that
it toucheth them in private. And therefore are they dis-
tempered with a particular passion, both beyond justice and
public reason. Non tarn omnia universi^ quam ea, qua ad
quemque pertinent^ singuli carpebant: "All did not so much
find fault with all, as every one with those that appertained
to every one." I will have the advantage to be for us^
which though it be not I enrage not, I stand firmly to the
sounder parts. But I affect not to be noted a private enemy
to otherSj and beyond general reason I greatly accuse this
vicious form of obstinate contesting. He is of the League
because he admireth the grace of the Duke of Guise; or he
is a Huguenot, forsomuch as the King of Navarre's activity
amazeth him. He finds fault in the king's behaviours,
therefore he is seditious in his heart I would not give the
magistrate my voice that he had reason to condemn a book,
because an heretic was therein named and extolled to be
one of the best poets of this age. Dare we not say that a
thief hath a good leg if he have so indeed ? If she be a
strumpet, must she needs have a stinking breath ? In wiser
ages revoked they the proud title of Capitolinus they had
formerly given to Marcus Manlius as the preserver of

264 £SSA yS OF MONTAIGNE,

religion and public liberty ? Suppressed they the memory
of his liberality, his deeds of arms, and militar7 rewards
granted to his virtues, because to the prejudice of his
country's laws he afterwards affected a royalty ? If they
once conceive a hatred against an orator or an advocate,
the next day he becometh barbarous and uneloquent I
have elsewhere discoursed of zeal which hath driven good
men into like errors. For myself I can say that he doth
wickedly, and this virtuously. Likewise, in prognostics or
sinister events of affairs, they will have every man blind or
dull in his own causey and that our persuasion and judg-
ment serve not the truth but the project of our desires. I
should rather err in the other extremity ? So much I fear
my desire might corrupt me, considering I somewhat
tenderly distrust myself in things I most desire. I have in
my days seen wonders in the indiscreet and prodigious
facility of people, suffering their hopes and beliefs to be led
and governed as it hath pleased and best fitted their leaders,
above a hundred discontents, one in the neck of another,
and beyond their fantasies and dreams. I wonder no more
at those whom the apish toys of ApoUonius and Mahomet
have seduced and blinded. Their sense and understanding
is wholly smothered in their passion. Their discretion hath
no other choice but what pleaseth them and furthereth their
cause, which I Had especially observed in the beginning of
our distempered factions and factious troubles. This other
which is grown since by imitation surmounteth the same,
whereby I observe that it is an inseparable quality of popular
errors. The first being gone on, opinions intershock one
another, following the wind as waves do. They are no
members of the body, if they may renounce it, xi th^y follow
not the common course. But truly they wrong theju3t
parties when they seek to help them with fraud or deceits

ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE. 265

I have always contradicted the same. This mean is for sick
brains; the healthy have surer and honester ways to main-
tain their resolutions, and excuse all contrary accidents.
The heavens never saw so weighty a discord and so harmful
a hatred as that between Caesar and Pompey, nor ever shall
hereafter. Meseemeth, notwithstanding I see in those noble
and heroic minds an exemplar and great moderation of
the one toward the other, it was a jealousy of honour and
emulation of command which transported them, not to a
furious and indiscreet hatred, without malice or detraction.
In their sharpest exploits I discover some relics of respect
and cinders of well-meaning affection. And I imagine that
bad it been possible, either of them desired rather to effect his
purpose without overthrowing his competitor than by work-
ing his utter ruin. Note how contrary the proceeding was
between Sylla and Marius. We must not run headlong
after our affections and private interests. As in my youth
I ever opposed myself to the motions of love, which I felt
to usurp upon me, and laboured to diminish its delights,
lest in the end it might vanquish and captivate me to its
mercy; so do I now in all other occasions which my will
apprehendeth with an over great appetite. I bend to the
contrary of my disposition as I see the same plunged and
drunk with its own wine. I shun so far forth to nourish
her pleasure as I may not revoke it without a bloody loss.
Those minds which through stupidity see things but by
halves enjoy this happiness, that such as be hurtful ofifend
them least. It is a spiritual leprosy that hath some show
of health, and such a health as philosophy doth not
altogether condemn. But yet it may not lawfully be termed
wisdom, as we often do. And after this manner did in
fbrmer times somebody mock Diogenes, who, in the dead 0/

winter, went all naked, embracing an image of snow to try

. • . • - • ^ . . y

a66 £SSA YS OF MONTAIGNE.

his patience, who, meeting him in this order, said thus unto
him: "Art thou now very cold?" "Nothing at aU,"
answered Diogenes. " What thinkest thou to do then that
is either hard or exemplar by standing in the cold?" replied
the other. "To measure constancy we must necessarily
know sufferance." But such minds as must behold cross
events and fortune's injuries in their height and sharpness,
which must weigh and taste them according to their natural
bitterness and charge, let them employ their skill and keep
themselves from embracing the causes and divert their
approaches. What did King Cotis ? He paid liberally for
that goodly and rich vessel which one had presented unto
him, but forsomuch as it was exceeding brittle he presently
broke it himself, that so betimes he might remove so easy
an occasion of choler against his servants. I have* in like
sort shunned confusion in my affairs, and sought not to
have my goods contiguous to my neighbours, and to such
as I am to be linked in strict friendship, whence commonly
ensue causes of alienation and unkindness. I have hereto-
fore loved the hazardous play of cards and dice. I have
long since left it; only for this, that notwithstanding any
fair semblance I made in my losses I was inwardly dis-
quieted* Let a man of honour, who is to take a lie or
endure an outrageous wrong, and cannot admit a bad
excuse for payment or satisfaction, avoid the progress
of contentious altercations. I shun melancholic com-
plexions and froward men as infected. And in matters
I cannot talk of without interest and emotion I meddle not
with them, except duty constrain me thereunto. Melius
non incipient quant desinent: "They shall better not begin
than leave off." The surest way is then to prepare our-
selves before occasion. I know that some wise men have
taken another course, and have not feared to engage and

£SSA VS OF MONTAIGNE. 267

vehementlj to insinuate themselves into divers objects.
Those assure themselves of their own strength, under whicb
they shroud themselves against all manner of contrary
events, making mischiefs to wrestle one against another
by vigour and virtue of patience —

VdtU rupes vastum quaprodit in aqiufr^

Obvia veni&rumfuriiSf expostaque ponio.

Vim eunctam aique minas peffert calique marisqae,

. . . ipsa immota manens.^

Much like a rock which bats into the main,
Meeting with wind's rage, to the sea laid plain.
It doth the force of skies and seas sustain.
Endure their threats, yet doth unmov'd remain*

Let us not imitate these examples; we shall not attain
them. They opinionate themselves resolutely to behold,
and without perturbation to be spectators of their country's
ruin, which whilom possessed and commanded their full
will. As for our vulgar minds, therein is too much effort
and roughness. Cato quit thereby the noblest life that ever
was. We silly ones must seek to escape the storm further
oE We ought to provide for apprehension and not for
patience, and avoid the blows we cannot withstand* Zeno
seeing Chremonides, a young man whom he loved,
approach to sit near him, rose up suddenly. Cleanthes
asking him the reason: I understand (saith he) that
physicians above all things prescribe rest, and forbid
emotion in all tumours. Socrates saith not: Yield
not to the allurements of beauty; maintain it, enforce
yourselves to the contrary. Shun her (saith he), run
out of her sight and company, as from a violent poison
that infecteth and stingeth far off. And his good
disciple, feigning or reciting, but in mine opinion rather

* Virg,, jEn, L x. 693.

268 £SSA YS OF MONTAIGNE.

reciting than feigning, the matchless perfections of the great
Cyrus, describeth him distrusting his forces to withstand the
blandishments or allurements of the divine beauty of that
famous Panthea his captive, committing the visitation and
guard of her to another that had less liberty than him-
self. And likewise the Holy Ghost saith, Ne nos indtuas
in tentationem : ^ " And lead us not into temptation." We
pray not that our reason be not encountered and vanquished
by concupiscences, but that it be not so much as assayed
therewith ; that we be not reduced to sm estate where we
should but suffer the approaches, solicitations, and tempta-
tions of sin ; and we entreat our Lord to keep our conscience
quiet, fully perfectly free from all commerce of evil. Such
as say they have reason for their revenging passion, or any
other mind-troubling perturbation, say often truth, as things
are, but not as they were. They speak to us when the
causes of their error are by themselves fostered and
advanced. But retire further backward, recall their, causes
to their beginning; there you surprise and put them to a
non-plus. Would they have their fault be less because it is
more ancient ; and that of an unjust beginning, the progress
be just ? He that (as I do) shall wish his country's welfare^
without fretting or pining himself, shall be grieved, but not
swoon, to see it threatening, either in his own downfall, or a
continuance no less ruinous. Oh, silly, weak barque, whom
both waves, winds, and pilot hull and toss to so contrary
designs:

in tarn diversa, magisUr,

Ventus et unda trahunt.

Master the wave and wind
So divers ways do bind.

; ^Yho gapes pot after the'favour of princes, as after a thing

^ Matthew vi. 13.

ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE, 269

without which he cannot live, nor is much disquieted at the
coldness of their entertainment or frowning countenance,
nor regardeth the inconstancy of their will Who hatcheth
not his children or huggeth not honours, with a slavish pro-
pension, nor leaves to live commodiously having once lost
them. Who doth good namely for his own satisfaction,
nor is much vexed to see men censure of his actions against
his merit A quarter of an ounce of patience provideth for
such inconveniences. I find ease *in this receipt : redeem-
ing myself in the beginning as good cheap as I can, by
which means I perceive myself to have escaped much
trouble and manifold difficulties. With very little force
I stay these first motions of my perturbations, and I
abandon the subject which begins to molest me, and before
it transport me. He that stops not the loose shall hardly
stay the course. He that cannot shut the door against them,
shall never expel them being entered. He that cannot
attain an end in the beginning shall not come to an end of
-the conclusion ; nor shall he endure the fall that could not
endure the starts of it. Etenim ipsa se impeiiunt, ubi
semel a ratione discessum est^ ipsaquesibi imbecillitas indulget^
in aliumque provehitur imprudens : nee reperit locum con-
sistendi:^ *' For they drive themselves headlong, when
once they are parted and past reason, and weakness soothes;
itself, and unawares is carried into the deep, nor can it find
a place to tarry in." I feel betimes the low winds, which are
forerunners of the storm, buzz in mine ears and sound and
try me within :

-xeu flamina prima

Cum deprensa Jremunt sylvts, et cceca volutant
Murmur a^ ventwos nautis prodentia vetUos.^

» Cic, Tusc, Qu. I. iv. « Virg., ^«. 1. x. 97.

270 ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE.

At first blasts in the woods percdv'd to go^
Whistle, and darkly speak in murmurs low,
Foretelling mariners what winds will grow.

How often have I done myself an apparent injustice to
avoid the danger I should fall into by receiving the Sfanie,
happily worsen from the judges after a world of troubles,
and of foul and vile practices, more enemies to my natural
disposition than fire or torment Cowoenith litibus quantum
Uceit et nescio an pauh plus etiam quani iket^ abharreniem
esse ; est enitn nan modo liberale^ paululum nonnunquam de
SU0 jure decedere^ sed inter dum etiam fructuosum .* ^ "As
much as we may, and it may be more than we may, we
should abhor brabbling and lawing; for it is not only an
ingenious part, but sometimes profitable also at sometimes
to yield a little of our right." If we were wise indeed, we
should rejoice and glory, as I heard once a young gentle-
man, bom of a very good house, very wittily and unfeignedly
rejoice with all men that his mother had lost her suit ; as
if it had been a cough, an ague, or any other irksome
burthen. The favours which fortune might have given me,
as alliances and acquaintances with such as have sovereign
authority in those things, I have in my conscience done
much instantly to avoid employing them to others' prejudice^
and not over-value my rights above their worth. To con-
clude, I have so much prevailed by my endeavours (in a
good hour I may speak it) that I am yet a virgin for any
suits in law, which have notwithstanding not omitted gently
to offer me their service and under pretence of lawful titles
insinuate themselves into my allowance, would I but have
given ear unto them. And as a pure maiden from quarrels,
I have without important offence, either passive or active^
lingered out a long life, and never heard worse than mine

1 Cic, Off. 1.

JSSSA VS OF MONTAIGNE. z 7 1

own name, a rare grace of heaven. Our greatest agitations
have strange springs and ridiculous causes. What ruin did
our last Duke of Burgundy run into for the quarrel of
a cart-load of sheep-skins ? And was not the graving of
a seal the chief cause of the most horrible breach and
topsy-turvy that ever this world's frame endured? For
Pompey and Cassar are but the new buddings and continua-
tion of two others. And I have seen in my time the wisest
heads of this realm assembled with great ceremony and
public charge about treaties and agreements, the true decid-
ing whereof depended in the meanwhile absolutely and
sovereignly of the will and consultations held in some ladies'
pate or cabinet, and of the inclination of some silly woman.
Poets have most judiciously looked into this, who but for an
apple have set all Greece and Asia on fire and sword. See
why that man doth hazard both his honour and life on the
fc^tune of his rapier and dagger ; let him tell you whence
the cause of that contention ariseth; he cannot without
blushing, so vain and so frivolous is the occasion. To
embark him, there needs but little advisement, but being
once in, all parts do work. There s^e greater provisions
required, more difficult and important. How far more easy
it is not to enter than to get forth ? We must proceed con-
trary to the briar, which produceth a long and straight stake
at the first springing ; but after, as tired and out of breath,
it makes many and thick knots, as if they were pauses,
showing to have no more that vigour and constancy. We
should rather begin gently and leisurely, and keep our
strength. and breath for the perfection of the work. We
direct affairs at the beginning, and hold them at our mercy,
but being once undertaken, they guide and transport us, .
and we must follow them. Yet may it not be said that this
counsel hath freed me from difficulties, and that I have not

2 7 2 ESS A YS OF MONl'AIGNE.

been often troubled to control and bridle my passions, which
are not always governed according to the measure of occasions,
whose entrances are often sharp and violent. So is it that
thence may be reaped good fruit and profit, except for those
who in well-doing are not satisfied with any benefit, if their
reputation be in question. For in truth such an effect is
not counted of but by every one to himself. You are
thereby better satisfied, but not more esteemed, having
reformed yourself before you come into action or the matter
was in sight; yet not this only, but in all other duties of life,
their course which aim at honour is diverse from that which
they propound unto themselves that follow order and reason.
I find some that inconsiderately and furiously thrust them-
selves into the lists, and grow slack in the course. As
Plutarch saith, that " such as by the vice of bashfulness are
soft and tractable to grant whatsoever is demanded, ar6
afterwards as prone and facile to recant and break their
word." In like manner, he that enters lightly into a quarrel
is subject to leave it as lightly. The same difficulty which
keeps ne from embracing the same should incite me^ being
once moved and therein engaged, to continue resolute. It
is an ill custom. Being once embarked, one must either
go on or sink. "Attempt coldly (said Bias), but pursue
hotly." For want of judgment our hearts fail us, which
is also less tolerable. Most agreements of our modern
quarrels are shameful and false; we only seek to save
jappearances, and therewhilst betray and disavow our true
intentions. We salve the deed; we know how we spake it,
and in what sense the bystanders know it; yea, and our
friends to whom we would have our advantages known. It
is to the prejudice of our liberty and interest of our resolu-
tion's honour that we disavow our thoughts and seek for
starting-holes in falsehood to make our agreements. We

ESS A YS OF MONTAIGNE, 2 7 3

belie ourselves to salve a lie we have given to another.
We must not look whether your action or word may admit
another interpretation, but it is your own true and sincere
construction that you must now maintain, whatsoever it
cost you. It is to your virtue and to your conscience that
men speak ; parts that ought not to be disguised. Leave
we these base courses, wrangling shifts, and verbal means,
to pettifogging lawyers. The excuses and reparations, or
satisfactions, which daily I see made, promised, and given to
purge indiscretion, seem to me more foul than indiscretion
itself; better were it for one to oifend his adversary again,
than in giving him such satisfaction to wrong himself so
much. You have braved him moved by choler, and now
you seek to pacify and flatter him in your cold and better
sense ; thus you abase yourself more than you were before
exalted. I find no speech so vicious in a gentleman as
I deem any recantation he shall make dishonourable,
especially if it be wrested from him by authority; forso-
much as obstinacy is in him more excusable than cowardice.
Passions are to me as easy to be avoided as they are diffi-
cult to be moderated. Exscinduntur facilius animo, quam
temperaniur: " They are more easily rooted out of the mind
than brought to good temper." He that cannot attain to
this noble Stoical impassibility, let him shroud himself in
the bosom of this my popular stupidity. What they did by
virtue I inure myself to do by nature. The middle region
harboureth storms ; the two extremes contain philosophers
and rural men, they concur in tranquillity and good hap.

Felix quipotuit rerum cognoscere causas,
Atque metus omnes et inexorabile fatutn
Subjecit pedibuSf strepitiimque Acher otitis at^art,
ForiuncUus et ille^ Decs qui novit agresies^
Panaque^ Silvanumqtu senem^ Nymphasque sororis^

^ Virg., Geor, 1. ii. 490

18

274 ^SSA YS OF MONTAIGNE,

Happy is he that could of things the causes find,

And subject to his feet all Tearfulness of mind,

Inexorable fate, and noise of greedy hell.

And happy he with country gods acquainted well,

Pan and old Sylvan knows,

And all the sister shrowes.

The beginnings of all things are weak and tender, we
must therefore be clear-sighted in beginnings; for, as in
their budding we discern not the danger, so in their
full growth we perceive not the remedy. I should have
encountered a thousand crosses daily more hard to be
digested in the course of ambition, than it hath been
uneasy for me to stay the natural inclination that led me
unto them.

-jurt perhorrui

Laie compicuum tollere verticem,^

I have been much afraid for causes right,
To raise my foretop far abroad to sight.

All public actions are subject to uncertain and divers
interpretations, for too many heads judge of them. Some
say of this my city employment (whereof I am content to
speak a word, not that it deserves it, but to make a show
of my manners in such things) I have demeaned myself
like one that is too slowly moved, and with a languishing
affection ; and they are not altogether void of reason. I
strive to keep my mind and thoughts quiet. Cum semper
naiurUy turn etiam cetate jam quietus : " Both ever quiet by
nature, and now because of years." And if at any time
they are debauched to some rude and piercing impression
it is in truth without my consent, from which natural slack-
ness one must not therefore infer any proof of disability ;
for want of care and lack of judgment are two things ; and

^ Hor., Car, 1. iii. i6, i8.

ESS A YS OF MONTAIGNE. 275

less, unkind ness and ingratitude toward those citizens who
to gratify me employed the utmost of all the means they
could possibly, both before they knew me and since ; and
who did much more for me in appointing me my charge
the second time^ than in choosing me the first I love
them with all my heart, and wish them all the good that
may be ; and truly if occasion had been offered I would
have spared nothing to have done them service. I have
stirred and laboured for them as I do for myself. They
are good. people, warlike and generous, yet capable of
obedience and discipline and fit for good employment,
if they be well guided. They say likewise that I passed
over this charge of mine without any deed of note or great
show. It is true. Moreover, they accuse my cessation,
when as all the world was convicted of too much doing;
I have a most nimble motion where my will doth
carry me. But this point is an enemy unto perseverance.
Whosoever will make use of me according to myself, let
him employ me in affairs that require vigour and liberty ;
that have a shprt, a straight, and therewithal a hazardous
course: I may peradventure semewhat prevail therein.
Whereas if it be tedious, crafty, laboriousj artificial, and
intricate, they shall do better to address themselves to
some other man. All charges of importance are not
difficult. I was prepared to labour somewhat more
earnestly if there had been great need, for it lies in
my power to do something more than I make show of,
and than I love to do. To my knowledge, I have not
omitted any motion that duty required earnestly at my
bands. I have easily forgotten those which ambition
blendeth with duty and cloaketh with her title. It is
they which most commonly fill the eyes and ears and
satisfy men. Not the thing itself, but the appearance

{

?76 ESS A YS OF MONTAIGNE.

payeth them. If they hear no noise they imagine wc
sleep. My humours are contrary to turbulent humours;
I could pacify an inconvenience or trouble without
troubling myself, and chastise a disorder without alteration.
Have I need of choler and inflammation, I borrow it
and therewith mask myself; my manners are musty, rather
wallowish than sharp; I accuse not a magistrate that
sleepeth, so they that are under it sleep also. So sleep the
laws. For my part I commend a gliding, an obscure and
reposed life. Neque submtssam et abjectam, neque se effer-
eniem .•* " Neither too abject and submissive, nor vaunting
itself too much." But my fortune will have it so ; I am
descended of a family that hath lived without noise and
tumult, and of long continuance particularly ambitious of
integrity. Our men are so framed to agitation and ostenta-
tions that goodness, moderation, equity, constancy, and such
quiet and mean qualities are no more heard of. Rough
bodies are felt, smooth ones are handled imperceptibly.
Sickness is felt, health little or not at all ; nor things that
anoint us, in regard of such as sting us ; it is an action for
one's reputation and private commodity, and not for the
common good, to refer that to be done in the market-place
which a man may do in the counsel-chamber ; and at noon-
day what might have been effected the night before ; and to
be jealous to do that himself which his fellow can perform
as well. So did some surgeons of Greece show the opera-
tions of their skill upon scaffolds in view of all passengers,
thereby to get more practice and custom. They suppose
that good orders cannot be understood but by the sound of
a trumpet. Ambition is no vice for petty companions, and
for such endeavours as ours. One said to Alexander:
"Your father will leave you a great command, easy and

» Cic, Off, 1. i.

ESS A YS OF MO NT A TGNE. 2 7 7

peaceful ; " the boy was envious of his father's victories and
of the justice of his goverament. He would not hav.
enjoyed the world's empire securely and quietly. Alcibiades
in Plato loveth rather to die young, fair, rich, noble, learned,
and all that in excellence, than to stay in the state of such a
condition. This infirmity is happily excusable in so strong
and full a mind. When these petty, wretched souls are
therewith inveigled, and think to publish their fame, because
they have judged a cause rightly, or continued the order in
guarding of a cit/s gates ; by how much more they hoped to
raise their head, so much more do they show their simplicity.
This petty well-doing hath neither body nor life. It vanisheth
in the first month, and walks but from one corner of a street
to another. Entertain therewith your son and your servant,
and spare not. As that ancient fellow, who having no other
auditor of his praises and applauding of his sufficiency,
boasted with his chamber-maid, exclaiming: "Oh Perette!
what a gallant and sufficient man thou hast to thy master ! "
If the worst happen, entertain yourselves in yourselves ;
as a counsellor of my acquaintance, having disgorged a
rabble of paragraphs with an extreme contention and
like foolishness, going out of the counsel-chamber to a
place near unto it, was heard very conscientiously to utter
these words to himself : Non nobis^ Domine, non nobis^ sed
nomini tuo da gloriani:^ "Not unto us, O Lord, not unto
us, but unto thy name give the glory." He that cannot
otherwise, let him pay himself out of his own purse. Fame
doth not so basely prostitute itself, nor so cheap. Rare
and exemplar actions, to which it duly belongeth, could
not brook the company of this innumerable multitude of
vulgar petty actions. Well may a piece of marble raise
your titles high as you list, because you have repaired a

* Psalm cxv. i.

278 JSSSA YS OF MONTAIGNE.

piece of an old wall, or cleansed a common ditch, but men
of judgment will never do it Report followetb not all
goodness, except difficulty and rarity be joined thereunta
Yea, simple estimation, according to the Stoics, is not due
to every action proceeding from virtue. Neither would
they have him commended who through temperance
abstaineth from an old blear-eyed woman. Such as have
known the admirable qualities of Scipio the African,
renounce the glory which Pansetius ascribeth from gifts,
as a glory, not his alone, but peculiar to that age. We have
pleasures sortable to our fortune ; let us not usurp those of
greatness. Our own are more natural. They are the more
solid and firm by how much the meaner. Since It is not
for conscience, at least for ambition let us refuse ambition.
Let us disdain this insatiate thirst of honour and renown,
base and beggarly, which makes us so suppliantly to crave
it of all sorts of people : Qucr est isia iaus qua possit e
maceilo peti ^^ "What praise is this, which may be fetched
out of the shambles ? " By abject means, and at what vile
rate soever. To be thus honoured is merely a dishonour.
Learn we to be no more greedy of glory than we . are
capable of it. To be proud of every profitable and
innocent action, is it fit for men to whom it is
extraordinary and rare. They will value it for the price
it cost them. According as a good effect is more
resounding, I abate of its goodness : the jealousy I
conceive it is produced more because it is so resound-
ing than because it is good. What is set out to show
is half sold. Those actions have more grace which
carelessly and under silence pass from the hands of a
workman, and which some honest man afterward chooseth
and redeemeth from darkness, to thrust them into the

* Cic, De Fin, I. ii.

ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE. 279

world's light: only for their worth. Mihi quidem lauda-
biliora videntur otnnia^ qu(B sine venditatione^ et sine populo
teste fiunt:^ "All things in sooth seem to me more com-
mendable that are performed with no ostentation, and
without the people to witness," said the most glorious man
of the world. I had no care but to preserve and continue,
which are deaf and insensible effects. Innovation is of
great lustre; but Interdicted in times when we are most
urged, and have to defend ourselves but from novelties;
abstinence from doing is often as generous as doing, but it
is not so apparent. My small worth is in a manner all of
this kind. To be short, the occasions in this my charge
have seconded my complexion, for which I con them hearty
thanks. Is there any man that desireth to be sick, to see
his physician set a work ? And should not that physician
be well whipped who to put his art in practice would wish
the plague to infect us ? I was never possessed with this
iinpious and vulgar passion, to wish that the troubled and
distempered state of this city might raise and honour my
government. I have most willingly lent them my hand to
furth^ and shoulders to aid their ease and tranquillity.
He that will not thank me for the good order and for the
sweet and undisturbed rest which hath accompanied my
charge, cannot at least di^rive me of that part which by the
title of my good fortune 'belongeth unto me. This is my
humour, that I love as 1 much to be happy as wise, and
attribute my successes asjmuch to the mere grace of God as
to the mean furtherance^f my operation. I had sufficiently
published to the worldly sufficiency in managing of such
public affairs; nay, thefe.is something in me worse than
insufficiency, which is, thatjlam not much displeased there-
with, and that I endeavour not" greatly to cure it, considering

' Cic., Ttisc, Qu. I. ii.

28o ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE,

the course of life I have determined to myself. Nor have
I satisfied myself in this employment, but have almost
attainted what I had promised unto myself; yet have I
much exceeded what I had promised those with whom
I was to negotiate, for I willingly promise somewhat less
than I can perform or hope to accomplish. Of this I am
assured, I have never left offence or hatred among them.
To have left either regret or desire of me, this know I
certainly, I have not much affected it

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VOLUMB8 ALBBADY ISSUBD-

1 MALORY'S ROMANCE OF KING ARTHUR AND THE

Quest of the Holy GntiL Edited by Ernest Bbys.

2 THOREAU'S WALDEN. WITH INTRODUCTORY NOTE

by Wm H. Dircks.

3 THOREAU'S "WEEK." WITH PREFATORY NOTE BY

WUIH. Dircks.

4 THOREAU'S ESSAYS. EDITED, WITH AN INTRO-

ductioii, by Will H. I>irclc8.

5 CONFESSIONS OF AN ENGLISH OPIUM-EATER. ETC

By Thomas De Qiriiioey. With Introductory Note by William Sharp.

6 LANDOR'S IMAGINARY CONVERSATIONS. SELECTED,

with Introduction, by Havelock Ellis.

7 PLUTARCH'S LIVES (LANGHORNE). WITH INTRO-

ductory Note by B. J. Snell, M.A.

8 BROWNE'S RELIGIO MEDICI, ETC WITH INTRO-

dnction by J. Addington Symonds.

9 SHELLEY'S ESSAYS AND LETTERS. EDITED, WITH

Introductory Note, by Ernest iUiys.

10 SWIFT'S PROSE WRITINGS. CHOSEN AND ARRANGED,

with Introduction, by Walter Lewin.

11 MY STUDY WINDOWS. BY JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL.

With Introduction by B. Gamett, LL.D.

12 LOWELL'S ESSAYS ON THE ENGLISH POETS. WITH

a new Introduction by Mr. Lowell.

13 THE BIGLOW PAPERS. BY JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL.

With a Prefatory Note by Ernest Rhys.

London : Waltbb Scott, Limited, 24 Warwick Lane.

THE SOOTT LIBRARY— continned.

14 GREAT ENGLISH PAINTERS. SELECTED FROM

Ciiniiiiigham'B L<Mf . Edited by William Sharp.

15 BYRON^ LETTERS AND JOURNALS. SELECTED,
* with Xntrodnction, hj Bfathilde BlincL

16 LEIGH HUNT'S ESSAYS. WITH INTRODUCTION AND

Notei by Arthur Symoni.

17 LONGFELLOW'S "HYPERION/' "KAVANAH," AND

** The TroaTerak* "With Introdnotloii by W. TtrebndL

18 GREAT MUSICAL COMPOSERS. BY G. F. FERRIS.

Edited, with Introdootioii, by Mn. William Sharp.

19 THE MEDITATIONS OF MARCUS AURELIUS. EDITED

by Alice Zimmem.

20 THE TEACHING OF EPICTETUS. TRANSLATED FROM

the Oredc, with Introdnctioii and Notes, by T. W. BoUeeton.

21 SELECTIONS FROM SENECA. WITH INTRODUCTION

by Walter Clode.

22 SPECIMEN DAYS IN AMERICA. BY WALT WHITMAN.

Betised by the Author, with fresh Preface.

23 DEMOCRATIC VISTAS, AND OTHER PAPERS. BY

Walt Whitman. (Published by arrangement with the Author.)

24 WHITE'S NATURAL HISTORY OF SELBORNE. WITH

a Preface by Bichard Jefferies.

25 DEFOE'S CAPTAIN SINGLETON. EDITED, WITH

Introduction, by H. Halliday Sparling.

26 MAZZINrS ESSAYS : LITERARY, POLITICAL, AND

Beligious. With Introduction by William Clarke.

27 PROSE WRITINGS OF HEINE. WITH INTRODUCTION

by Havelock Ellis.

28 REYNOLDS'S DISCOURSES. WITH INTRODUCTION

by Helen Zimmem.

29 PAPERS OF STEELE AND ADDISON. EDITED BY

Walter Lewin.

30 BURNS'S LETTERS. SELECTED AND ARRANGED

with Introduction, by J. Logic Robertson, M.A.

London : Walter Scott, Limited, 24 Warwick Lane.

THE QOOTT LIBRARY— contiimed.

31 VOLSUNGA SAGA. William Morris. WITH INTRa

dnetion bj H. H. Sparling.

32 SARTOR RESARTUS. BY THOMAS CARLYLE. WITH

Introduction by Ernest Bbys.

33 SELECT WRITINGS OF EMERSON. WITH INTRO-

duction by PerdTal Chubb.

34 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF LORD HERBERT. EDITED,

with an Introduction, by Will H. Dircks.

35 ENGLISH PROSE, FROM MAUNDEVILLE TO

. Thackeray. Chosen and Edited by Arthur Oalton.

36 THE PILLARS OF SOCIETY, AND OTHER PLAYS. BY

Henrik Ibsen. Edited, with an Introduction, by Hatelock Ellis.

37 IRISH FAIRY AND FOLK TALES. EDITED AND

Selected by W. B. Yeats.

38 ESSAYS OF DR. JOHNSON, WITH BIOGRAPHICAL

Introduction and Notes by Stuart J. Beid.

39 ESSAYS OF WILLIAM HAZLITT. SELECTED AND

Edited, with Introduction and Notes, by Frank Carr.

40 LANDOR'S PENTAMERON, AND OTHER IMAGINARY

Conversations. Edited, with a Preface, by H. EUis.

41 POE'S TALES AND ESSAYS. EDITED, WITH INTRO-

duction, by Ernest Rhys.

42 VICAR OF WAKEFIELD. BY OLIVER GOLDSMITH.

Edited, with Preface, by Ernest Rhys.

43 POLITICAL ORATIONS, FROM WENTWORTH TO

Macaulay. Edited, with Introduction, by William Clarke.

44 THE AUTOCRAT OF THE BREAKFAST-TABLE. BY

Oliver Wendell Holmes.

45 THE POET AT THE BREAKFAST-TABLE. BY OLIVER

Wendell Holmes.

46 THE PROFESSOR AT THE BREAKFAST- TABLR BY

Oliver Wendell Holmes.

47 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS TO HIS SON.

Selected, vrith Introduction, by Charles Sayle.

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48 STORIES FROM CARLETON. SELECTED, WITH INTRa

dvctton, by W. Teata.

49 JANE EYRK BY CHARLOTTE BRONTfi. EDITED BY

Clement K. Shorter.

50 ELIZABETHAN ENGLAND. EDITED BY LOTHROP

Withington, with a Pxefaoe by Dr. FandTan.

51 THE PROSE WRITINGS OF THOMAS DAVIS. EDITED

by T. W. BoUeston.

52 SPENCE'S ANECDOTES. A SELECTION. EDITED,

with an Introduction and Notes, by John UnderhilL

53 MORE'S UTOPIA, AND LIFE OF EDWARD V. EDITED,

with an Introdnetlon, by lianrioe Adams.

54 SADI'S GULISTAN, OR FLOWER GARDEN. TRANS-

lated, with an Essay, by James Ross.

55 ENGLISH FAIRY AND FOLK TALES. EDITED BY

B. Sidney HaHland.

56 NORTHERN STUDIES. BY EDMUND GOSSE. WITH

a Note by Ernest Rhys.

57 EARLY REVIEWS OF GREAT WRITERS. EDITED BY

E. Stevenson.

58 ARISTOTLE'S ETHICS. WITH GEORGE HENRY

Lewes's Essay on Aristotle prefixed.

59 LANDOR'S PERICLES AND ASPASIA. EDITED, WITH

an Introduction, by Havelock Ellis.

60 ANNALS OF TACITUS. THOMAS GORDON'S TRANS-

lation. Edited, with an Introduction, by Arthur Oalton.

61 ESSAYS OF ELIA. BY CHARLES LAMB. EDITED,

with an Introduction, by Ernest Ehys.

62 BALZAC'S SHORTER STORIES. TRANSLATED BY

William Wilson and the Count Stenbock.

63 COMEDIES OF DE MUSSET. EDITED, WITH AN

Introductory Note, by S. L. Gwynn.

64 CORAL REEFS. BY CHARLES DARWIN. EDITED,

with an Introduction, by Dr. J. W. Williams.

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THB SOOTT LIBRARY— continaed.

6s SHERIDAN'S PLAYS. EDITED, WITH AN INTRO-
dvctton, by Badolf Dircki.

66 OUR VILLAGE. BY MISS MITFORD. EDITED, WITH

an Introduction, by Brneit Rbys.

67 MASTER HUMPHREY'S CLOCK, AND OTHER STORIES.

By Charles Dickena With Introduction by Frank T. MansiiUs.

68 TALES FROM WONDERLAND. BY RUDOLPH

Banmbafih. Tranalated by Helen B. Dole.

69 ESSAYS AND PAPERS BY DOUGLAS JERROLD. EDITED

by Walter Jerrold.

70 VINDICATION OF THE RIGHTS OF WOMAN. BY

Mary WollBtonecraft. Introduction by Mrs. E. Bobins PennelL

71 "THE ATHENIAN ORACLE." A SELECTION. EDITED

by John UnderbiU, with Prefatory Note by Walter Besant

72 ESSAYS OF SAINTE- BEUVE. TRANSLATED AND

Edited, with an Introduction, by Elizabeth Lee.

73 SELECTIONS FROM PLATO. FROM THE TRANS-

lation of Sydenham and Taylor. Edited by T. W. BoUeston.

74 HEINE'S ITALIAN TRAVEL SKETCHES, ETC. TRANS-

lated by Elizabeth A. Sharp. With an Introduction from the French of
Theophile Oautier.

75 SCHILLER'S MAID OF ORLEANS. TRANSLATED,

with an Introduction, by M^|or-General Patrick Blazwell.

76 SELECTIONS FROM SYDNEY SMITH. EDITED, WITH

an Introduction, by Ernest iUiys.

77 THE NEW SPIRIT. BY HAVELOCK ELLIS.

78 THE BOOK OF MARVELLOUS ADVENTURES. FROM

the "Morte d' Arthur." Edited by Ernest Bhys. [This, together with
No. 1, forms the complete '* Morte d' Arthur."]

79 ESSAYS AND APHORISMS. BY SIR ARTHUR HELPS.

With an Introduction by E. A. Helps.

80 ESSAYS OF MONTAIGNE. SELECTED, WITH A

Prefatory Note, by PE&aTAL Chubb.

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GREAT WRITERS.

A NEW SERIES OF CRITICAL BICXxRAPHIES.

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LIFE OF LONGFELLOW. By Prof. Erio S. Bobbrisov.
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LIFB OF COLERIDGE. By Hall Cainb.

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LIFE OF DICKENS. By Frahk T. Marztatjb.

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to Dickens and his works . . . we should, until we came across this volume,
have been at a loss to recommend any popular life of England's most popular
novelist as being really satisfactory. The difficulty is remofed ny Mr.
BiandaU's little book."— ^tA«n«um.

LIFE OF DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI. By J. Knight.

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best yet presented to the public'—TAe Qraphic,

LIFE OF SAMUEL JOHNSON. By Colonel F. Grant.

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LIFE OF DARWIN. By G. T. Bbttant.

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LIFE OF CHARLOTTE BRONTl!!. By A. Birrell. .

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LIFE OF THOMAS CARLYLR By R. Garnbtt, LLD.

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LIFE OF ADAM SMITH. By R. & Haldakx, M.P.

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LIFE OF KEATS. By W. M. B0681TTL

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LIFE OF SHELLEY. By WniiAM Shabf.

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LIFE OF SMOLLETT. By David Haivnat.

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LIFE OF GOLDSMITH. By Austin Dobson.

** The story of his literary and social life in London, with all its hmnorons
and pathetic ricissitndes, is here retold, as none conld tell it better."— i>atfy

Newt.

LIFE OF SCOTT. By Pbofessob Tokob.

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LIFE OF BURNS. By Pbofbssob Blackib.

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about Bums."— PoK MaU QauUe.

LIFE OF YICTOB HUGO. By Fbank T. Mabzials.

" Mr. Mandals^s Tolnme presents to us, in a more handy form tiian any
KngUsh or eren French handbook gives, the summary of what is known
about the life of the great poet,**— Sattarday Meoiew,

LIFE OF EMERSON. By Biohabd Gabnbtt, LL.D.

** No record of Emerson's life could be more desirable."— tSoturday Rtviem,

LIFE OF GOETHE. By Jambs Simb.

**Mr. James Sime^s competence as a biographer of Goethe is b^ond
question.''— if aneAefter Otutrdian,

LIFE OF OONGREVE. By Edhuhd Gossb.

** Mr. Gosse has written an admirable biography.**- ^eadfrny.

LIFE OF BUNYAN. By Canon Ybnablbs.

** A most intelligent, appreciatiTe, and valuable memoir."— SSsotftnan.

LIFE OF CRABBB. By T. E. KEBBEL.

"No English poet since Shakespeare has observed certain aspects of
nature and of human life more closcuy."- ^(^ientfeum.

LIFE OF HEINE. By WnUAM Shabp.

** An admirable monograph . . . more fully written up to the level of
recent knowledge and cntiasm than any other English work."— Sboteman.

London : Walter Scott, Limited, 84 Warwick lana.

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UFB OF MILL. By W. L. CtoUBTHiT.

** A Diott iTmiiaUMtle and cUacriinlnfttfag m&m€ltt.''^-€fkuffow Herald.

LIFE OF SCHILLER. By Hinbt W. NBvnrooir.

" Preiants the poef • life In a neatly roonded pictnre."— SeoCtmoik

LIFE OF CAPTAIN MABBTAT. By David HAinrAT.

'* We have nothing bnt pndae for the manner in which Mr. Hannay hMS
done Jnstioe to Mol"— Saturday IUvi§w,

LIFE OF LESSINQ. By T. W. Bollkbton.

'* One of the beet booke of the aerieB."— JfofMAdf tor OuonUcMk

LIFE OF MILTON. By Biohabo Gabnitt, LL.D.

" Has neter been more charmingly or adequately told.*— ^SSMCtitk Leadsr.

LIFE OF BALZAC. By FbedebioIc Wkdmob&

" Mr. Wedmore'e monograph on the greatest of French writers of flcti<»i,
whoee greatness is to be measured by comparison with his snooessors, is a
piece m careful and critical composition, neat and nice in style."— Xki%
Ifeum.

LIFE OF GEOBGE EUOT. By Oboab BBOWNiNa

**A book of the character of Mr. Browning's, to stand midway be*
tween the bulky work of Mr. Cross aind the very slight sketch of Min
Blind, was much to be desired, and Mr. Browning has done his work with
▼iTacity, and not without skUL"— JfoneAMter Ouardian,

LIFE OF JANE AUSTEN. By GoLDWiN Smtth.

**Mr. Goldwin Smith has added another to the not inconsiderable roll
of eminent men who hate found their deliffht in Miss Austen. . . . His
little book upon her, Just published by Walter Scott, is certainly a &8*
dnating book to those who already know her and lore her well : and we
have little doubt that it will prove also a fascinating book to tnose wlio
have still to make her acquaintance."— £!^)eetaeor.

LIFE OF BROWNING. By William Sharp.

*' This little volume is a model of excellent English, and in every respect
it seems to us what a biography should be."— Pttolie Opinion,

LIFE OF BTRON. By Hon. Rodbn Nokl.

" The Hon. Boden Noel's volume on Byron is decidedly one of the most
readable in the excellent * Great Writers^ aeitiea."—Seottith Leader.

LIFE OF HAWTHORNE. By Moncurk Conway.

*'It is a delightful eaiM^ne— pleasant, genial talk about a most interest-
ing man. Easy and conversationfj as the tone is throughout, no important
fact is omitted, no valueless f^t is recalled ; and it is entirely exempt from
platitude and conventionality."— TAs Speaker.

LIFE OF SCHOPENHAUER. By Pbopbssob Wallaob.

"We can speak very highly of this little book of Mr. Wallace's. It
Is, perhaps, excessively lenient in dealing vrith the man, and it cannot
be said to be at all f erodoualy critical in dealing with the philosophy."—
Saturdajf RetfieuL

London: Waltbb Scott, Limited, 84 Warwick Lane.

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LIFE OF SHERIDAN. By Llotd Sabdibs.

"To Miy thai Mr. Lloyd Suiden, Ib this little Tolvme, hasjprodnoed the
bast ezistiiig memoir of Sheridan, is reelly to award mueh fainter fnaise
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LIFE OF THACKERAY. By HsBXAir Msbivalb and F. T. MARgriTA

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with its excdlent bibliography, is one which neither m student nor the
general reader can well afford to miss."— Poll Mull CkutUs.

LIFE OF CERVANTES. By W. E. Watts.

**We can commend this book as a worthy addition to the osefol series
to which it belongs."— London Daily CkronieU.

LIFE OF VOLTAIRE. By Fbangib Ebfin assb.

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MALORY'S HISTORY OF
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MALORY'S MARVELLOUS
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ENGLISH FAIRY TALES.
IRISH FAIRY TALES.

HEINE'S PROSE.

HEINE'S TRAVEL-
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WHITE'S SELBORNE.
MITFORD'S OUR VILLAGE.

WHITMAN'S SPECIMEN
DAYS.

WHITMAN'S DEMOCRATIC
VISTAS.

GREAT PAINTERS.
GREAT COMPOSERS.

SENECA'S MORALS.
ANNALS OF TACITUS.

EMERSON'S ESSAYS.
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VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.
JANE EYRE.

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PEER GYNT: A Dramatic Poem

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the other. And Peer Gynt is the very incarnation of a compromising
dread of decisive committal to any one course. In Brand the problem
of self-realisation and the relation of the individual to his surroundings
is obscurely struggling for recognition, and in Peer Gynt it becomes the
formal theme upon which all the £uitastic variations of the drama are
built up. In both pla]^ alike the problems of heredity and the influence
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HUGO Translated by Dean Ganingtoo.

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BBAUMOHV AMD FLBTGHXB Edited by John S. FletdMr.

BOWLBI. LAMB. Jto. Edited by WOBam Tiiebaek.

XABLT SirOLIBB FOXTBY Edited by H. Hacanlay Fitsgibbon.

MUBIC ....Edited by MnSbup.

Edited by EmeetRhyi.

BAULADXB AMD mOMDIAUB Edited by J. Oleeson White.

DUCT MU i E T K MUlY Edited by H. HaOiday Sparlinf.

MILTOM*! PABADOOB LOST Edited by J. Bradihaw, U.A., IX.D,

JAOOBITB BALLADS Edited by O. S. Ifacqaoid.

AU8VBALIAM BALLADS Edited by D. B. W. Sladen, B.A.

KOOBB Edited by John Dorrian.

BOBDBB i«A¥.T.ATMi EditedbyOTahama.Toiiiaoii.

SOMChTIDB By Philip Bonike Manton.

ODB8 OW HOBACB Traiuilatioiia by Sir Stephen de Yere, Bt

OSSXAM , Edited by GeoigeEyra-Tbdd.

BUmrinrSXC Edited by Arthur Edward Walte.

SOUTBBY Edited by Sidney B. Thompeon.

0KAVGBB Edited by Frederick Noa Patoo.

POBMS or WILD LIFX Edited by Charlei Q. D. Robertm lf.A.

PABADUUB BBGAXNBD Edited by J. Bradahaw, M.A.. LL.D.

OBABBB Edited by E. LamploiiCh.

DOBA OBBBMWXLL Edited by William Dorling.

VAUST Edited by SlinbethCraigmyle.

AKXBXGAM SOMMBT8 Edited by William Sharps

LANDOBV FOBKS Edited by Ernest Badfoid.

QBB BK ANTHOLOGY Edited by Graham B. Tomson.

HUNT AND HOOD Edited by J. Harwood Panting.

HUMO BOUS POBMS Edited by Balph H. GUne.

LYTTOM^ PLAYS Edited by B. Farqnbarwn Sharp.

QBBAT ODB S Edited by ^Hlliam Sharp.

MB BBI»IT H'S POBMS Edited by M. Betham-Bdwarda

PAINTBB-POBTS Edited by Kineton Parkea

WOMBN POSTS Edited by Mr*. Sharp.

LOVB LYBI CS.. Edited by Percy Hnlburd.

AMBBXCAN HUMOBOUS VBRSX Edited by Jamea Barr.

MIMOB SCOTCH LYBICS Edited by Sir George Donglaa

GAVALZXB LYBISTS Edited by WiU H. Dircka.

OBBBIAN BALLADS Edited by Elizabeth Craigmyle.

SONGS OP BBBANG^B Translated by William Toynbee.

POBMS OP THB RON. BODXN NOBL. With an Introdnction by

Bobert Bnchanan. ^ ,^

i

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