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MONTAIGNE. 
 (From an original picture at Paris.) 
 
SELECTED ESSAYS 
 
 OF 
 
 MICHEL DE MONTAIGNE 
 
 TRANSLATED BY CHARLES COTTON 
 
 EDITED, WITH BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION 
 
 By W. CAREW HAZLITT 
 
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 By THOMAS Y. CROWELL & CO, 
 
THE AUTHOR TO THE READER. 
 
 Reader, thou hast here an honest book ; it doth 
 at the outset forewarn thee that, in contriving the 
 same, I have proposed to myself no other than a 
 domestic and private end : I have had no considera- 
 tion at all either to thy service or to my glory. My 
 powers are not capable of any such design. I have 
 dedicated it to the particular commodity of my kins- 
 folk and friends, so that, having lost me (which they 
 must do shortly), they may therein recover some 
 traits of my conditions and humors, and by that 
 means preserve more whole, and more life-like, the 
 knowledge they had of me. 
 
 Had my intention been to seek the world's favor, I 
 should surely have adorned myself with borrowed 
 beauties : I desire therein to be viewed as I appear 
 in mine own genuine, simple, and ordinary manner, 
 without study and artifice : for it is myself I paint. 
 My defects are therein to be read to the life, and my 
 imperfections and my natural form, so far as public 
 reverence hath permitted me. If I had lived among 
 those nations, which (they say) yet dwell under the 
 sweet liberty of nature's primitive laws, I assure thee 
 I would most willingly have painted myself quite 
 fully and quite naked. Thus, reader, myself am the 
 matter of my book : there's no reason thou shouldst 
 employ thy leisure about so frivolous and vain a 
 subject. Therefore, farewell. 
 
 From Montaigne, the 12th June, 1580. 
 
 iii 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 The Essays of Montaigne, which are at once the 
 most celebrated and the most permanent of his pro- 
 ductions, form a magazine out of which such writers 
 as Bacon and Shakespeare did not disdain to help 
 themselves ; and indeed, as Hallam observes, the 
 Frenchman's literary importance largely results from 
 the share which his mind had in influencing other 
 minds, coeval and subsequent. But, at the same 
 time, estimating the value and rank of the essayist, 
 we are not to leave out of the account the drawbacks 
 and the circumstances of the period : the imperfect 
 state of education, the comparative scarcity of books, 
 and the limited opportunities of intellectual inter- 
 course. 
 
 Montaigne freely borrowed of others, and he has 
 found men willing to borrow of him as freely. We 
 need not wonder at the reputation which he with 
 seeming facility achieved. He was, without being 
 aware of it, the leader of a new school in letters and 
 morals. His book was different from all others which 
 were at that date in the world. It diverted the 
 ancient currents of thought into new channels. It 
 told its readers with unexampled frankness, what its 
 writer's opinion was about men and things, and threw 
 what must have been a strange kind of new light on 
 many matters but darkly understood. Above all, the 
 Essayist uncased himself, and made his intellectual 
 and physical organism public property. He took the 
 
vi PREFACE. 
 
 world into his confidence on all subjects. His essays 
 were a sort of literary anatomy, where we get a diag- 
 nosis of the writer's mind, made by himself at dif- 
 ferent levels and under a large variety of operating 
 influences. 
 
 The text of these volumes is taken from the first 
 edition of Cotton's version, printed in 3 vols. 8vo, 
 1685-6. In the earliest impression the errors of the 
 press are corrected merely as far as page 240 of the 
 first volume, and all the editions follow one another. 
 That of 1685-6 was the only one which the translator 
 lived to see. He died in 1687. 
 
 It was considered imperative to correct Cotton's 
 translation by a careful collation with the variorum 
 edition of the original, Paris, 1854, with reference 
 also to Florio's earlier undertaking. The besetting 
 sin of both Montaigne's translators seems to have 
 been a propensity for reducing his language and 
 phraseology to the language and phraseology of the 
 age and country to which they belonged, and, more- 
 over, for inserting paragraphs and words, not here 
 and there only, but constantly and habitually, from 
 an evident desire and view to elucidate or strengthen 
 their author's meaning. Nor is redundancy or para- 
 phrase the only form of transgression in Cotton, for 
 there are places in his author which he thought proper 
 to omit, and it is hardly necessary to say that the 
 restoration of all such matter to the text was con- 
 sidered essential to its integrity and completeness. 
 
 W. C. H. 
 
 Barnes Common, Surrey, 
 January, 1892. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Biographical Introduction ix 
 
 That Men by Various Ways arrive at the Same End . I 
 
 Of Sorrow ........ 7 
 
 That the Soul discharges her Passions upon False 
 
 Objects, where the True are Wanting . . 11 
 
 That the Intention is Judge of Our Actions . . 14 
 
 Of Liars 16 
 
 Of Quick or Slow Speech . . . . . 24 
 
 Of Constancy 28 
 
 Of Fear .31 
 
 That Men are not to judge of Our Happiness till 
 
 after Death ....... 35 
 
 That it is Folly to measure Truth and Error by Our 
 
 Own Capacity , 39 
 
 Of Friendship 44 
 
 That a Man is soberly to judge of the Divine Ordi- 
 nances ........ 59 
 
 Of the Custom of Wearing Clothes .... 62 
 
 That We laugh and cry for the Same Thing . . 67 
 
 Of Solitude 71 
 
 Of the Inequality among Us 86 
 
 Of Ancient Customs ...... 98 
 
 Of the Vanity of Words » 103 
 
 Of Prayers 107 
 
 Of Books ......... 120 
 
 vii 
 
Vlil CONTENTS, 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Of Cruelty . . . . . . . . 140 
 
 Of the Inconstancy of Our Actions . . . .159 
 
 Use makes Perfect 168 
 
 Of Glory 183 
 
 Of Presumption . . . . . . .201 
 
 Of Giving the Lie ....... 244 
 
 Of Liberty of Conscience 250 
 
 Of Virtue 256 
 
 Of Anger . , . 266 
 
 Of Profit and Honesty . . . , ■ . . 276 
 Of Repentance . 299 
 
 Of the Inconvenience of Greatness . . . .319 
 Of Managing the Will 327 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION. 
 
 The author of the Essays was born on the last day 
 of February, 1533, at the château of St. Michel de 
 Montaigne. His father, Pierre Eyquem, écuyer, was 
 successively first jurat of the town of Bordeaux (1530), 
 sub-mayor (1536), jurat for the second time in 1540,' 
 procureur in 1546, and at length mayor from 1553 to 
 1556. He was a man of austere probity, who had "a 
 particular regard for honor and for propriety in his 
 person and attire ... a mighty good faith in his 
 speech, and a conscience and a religious feeling inclin- 
 ing to superstition, rather than to the other extreme. " 
 Pierre Eyquem bestowed great care on the education 
 of his children, especially on the practical side of it. 
 To associate closely his son Michel with the people, 
 and attach him to those who stand in need of assistance, 
 he caused him to be held at the font by persons of the 
 meanest position ; subsequently he put him out to 
 nurse with a poor villager, and then, at a later period, 
 made him accustom himself to the most common sort 
 of living, taking care, nevertheless, to cultivate his 
 mind, and superintend its development without the 
 exercise of undue rigor or constraint. Michel, who 
 gives us the minutest account of his earliest years, 
 charmingly narrates how they used to awake him by 
 the sound of some agreeable music, and how he learned 
 
 ix 
 
X BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION. 
 
 Latin, without suffering the rod or shedding a tear, 
 before beginning French, thanks to the German teacher 
 whom his father had placed near him, and who 
 never addressed him except in the language of Virgil 
 and Cicero. The study of Greek took precedence. 
 
 At six years of age young Montaigne went to the 
 College of Guienne at Bordeaux, where he had as 
 preceptors the most eminent scholars of the sixteenth 
 century, Nicolas Grouchy, Guerente, Muret, and 
 Buchanan. At thirteen he had passed through all the 
 classes, and as he was destined for the law he left school 
 to study that science. The next information that we 
 have is that in 1554 he received the appointment of 
 councillor in the Parliament of Bordeaux ; in 1559 he 
 was at Bar-le-Duc with the court of Francis II., and 
 in the year following he was present at Rouen to wit- 
 ness the declaration of the majority of Charles IX. 
 
 Between 1556 and 1563 commenced his romantic 
 friendship with Etienne de la Boetie, whom he had 
 met, as he tells us, by pure chance at some festive cel- 
 ebration in the town. From their very first interview 
 the two found themselves drawn irresistibly toward 
 one another, and during six years this alliance was 
 foremost in the heart of Montaigne, as it was afterward 
 in his memory, when death had severed itr- 
 
 Although in his Essays he blames severely those 
 who, contrary to the advice of Aristotle, marry before 
 five and thirty, Montaigne, in 1 566, in his thirty-third 
 year, espoused Françoise de Chassaigne, daughter of a 
 councillor in the Parliament of Bordeaux. The title of 
 Gentleman in Ordinary to the king, which he assumes 
 in a preface, and which Henry 1 1 1, gives him in a letter; 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION, xi 
 
 what he says as to the commotions of courts, where he 
 passed a portion of his life ; the instructions which he 
 wrote under the dictation of Catherine de Medici for 
 King Charles IX. ; and his noble correspondence with 
 Henry IV., leave no doubt as to the part which he 
 played in the transactions of those times ; and we find 
 an unanswerable proof of the esteem in which he was 
 held by the most exalted personages in a letter which 
 was addressed to him by Charles at the time he was 
 admitted to the Order of St. Michael, which was, as 
 he informs us himself, the highest honor of the French 
 noblesse. 
 
 Several passages in the Essays seem to indicate that 
 Montaigne not only took military service, but that he 
 was actually in numerous campaigns with the Catholic 
 armies ; and on his monument he is represented in a 
 coat of mail, with his casque and gauntlets on his right 
 side, and a lion at his feet, alike symbols of a share in 
 military transactions. 
 
 But, on his arrival at his thirty-eighth year, he re- 
 solved to dedicate to study and contemplation the re- 
 maining term of his life ; and on his birthday, the last 
 of February, 1571, he caused a Latin inscription to 
 this effect to be placed upon one of the walls of his 
 château. 
 
 Montaigne was at this date unknown to the world 
 of letters, except as a translator and an editor. In 
 1569 he published a translation of the Natural 
 Theology of Raymond de Sebonde, which he had 
 undertaken solely to please his father. In 1571 he 
 caused to be printed at Paris certain oftuscula of 
 Etienne de la Boetie. At the verv outset of his 
 
Xll BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION. 
 
 retirement from public engagements, Montaigne was 
 exclusively occupied with reading and reflection, and 
 acquired the habit of setting down his thoughts just 
 as they occurred to him. Those thoughts became a 
 book, and the first draft of that book, which was to 
 confer immortality on the writer, appeared at Bor- 
 deaux in 1580. Montaigne was then forty-seven ; he 
 had suffered for some years past from renal colic and 
 gravel ; and it was with the necessity of distraction 
 from his pain, and the hope of deriving relief from 
 the waters, that he undertook at this time his Italian 
 tour of which an itinerary, dictated to his secretary, is 
 extant, and has been separately printed. 
 
 Montaigne travelled, just as he wrote, completely at 
 his ease, and without the least constraint, turning, 
 just as he fancied, from the common or ordinary 
 roads taken by tourists. The good inns, the soft 
 beds, the fine views, attracted his notice at every 
 point, and in his observations on men and things he 
 confines himself chiefly to the practical side. 
 
 At Rome he at first put up at the Orso, but subse- 
 quently hired, at twenty crowns a month, three fine 
 furnished rooms in the house of a Spaniard, who 
 included in these terms the use of the kitchen fire. 
 What most annoyed him in the Eternal City was the 
 number of Frenchmen he met, who all saluted him in 
 his native tongue ; but otherwise he was very com- 
 fortable, and his stay extended to five months. 
 
 Sceptical as Montaigne shows himself in his books, 
 yet during his sojourn at Rome he manifested a great 
 regard for religion. He solicited the honor of being 
 admitted to kiss the feet of the Holy Father, Gregory 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION. xm 
 
 XIII. ; and the pontiff exhorted him always to con- 
 tinue in the devotion which he had hitherto exhibited 
 to the church and the service of the Most Christian 
 King. 
 
 " He met at San Sisto a Muscovite ambassador, the 
 second who had come to Rome since the pontificate 
 of Paul III. This minister had despatches from his 
 court for Venice, addressed to the Grand Governor 
 of the Signory. The court of Muscovy had at that 
 time such limited relations with the other powers of 
 Europe, and it was so imperfect in its information, 
 that it thought Venice to be a dependency of the 
 Holy See." 
 
 Before quitting Rome, Montaigne received his di- 
 ploma of citizenship, by which he was greatly flat- 
 tered ; and after a visit to Tivoli he set out for 
 Loretto, stopping at Ancona, Fano, and Urbino. He 
 arrived at the beginning of May, 1581, at Bagno della 
 Villa, where he established himself, in order to try 
 the waters. 
 
 The greater part of the entries in the Journal, giving 
 the account of these waters, and of the travels, down 
 to Montaigne's arrival at the first French town on his 
 homeward route, are in Italian, because he wished to 
 exercise himself in that language. 
 
 The minute and constant watchfulness of Montaigne 
 over his health and over himself might lead one to 
 suspect that excessive fear of death which degenerates 
 into cowardice. But was it not rather the fear of the 
 operation for the stone, at that time really formidable? 
 
 He was still at the waters of La Villa, when, on the 
 7th September, 1581, he learned by letter that he had 
 
xiv BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION. 
 
 been elected mayor of Bordeaux on the ist August 
 preceding. This intelligence made him hasten his 
 departure ; and from Lucca he proceeded to Rome. 
 He again made some stay in that city, and he there 
 received the letter of the jurats of Bordeaux, notifying 
 to him officially his election to the mayoralty, and 
 inviting him to return as speedily as possible. He 
 left for France accompanied by young D'Estissac and 
 several other gentlemen, who escorted him a consider- 
 able distance ; but none went back to France with 
 him, not even his travelling companion. He passed 
 by Padua, Milan, Mont Cenis, and Chambery ; thence 
 he went on to Lyons, and lost no time in repairing 
 to his château, after an absence of seventeen months 
 and eight days. 
 
 " The gentlemen of Bordeaux," says he, " elected 
 me mayor of their town while I was at a distance 
 from France, and far from the thought of such a 
 thing. I excused myself; but they gave me to under- 
 stand that I was wrong in so doing, it being also 
 the command of the king that I should stand." This 
 is the letter which Henry III. wrote to him on the 
 occasion : 
 
 " Monsieur de Montaigne : — Inasmuch as I hold 
 in great esteem your fidelity and zealous devotion to 
 my service, it has been a pleasure to me to learn that 
 you have been chosen mayor of my town of Bordeaux. 
 I have had the agreeable duty of confirming the selec- 
 tion, and I did so the more willingly, seeing that it 
 was made during your distant absence ; wherefore it 
 is my desire, and I require and command you ex- 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION. xv 
 
 pressly, that you proceed without delay to enter on 
 the duties to which you have received so legitimate 
 a call. And so you will act in a manner very agree- 
 able to me, while the contrary will displease me 
 greatly. Praying God, M. de Montaigne, to have 
 you in his holy keeping. 
 
 "Written at Paris, the 25th day of November, 1581. 
 
 " Henri. 
 
 "To Monsieur de Montaigne, 
 
 " Knight of my Order, Gentleman in Ordinary of 
 " my Chamber, being at present in Rome." 
 
 Montaigne in his new employment, the most im- 
 portant in the province, obeyed the axiom that a man 
 may not refuse a duty, though it absorb his time and 
 attention and even involve the sacrifice of his blood. 
 Placed between two extreme parties ever on the 
 point of getting to blows, he showed himself in prac- 
 tice what he is in his book, the friend of a middle 
 and temperate policy. 
 
 He applied himself in an especial manner to the 
 maintenance of peace between the two religious fac- 
 tions which at that time divided the town of Bor- 
 deaux ; and at the end of his two first years of office 
 his grateful fellow-citizens conferred on him (in 1583) 
 the mayoralty for two years more, a distinction which 
 had been enjoyed, as he tells us, only twice before. 
 On the expiration of his official career, after four 
 years 1 duration, he could say fairly enough of himself, 
 that he left behind him neither hatred nor cause of 
 offence. 
 
xvi BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION. 
 
 In the midst of the cares of government, Montaigne 
 found leisure to revise and enlarge his Essays, which 
 since their appearance in 1580, had been continually 
 receiving augmentations in the form of additional 
 chapters or papers. Two more editions were printed 
 in 1582 and 1587; and during this time the author, 
 while making alterations in the original text, com- 
 posed part of the third book. He went to Paris to 
 make arrangements for the publication of his enlarged 
 labors, and a fourth impression in 1588 was the result. 
 He remained in the capital some time on this occa- 
 sion, and it was now that he met for the first time 
 Mademoiselle de Gournay. Gifted with an active and 
 inquiring spirit, and, above all, possessing a sound 
 and healthy tone of mind, Mademoiselle de Gournay 
 had been carried from her childhood with that tide 
 which set in with the sixteenth century toward con- 
 troversy, learning, and knowledge. She learned Latin 
 without a master ; and when, at the age of eighteen, 
 she accidentally became possessor of a copy of the 
 Essays, she was transported with delight and admira- 
 tion. 
 
 She quitted the château of Gournay, to come to 
 see him. We cannot do better, in connection with 
 this journey of sympathy, than to repeat the words 
 of Pasquier : " That young lady, allied to several 
 great and noble families of Paris, proposed to herself 
 no other marriage than with her honor, enriched 
 with the knowledge gained from good books, and, 
 beyond all others from the Essays of M. de Mon- 
 taigne, who making in the year 1588, a lengthened 
 stay in the town of Paris, she went there for the 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION. xvil 
 
 purpose of forming his personal acquaintance ; and 
 her mother, Madame de Gournay, and herself took 
 him back with them to their château, where, at two 
 or three different times, he spent three months alto- 
 gether, most welcome of visitors.''* It was from this 
 moment that Mademoiselle de Gournay dated her 
 adoption as Montaigne's daughter, a circumstance 
 which has tended to confer immortality upon her in 
 a far greater measure than her own literary pro- 
 ductions. 
 
 Montaigne, on leaving Paris, stayed a short time 
 at Blois, to attend the meeting of the States-General ; 
 and it is known that he was commissioned, about this 
 period, to negotiate between Henry of Navarre (after- 
 ward Henry IV.) and the duke of Guise. De Thou 
 assures us that Montaigne enjoyed the confidence of 
 the principal persons of this time. The president, 
 who calls him a frank man without constraint, tells 
 us that, walking with him and Pasquier in the court 
 at the castle of Blois, he heard him pronounce some 
 very remarkable opinions on contemporary events, and 
 he adds that Montaigne had foreseen that the troubles 
 in France could not end without witnessing the death 
 of either the king of Navarre or of the duke of Guise. 
 He had made himself so completely master of the 
 views of these two princes, that he told De Thou 
 that the king of Navarre would have been prepared 
 to embrace Catholicism, if he had not been afraid 
 of being abandoned by his party, and that the duke 
 of Guise, on his part, had no particular repugnance to 
 the confession of Augsburg, for which the cardinal of 
 Lorraine, his uncle, had inspired him with a liking, 
 
xvni BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION. 
 
 if it had not been for the peril involved in quitting 
 the Romish communion. It would have been easy 
 for Montaigne to play, as we call it, a great part in 
 politics, and create for himself a lofty position ; but 
 his motto was, Otio et libertati ; and he returned 
 quietly home to compose a chapter for his next edi- 
 tion on "The Inconveniences of Greatness." 
 
 The author of the Essays was now fifty-five. The 
 malady which tormented him grew only worse and 
 worse with years ; and yet he occupied himself con- 
 tinually with reading, meditating, and composition. 
 He employed the years 1589, 1590, and 1591, in mak- 
 ing fresh additions to his book; and even in the 
 approaches of old age he might fairly anticipate many 
 happy hours, when he was attacked by quinsy, depriv- 
 ing him of the power of utterance. Pasquier, who has 
 left us some details of his last hours, narrates that he 
 remained three days in full possession of his faculties, 
 but unable to speak, so that, in order to make known 
 his desires he was obliged to resort to writing ; and 
 as he felt his end drawing near, he begged his wife to 
 summon certain of the gentlemen who resided in the 
 neighborhood to bid them a last farewell. When 
 they had arrived, he caused mass to be celebrated in 
 his apartment ; and just as the priest was elevating 
 the host, Montaigne fell forward, with his arms ex- 
 tended in front of him, on the bed, and so expired. 
 He was in his sixtieth year. It was the 13th of Sep- 
 tember, 1592. 
 
 Montaigne was buried near his own house ; but a 
 few months after his decease, his remains were re- 
 moved to the church of a Commandery of St. Antoine 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION, xix 
 
 at Bordeaux. 1 His monument was restored in 1803 
 by a descendant. It was seen about 1858 by an Eng- 
 lish traveller (Mr. St. John), and was then in good 
 preservation. 
 
 In 1595 Mademoiselle de Gournay published a new 
 edition of Montaigne's Essays, and the first with the 
 latest emendations of the author, from a copy pre- 
 sented to her by his widow, and which has not been 
 recovered, although it is known to have been in exist- 
 ence some years after the date of the impression made 
 on its authority. 
 
 Coldly as Montaigne's literary productions appear 
 to have been received by the generation immediately 
 succeeding his own age, his genius grew into just 
 appreciation in the seventeenth century, when such 
 great spirits arose as La Bruyère, Molière? La Fon- 
 taine, and Madame de Sévigné. " Oh," exclaimed 
 the Chatelaine des Rochers, "what capital company 
 
 1 The Paris correspondent of the Daily News, under date of 
 the 13th March, 1886, writes: "The remains of Montaigne 
 were on Thursday morning removed to the vault of the new 
 University buildings at Bordeaux. Several speeches were made, 
 and M. de Brons, a descendant of Montaigne, thanked the 
 Municipal Council who defrayed the cost of the monument. 
 That illustrious Bordelais, who much more than Descartes 
 may be regarded as the father of French philosophy, had a 
 direct action on the mind of Shakespeare. Victor Hugo 
 claimed for Montaigne the honor of having led the greatest 
 English poet from the concetti of the Italian school to the graver 
 form of thought of which ' Hamlet ' is an example. Shake- 
 speare having possessed a copy of Montaigne's Essays, Victor 
 Hugo concluded that he marked, learned, and inwardly digested 
 them — a good modern book being a rarity in those days." 
 
XX BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION. 
 
 he is, the dear man! he is my old friend ; and just for 
 the reason that he is so, he always seems new. Mon 
 Dieu! how full is that book of sense!" Balzac said 
 that he had carried human reason as far and as high as 
 it could go, both in politics and in morals. On the 
 other hand, Malebranche and the writers of Port Royal 
 were against him ; some reprehended the licentious- 
 ness of his writings ; others their impiety, materialism, 
 and Epicureanism. Even Pascal, who had carefully 
 read the Essays, and gained no small profit by them, 
 did not spare his reproaches. But Montaigne has 
 outlived detraction. As time has gone on, his ad- 
 mirers and borrowers have increased in number, and 
 his Jansenism, which recommended him to the eigh- 
 teenth century, may not be his least recommendation 
 in the nineteenth. Here we have certainly, on the 
 whole, a first-class man, and one proof of his masterly 
 genius seems to be, that his merits and his beauties 
 are sufficient to induce us to leave out of considera- 
 tion blemishes and faults which would have been fatal 
 to an inferior writer. 
 
ESSAYS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 THAT MEN BY VARIOUS WAYS ARRIVE 
 AT THE SAME END. 
 
 The most usual way of appeasing the indignation 
 of such as we have any way offended, when we see 
 them in possession of the power of revenge, and find 
 that we absolutely lie at their mercy, is by submission, 
 to move them to commiseration and pity ; and yet 
 bravery, constancy, and resolution, however quite con- 
 trary means, have sometimes served to produce the 
 same effect. 
 
 Edward, Prince of Wales (the same who so long 
 governed our Guienne, a personage whose condition 
 and fortune have in them a great deal of the most 
 notable and most considerable parts of grandeur), 
 having been highly incensed by the Limousins, and 
 taking their city by assault, was not, either by the 
 cries of the people, or the prayers and tears of the 
 women and children abandoned to slaughter and 
 prostrate at his feet for mercy, to be stayed from 
 prosecuting his revenge ; till, penetrating further into 
 the town, he at last took notice of three French 
 gentlemen, who with incredible bravery alone sus- 
 tained the whole power of his victorious army. Then 
 it was that consideration and respect unto so remark- 
 
 i 
 
2 ESSAYS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 able a valor first stopped the torrent of his fury, and 
 that his clemency, beginning with these three cavaliers, 
 was afterward extended to all the remaining inhabit- 
 ants of the city. 
 
 Scanderbeg, Prince of Epirus, pursuing one of his 
 soldiers with the purpose to kill him, the soldier, hav- 
 ing in vain tried by all the ways of humility and 
 supplication to appease him, resolved, as his last 
 refuge, to face about and await him sword in hand ; 
 which behavior of his gave a sudden stop to his cap- 
 tain's fury, who, for seeing him assume so notable 
 a resolution, received him into grace ; an example, 
 however, that might suffer another interpretation 
 with such as have not read of the prodigious force 
 and valor of that prince. 
 
 The Emperor Conrad III. having besieged Guelph, 
 Duke of Bavaria [1140], would not be prevailed upon, 
 what mean and unmanly satisfactions soever were 
 tendered to him, to condescend to milder conditions 
 than that the ladies and gentlewomen only who were 
 in the town with the duke might go out without viola- 
 tion of their honor, on foot, and with so much only as 
 they could carry about them. Whereupon they, out 
 of magnanimity of heart, presently contrived to carry 
 out, upon their shoulders, their husbands and children, 
 and the duke himself; a sight at which the emperor 
 was so pleased, that, ravished with the generosity of 
 the action, he wept for joy, and immediately extin- 
 guishing in his heart the mortal and capital hatred he 
 had conceived against this duke, he from that time 
 forward treated him and his with all humanity. 
 
 The one and the other of these two ways would 
 
VARIOUS WAYS. 3 
 
 with great facility work upon my nature ; for I have a 
 marvellous propensity to mercy and mildness, and to 
 such a degree that I fancy of the two I should sooner 
 surrender my anger to compassion than to esteem. And 
 yet pity is reputed a vice among the Stoics, who will 
 that we succor the afflicted, but not that we should be 
 so affected with their sufferings as to suffer with them. 
 I conceived these examples not ill suited to the ques- 
 tion in hand, and the rather because therein we ob- 
 serve these great souls assaulted and tried by these 
 two several ways, to resist the one without relenting, 
 and to be shaken and subjected by the other. It may 
 be true that to suffer a man's heart to be totally sub- 
 dued by compassion may be imputed facility, effemi- 
 nacy, and over-tenderness ; whence it comes to pass 
 that the weaker natures, as of women, children, and 
 the common sort of people, are the most subject 
 to it ; but after having resisted and disdained^ the 
 power of groans and tears, to yield to the sole rever- 
 ence of the sacred image of Valor, this can be no 
 other than the effect of a strong and inflexible soul 
 enamored of and honoring masculine and obstinate 
 courage. 
 
 Nevertheless, astonishment and admiration may, in 
 less generous minds, beget a like effect : witness the 
 people of Thebes, who, having put two of their gen- 
 erals upon trial for their lives for having continued in 
 arms beyond the precise term of their commission, 
 very hardly pardoned Pelopidas, who, bowing under 
 the weight of so dangerous an accusation, made no 
 manner of defence for himself, nor produced other 
 arguments than prayers and supplications ; whereas, 
 
4 ESS A YS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 on the contrary, Epaminondas, falling to recount 
 magniloquently the exploits he had performed in their 
 service, and, after a haughty and arrogant manner re- 
 proaching them with ingratitude and injustice, they 
 had not the heart to proceed any further in his trial, 
 but broke up the court and departed, the whole assem- 
 bly highly commending the high courage of this 
 personage. 
 
 Dionysius the elder, after having, by a tedious siege 
 and through exceeding great difficulties, taken the 
 city of Reggio, and in it the governor Phyton, a very 
 gallant man, who had made so obstinate a defence, 
 was resolved to make him a tragical example of his 
 revenge : in order whereunto he first told him, " That 
 he had the day before caused his son and all his kin- 
 dred to be drowned." To which Phyton returned no 
 other answer but this : " That they were then by one 
 day happier than he." After which, causing him to 
 be stripped, and delivering him into the hands of the 
 tormentors, he was by them not only dragged through 
 the streets of the town, and most ignominiously and 
 cruelly whipped, but moreover villified with most 
 bitter and contumelious language ; yet still he main- 
 tained his courage entire all the way, with a strong 
 voice and undaunted countenance proclaiming the 
 honorable and glorious cause of his death ; namely, 
 for that he would not deliver up his country into the 
 hands of a tyrant ; at the same time denouncing 
 against him a speedy chastisement from the offended 
 gods. At which Dionysius, reading in his soldiers' 
 looks, that instead of being incensed at the haughty 
 language of this conquered enemy, to the contempt of 
 
VARIOUS WAYS. 5 
 
 their captain and his triumph, they were not only 
 struck with admiration of so rare a virtue, but more- 
 over inclined to mutiny, and were even ready to rescue 
 the prisoner out of the hangman's hands, he caused 
 the torturing to cease, and afterward privately caused 
 him to be thrown into the sea. 
 
 Man (in good earnest) is a marvellous vain, fickle, 
 and unstable subject, and on whom it is very hard to 
 form any certain and uniform judgment. For Pompey 
 could pardon the whole city of the Mamertines, though 
 furiously incensed against it, upon the single account 
 of the virtue and magnanimity of one citizen, Zeno, 
 who took the fault of the public wholly upon himself ; 
 neither entreated other favor, but alone to undergo 
 the punishment for all : and yet Sylla's host having in 
 the city of Perugia manifested the same virtue, ob- 
 tained nothing by it, either for himself or his fellow- 
 citizens. 
 
 And, directly contrary to my first examples, the 
 bravest of all men, and who was reputed so gracious 
 to all those he overcame, Alexander, having, after 
 many great difficulties, forced the city of Gaza, and, 
 entering, found Betis, who commanded there, and of 
 whose valor in the time of this siege he had most 
 marvellous manifest proof, alone forsaken by all his 
 soldiers, his armor hacked and hewed to pieces, cov- 
 ered all over with blood and wounds, and yet still 
 fighting in the crowd of a number of Macedonians, 
 who were laying on him on all sides, he said to him, 
 nettled at so dear-bought a victory (for, in addition to 
 the other damage, he had two wounds newly received 
 in his own person), "Thou shalt not die, Betis, as 
 
6 ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 thou dost intend; be sure thou shalt suffer all the 
 torments that can be inflicted on a captive." To 
 which menace the other returning no other answer, 
 but only a fierce and disdainful look : " What," says 
 Alexander, observing his haughty and obstinate silence, 
 " is he too stiff to bend a knee ? Is he too proud to 
 utter one suppliant word? Truly, I will conquer this 
 silence ; and if I cannot force a word from his mouth, 
 I will at least extract a groan from his heart." And 
 thereupon converting his anger into fury, presently 
 commanded his heels to be bored through, causing 
 him, alive, to be dragged, mangled, and dismembered 
 at a cart's tail. 
 
 Was it that the height of courage was so natural 
 and familiar to this conqueror, that because he could 
 not admire, he respected it the less ? Or was it that 
 he conceived valor to be a virtue so peculiar to him- 
 self, that his pride could not, without envy, endure it 
 in another ? Or was it that the natural impetuosity 
 of his fury was incapable of opposition ? Certainly, 
 had it been capable of moderation, it is to be believed 
 that in the sack and desolation of Thebes, to see so 
 many valiant men, lost and totally destitute of any 
 further defence, cruelly massacred before his eyes, 
 would have appeased it : where there were above six 
 thousand put to the sword, of whom not one was 
 seen to fly, or heard to cry out for quarter ; but, on 
 the contrary, every one running here and there to 
 seek out and to provoke the victorious enemy to help 
 them to an honorable end. Not one was seen who, 
 however weakened with wounds, did not in his last 
 gasp yet endeavor to revenge himself, and with all 
 
OF SORROW. 7 
 
 the arms of a brave despair, to sweeten his own death 
 in the death of an enemy. Yet did their valor create 
 no pity, and the length of one day was not enough to 
 satiate the thirst of the conqueror's revenge, but the 
 slaughter continued to the last drop of blood that 
 was capable of being shed, and stopped not till it 
 met with none but unarmed persons, old men, women, 
 and children, of them to carry away to the number 
 of thirty thousand slaves. 
 
 OF SORROW. 
 
 No man living is more free from this passion than 
 I, who yet neither like it in myself nor admire it in 
 others, and yet generally the world, as a settled thing, 
 is pleased to grace it with a particular esteem, cloth- 
 ing therewith wisdom, virtue, and conscience. Foolish 
 and sordid guise ! The Italians have more fitly bap- 
 tized by this name malignity ; for 'tis a quality always 
 hurtful, always idle and vain ; and as being cowardly, 
 mean, and base, it is by the Stoics expressly and 
 particularly forbidden to their sages. 
 
 But the story says that Psammenitus, king of Egypt, 
 being defeated and taken prisoner by Cambyses, king 
 of Persia, seeing his own daughter pass by him as 
 prisoner, and in a wretched habit, with a bucket to 
 draw water, though his friends about him were so 
 concerned as to break out into tears and lamenta- 
 tions, yet he himself remained unmoved, without utter- 
 ing a word, his eyes fixed upon the ground ; and 
 seeing, moreover, his son immediately after led to 
 execution, still maintained the same countenance ; 
 
8 ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 till spying at last one of his domestic and familiar 
 friends dragged away among the captives, he fell to 
 tearing his hair and beating his breast, with all the 
 other extravagances of extreme sorrow. 
 
 A story that may very fitly be coupled with another 
 of the same kind, of recent date, of a prince of our 
 own nation, who being at Trent, and having news 
 there brought him of the death of his elder brother, 
 a brother on whom depended the whole support and 
 honor of his house, and soon after of that of a 
 younger brother, the second hope of his family, and 
 having withstood these two assaults with an exemplary 
 resolution ; one of his servants happening a few days 
 after to die, he suffered his constancy to be overcome 
 by this last accident ; and, parting with his courage, 
 so abandoned himself to sorrow and mourning, that 
 some from thence were forward to conclude that he 
 was only touched to the quick by this last stroke of 
 fortune ; but, in truth, it was, that being before brim- 
 ful of grief, the least addition overflowed the bounds 
 of all patience. Which, I think, might also be said 
 of the former example, did not the story proceed to 
 tell us that Cambyses asking Psammenitus, "Why, 
 not being moved at the calamity of his son and 
 daughter, he should with so great impatience bear 
 the misfortune of his friend ? " " It is," answered he, 
 " because only this last affliction was to be manifested 
 by tears, the two first far exceeding all manner of 
 expression." 
 
 And, peradventure, something like this might be 
 working in the fancy of the ancient painter, who 
 having, in the sacrifice of Iphigenia, to represent the 
 
OF SORROW, 9 
 
 sorrow of the assistants proportionably to the several 
 degrees of interest every one had in the death of this 
 fair innocent virgin, and having, in the other figures, 
 lain out to the utmost power of his art, when he came 
 to that of her father, he drew him with a veil over 
 his face, meaning thereby that no kind of countenance 
 was capable of expressing such a degree of sorrow. 
 Which is also the reason why the poets feign the 
 miserable mother, Niobe having first lost seven sons, 
 and then afterwards as many daughters (ovenvhelmed 
 with her losses), to be at last transformed into a 
 rock, thereby to express that melancholic, dumb and 
 deaf stupefaction, which benumbs all our faculties, 
 when oppressed with accidents greater than we are 
 able to bear. And, indeed, the violence and im- 
 pression of an excessive grief must of necessity as- 
 tonish the soul, and wholly deprive her of her ordinary 
 functions : as it happens to every one of us, who, 
 upon any sudden alarm of very ill news, find our- 
 selves surprised, stupefied, and in a manner deprived 
 of all power of motion, so that the soul, beginning 
 to vent itself in tears and lamentations, seems to free 
 and disengage itself from the sudden oppression, and 
 to have obtained some room to work itself out at 
 greater liberty. Says the JEneid: " And at length and 
 with difficulty is a passage opened by grief for words." 
 In the war that Ferdinand made upon the widow 
 of King John of Hungary, about Buda, a man-at-arms 
 was particularly taken notice of by every one for his 
 singular gallant behavior in a certain encounter ; and, 
 unknown, highly commended, and lamented, being 
 left dead upon the place: but by none so much as 
 
io ESSAYS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 by Raisciac, a German lord, who was infinitely en- 
 amored of so rare a valor. The body being brought 
 off, and the count, with the common curiosity coming 
 to view it, the armor was no sooner taken off but he 
 immediately knew him to be his own son, a thing 
 that added a second blow to the compassion of all 
 the beholders ; only he, without uttering a word, or 
 turning away his eyes from the woful object, stood 
 fixedly contemplating the body of his son, till the 
 vehemency of sorrow having overcome his vital spirits 
 made him sink down stone-dead to the ground. " He 
 who can express in words the ardor of his love, has but 
 little love to express' 1 say the Innamoratos when they 
 would represent an insupportable passion. 
 
 Says Seneca : " Light griefs can speak ; deep 
 sorrows are dumb." 
 
 A surprise of unexpected joy does likewise often 
 produce the same effect : " When she beheld me ad- 
 vancing, and saw, with stupefaction, the Trojan arms 
 around me, terrified with so great a prodigy, she 
 fainted away at the very sight : vital warmth forsook 
 her limbs : she sinks down, and, after a long interval, 
 with difficulty speaks " {/Eneid~\. 
 
 Besides the examples of the Roman lady, who died 
 for joy to see her son safe returned from the defeat 
 of Cannae ; and of Sophocles and of Dionysius the 
 Tyrant, who died of joy ; and of Thalna, who died in 
 Corsica, reading news of the honors the Roman senate 
 had decreed in his favor, we have, moreover, one in 
 our time, of Pope Leo X., who, upon news of the tak- 
 ing of Milan, a thing he had so ardently desired, was 
 rapt with so sudden an excess of joy that he immediately 
 
THE SOUVS PASSIONS. Il 
 
 fell into a fever and died. And for a more notable 
 testimony of the imbecility of human nature it is 
 recorded by the ancients that Diodorus the dialecti- 
 cian died upon the spot, out of an extreme passion of 
 shame, for not having been able in his own school, 
 and in the presence of a great auditory, to disengage 
 himself from a nice argument that was propounded to 
 him. I, for my part, am very little subject to these 
 violent passions ; I am naturally of a stubborn appre- 
 hension, which also, by reasoning, I every day harden 
 and fortify. 
 
 THAT THE SOUL DISCHARGES HER PAS- 
 SIONS UPON FALSE OBJECTS, WHERE 
 THE TRUE ARE WANTING. 
 
 A gentleman of my country, marvellously tormented 
 with the gout, being importuned by his physicians 
 totally to abstain from all manner of salt meats, was 
 wont pleasantly to reply, that in the extremity of his fits 
 he must needs have something to quarrel with, and that 
 railing at and cursing, one while the Bologna sausages, 
 and another the dried tongues and the hams, was some 
 mitigation to his pain. But, in good earnest, as the 
 arm when it is advanced to strike, if it miss the blow, 
 and goes by the wind, it pains us ; and as also that, 
 to make a pleasant prospect, the sight should not be 
 lost and dilated in vague air, but have some bound 
 and object to limit and circumscribe it at a reasonable 
 distance. 
 
 "As winds lose their force, and are dispersed in 
 
12 ESSAYS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 empty space, when not confined by dense woods" 
 [Lucan] . 
 
 So it seems that the soul, being transported and 
 discomposed, turns its violence upon itself, if not sup- 
 plied with something to oppose it, and therefore al- 
 ways requires an object at which to aim and whereon 
 to act. Plutarch says of those who are delighted with 
 little dogs and monkeys, that the amorous part that 
 is in us, for want of a legitimate object, rather than 
 lie idle, does after that manner forge and create one 
 false and frivolous. And we see that the soul, in its 
 passions, inclines rather to deceive itself, by creating 
 a false and fantastical subject, even contrary to its 
 own belief, than not to have something to work upon. 
 After this manner brute beasts direct their fury to fall 
 upon the stone or weapon that has hurt them, and 
 with their teeth even execute revenge upon themselves 
 for the injury they have received from another. 
 
 "As the bear, made fiercer by the wound from the 
 Lybian's thong-hurled dart, turns round upon the 
 wound, and attacking the received spear, contorts it, 
 as she flies " [Lucan] . 
 
 What causes of the misadventures that befall us do 
 we not invent ? what is it that we do not lay the fault 
 to, right or wrong, that we may have something to 
 quarrel with? It is not those beautiful tresses you 
 tear, nor is it the white bosom that in your anger you 
 so unmercifully beat, that with an unlucky bullet have 
 slain your beloved brother; quarrel with something 
 else. Livy, speaking of the Roman army in Spain, 
 says that for the loss of the two brothers [Publius 
 and Cneius Scipio], their great captains "all at once 
 
THE SOUL'S PASSIONS. 13 
 
 wept and tore their hair.'" 1 Tis a common practice. 
 And the philosopher Bion said, pleasantly, of the king, 
 who by handfuls pulled his hair off his head for sorrow, 
 " Does this man think that baldness is a remedy for 
 grief?" Who has not seen peevish gamesters chew 
 and swallow the cards and swallow the dice in revenge 
 for the loss of their money? Xerxes whipped the sea, 
 and wrote a challenge to Mount Athos ; Cyrus em- 
 ployed a whole army, several days at work, to revenge 
 himself of the river Gyndas, for the fright it had put 
 him into in passing over it ; and Caligula demolished 
 a very beautiful palace for the pleasure his mother had 
 once enjoyed there. 
 
 I remember there was a story current, when I was a 
 boy, that one of our neighboring kings having received 
 a blow from the hand of God, swore he would be 
 revenged, and, in order to do it, made proclamation 
 that for ten years to come no one should pray to Him, 
 or so much as mention Him throughout his domin- 
 ions, or, so far as his authority went, believe in Him ; 
 by which they meant to paint not so much the folly 
 as the vainglory of the nation of which this tale was 
 told. They are vices that always go together, but in 
 truth such actions as these have in them still more of 
 presumption than want of wit. 
 
 Augustus Caesar, having been tossed with a tempest 
 at sea, fell to defying Neptune, and, in the pomp of 
 the Circensian games, to be revenged, deposed his 
 statue from the place it had among the other deities. 
 Wherein he was still less excusable than the former, 
 and less than he was afterward when, having lost a 
 battle under Quintilius Varus in Germany, in rage and 
 
Ï4 ESSAYS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 despair he went running his head against the wall, 
 crying out, " O Varus ! give me back my legions ! " for 
 these exceed all folly, forasmuch as impiety is joined 
 therewith, invading God himself, or at least Fortune, 
 as if she had ears that were subject to our batteries ; 
 like the Thracians, who when it thunders or lightens, 
 fall to shooting against heaven with Titanian vengeance, 
 as if by flights of arrows they intended to bring God 
 to reason. Though the ancient poet in Plutarch 
 tells us : " We must not trouble the gods with our 
 affairs ; they take no heed of our angers and dis- 
 putes." 
 
 But we can never enough decry the disorderly 
 sallies of our minds. 
 
 THAT THE INTENTION IS JUDGE OF OUR 
 ACTIONS. 
 
 'Tis a saying, " that death discharges us of all our 
 obligations." I know some who have taken it in 
 another sense. Henry VII., king of England, articled 
 with Don Philip, son to Maximilian the emperor, or 
 (to place him more honorably) father to the Emperor 
 Charles V., that the said Philip should deliver up the 
 duke of Suffolk of the White Rose, his enemy, who 
 was fled into the low countries, into his hands ; 
 which Philip accordingly did, but upon condition, 
 nevertheless, that Henry should attempt nothing 
 against the life of the said duke ; but coming to die, 
 the king in his last will commanded his son to put 
 him to death immediately after his decease. And, 
 lately, in the tragedy that the duke of Alva presented 
 
THE INTENTION IS JUDGE. 15 
 
 to us in the persons of the Counts Horn and Egmont 
 at Brussels, there were very remarkable passages, and 
 one among the rest, that Count Egmont (upon the 
 security of whose word and faith Count Horn had 
 come and surrendered himself to the duke of Alva) 
 earnestly entreated that he might first mount the 
 scaffold, to the end that death might disengage him 
 from the obligation he had passed to the other. In 
 which case, methinks, death did not acquit the former 
 of his promise, and that the second was discharged 
 from it without dying. 
 
 We cannot be bound beyond what we are able to 
 perform, by reason that effect and performance are 
 not at all in our power, and that, indeed, we are 
 masters of nothing but the will, in which, by necessity, 
 all the rules and whole duty of mankind are founded 
 and established : therefore Count Egmont, conceiving 
 his soul and will indebted to his promise, although 
 he had not the power to make it good, had doubtless 
 been absolved of his duty, even though he had out- 
 lived the other ; but the king of England wilfully and 
 premeditately breaking his faith, was no more to be 
 excused for deferring the execution of his infidelity 
 till after his death than Herodotus' mason, who having 
 inviolably, during the time of his life, kept the secret 
 of the treasure of the king of Egypt, his master, at 
 his death discovered it to his children. 
 
 I have taken notice of several in my time, who, 
 convicted by their consciences of unjustly detaining 
 the goods of another, have endeavored to make 
 amends by their will, and after their decease ; but 
 they had as good do nothing, as either in taking so 
 
1 6 ESSAYS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 much time in so pressing an affair, or in going about to 
 remedy a wrong with so little dissatisfaction or injury 
 to themselves. They owe, over and above, something 
 of their own ; and by how much their payment is 
 more strict and incommodious to themselves, by so 
 much is their restitution more just and meritorious. 
 
 Penitency requires penalty ; but they yet do worse 
 than these, who reserve the declaration of a mortal 
 animosity against their neighbor to the last gasp, 
 having concealed it during their life, wherein they 
 manifest little regard of their own honor, irritating 
 the party offended in their memory ; and less to their 
 conscience, not having the power, even out of respect 
 to death itself, to make their malice die with them, 
 but extending the life of their hatred even beyond 
 their own. Unjust judges, who defer judgment to a 
 time wherein they can have no knowledge of the 
 cause ! For my part, I shall take care, if I can, that 
 my death discover nothing that my life has not first 
 and openly declared. 
 
 OF LIARS. 
 
 There is not a man living whom it would so little 
 become to speak from memory as myself, for I have 
 scarcely any at all, and do not think that the world 
 has another so marvellously treacherous as mine. My 
 other faculties are all sufficiently ordinary and mean ; 
 but in this I think myself very rare and singular and 
 deserving to be thought famous. Besides the natural 
 inconvenience I suffer by it (for, certes, the necessary 
 use of memory considered, Plato had reason when he 
 
OF LIARS. 17 
 
 called it a great and powerful goddess), in my country, 
 when they would say a man has no sense, they say. 
 such a one has no memory ; and when I complain of 
 the defect of mine, they do not believe me, and re- 
 prove me, as though I accused myself for a fool : not 
 discerning the difference between memory and under- 
 standing, which is to make matters still worse for me. 
 
 But they do me wrong ; for experience, rather, daily 
 shows us on the contrary, that a strong memory is 
 commonly coupled with infirm judgment. They do 
 me, moreover (who am so perfect in nothing as in 
 friendship), a great wrong in this, that they make the 
 same words which accuse my infirmity, represent me 
 for an ungrateful person : they bring my affections into 
 question upon the account of my memory, and from a 
 natural imperfection, make out a defect of conscience. 
 " He has forgot," says one, " this request or that 
 promise ; he no more remembers his friends ; he has 
 forgot to say or do, or conceal such and such a thing, 
 for my sake." And, truly, I am apt enough to forget 
 many things, but to neglect anything my friend has 
 given me in charge, I never do it. And it should be 
 enough, methinks, that I feel the misery and incon- 
 venience of it, without branding me with malice, a vice 
 so contrary to my humor. 
 
 However, I derive these comforts from my infirmity ; 
 first, that it is an evil from which principally I have 
 found reason to correct a worse, that would easily 
 enough have grown upon me, namely, ambition ; the 
 defect being intolerable in those who take upon them 
 public affairs. That, as several like examples in the 
 progress of nature demonstrate to us, she has fortified 
 
1 8 ESS A YS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 me in my other faculties proportionably as she has 
 left me unfurnished in this ; I should otherwise have 
 been apt implicitly to have reposed my mind and 
 judgment upon the bare report of other men, without 
 ever setting them to work upon their own force, had 
 the inventions and opinions of others been ever 
 present with me by the benefit of memory. That by 
 this means I am not so talkative, for the magazine of 
 the memory is ever better furnished with matter than 
 that of the invention. Had mine been faithful to me, I 
 had ere this deafened all my friends with my babble, 
 the subjects themselves arousing and stirring up the 
 little faculty I have of handling and employing them, 
 heating and extending my discourse, which were a 
 pity : as I have observed in several of my intimate 
 friends, who, as their memories supply them with an 
 entire and full view of things, begin their narrative so 
 far back, and crowd it with so many impertinent cir- 
 cumstances, that though the story be good in itself, 
 they make a shift to spoil it ; and if otherwise, you 
 are either to curse the strength of their memory or the 
 weakness of their judgment : and it is a hard thing to 
 close up a discourse, and to cut it short, when you have 
 once started ; there is nothing wherein the force of a 
 horse is so much seen as in a round and sudden stop. 
 I see even those who are pertinent enough, who 
 would, but cannot stop short in their career ; for while 
 they are seeking out a handsome period to conclude 
 with, they go on at random, straggling about upon 
 impertinent trivialities, as men staggering upon weak 
 legs. But, above all, old men who retain the memory 
 of things past, and forget how often they have told 
 
OF LIARS. 19 
 
 them, are dangerous company; and I have known 
 stories from the mouth of a man of very great quality, 
 otherwise very pleasant in themselves, become very 
 wearisome by being repeated a hundred times over 
 and over again to the same people. 
 
 Secondly, that, by this means, I the less remember 
 the injuries I have received ; insomuch that, as the 
 ancient said, I should have a register of injuries, or a 
 prompter, as Darius, who, that he might not forget 
 the offence he had received from those of Athens, so 
 oft as he sat down to dinner, ordered one of his pages 
 three times to repeat in his ear, u Sir, remember the 
 Athenians ; " and then, again, the places which I re- 
 visit, and the books I read over again, still smile upon 
 me with a fresh novelty. 
 
 It is not without good reason said " that he who has 
 not a good memory should never take upon him the 
 trade of lying." I know very well that the gramma- 
 rians distinguish between an untruth and a lie, and 
 say that to tell an untruth is to tell a thing that is 
 false, but that we ourselves believe to be true; and 
 that the definition of the word to lie in Latin, from 
 which our French is taken, is to tell a thing which we 
 know in our conscience to be untrue ; and it is of this 
 last sort of liars only that I now speak. Now, these 
 do either wholly contrive and invent the untruths they 
 utter, or so alter and disguise a true story that it ends 
 in a lie. When they disguise and often alter the same 
 story according to their own fancy, ^is very hard for 
 them, at one time or another, to escape being trapped, 
 by reason that the real truth of the thing, having first 
 taken possession of the memory, and being there 
 
20 ESS A Y S OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 lodged and impressed by the medium of knowledge 
 and science, it will be difficult that it should not repre- 
 sent itself to the imagination, and shoulder out false- 
 hood, which cannot there have so sure and settled 
 footing as the other ; and the circumstances of the 
 first true knowledge evermore running in their minds, 
 will be apt to make them forget those that are illegiti- 
 mate, and only forged by their own fancy. In what 
 they wholly invent, forasmuch as there is no contrary 
 impression to jostle their invention, there seems to be 
 less danger of tripping ; and yet even this also, by 
 reason it is a vain body, and without any hold, is very 
 apt to escape the memory, if it be not well assured. 
 Of which I have had very pleasant experience, at the 
 expense of such as profess only to form and accommo- 
 date their speech to the affair they have in hand, or 
 to the humor of the great folks to whom they are 
 speaking; for the circumstances to which these men 
 stick not to enslave their faith and conscience being 
 subject to several changes, their language must vary 
 accordingly : whence it happens that of the same thing 
 they tell one man that it is this, and another that it is 
 that, giving it several colors ; which men, if they once 
 come to confer notes, and find out the cheat, what 
 becomes of this fine art? To which may be added, 
 that they must of necessity very often ridiculously trap 
 themselves ; for what memory can be sufficient to 
 retain so many different shapes as they have forged 
 upon one and the same subject? I have known many 
 in my time very ambitious of the repute of this fine 
 wit ; but they do not see that if they have the reputa- 
 tion of it, the effect can no longer be. 
 
OF LIARS. 21 
 
 In plain truth, lying is an accursed vice. We are 
 not men, nor have other tie upon one another, but 
 by our word. If we did but discover the horror and 
 gravity of it, we should pursue it with fire and sword, 
 and more justly than other crimes. I see that parents 
 commonly, and with indiscretion enough, correct their 
 children for little innocent faults, and torment them 
 for wanton tricks, that have neither impression nor 
 consequence ; whereas, in my opinion, lying only, 
 and which is of something a lower form, obstinacy, 
 are the faults which are to be severely whipped out 
 of them, both in their infancy and in their progress, 
 otherwise they grow up and increase with them ; and 
 after a tongue has once got the knack of lying, 'tis 
 not to be imagined how impossible it is to reclaim 
 it : whence it comes to pass that we see some, who are 
 otherwise very honest men, so subject and enslaved 
 to this vice. I have an honest lad to my tailor, whom 
 I never knew guilty of one truth, no, not when it had 
 been to his advantage. 
 
 If falsehood had, like truth, but one face only, we 
 should be upon better terms ; for we should then take 
 for certain the contrary to what the liar says : but the 
 reverse of truth has a hundred thousand forms, and a 
 field indefinite, without bound or limit. The Pythago- 
 reans make good to be certain and finite, and evil, 
 infinite and uncertain. There are a thousand ways 
 to miss the white, there is only one to hit it. For 
 my own part, I have this vice in so great horror, that 
 I am not sure I could prevail with my conscience to 
 secure myself from the most manifest and extreme 
 danger by an impudent and solemn lie. An ancient 
 
22 ESSAYS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 father says " that a dog we know is better company 
 than a man whose language we do not understand." 
 " As a foreigner cannot be said to supply to us the 
 place of a man " [Pliny] . And how much less soci- 
 able is false speaking than silence ? 
 
 King Francis I. bragged that he had, by this means, 
 nonplussed Francisco Taverna, ambassador of Fran- 
 cisco Sforza, duke of Milan, a man very famous for 
 his science in talking in those days. This gentleman 
 had been sent to excuse his master to his majesty 
 about a thing of very great consequence, which was 
 this : the king, still to maintain some intelligence with 
 Italy, out of which he had lately been driven, and par- 
 ticularly with the duchy of Milan, had thought it con- 
 venient to have a gentleman on his behalf to be with 
 that duke : an ambassador in effect, . but in outward 
 appearance a private person who pretended to reside 
 there upon his own particular affairs ; for the duke, 
 much more depending upon the emperor, especially 
 at a time when he was in a treaty of a marriage with 
 his niece, daughter to the king of Denmark, and now 
 dowager of Lorraine, could not manifest any practice 
 and conference with us, but very much to his own 
 prejudice. 
 
 For this commission one Merveille, a Milanese 
 gentleman, and an equerry to the king, being thought 
 very fit, was accordingly despatched thither with pri- 
 vate credentials, and instructions as ambassador, and 
 with other letters of recommendation to the duke 
 about his own private concerns, the better to mask 
 and color the business ; and was so long in that court, 
 that the emperor at last had some inkling of his real 
 
OF LIARS. 23 
 
 employment there; which was the occasion of what 
 followed after, as we suppose ; which was, that under 
 pretence of some murder, his trial was in two days 
 despatched, and his head in the night struck off in 
 prison. 
 
 Messire Francisco being come, and prepared with 
 a long counterfeit history of the affair (for the king 
 had applied himself to all the princes of Christendom, 
 as well as to the duke himself, to demand satisfac- 
 tion), had his audience at the morning council ; 
 where, after he had for the support of his cause laid 
 open several plausible justifications of the fact, that 
 his master never looked upon this Merveille for other 
 than a private gentleman, and his own subject, who 
 was there only in order to his own business, neither 
 had he ever lived after any other aspect ; absolutely 
 disowning that he had ever heard he was one of the 
 king's household, or that his majesty so much as knew 
 him, so far was he from taking him for an ambas- 
 sador : the king, in his turn, pressing him with several 
 objections and demands, and sifting him on all hands, 
 gravelled him at last by asking, why, then, the execu- 
 tion was performed by night, and as it were by stealth ? 
 At which the poor confounded ambassador, the more 
 handsomely to disengage himself, made answer, that 
 the duke would have been very loath, out of respect 
 to his majesty, that such an execution should have 
 been performed by day. Any one may guess if he 
 was not well rated when he came home, for having 
 so grossly tripped in the presence of a prince of so 
 delicate a nostril as King Francis. 
 
 Pope Julius II. having sent an ambassador to the 
 
24 ESS A Y S OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 king of England to animate him against King Francis, 
 the ambassador having had his audience, and the 
 king, before he would give an answer, insisting upon 
 the difficulties he should find in setting on foot so 
 great a preparation as would be necessary to attack 
 so potent a king, and urging some reasons to that 
 effect, the ambassador, very unseasonably, replied that 
 he had also himself considered the same difficulties, 
 and had represented them to the pope. From which 
 saying of his, so directly opposite to the thing pro- 
 pounded, and the business he came about, which was 
 immediately to incite him to war, the king first derived 
 argument (which also he afterward found to be true), 
 that this ambassador, in his own mind, was on the 
 side of the French ; of which having advertised the 
 pope, his estate at his return home was confiscated, 
 and he himself very narrowly escaped the losing of 
 his head. 
 
 OF QUICK OR SLOW SPEECH. 
 
 " All graces were never yet given to any one man," 
 so we see in the gift of eloquence, wherein some 
 have such a facility and promptness, and that which 
 we call a present wit so easy, that they are ever ready 
 upon all occasions, and never to be surprised ; and 
 others more heavy and slow, never venture to utter 
 anything but what they have long premeditated, and 
 taken great care and pains to fit and prepare. 
 
 Now, as we teach young ladies those sports and 
 exercises which are most proper to set out the grace 
 and beauty of those parts wherein their chiefest orna- 
 
OF QUICK OR SLOW SPEECH. 25 
 
 ment and perfection lie, so it should be in these two 
 advantages of eloquence, to which the lawyers and 
 preachers of our age seem principally to pretend. If 
 I were worthy to advise, the slow speaker, methinks, 
 should be more proper for the pulpit and the other 
 for the bar : and that because the employment of the 
 first does naturally allow him all the leisure he can 
 desire to prepare himself, and besides, his career is 
 performed in an even and unintermitted line, without 
 stop or interruption ; whereas the pleader's business 
 and interest compels him to enter the lists upon all 
 occasions, and the unexpected objections and replies 
 of his adverse party jostle him out of his course, and 
 put him, upon the instant, to pump for new and 
 extempore answers and defences. 
 
 Yet, at the interview between Pope Clement and 
 King Francis at Marseilles, it happened, quite con- 
 trary, that Monsieur Poyet, a man bred up all his life 
 at the bar, and in the highest repute for eloquence, 
 having the charge of making the harangue to the 
 pope committed to him, and having so long meditated 
 on it beforehand, as, so they said, to have brought it 
 ready made along with him from Paris ; the very day 
 it was to have been pronounced, the pope, fearing 
 something might be said that might give offence to 
 the other prince's ambassadors who were there at- 
 tending on him, sent to acquaint the king with the 
 argument which he conceived most suiting to the 
 time and place, but, by chance, quite another thing 
 to that Monsieur de Poyet had taken so much pains 
 about : so that the fine speech he had prepared was 
 of no use, and he was upon the instant to contrive 
 
2 6 ESSAYS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 another ; which finding himself unable to do, Cardinal 
 du Bellay was constrained to perform that office. 
 
 The pleader's part is, doubtless, much harder than 
 that of the preacher, and, yet, in my opinion, we see 
 more passable lawyers than preachers, at all events in 
 France. It should seem that the nature of wit is to 
 have its operation prompt and sudden, and that of 
 judgment, to have it more deliberate and more slow. 
 But he who remains totally silent, for want of leisure 
 to prepare himself to speak well, and he also whom 
 leisure does noways benefit to better speaking, are 
 equally unhappy. 
 
 'Tis said of Severus Cassius that he spoke best ex- 
 tempore ; that he stood more obliged to fortune than 
 to his own diligence ; that it was an advantage to him 
 to be interrupted in speaking, and that his adversa- 
 ries were afraid to nettle him, lest his anger should 
 redouble his eloquence. I know experimentally, the 
 disposition of nature so impatient of a tedious and 
 elaborate premeditation, that if it do not go frankly 
 and gayly to w r ork, it can perform nothing to purpose. 
 We say of some compositions that they stink of oil 
 and of the lamp, by reason of a certain rough harsh- 
 ness that laborious handling imprints upon those 
 where it has been employed. 
 
 But besides this, the solicitude of doing well, and 
 a certain striving and contending of a mind too far 
 strained and overbent upon its undertaking, breaks 
 and hinders itself like water, that by force of its own 
 pressing violence and abundance, cannot find a ready 
 issue through the neck of a bottle or a narrow sluice. 
 In this condition of nature, of which I am now speak- 
 
OF QUICK OR SLOW SPEECH. 27 
 
 ing, there is this also, that it would not be disordered 
 and stimulated with such passions as the fury of Cas- 
 sius (for such a motion would be too violent and 
 rude) ; it would not be jostled but solicited ; it would 
 be roused and heated by unexpected, sudden, and 
 accidental occasions. If it be left to itself, it flags 
 and languishes ; agitation, only, gives it grace and 
 vigor. 
 
 I am always worst in my own possession : and 
 when wholly at my own disposition : accident has 
 more title to anything that comes from me than I ; 
 occasion, company, and even the very rising and fall- 
 ing of my own voice, extract more from my fancy 
 than I can find when I sound and employ it by my- 
 self. By which means, the things I say are better 
 than those I write, if either were to be preferred, 
 where neither is worth anything. This, also, befalls 
 me, that I do not find myself where I seek myself, 
 and I light upon things more by chance than by any 
 inquisition of my own judgment. I perhaps some- 
 times hit upon something when I write, that seems 
 quaint and sprightly to me, though it will appear dull 
 and heavy to another. 
 
 But let us leave these fine compliments ; every one 
 talks thus of himself according to his talent. But 
 when I come to speak, I am already so lost that I 
 know not what I was about to say, and in such cases 
 a stranger often finds it out before me. If I should 
 make erasures so often as this inconvenience befalls 
 me, I should make clean work ; occasion will, at some 
 other time, lay it as visible to me as the light, and 
 make me wonder what I should stick at. 
 
28 ESS A Y S OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 OF CONSTANCY. 
 
 The law of resolution and constancy does not 
 imply that we ought not, as much as in us lies, to 
 decline and secure ourselves from the mischiefs and 
 inconveniences that threaten us ; nor, consequently, 
 that we shall not fear lest they should surprise us : 
 on the contrary, all decent and honest ways and 
 means of securing ourselves from harms, are not only 
 permitted, but, moreover, commendable, and the busi- 
 ness of constancy chiefly is, bravely to stand to, and 
 stoutly to suffer those inconveniences which are not 
 possibly to be avoided. So that there is no supple 
 motion of body, nor any movement in the handling 
 of arms, how irregular or ungraceful soever, that we 
 need condemn, if they serve to protect us from the 
 blow that is made against us. 
 
 Several very warlike nations have made use of a 
 retreating and flying way of fight as a thing of singu- 
 lar advantage, and, by so doing, have made their 
 backs more dangerous to their enemies than their 
 faces. Of which kind of fighting the Turks still 
 retain something in their practice of arms ; and Soc- 
 rates, in Plato, laughs at Laches, who had defined 
 fortitude to be a standing firm in the ranks against 
 the enemy. "What! 11 says he, "would it, then, be 
 a reputed cowardice to overcome them by giving 
 ground?" urging, at the same time, the authority of 
 Homer, who commends in y£neas the science of flight. 
 And whereas Laches, considering better o 1 it, admits 
 the practice as to the Scythians, and, in general, all 
 cavalry whatever, he again attacks him with the 
 
OF CONSTANCY. 29 
 
 example of the Lacedaemonian foot — a nation of all 
 other the most obstinate in maintaining their ground 
 — who, in the battle of Plataea, not being able to break 
 into the Persian phalanx, bethought themselves to 
 disperse and retire, that by the enemy supposing they 
 fled, they might break and disunite that vast body of 
 men in the pursuit, and by that stratagem obtained 
 the victory. 
 
 As for the Scythians, 'tis said of them, that when 
 Darius went his expedition to subdue them, he sent, 
 by a herald, highly to reproach their king, that he 
 always retired before him, and declined a battle; to 
 which Idanthyrses, for that was his name, returned 
 answer, that it was not for fear of him, or of any man 
 living, that he did so, but that it was the way of march- 
 ing in practice with his nation, who had neither tilled 
 fields, cities, nor houses to defend, or to fear the 
 enemy should make any advantage of; but that if lie 
 had such a stomach to fight, let him but come to view 
 their ancient places of sepulture, and there he should 
 have his fill. 
 
 Nevertheless, as to cannon-shot, when a body of 
 men are drawn up in the face of a train of artillery, 
 as the occasion of war often requires, it is unhand- 
 some to quit their post to avoid the danger, foras- 
 much as by reason of its violence and swiftness we 
 account it inevitable ; and many a one, by ducking, 
 stepping aside, and such other motions of fear, has 
 been, at all events, sufficiently laughed at by his com- 
 panions. And yet, in the expedition that the Em- 
 peror Charles V. made against us into Provence, the 
 Marquis de Guast going to reconnoitre the city of 
 
30 ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 Aries, and advancing out of the cover of a windmill, 
 under favor of which he had made his approach, was 
 perceived by the Seigneurs de Bonneval and the 
 seneschal of Agenois ? who were walking upon the 
 théâtre aux arènes ; who having shown him to 
 the Sieur de Villiers, commissary of the artillery, 
 he pointed a culverin so admirably well, and levelled 
 it so exactly right against him, that had not the mar- 
 quis, seeing fire given to it, slipped aside, it was cer- 
 tainly concluded the shot had taken him full in the 
 body. And, in like manner, some years before, Lo- 
 renzo de Medici, duke of Urbino [Florence] and 
 father to the queen-mother [Catherine de Medici, 
 mother of Henry III.], laying siege to Mondolpho, 
 a place in the territories of the vicariat in Italy, see- 
 ing the cannoneer give fire to a piece that pointed 
 directly against him, it was well for him that he 
 ducked, for otherwise the shot, that only razed the 
 top of his head, had doubtless hit him full in the 
 breast. To say truth, I do not think that these eva- 
 sions are performed upon the account of judgment ; 
 for how can any man living judge of high or low aim 
 on so sudden an occasion? And it is much more 
 easy to believe that Fortune favored their apprehen- 
 sion, and that it might be as well at another time to 
 make them face the danger, as to seek to avoid it. 
 For my own part, I confess I cannot forbear starting 
 when the rattle of a arquebus thunders in my ears on 
 a sudden, and in a place where I am not to expect it, 
 which I have also observed in others, braver fellows 
 than I. 
 
 Neither do the Stoics pretend that the soul of their 
 
OF FEAR. 31 
 
 philosopher need be proof against the first visions and 
 fantasies that surprise him ; but, as to a natural sub- 
 jection, consent that he should tremble at the terrible 
 noise of thunder, or the sudden clatter of some falling 
 ruin, and be affrighted even to paleness and convul- 
 sion ; and so in other passions, provided his judg- 
 ment remain sound and entire, and that the seat of 
 his reason suffer no concussion nor alteration, and 
 that he yield no consent to his fright and discom- 
 posure. To him who is not a philosopher a fright is 
 the same thing in the first part of it, but quite another 
 thing in the second ; for the impression of passions 
 does not remain superficially in him, but penetrates 
 farther, even to the very seat of reason, infecting and 
 corrupting it, so that he judges according to his fear, 
 and conforms his behavior to it. In this verse you 
 may see the true state of the wise Stoic learnedly and 
 plainly expressed, " Though tears flow, the mind re- 
 mains unmoved' ' [Virgil]. 
 
 The peripatetic sage does not exempt himself totally 
 from perturbations of mind, but he moderates them. 
 
 OF FEAR. 
 
 " I was amazed, my hair stood on end, and my voice 
 stuck in my throat " [Virgil] . 
 
 I am not so good a naturalist (as they call it) as to 
 discern by what secret springs fear has its motion in 
 us ; but, be this as it may, 'tis a strange passion, and 
 such a one that the physicians say there is no other 
 whatever that sooner dethrones our judgment from its 
 proper seat ; which is so true, that I myself have seen 
 very many become frantic through fear ; and, even in 
 
32 ESSAYS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 those of the best settled temper, it is most certain that 
 it begets a terrible astonishment and confusion during 
 the fit. I omit the vulgar sort, to whom it one while 
 represents their great-grandsires risen out of their 
 graves in their shrouds, another while hobgoblins, 
 spectres, and chimeras ; but even among soldiers, a 
 sort of men over whom, of all others, it ought to have 
 the least power, how often has it converted flocks of 
 sheep into armed squadrons, reeds and bulrushes into 
 pikes and lances, friends into enemies, and the French 
 white cross into the red cross of Spain ! 
 
 When Monsieur de Bourbon took Rome [1527], an 
 ensign who was upon guard at Borgo San Pietro was 
 seized with such a fright upon the first alarm, that he 
 threw himself out at a breach with his colors upon his 
 shoulder, and ran directly upon the enemy, thinking 
 he had retreated toward the inward defences of the 
 city, and with much ado, seeing Monsieur de Bour- 
 bon's people, who thought it had been a sally upon 
 them, draw up to receive him, at last came to himself, 
 and saw his error ; and then facing about, he retreated 
 full speed through the same breach by which he had 
 gone out, but not till he had first blindly advanced 
 above three hundred paces into the open field. 
 
 It did not, however, fall out so well with Captain 
 Julio's ensign, at the time when St. Paul was taken 
 from us by the Count de Bures and Monsieur de Reu, 
 for he, being so astonished with fear as to throw him- 
 self, colors and all, out at a porthole, was immediately 
 cut to pieces by the enemy ; and in the same siege, it 
 was a very memorable fear that so seized, contracted, 
 and froze up the heart of a gentleman, that he sank 
 
OF FEAR. S3 
 
 down, stone-dead, in the breach, without any manner 
 of wound or hurt at all. 
 
 The like madness does sometimes push on a whole 
 multitude ; for in one of the encounters that Germani- 
 cus had with the Germans, two great parties were so 
 amazed with fear that they ran two opposite ways, the 
 one to the same place from which the other had fled. 
 Sometimes it adds wings to the heels, as in the two 
 first : sometimes it nails them to the ground, and 
 fetters them from moving ; as we read of the Emperor 
 Theophilus, who, in a battle he lost against the 
 Agarenes,was so astonished and stupefied that he had 
 no power to fly ; till such time as Manuel, one of the 
 principal commanders of his army, having jogged and 
 shaked him so as to rouse him out of his trance, said 
 to him, " Sir, if you will not follow me, I will kill you ; 
 for it is better you should lose your life than, by being 
 taken, lose your empire.'" 
 
 But fear does then manifest its utmost power when 
 it throws us upon a valiant despair, having before 
 deprived us of all sense both of duty and honor. In 
 the first pitched battle the Romans lost against 
 Hannibal, under the consul Sempronius, a body of 
 ten thousand foot, that had taken fright, seeing no 
 other escape for their cowardice, went and threw 
 themselves headlong upon the great battalion of the 
 enemies, which with marvellous force and fury they 
 charged through and through, and routed with a very 
 great slaughter of the Carthaginians, thus purchasing 
 an ignominious flight at the same price they might 
 have gained a glorious victory. 
 
 The thing in the world I am most afraid of is fear, 
 
34 ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 that passion alone, in the trouble of it, exceeding all 
 other accidents, What affliction could be greater or 
 more just than that of Pompey's friends, who, in his 
 ship, were spectators of that horrible murder ? Yet 
 so it was, that the fear of the Egyptian vessels they 
 saw coming to board them, possessed them with so 
 great alarm that it is observed they thought of noth- 
 ing but calling upon the mariners to make haste, and 
 by force of oars to escape away, till being arrived at 
 Tyre, and delivered from fear, they had leisure to turn 
 their thoughts to the loss of their captain, and to give 
 vent to those tears and lamentations that the other 
 more potent passion had till then suspended. 
 
 Such as have been well banged in some skirmish, 
 may yet, all wounded and bloody as they are, be 
 brought on again the next day to charge ; but such as 
 have once conceived a good sound fear of the enemy, 
 will never be made so much as to look him in the face. 
 Such as are in immediate fear of losing their estates, 
 of banishment, or of slavery, live in perpetual anguish, 
 and lose all appetite and repose ; whereas such as are 
 actually poor, slaves, or exiles, ofttimes live as merrily 
 as other folk. And the many people who, impatient 
 of the perpetual alarms of fear, have hanged or 
 drowned themselves, or dashed themselves to pieces, 
 give us sufficiently to understand that fear is more 
 importunate and insupportable than death itself. 
 
 The Greeks acknowledge another kind of fear, 
 differing from any we have spoken of yet, that sur- 
 prises us without any visible cause, by an impulse 
 from heaven, so that whole nations and whole armies 
 have been struck with it. Such a one was that which 
 
JUDGE NOT HAPPINESS. 35 
 
 brought so wonderful a desolation upon Carthage, 
 where nothing was to be heard but affrighted voices 
 and outcries ; where the inhabitants were seen to sally 
 out of their houses as to an alarm, and there to charge, 
 wound, and kill one another, as if they had been ene- 
 mies come to surprise their city. All things were in 
 disorder and fury till, with prayers and sacrifices, they 
 had appeased their gods ; and this is that they call a 
 panic terror. 
 
 THAT MEN ARE NOT TO JUDGE OF OUR 
 HAPPINESS TILL AFTER DEATH. 
 
 "We should all look forward to our last day; no 
 one can be called happy till he is dead and buried" 
 [Ovid]. 
 
 The very children know the story of King Croesus 
 to this purpose, who being taken prisoner by Cyrus, 
 and by him condemned to die, as he was going to 
 execution cried out, " O Solon, Solon!" which being 
 presently reported to Cyrus, and he sending to inquire 
 of him what it meant, Crcesus gave him to understand 
 that he now found the teaching Solon had formerly 
 given him true to his cost, which was, " That men, 
 however fortune may smile upon them, could never 
 be said to be happy till they had been seen to pass 
 over the last day of their lives," by reason of the un- 
 certainty and mutability of human things, which, upon 
 very light and trivial occasions, are subject to be 
 totally changed into a quite contrary condition. 
 
 And so it was that Agesilaus made answer to one 
 who was saying what a happy young man the king of 
 
$6 ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 Persia was, to come so young to so mighty a king- 
 dom ; " 'Tis true," said he, " but neither was Priam 
 unhappy at his years. 1 ' In a short time, kings of 
 Macedon, successors to that mighty Alexander, be- 
 came joiners and scriveners at Rome ; a tyrant of 
 Sicily, a pedant at Corinth ; a conqueror of one-half 
 of the world and general of so many armies, a miser- 
 able suppliant to the rascally officers of a king of 
 Egypt : so much did the prolongation of five or six 
 months of life cost the great Pompey ; and, in our 
 fathers 1 days, Ludovico Sforza, the tenth duke of 
 Milan, whom all Italy had so long truckled under, was 
 seen to die a wretched prisoner at Loches, but not till 
 he had lived ten years in captivity, which was the 
 worst part of his fortune. The fairest of all queens, 1 
 widow to the greatest king in Europe, did she not 
 come to die by the hand of an executioner? Un- 
 worthy and barbarous cruelty! And a thousand more 
 examples there are of the same kind ; for, it seems, 
 that as storms and tempests have a malice against the 
 proud and overtowering heights of our lofty build- 
 ings, there are also spirits above that are envious of 
 the grandeurs here below. 
 
 And it should seem, also, that Fortune sometimes 
 lies in wait to surprise the last hour of our lives, to 
 show the power she has, in a moment, to overthrow 
 what she was so many years in building, making us 
 cry out with Laberius, " I have lived longer by this one 
 day than 1 should have done. 11 
 
 And, in this sense, this good advice of Solon may 
 
 1 Mary, Queen of Scots. 
 
JUDGE NOT HAPPINESS. 37 
 
 reasonably be taken ; but he, being a philosopher 
 (with which sort of men the favors and disgraces of 
 Fortune stand for nothing, either to the making a 
 man happy or unhappy, and with whom grandeurs 
 and powers are accidents of a quality almost indiffer- 
 ent) I am apt to think that he had some further aim, 
 and that his meaning was, that the very felicity of life 
 itself, which depends upon the tranquillity and con- 
 tentment of a well-descended spirit, and the resolution 
 and assurance of a well-ordered soul, ought never to 
 be attributed to any man till he has first been seen to 
 play the last and doubtless the hardest act of his 
 part. There may be disguise and dissimulation in all 
 the rest : where these fine philosophical discourses 
 are only put on, and where accident, not touching 
 us to the quick, gives us leisure to maintain the same 
 gravity of aspect ; but, in this last scene of death, 
 there is no more counterfeiting : we must speak out 
 plain, and discover what there is of pure and clean in 
 the bottom of the pot. Lucretius says, " Then at last 
 truth issues from the heart ; the visor's gone, the man 
 remains."" 
 
 Wherefore, at this last, all the other actions of our 
 life ought to be tried and sifted ; 'tis the master-day, 
 'tis the day that is judge of all the rest, "'tis the day," 
 says one of the ancients [Seneca], "that must be 
 judge of all my foregoing years." To death do I 
 refer the assay of the fruit of all my studies : we shall 
 then see whether my discourses came only from my 
 mouth or from my heart. I have seen many by their 
 death give a good or an ill repute to their whole life. 
 Scipio, the father-in-law of Pompey, in dying, well 
 
38 ESSAYS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 wiped away the ill opinion that till then every one had 
 conceived of him. Epaminondas being asked which 
 of the three he had in greatest esteem, Chabrias, 
 Iphicrates, or himself, " You must first see us die," 
 said he, "before that question can be resolved." 
 And, in truth, he would infinitely wrong that man 
 who would weigh him without the honor and gran- 
 deur of his end. 
 
 God has ordered all things as it has best pleased 
 Him ; but I have, in my time, seen three of the most 
 execrable persons that ever I knew in all manner of 
 abominable living, and the most infamous to boot, 
 who all died a very regular death, and in all circum- 
 stances composed, even to perfection. There are 
 brave and fortunate deaths : I have seen death cut 
 the thread of the progress of a prodigious advance- 
 ment, and in the height and flower of its increase, of 
 a certain person, with so glorious an end that, in my 
 opinion, his ambitious and generous designs had 
 nothing in them so high and great as their interrup- 
 tion. He arrived, without completing his course, at 
 the place to which his ambition aimed, with greater 
 glory than he could either have hoped or desired, 
 anticipating by his fall the name and power to which 
 he aspired in perfecting his career. In the judgment 
 I make of another man's life, I always observe how he 
 carried himself at his death ; and the principal con- 
 cern I have for my own is that I may die well — that 
 is, patiently and tranquilly. 
 
TRUTH AND ERROR. 39 
 
 THAT IT IS FOLLY TO MEASURE TRUTH 
 AND ERROR BY OUR OWN CAPACITY. 
 
 'Tis not, perhaps, without reason, that we attribute 
 facility of belief and easiness of persuasion, to sim- 
 plicity and ignorance ; for I fancy I have heard belief 
 compared to the impression of a seal upon the soul, 
 which by how much softer and of less resistance it is, 
 is the more easy to be impressed upon. Says Cicero : 
 " As the scale of the balance must give way to the 
 weight that presses it down, so the mind must of 
 necessity yield to demonstration." By how much 
 the soul is more empty and without counterpoise, 
 with so much greater facility it yields under the 
 weight of the first persuasion. And this is the rea- 
 son that children, the common people, women, and 
 sick folks, are most apt to be led by the ears. 
 
 But then, on the other hand, 'tis a foolish pre- 
 sumption to slight and condemn all things for false 
 that do not appear to us probable ; which is the or- 
 dinary vice of such as fancy themselves wiser than 
 their neighbors. I was myself once one of those; 
 and if I heard talk of dead folks walking, of proph- 
 ecies, enchantments, witchcrafts, or any other story I 
 had no mind to believe : " Dreams, magic terrors, mar- 
 vels, sorceries, hobgoblins, and Thessalian prodigies," 
 I presently pitied the poor people that were abused 
 by these follies. Whereas I now find, that I myself 
 was to be pitied as much, at least, as they ; not 
 that experience has taught me anything to alter 
 my former opinions, though my curiosity has en- 
 
40 ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 deavored that way ; but reason has instructed me, 
 that thus resolutely to condemn anything for false 
 and impossible, is arrogantly and impiously to cir- 
 cumscribe and limit the will of God, and the power 
 of our mother nature, within the bounds of my own 
 capacity, than which no folly can be greater. If we 
 give the names of monster and miracle to everything 
 our reason cannot comprehend, how many are con- 
 tinually presented before our eyes ? Let us but con- 
 sider through what clouds, and as it were groping in 
 the dark, our teachers lead us to the knowledge of 
 most of the things about us ; assuredly we shall find 
 that it is rather custom than knowledge that takes 
 away their strangeness, and that if those things were 
 now newly presented to us, we should think them as 
 incredible, if not more, than any others. 
 
 He that had never seen a river, imagined the first 
 he met with to be the sea; and the greatest things 
 that have fallen within our knowledge, we conclude 
 the extremes that nature makes of the kind. 
 
 " Things grow familiar to men's minds by being 
 often seen ; so that they neither admire, nor are in- 
 quisitive about, things they daily see " [Cicero] . The 
 novelty, rather than the greatness of things, tempts 
 us to inquire into their causes. We are to judge with 
 more reverence, and with greater acknowledgment of 
 our own ignorance and infirmity, of the infinite power 
 of nature. How many unlikely things are there tes- 
 tified by people worthy of faith, which, if we cannot 
 persuade ourselves absolutely to t believe, we ought 
 at least to leave them in suspense ; for, to condemn 
 them as impossible, is by a temerarious presumption 
 
TRUTH AND ERROR. 41 
 
 to pretend to know the utmost bounds of possibility. 
 Did we rightly understand the difference between 
 the impossible and the unusual, and between that 
 which is contrary to the order and course of nature, 
 and contrary to the common opinion of men, in not 
 believing rashly, and on the other hand, in not being 
 too incredulous, we should observe the rule of Ne 
 quid nimis, enjoined by Chilo. 
 
 When we find in Froissart, that the Count de Foix 
 knew in Beam the defeat of John, king of Castile, at 
 Juberoth the next day after it happened, and the 
 meais by which he tells us he came to do so, we may 
 be allowed to be a little merry at it, as also at what 
 our annals report, that Pope Honorius, the same day 
 that King Philip Augustus died at Mantes, performed 
 his public obsequies at Rome, and commanded the 
 like throughout Italy, the testimony of these authors 
 not being, perhaps, of authority enough to restrain us. 
 But what if Plutarch, besides several examples that he 
 produces out of antiquity, tells us, he knows of certain 
 knowledge, that in the time of Domitian, the news of 
 the battle lost by Anthony in Germany, was published 
 at Rome, many days' journey from thence, and dis- 
 persed throughout the whole world, the same day it 
 was fought ; and if Caesar was of opinion, that it has 
 often happened, that the report has preceded the in- 
 cident, shall we not say, that these simple people 
 have suffered themselves to be deceived with the 
 vulgar, for not having been so clear-sighted as we ? 
 Is there anything more delicate, more clear, more 
 sprightly, than Pliny's judgment, when he is pleased 
 to set it to work ? Anything more remote from 
 
4 2 ESS A Y S OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 vanity ? Setting aside his learning, of which I make 
 less account, in which of these excellences do any of 
 us excel him ? And yet there is scarce a young 
 schoolboy that does not convict him of untruth, and 
 that pretends not to instruct him in the progress of 
 the works of nature. 
 
 When we read in Bouchet the miracles of St. Hil- 
 ary's relics, away with them : his authority is not 
 sufficient to deprive us of the liberty of contradicting 
 him ; but generally and offhand to condemn all such 
 like stories seems to me a singular impudence. That 
 great St. Augustin testifies to have seen a blind child 
 recover sight upon the relics of St. Gervaise and 
 St. Protasius at Milan ; a woman at Carthage cured 
 of a cancer, by the sign of the cross made upon her 
 by a woman newly baptized ; Hesperius, a familiar 
 friend of his, to have driven away the spirits that 
 haunted his house, with a little earth of the sepulchre 
 of our Lord ; which earth, being also transported 
 thence into the church, a paralytic to have there been 
 suddenly cured by it ; a woman in a procession, hav- 
 ing touched St. Stephen's shrine with a nosegay, and 
 rubbing her eyes with it, to have recovered her sight, 
 lost many years before ; with several other miracles 
 of which he professes himself to have been an eye- 
 witness ; of what shall we accuse him and the two 
 holy bishops, Aurelius and Maximinus, both of whom 
 he attests to the truth of these things? Shall it be 
 of ignorance, simplicity, and facility ; or of malice and 
 imposture? Is any man now living so impudent as 
 to think himself comparable to them in virtue, piety, 
 learning, judgment, or any kind of perfection ? " Who, 
 
TRUTH AND ERROR. 43 
 
 though they should give me no reason for what 
 they affirm, convince me with their sole authority " 
 [Cicero] . 
 
 Tis a presumption of great danger and conse- 
 quence, besides the absurd temerity it draws after it, 
 to contemn what we do not comprehend. For after, 
 according to your fine understanding, you have estab- 
 lished the limits of truth and error, and that, after- 
 ward, there appears a necessity upon you of believing 
 stranger things than those you have contradicted, you 
 are already obliged to quit your limits. Now, that 
 which seems to me so much to disorder our con- 
 sciences in the commotions we are now in concerning 
 religion, is the Catholics dispensing so much with 
 their belief. They fancy they appear moderate, and 
 wise, when they grant to their opponents some of the 
 articles in question ; but, besides that they do not dis- 
 cern what advantage it is to those with whom we 
 contend, to begin to give ground and to retire, and 
 how much this animates our enemy to follow his 
 blow ; these articles which they select as things indif- 
 ferent are sometimes of very great importance. 
 
 We are either wholly and absolutely to submit our- 
 selves to the authority of our ecclesiastical polity, or 
 totally throw off all obedience to it : 'tis not for us 
 to determine what and how much obedience we owe 
 to it. And this I can say, as having myself made 
 trial of it, that having formerly taken the liberty of 
 my own swing and fancy, and omitted or neglected 
 certain rules of the discipline of our church, which 
 seemed to me vain and strange : coming afterward to 
 discourse x)f it with learned men, I have found those 
 
44 ESSAYS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 same things to be built upon very good and solid 
 ground and strong foundation ; and that nothing but 
 stupidity and ignorance makes us receive them with 
 less reverence than the rest. 
 
 Why do we not consider what contradictions we 
 find in our own judgments ; how many things were 
 yesterday articles of our faith, that to-day appear no 
 other than fables? Glory and curiosity are the 
 scourges of the soul ; the last prompts us to thrust 
 our noses into everything, the other forbids us to 
 leave anything doubtful and undecided. 
 
 OF FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 Having considered the proceedings of a painter 
 that serves me, I had a mind to imitate his way. He 
 chooses the fairest place and middle of any wall, or 
 panel, wherein to draw a picture, which he finishes 
 with his utmost care and art, and the vacuity about 
 it he fills with grotesques, which are odd fantastic 
 figures without any grace but what they derive from 
 their variety, and the extravagance of their shapes. 
 And in truth, what are these things I scribble, other 
 than grotesques and monstrous bodies, made of vari- 
 ous parts, without any certain figure, or any other 
 than accidental order, coherence, or proportion? 
 
 In this second part I go hand in hand with my 
 painter; but fall very short of him in the first and 
 the better, my power of handling not being such, 
 that I dare to offer at a rich piece, finely polished, 
 and set off according to art. I have therefore thought 
 fit to borrow one of Estienne de la Boetie, and such a 
 
OF FRIENDSHIP. 45 
 
 one as shall honor and adorn all the rest of my work 
 — namely, a discourse that he called Voluntary Servi- 
 tude; but, since, those who did not know him have 
 properly enough called it " Le contre Un." He wrote 
 in his youth by way of essay, in honor of liberty against 
 tyrants ; and it has since run through the hands of men 
 of great learning and judgment, not without singular 
 and merited commendation ; for it is finely written, 
 and as full as anything can possibly be. 
 
 And yet one may confidently say it is far short of 
 what he was able to do ; and if in that more mature 
 age, wherein I had the happiness to know him, he 
 had taken a design like this of mine, to commit his 
 thoughts to writing, we should have seen a great many 
 rare things, and such as would have gone very near 
 to have rivalled the best writings of antiquity : for in 
 natural parts especially, I know no man comparable 
 to him. But he has left nothing behind him, save 
 this treatise only (and that, too, by chance, for I 
 believe he never saw it after it first went out of his 
 hands), and some observations upon that edict of 
 January, 1 made famous by our civil wars, which also 
 shall elsewhere, peradventure, find a place. These 
 were all I could recover of his remains, I to whom, 
 with so affectionate a remembrance, upon his death- 
 bed, he by his last will bequeathed his library and 
 papers, the little book of his works only excepted, 
 which I committed to the press. And this particular 
 obligation I have to this treatise of his, that it was 
 the occasion of my first coming acquainted with him ; 
 
 1 1562, which granted to the Huguenots the public exercise 
 of their religion. 
 
46 ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 for it was showed to me long before I had the good 
 fortune to know him ; and gave me the first knowl- 
 edge of his name, proving the first cause and founda- 
 tion of a friendship which we afterward improved 
 and maintained, so long as God was pleased to con- 
 tinue us together, so perfect, inviolate, and entire, 
 that certainly the like is hardly to be found in story, 
 and among the men of this age there is no sign nor 
 trace of any such thing in use ; so much concurrence 
 is required to the building of such a one, that 'tis 
 much, if fortune bring it but once to pass in three 
 ages. 
 
 There is nothing to which nature seems so much 
 to have inclined us as to society ; and Aristotle says, 
 that the good legislators had more respect to friend- 
 ship than to justice. Now the most supreme point of 
 its perfection is this : for, generally, all those that 
 pleasure, profit, public or private interest create and 
 nourish, are so much the less beautiful and generous, 
 and so much the less friendships, by how much they 
 mix another cause, and design, and fruit in friend- 
 ship, than itself. Neither do the four ancient kinds, 
 natural, social, hospitable, venerian, either separately 
 or jointly, make up a true and perfect friendship. 
 
 That of children to parents is rather respect : friend- 
 ship is nourished by communication, which cannot, 
 by reason of the great disparity, be betwixt these, but 
 would rather perhaps offend the duties of nature ; for 
 neither are all the secret thoughts of fathers fit to be 
 communicated to children, lest it beget an indecent 
 familiarity between them; nor can the advices and 
 reproofs, which is one of the principal offices of friend- 
 
OF FRIENDSHIP. 47 
 
 ship, be properly performed by the son to the father. 
 There are some countries where 'twas the custom for 
 children to kill their fathers ; and others, where the 
 fathers killed their children, to avoid their being an 
 impediment one to another in life ; and naturally 
 the expectations of the one depend upon the ruin of 
 the other. 
 
 This name of brother does indeed carry with it a 
 fine and delectable sound, and for that reason, he and 
 I called one another brothers, but the complication of 
 interests, the division of estates, and that the wealth 
 of the one should be the poverty of the other, strangely 
 relax and weaken the fraternal tie : brothers pursuing 
 their fortune and advancement by the same path, 'tis 
 hardly possible but they must of necessity often jostle 
 and hinder one another. Besides, why is it necessary 
 that the correspondence of manners, parts, and incli- 
 nations, which begets the true and perfect friendship's, 
 should always meet in these relations? The father 
 and the son ma/y be of quite contrary humors, and so 
 of brothers : he is my son, he is my brother ; but he 
 is passionate, ill-natured, or a fool. And moreover, 
 by how much these are friendships that the law and 
 natural obligation impose upon us, so much less is 
 there of our own choice and voluntary freedom ; 
 whereas that voluntary liberty of ours has no pro- 
 duction more promptly and properly its own than 
 aifection and friendship. Not that I have not in my 
 own person experimented all that can possibly be 
 expected of that kind, having had the best and most 
 indulgent father, even to his extreme old age. that 
 ever was, and who was himself descended from a. 
 
4^ ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 family for many generations famous and exemplary 
 for brotherly concord. 
 
 We are not here to bring the love we bear to women, 
 though it be an act of our own choice, into compari- 
 son ; nor rank it with the others. " Nor is the goddess 
 unknown to me, who mixes a pleasing sorrow with my 
 love's flame " [Catullus] . The fire of this, I confess, 
 is more active, more eager, and more sharp ; but 
 withal, 'tis more precipitant, fickle, moving, and incon- 
 stant ; a fever subject to intermissions and paroxysms, 
 that has seized but on one part of us. Whereas in 
 friendship, 'tis a general and universal fire, but temper- 
 ate and equal, a constant established heat, all gentle and 
 smooth, without poignancy or roughness. Moreover, 
 in love, 'tis no other than frantic desire for that which 
 flies from us : " As the hunter pursues the hare, 
 through cold and heat, over hill and dale, but, so soon 
 as it is taken, no longer cares for it, and only delights 
 in chasing that which flees from him" [Ariosto], so 
 soon as it enters into the terms of friendship, that is 
 to say, into a concurrence of desires, it vanishes and 
 is gone, fruition destroys it, as having only a fleshly 
 end, and such a one as is subject to satiety. Friend- 
 ship, on the contrary, is enjoyed proportionably as it 
 is desired ; and only grows up, is nourished and im- 
 proves by enjoyment, as being of itself spiritual, and 
 the soul growing still more refined by practice. Under 
 this perfect friendship, the other fleeting affections 
 have in my younger years found some place in me, to 
 say nothing of him, who himself so confesses but too 
 much in his verses ; so that I had both these passions, 
 but always so, that I could myself well enough distin- 
 
OF FRIENDSHIP. 49 
 
 guish them, and never in any degree of comparison 
 with one another ; the first maintaining its flight in 
 so lofty and so brave a place, as with disdain to look 
 down, and see the other flying at a far humbler pitch 
 below. 
 
 As concerning marriage, besides that it is a cove- 
 nant, the entrance into which only is free, but the 
 continuance in it forced and compulsory, having 
 another dependence than that of our own freewill, 
 and a bargain commonly contracted to other ends, 
 there almost always happens a thousand intricacies in 
 it to unravel, enough to break the thread and to divert 
 the current of a lively affection : whereas friendship 
 has no manner of business or traffic with aught but 
 itself. Moreover, to say truth, the ordinary talent of 
 women is not such as is sufficient to maintain the 
 conference and communication required to the sup- 
 port of this sacred tie ; nor do they appear to be 
 endued with constancy of mind, to sustain the pinch 
 of so hard and durable a knot. And doubtless, if 
 without this, there could be such a free and voluntary 
 familiarity contracted where not only the souls might 
 have this entire fruition, but the bodies also might 
 share in the alliance, and a man be engaged through- 
 out, the friendship would certainly be more full and 
 perfect ; but it is without example that this sex has 
 ever yet arrived at such perfection ; and by the 
 common consent of the ancient schools, it is wholly 
 rejected from it. 
 
 I return to my own more just and true description. 
 " Those are only to be reputed friendships, that are 
 fortified and confirmed by judgment and length of 
 
SO ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 time " [Cicero] . For the rest, what we commonly 
 call friends and friendships, are nothing but acquaint- 
 ance and familiarities, either occasionally contracted 
 or upon some design, by means of which there 
 happens some little intercourse between our souls. 
 But in the friendship I speak of, they mix and work 
 themselves into one piece, with so universal a mixture, 
 that there is no more sign of the seam by which they 
 were first conjoined. If a man should importune me 
 to give a reason why I loved him, I find it could no 
 otherwise be expressed, than by making answer : 
 because it was he, because it was I. There is, beyond 
 all that I am able to say, I know not what inexplicable 
 and fated power that brought on this union. We 
 sought one another long before we met, and by the 
 characters we heard of one another, which wrought 
 upon our affections more than, in reason, mere re- 
 ports should do ; I think 'twas by some secret ap- 
 pointment of heaven. We embraced in our names ; 
 and at our first meeting, which was accidentally at 
 a great city entertainment, we found ourselves so 
 mutually taken with one another, so acquainted, and 
 so endeared between ourselves, that from thencefor- 
 ward nothing was so near to us as one another. He 
 wrote an excellent Latin satire, since printed, wherein 
 he excuses the precipitation of our intelligence, so 
 suddenly come to perfection, saying, that destined to 
 have so short a continuance, as begun so late (for we 
 were both full-grown men, and he some years the 
 older), there was no time to lose, nor were we tied to 
 conform to the example of those slow and regular 
 friendships that require so many precautions of long 
 
OF FRIENDSHIP, S I 
 
 preliminary conversation. This has no other idea 
 than that of itself, and can only refer to itself: this is 
 no one special consideration, nor two, nor three, nor 
 four, nor a thousand ; "tis I know not what quintes- 
 sence of all this mixture, which, seizing my whole 
 will, carried it to plunge and lose itself in his, and 
 that having seized his whole will, brought it back 
 with equal concurrence and appetite to plunge and 
 lose itself in mine. I may truly say lose, reserving 
 nothing to ourselves, that was either his or mine. 1 
 When Laelius. in the presence of the Roman con- 
 suls, who after they had sentenced Tiberius Gracchus, 
 prosecuted all those who had had any familiarity with 
 him also, came to ask Caius Blosius. who was his chief- 
 est friend how much he would have done for him, and 
 that he made answer: "All things." •'•' How ! All 
 things ! " said Laelius. " And what if he had com- 
 manded you to fire our temples ? *' " He would 
 never have commanded me that," replied Blosius. 
 " But what if he had ? " said Laelius . " I would have 
 obeyed him," said the other. If he was so perfect a 
 friend to Gracchus, as the histories report him to have 
 been, there was yet no necessity of offending the con- 
 suls by such a bold confession, though he might still 
 have retained the assurance he had of Gracchus' dis- 
 position. However, those who accuse this answer as 
 seditious, do not well understand the mystery : nor 
 presuppose, as it was true, that he had Gracchus" will 
 in his sleeve, both by the power of a friend, and the 
 perfect knowledge he had of the man : they were 
 more friends than citizens, more friends to one an- 
 
 1 All this relates to Estienne de la Boetie. 
 
52 ESSAYS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 other than either friends or enemies to their country, 
 or than friends to ambition and innovation ; having 
 absolutely given up themselves to one another, either 
 held absolutely the reins of the other's inclination ; 
 and suppose all this guided by virtue, and all this by 
 the conduct of reason, which also without these it 
 had not been possible to do, Blosius' answer was 
 such as it ought to be. If any of their actions flew 
 out of the handle, they were neither (according to 
 my measure of friendship) friends to one another, 
 nor to themselves. 
 
 As to the rest, this answer carries no worse sound, 
 than mine would do to one that should ask me : " If 
 your will should command you to kill your daughter, 
 would you do it ? " and that I should make answer, 
 that I would ; for this expresses no consent to such 
 an act, forasmuch as I do not in the least suspect my 
 own will, and as little that of such a friend. Tis not 
 in the power of all the eloquence in the world to dis- 
 possess me of the certainty I have of the intentions 
 and resolutions of my friend : nay, no one action of 
 his, what face soever it might bear, could be pre- 
 sented to me, of which I could not presently, and at 
 first sight, find out the moving cause. Our souls had 
 drawn so unanimously together, they had considered 
 each other with so ardent an affection, and with the 
 like affection laid open the very bottom of our hearts 
 to one another's view, that I not only knew his as 
 well as my own ; but should certainly in any concern 
 of mine have trusted my interest much more willingly 
 with him than with myself. 
 
 Let no one, therefore, rank other common friend- 
 
OF FRIENDSHIP. S3 
 
 ships with such a one as this. I have had as much 
 experience of these as another, and of the most per- 
 fect of their kind ; but I do not advise that any 
 should confound the rules of the one and the other, 
 for they would find themselves much deceived. In 
 those other ordinary friendships, you are to walk with 
 bridle in your hand, with prudence and circumspec- 
 tion, for in them the knot is not so sure, that a man 
 may not half suspect it will slip. "Love him,' 1 said 
 Chilo, " so, as if you were one day to hate him ; and 
 hate him so, as you were one day to love him.' 1 This 
 precept, though abominable in the sovereign and per- 
 fect friendship I speak of, is nevertheless very sound, 
 as to the practice of the ordinary and customary 
 ones, and to which the saying that Aristotle had so 
 frequent in his mouth, " Oh, my friends, there is 
 no friend ;" may very fitly be applied. 
 
 In this noble commerce, good offices, presents, and 
 benefits, by which other friendships are supported 
 and maintained, do not deserve so much as to be 
 mentioned ; and the reason is the concurrence of our 
 wills ; for as the kindness I have for myself receives 
 no increase, for anything I relieve myself withal in 
 time of need (whatever the Stoics say), and as I do 
 not find myself obliged to myself for any service I 
 do myself: so the union of such friends, being truly 
 perfect, deprives them of all idea of such duties, and 
 makes them loathe and banish from their conversa- 
 tion these words of division and distinction, benefit, 
 obligation, acknowledgment, entreaty, thanks, and 
 the like. All things, wills, thoughts, opinions, goods, 
 wives, children, honors, and lives, being in effect 
 
54 ESS A YS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 common between them, and that absolute concur- 
 rence of affections being no other than one soul in 
 two bodies (according to that very proper définition 
 of Aristotle), they can neither lend nor give anything 
 to one another. This is the reason why the law- 
 givers, to honor marriage with some resemblance of 
 this divine alliance, interdict all gifts between man 
 and wife ; inferring by that, that all should belong to 
 each of them, and that they have nothing to divide or 
 to give to each other. 
 
 If, in the friendship of which I speak, one could 
 give to the other, the receiver of the benefit would be 
 the man that obliged his friend ; for each of them 
 contending and above all things studying how to be 
 useful to the other, he that administers the occasion 
 is the liberal man, in giving his frknd the satisfac- 
 tion of doing that toward him, which above all things 
 he most desires. When the philosopher Diogenes 
 wanted money, he used to say that he redemanded it 
 of his friends, not that he demanded it. And to let 
 you see the practical working of this, I will here pro- 
 duce an ancient and singular example : Eudamidas a 
 Corinthian had two friends, Charixenus a Sycionian, 
 and Areteus a Corinthian ; this man coming to die, 
 being poor, and his two friends rich, he made his will 
 after this manner. " I bequeath to Areteus the main- 
 tenance of my mother, to support and provide for her 
 in her old age ; and to Charixenus I bequeath the 
 care of marrying my daughter, and to give her as good 
 a portion as he is able ; and in case one of these 
 chance to die, I hereby substitute the survivor in his 
 place.'' ' They who first saw this will, made them- 
 
OF FRIENDSHIP, 55 
 
 selves very merry at the contents : but the legatees 
 being made acquainted with it, accepted it with very 
 great content ; and one of them, Charixenus, dying 
 within five days after, and Areteus, by that means, 
 having the charge of both duties devolved solely to 
 him, he nourished the old woman with very great 
 care and tenderness, and of five talents he had in 
 estate, he gave two and a half in marriage with an 
 only daughter he had of his own, and two and a half 
 in marriage with the daughter of Eudamidas, and in 
 one and the same day solemnized both their nuptials. 
 This example is very full, if one thing were not to 
 be objected, namely, the multitude of friends : for the 
 perfect friendship I speak of is indivisible ; each one 
 gives himself so entirely to his friend, that he has 
 nothing left to distribute to others : on the contrary, 
 is sorry that he is not double, treble, or quadruple, 
 and that he has not many souls, and many wills, to 
 confer them all upon this one object. Common 
 friendships will admit of division ; one may love the 
 beauty of this person, the good-humor of that, the 
 liberality of a third, the paternal affection of a fourth, 
 the fraternal love of a fifth, and so of the rest : but 
 this friendship that possesses the whole soul, and 
 there rules and sways with an absolute sovereignty, 
 cannot possibly admit of a rival. If two at the same 
 time should call to you for succor, to which of them 
 would you run ? Should they require of you contrary 
 offices, how could you serve them both ? Should one 
 commit a thing to your silence, that it were of impor- 
 tance to the other to know, how would you disengage 
 yourself ? 
 
S 6 ESSAYS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 A unique and particular friendship dissolves all 
 other obligations whatsoever : the secret I have sworn 
 not to reveal to any other, I may without perjury 
 communicate to him who is not another, but myself. 
 'Tis miracle enough certainly, for a man to double 
 himself, and those that talk of tripling, talk they know 
 not of what. Nothing is extreme, that has its like ; 
 and he who shall suppose, that of two, I love one as 
 much as the other, that they mutually love one another 
 too, and love me as much as I love them, multiplies 
 into a confraternity the most single of units, and 
 whereof, moreover, one alone is the hardest thing in 
 the world to find. The rest of this story suits very 
 well with what I was saying ; for Eudamidas, as a 
 bounty and favor, bequeaths to his friends a legacy of 
 employing themselves in his necessity ; he leaves them 
 heirs to this liberality of his, which consists in giving 
 them the opportunity of conferring a benefit upon him ; 
 and doubtless, the force of friendship is more eminently 
 apparent in this act of his, than in that of Areteus. 
 
 In short, these are effects not to be imagined nor 
 comprehended by such as have not experience of 
 them, and which make me infinitely honor and admire 
 the answer of that young soldier to Cyrus, by whom 
 being asked how much he would take for a horse with 
 which he had won the prize of a race, and whether he 
 would exchange him for a kingdom ? " No, truly, 
 sir," said he, "but I w 7 ould give him with all my 
 heart, to get thereby a true friend, could I find out 
 any man worthy of that alliance." He did not say ill 
 in saying, " could I find " ; for though one may 
 almost everywhere meet with men sufficiently quali- 
 
OF FRIENDSHIP. 57 
 
 fied for a superficial acquaintance, vet in this, where a 
 man is to deal from the very bottom of his heart, 
 without any manner of reservation, it will be requi- 
 site that all the wards and springs be truly wrought, 
 and perfectly sure. 
 
 In confederations that hold but by one end, we are 
 only to provide against the imperfections that particu- 
 larly concern that end. It can be of no importance 
 to me of what religion my physician or my lawyer is ; 
 this consideration has nothing in common with the 
 offices of friendship which they owe me ; and I am of 
 the same indifference in the domestic acquaintance 
 my servants must necessarily contract with me. I 
 never inquire, when I am to take a potman, if he be 
 chaste, but if he be diligent ; and am not solicitous if 
 my muleteer be given to gaming, as if he be strong 
 and able ; or if my cook be a sw r earer, if he be a good 
 cook. I do not take upon me to direct what other 
 men should do in the government of their families 
 (there are plenty that meddle enough with that), but 
 only give an account of my method in my own. 
 Terence says, " This has been my way ; as for you, 
 do as you think fit." 
 
 For table-talk, I prefer the pleasant and witty before 
 the learned and the grave ; in bed. beauty before 
 goodness ; in common discourse, the ablest speaker, 
 whether or no there be sincerity in the case. And, 
 as he that was found astride upon a hobby-horse, 
 playing with his children, entreated the person who 
 had surprised him in that posture to say nothing of it 
 till himself came to be a father, 1 supposing that the 
 1 Plutarch, Life of Agesilatis, c. 9. 
 
58 ESSAYS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 fondness that would then possess his own soul, would 
 render him a fairer judge of such an action ; so I, also, 
 could wish to speak to such as have had experience 
 of what I say : though, knowing how remote a thing 
 such a friendship is from the common practice, and 
 how rarely it is to be found, I despair of meeting with 
 any such judge. For even these discourses left us by 
 antiquity upon this subject, seem to me flat and poor 
 in comparison of the sense I have of it, and in this 
 particular, the effects surpass even the precepts of 
 philosophy. " While I have sense left to me, there 
 will never be anything more acceptable to me than 
 an agreeable friend V. [Horace] . 
 
 The ancient Menander declared him to be happy 
 that had had the good fortune to meet with but the 
 shadow of a friend : and doubtless he had good 
 reason to say so, especially if he spoke by experience ; 
 for in good earnest, if I compare all the rest of my 
 life, though, thanks be to God, I have passed my time 
 pleasantly enough, and at my ease, and the loss of 
 such a friend excepted, free from any grievous afflic- 
 tion, and in great tranquillity of mind, having been 
 contented with my natural and original commodities, 
 without being solicitous after others ; if I should com- 
 pare it all, I say, with the four years I had the happi- 
 ness to enjoy the sweet society of this excellent man, 
 'tis nothing but smoke, an obscure and tedious night. 
 From the day that I lost him, " A day to me forever 
 sad, forever sacred, so have you willed, ye gods " 
 \_ALneicT\ , I have only led a languishing life ; and the 
 very pleasures that present themselves to me, instead 
 of administering anything of consolation, double my 
 
DIVINE ORDINANCES. 59 
 
 affliction for his loss. We were halves throughout, 
 and to that degree, that methinks, by outliving him, I 
 defraud him of his part. " I have determined that it 
 will never be right for me to enjoy any pleasure, so 
 long as he, with whom I shared in all pleasures, is 
 away" [Terence]. 
 
 I was so grown and accustomed to f>e always his 
 double in all places and in all things, that methinks I 
 am no more than half of myself. As Horace says : 
 " If that half of my soul were snatched away from me 
 by an untimely stroke, why should the other stay? 
 That which remains will not be equally dear, will not 
 be a whole : the same day will involve the destruction 
 of both." There is no action or imagination of mine 
 wherein I do not miss him ; as I know that he would 
 have missed me : for as he surpassed me by infinite 
 degrees in virtue and all other accomplishments, so 
 he also did in the duties of friendship. " What shame 
 can there be, or measure, in lamenting so dear a 
 friend ? " 
 
 THAT A MAN IS SOBERLY TO JUDGE 
 OF THE DIVINE ORDINANCES. 
 
 The true field and subject of imposture are things 
 unknown, forasmuch as, in the first place, their very 
 strangeness lends them credit, and moreover, by not 
 being subjected to our ordinary reasons, they deprive 
 us of the means to question and dispute them. For 
 which reason, says Plato, it is much more easy to 
 satisfy the hearers, when speaking of the nature of 
 the gods than of the nature of men, because the igno- 
 
6o ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 ranee of the auditory affords a fair and large career 
 and all manner of liberty in the handling of abstruse 
 things. Thence it comes to pass, that nothing is so 
 firmly believed, as what we least know ; nor any peo- 
 ple so confident, as those who entertain us with fables, 
 such as your alchemists, judicial astrologers, fortune- 
 tellers, and physicians, id genus omne ; to which I 
 would willingly, if I durst, join a pack of people that 
 take upon them to interpret and control the designs 
 of God himself, pretending to find out the cause of 
 every accident, and to pry into the secrets of the 
 divine will, there to discover the incomprehensible 
 motives of His works ; and although the variety, and 
 the» continual discordance of events, throw them from 
 corner to corner, and toss them from east to west, yet 
 do they still persist in their vain inquisition, and with 
 the same pencil to paint black and white. 
 
 In a nation of the Indies, there is this commend- 
 able custom, that when anything befalls them amiss 
 in any encounter or battle, they publicly ask pardon 
 of the sun, who is their god, as having committed an 
 unjust action, always imputing their good or evil 
 fortune to the divine justice, and to that submitting 
 their own judgment and reason. 'Tis enough for a 
 Christian to believe that all things come from God, to 
 receive them with acknowledgment of His divine and 
 inscrutable wisdom, and also thankfully to accept and 
 receive them, with what face soever they may present 
 themselves. But I do not approve of what I see in 
 use, that is, to seek to affirm and support our religion 
 by the prosperity of our enterprises. 
 
 Our belief has other foundation enough, without 
 
DIVINE ORDINANCES. 6 1 
 
 going about to authorize it by events : for the peo- 
 ple being accustomed to such plausible arguments as 
 these and so proper to their taste, it is to be feared, 
 lest when they fail of success they should also stagger 
 in their faith ; as in the war wherein we are now en- 
 gaged upon the account of religion, those who had 
 the better in the business of Rochelabeille ; making 
 great brags of that success, as an infallible appro- 
 bation of their cause, when they came afterward to 
 excuse their misfortunes of Moncontour and Jarnac, 
 by saying they were fatherly scourges and corrections 
 that they had not a people wholly at their mercy, they 
 make it manifestly enough appear, what it is to take 
 two sorts of grist out of the same sack, and with the 
 same mouth to blow hot and cold. It were better to 
 possess the vulgar with the solid and real foundations 
 of truth. Twas a fine naval battle that was gained 
 under the command of Don John of Austria a few 
 months since x against the Turks ; but it has also 
 pleased God at other times to let us see as great 
 victories at our own expense. 
 
 In fine, 'tis a hard matter to reduce divine things to 
 our balance, without waste and losing a great deal of 
 the weight. And who would take upon him to give a 
 reason, that Arius, and his Pope Leo, the principal 
 heads of the Arian heresy, should die, at several 
 times, of so like and strange deaths, and would ag- 
 gravate this divine vengeance by the circumstances 
 of the place, might as well add the similar death of 
 Heliogabalus. And, indeed, Irenaeus was involved 
 in the same fortune. God, being pleased to show us, 
 1 That of Lepanto, October 7, 1571. 
 
62 ESSAYS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 that the good have something else to hope for and 
 the wicked something else to fear, than the fortunes 
 or misfortunes of this world, manages and applies 
 these according to His own occult will and pleasure, 
 and deprives us of the means foolishly to make thereof 
 our own profit. And those people abuse themselves 
 who will pretend to dive into these mysteries by the 
 strength of human reason. They never give one 
 hit that they do not receive two for it ; of which 
 St. Augustine makes out a great proof upon his 
 adversaries. 
 
 'Tis a conflict, that is more decided by strength of 
 memory than by the force of reason. We are to 
 content ourselves with the light it pleases the sun 
 to communicate to us, by virtue of his rays ; and who 
 will lift up his eyes to take in a greater, let him not 
 think it strange, if for the reward of his presumption, 
 he there lose his sight. "Who among men can know 
 the counsel of God ? or who can think what the will 
 of the Lord is ? " 
 
 OF THE CUSTOM OF WEARING CLOTHES. 
 
 Whatever I shall say upon this subject, I am of 
 necessity to invade some of the bounds of custom, so 
 careful has she been to shut up all the avenues. I 
 was disputing with myself in this shivering season, 
 whether the fashion of going naked in those nations 
 lately discovered is imposed upon them by the hot 
 temperature of the air, as we say of the Indians and 
 Moors, or whether it be the original fashion of man- 
 kind. Men of understanding, forasmuch as all things 
 
CUSTOM OF WEARING CLOTHES. 6$ 
 
 under the sun, as the holy writ declares, are subject to 
 the same laws, were wont in such considerations as 
 these, where we are to distinguish the natural laws 
 from those that have been imposed by man's inven- 
 tion, to have recourse to the general polity of the 
 world, where there can be nothing counterfeit. Now 
 all other creatures being sufficiently furnished with all 
 things necessary for the support of their being, it is 
 not to be imagined that we only should be brought into 
 the world in a defective and indigent condition, and 
 in such a state as cannot subsist without external aid. 
 Therefore it is that I believe, that as plants, trees, 
 and animals, and all things that have life, are seen to 
 be by nature sufficiently clothed and covered to de- 
 fend them from the injuries of weather, so were we ; 
 but as those who by artificial light put out that of the 
 day, so we by borrowed forms and fashions have de- 
 stroyed our own. And 'tis plain enough to be seen 
 that 'tis custom only which renders that impossible 
 that otherwise is nothing so ; for of those nations 
 who have no manner of knowledge of clothing, some 
 are situated under the same temperature that we are, 
 and some in much colder climates. And besides, 
 our most tender parts are always exposed to the air, 
 as the eyes, mouth, nose, and ears ; and our country 
 laborers, like our ancestors in former times, go with 
 their breasts and bellies open. Had we been born 
 with a necessity upon us of wearing petticoats and 
 breeches there is no doubt but nature would have 
 fortified those parts she intended should be exposed 
 to the fury of the seasons with a thicker skin, as she 
 has done the finger-ends, and the soles of the feet. 
 
64 ESSAYS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 And why should this seem hard to believe ? I ob- 
 serve much greater distance between my habit and 
 that of one of our country boors, than between his 
 and that of a man who has no other covering but 
 his skin. How many men, especially in Turkey, go 
 naked upon the account of devotion ? Some one 
 asked a beggar, whom he saw in his shirt in the 
 depth of winter as brisk and frolic as he who goes 
 muffled up to the ears in furs, how he was able to en- 
 dure to go so. "Why, sir," he answered, "you go 
 with your face bare : I am all face." The Italians 
 have a story of the duke of Florence's fool, whom his 
 master asking, how, being so thinly clad, he was able 
 to support the cold, when he himself, warmly wrapped 
 up as he was, was hardly able to do it. " Why," re- 
 plied the fool, " use my receipt to put on all your 
 clothes you have at once, and you'll feel no more 
 cold than I." 
 
 King Massinissa, to an extreme old age, could 
 never be prevailed upon to go with his head covered, 
 how cold, stormy, or rainy soever the weather might 
 be ; which also is reported of the Emperor Severus. 
 Herodotus tells us, that in the battles fought between 
 the Egyptians and the Persians, it was observed both 
 by himself and by others, that of those who were left 
 dead upon the field, the heads of the Egyptians were 
 without comparison harder than those of the Per- 
 sians, by reason that the last had gone with their 
 heads always covered from their infancy, first with 
 biggins, and then with turbans, and the others al- 
 ways shaved and bare. King Agesilaus continued 
 to a decrepit age, to wear always the same clothes 
 
CUSTOM OF WEARING CLOTHES. 65 
 
 in winter that he did in summer. Caesar, says Sue- 
 tonius, marched always at the head of his army, for 
 the most part on foot, with his head bare, whether it 
 was rain or sunshine, and as much is said of Han- 
 nibal. 
 
 A Venetian who had long lived in Pegu, and has 
 lately returned thence, writes that the men and women 
 of that kingdom, though they cover all their other parts, 
 go always barefoot and ride so, too ; and Plato very 
 earnestly advises for the health of the whole body, 
 to give the head and the feet no other clothing than 
 what nature has bestowed. He whom the Poles 
 have elected for their king, 1 — since ours came thence, 
 — who is, indeed, one of the greatest princes of this 
 age, never wears any gloves, and in winter or what- 
 ever weather can come, never wears other cap abroad 
 than that he wears at home. Whereas I cannot en- 
 dure to go unbuttoned or untied ; my neighboring 
 laborers would think themselves in chains, if they 
 were so braced. 
 
 Varo is of opinion, that when it was ordained we 
 should be bare in the presence of the gods and before 
 the magistrate, it was so ordered rather upon the 
 score of health, and to inure us to the injuries of the 
 weather, than upon the account of reverence; and 
 since we are now talking of cold, and Frenchmen use 
 to wear variety of colors (not I myself, for I seldom 
 wear other than black or white in imitation of my 
 father), let us add another story out of Captain Mar- 
 tin du Bellay, who affirms that in the march to Lux- 
 embourg he saw so great frost, that the munition 
 1 Stephen Bathory. 
 
66 ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 wine was cut with hatchets and wedges, and de- 
 livered out to the soldiers by weight and that they 
 carried it away in baskets ; and Ovid says, " The 
 wine when out of the cask, retains the form of the 
 cask ; and is given out not in cups, but in bits." 
 
 At the mouth of Lake Maeotis, the frosts are so 
 very sharp, that in the very same place where Mith- 
 ridates' lieutenant had fought the enemy dry-foot 
 and given them a notable defeat, the summer follow- 
 ing he obtained over them a naval victory. The 
 Romans fought at a very great disadvantage, in the 
 engagement they had with the Carthaginians near 
 Placentia, by reason that they went to the charge 
 with their blood fixed and their limbs numbed with 
 cold ; whereas Hannibal had caused great fires to 
 be dispersed quite through his camp to warm his 
 soldiers, and oil to be distributed among them, to 
 the end that anointing themselves, they might render 
 their nerves more supple and active, and fortify the 
 pores against the violence of the air and freezing 
 wind, which raged in that season. 
 
 The retreat the Greeks made from Babylon into 
 their own country is famous for the difficulties and 
 calamities they had to overcome ; of which this was 
 one, that being encountered in the mountains of 
 Armenia with a horrible storm of snow, they lost 
 all knowledge of the country and of the ways, and 
 being driven up, were a day and a night without eat- 
 ing or drinking ; most of their cattle died, many of 
 themselves starved to death, several struck blind with 
 the driving hail and the glittering of the snow, many 
 of them maimed in their fingers and toes, and many 
 
WE LAUGH AXD CRY. 67 
 
 stiff and motionless with the extremity of the cold, 
 who had yet their understanding entire. 
 
 Alexander saw a nation, where they bury their 
 fruit-trees in winter, to protect them from being de- 
 stroyed by the frost and we also may see the 
 same. 
 
 But. so far as clothes go. the king of Mexico 
 changed four times a day his apparel, and never put 
 it on again, employing that he left off in his continual 
 liberalities and rewards ; and neither pot, dish, nor 
 other utensil of his kitchen or table was ever served 
 twice. 
 
 THAT WE LAUGH AND CRY FOR THE 
 
 SAME THING. 
 
 When we read in history, that Antigonus was very 
 much displeased with his son for presenting him the 
 head of King Pyrrhus his enemy, but newly slain 
 fighting against him, and that seeing it. he wept : and 
 that René. Duke of Lorraine, also lamented the death 
 of Charles, Duke of Burgundy, whom he had himself 
 defeated, and appeared in mourning at his funeral : 
 and that in the battle of d'Auray (which Count Mont- 
 fort obtained over Charles de Blois, his competitor 
 for the duchy of Brittany), the conqueror meeting the 
 dead body of his enemy, was very much afflicted at 
 his death, we must not presently cry out, " And thus 
 it happens that the mind of each veils its passion 
 under a different appearance, sad beneath a smiling 
 visage, gay beneath a sombre air " [Petrarch] . 
 
 When Pompey's head was presented to Caesar, the 
 
68 ESSAYS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 histories tell us that he turned away his face, as from 
 a sad and unpleasing object. There had been so long 
 an intelligence and society between them in the 
 management of the public affairs, so great a commu- 
 nity of fortunes, so many mutual offices, and so near an 
 alliance, that this countenance of his ought not to 
 suffer under any misinterpretation ; or to be suspected 
 for either false or counterfeit, as this other seems to 
 believe, " And now he thought it safe to play the kind 
 father-in-law, he shed forced tears, and from a joyful 
 breast sent forth sighs and groans " [Lucan] ; for 
 though it be true that the greatest part of our actions 
 are no other than visor and disguise, and that it may 
 sometimes be true that " The heir's tears behind the 
 mask are smiles," yet, in judging of these accidents, 
 we are to consider how much our souls are often- 
 times agitated with divers passions. 
 
 And as they say that in our bodies there is a con- 
 gregation of divers humors, of which that is the 
 sovereign which, according to the complexion we are 
 of, is commonly most predominant in us : so, though 
 the soul have in it divers motions to give it agitation, 
 yet must there of necessity be one to overrule all the 
 rest, though not with so necessary and absolute a 
 dominion but that through the flexibility and incon- 
 stancy of the soul, those of less authority may upon 
 occasion reassume their place and make a little sally 
 in turn. Thence it is, that we see not only children, 
 who innocently obey and follow nature, often laugh 
 and cry at the same thing, but not one of us can boast, 
 what journey soever he may have in hand that he has 
 the most set his heart upon, but when he comes to 
 
WE LAUGH AND CRY. 69 
 
 part with his family and friends, he will find some- 
 thing that troubles him within ; and though he refrain 
 his tears yet he puts his foot in the stirrup with a sad 
 and cloudy countenance. 
 
 Neither is it strange to lament a person dead, whom 
 a man would by no means should be alive. When I 
 rattle my man, I do it with all the mettle I have, and 
 load him with no feigned, but downright real curses ; 
 but the heat being over, if he should stand in need of 
 me, I should be very ready to do him good : for I 
 instantly turn the leaf. When I call him calf and 
 coxcomb, I do not pretend to entail those titles upon 
 him forever ; neither do I think I give myself the lie 
 in calling him an honest fellow presently after. No 
 one quality engrosses us purely and universally. 
 Were it not the sign of a fool to talk to one's self, 
 there would hardly be a day or hour wherein I might 
 not be heard to grumble and mutter to myself and 
 against myself, " Confound the fool ! " and yet I do 
 not think that to be my definition. Who for seeing 
 me one while cold and presently very fond toward my 
 wife, believes the one or the other to be counterfeited, 
 is an ass. 
 
 Nero, taking leave of his mother whom he was 
 sending to be drowned, was nevertheless sensible of 
 some emotion at this farewell, and w r as struck with 
 horror and pity. Tis said that the light of the sun 
 is not one continuous thing, but that he darts new 
 rays so thick one upon another that we cannot per- 
 ceive the intermission. Says Lucretius, " Exhaustless 
 source of liquid light, the ethereal sun, inundates the 
 heavens with splendor, ever renewing itself, still re- 
 
70 ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 placing its rays with new rays. 1 ' Just so the soul 
 variously and imperceptibly darts out her passions. 
 
 Artabanus coming by surprise once upon his nephew 
 Xerxes, chid him for the sudden alteration of his 
 countenance. He was considering the immeasurable 
 greatness of his forces passing over the Hellespont 
 for the Grecian expedition : he was first seized with 
 a palpitation of joy, to see so many millions of men 
 under his command, and this appeared in the gayety 
 of his looks : but his thoughts at the same instant 
 suggesting to him that of so many lives, within a 
 century at most, there would not be one left, he pres- 
 ently knit his brows and grew sad, even to tears. 
 
 We have resolutely pursued the revenge of an 
 injury received, and been sensible of a singular con- 
 tentment for the victory ; but we shall weep notwith- 
 standing. 'Tis not for the victory, though, that we 
 shall weep : there is nothing altered in that : but the 
 soul looks upon things with another eye and repre- 
 sents them to itself with another kind of face ; for 
 everything has many faces and several aspects. 
 
 Relations, old acquaintance, and friendships possess 
 our imaginations and make them tender for the time, 
 according to their condition ; but the turn is so quick, 
 that 'tis gone in a moment. " Nothing therefore so 
 prompt as the soul when it propounds anything to be 
 done and begins to do it. It is more active than any- 
 thing which we see in nature " [Lucretius] , and there- 
 fore, if we would make one continued thing of all this 
 succession of passions, we deceive ourselves. When 
 Timoleon laments the murder he had committed 
 upon so mature and generous deliberation, he does 
 
OF SOLITUDE. 71 
 
 not lament the liberty restored to his country, he does 
 not lament the tyrant, but he laments his brother ; 
 one part of his duty is performed ; let us give him 
 leave to perform the other. 
 
 OF SOLITUDE. 
 
 Let us pretermit that long comparison between the 
 active and the solitary life ; and as for the fine saying 
 with which ambition and avarice palliate their vices, 
 that we are not born for ourselves but for the public, 
 let us boldly appeal to those who are in public affairs ; 
 let them lay their hands upon their hearts, and then 
 say whether, on the contrary, they do not rather 
 aspire to titles and offices and that tumult of the 
 world to make their private advantage at the public 
 expense. The corrupt ways by which in this our 
 time they arrive at the height to which their ambi- 
 tions aspire, manifestly enough declare that their 
 ends cannot be very good. Let us tell ambition that 
 it is she herself who gives us a taste of solitude ; for 
 what does she so much avoid as society ? What does 
 she so much seek as elbow-room? A man may do 
 well or ill everywhere : but if what Bias says be true, 
 that the greatest part is the worse part, or what the 
 Preacher says : there is not one good of a thousand, 
 the contagion is very dangerous in the crowd. 
 Says Juvenal, "Good men are scarce: we could 
 hardly reckon up as many as there are gates to 
 Thebes, or mouths to the Nile." A man must either 
 imitate the vicious or hate them : both are dangerous 
 things, either to resemble them because they are many 
 
72 ESSAYS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 or to hate many because they are unresembling to 
 ourselves. 
 
 Merchants who go to sea are in the right, when 
 they are cautious that those who embark with them in 
 the same bottom be neither dissolute blasphemers 
 nor vicious other ways, looking upon such society as 
 unfortunate. And therefore it was that Bias pleas- 
 antly said to some, who being with him in a dan- 
 gerous storm implored the assistance of the gods : 
 "Peace, speak softly," said he, "that they may not 
 know you are here in my company." And of more 
 pressing example, Albuquerque, viceroy in the Indies 
 for Emmanuel, king of Portugal, in an extreme peril 
 of shipwreck took a young boy upon his shoulders, 
 for this only end that, in the society of their common 
 danger, his innocence might serve to protect him, and 
 to recommend him to the divine favor, that they 
 might get safe to shore. ,r Tis not that a wise man 
 may not live everywhere content, and be alone in the 
 very crowd of a palace : but if it be left to his own 
 choice, the schoolman will tell you that he should fly 
 the very sight of the crowd : he will endure it, if need 
 be ; but if it be referred to him, he will choose to be 
 alone. He cannot think himself sufficiently rid of 
 vice, if he must yet contend with it in other men. 
 Charondas punished those as evil men who were con- 
 victed of keeping ill company. There is nothing so 
 unsociable and sociable as man, the one by his vice, 
 the other by his nature. And Antisthenes, in my 
 opinion, did not give him a satisfactory answer, who 
 reproached him with frequenting ill company, by say- 
 ing that the physicians lived well enough among the 
 
OF SOLITUDE. 73 
 
 sick : for if they contribute to the health of the sick, 
 no doubt but by the contagion, continual sight of, and 
 familiarity with diseases, they must of necessity impair 
 their own. 
 
 Now the end, I take it, is all one, to live at more 
 leisure and at one's ease : but men do not not always 
 take the right way. They often think they have 
 totally taken leave of all business, when they have 
 only exchanged one employment for another : there 
 is little less trouble in governing a private family than 
 a whole kingdom. Whenever the mind is perplexed 
 it is in an entire disorder, and domestic employments 
 are not less troublesome for being less important. 
 Moreover, for having shaken off the court and the 
 exchange, we have not taken leave of the principal 
 vexations of life. " Reason and prudence, not a place 
 with a commanding view of the great ocean, banish 
 care" [Horace]. Ambition, avarice, irresolution, fear, 
 and inordinate desires do not leave us because we for- 
 sake our native country : they often follow us even to 
 cloisters and philosophical schools; nor deserts, nor 
 caves, hair-shirts, nor fasts, can disengage us from 
 them. 
 
 One telling Socrates that such a one was nothing 
 improved by his travels : " I very well believe it," 
 said he, "for he took himself along with him." Says 
 Horace : " Why do we seek climates warmed by 
 another sun ? Who is the man that by fleeing from 
 his country, can also flee from himself ?" If a man 
 do not first discharge both himself and his mind of 
 the burden with which he finds himself oppressed, 
 motion will but make it press the harder and sit the 
 
74 ESSAYS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 heavier, as the lading of a ship is of less encumbrance 
 when fast and bestowed in a settled posture. You do 
 a sick man more harm than good in removing him 
 from place to place ; you fix and establish the disease 
 by motion, as stakes sink deeper and more firmly into 
 the earth by being moved up and down in the place 
 where they are designed to stand. Therefore, it is 
 not enough to get remote from the public; 'tis not 
 enough to shift the soil only ; a man must flee from 
 the popular conditions that have taken possession of 
 his soul, he must sequester and come again to himself. 
 " You say, perhaps, you have broken your chain : the 
 dog who after long efforts has broken his chain, still 
 in his flight drags a heavy portion of it after him " 
 [Persius] . 
 
 We still carry our fetters along with us. 'Tis not 
 an absolute liberty ; we yet cast back a look upon 
 what we have left behind us ; the fancy is still full of 
 it. " But unless the mind is purified, what internal 
 combats and dangers must we incur in spite of all our 
 efforts ! How many bitter anxieties, how many terrors, 
 follow upon unregulated passion ! What destruction 
 befalls us from pride, lust, petulant anger ! What 
 evils arise from luxury and sloth !" [Lucretius]. Our 
 disease lies in the mind, which cannot escape from 
 itself; and therefore is to be called home and confined 
 within itself: that is the true solitude, and that may 
 be enjoyed even in populous cities and the courts of 
 kings, though more commodiously apart. 
 
 Now, since we will attempt to live alone, and to 
 waive all manner of conversation among men, let us 
 so order it that our content may depend wholly upon 
 
OF SOLITUDE. 75 
 
 ourselves ; let us dissolve all obligations that ally us 
 to others ; let us obtain this from ourselves, that we may 
 live alone in good earnest, and live at our ease too. 
 
 Stilpo having escaped from the fire that consumed 
 the city where he lived, and wherein he had lost his 
 wife, children, goods, and all that ever he was master 
 of, Demetrius Poliorcetes seeing him, in so great a 
 ruin of his country, appear with a serene and undis- 
 turbed countenance, asked him if he had received no 
 loss ? To which he made answer, no ; and that, 
 thanks be to God, nothing was lost of his. This 
 also was the meaning of the philosopher Antisthenes, 
 when he pleasantly said, that " men should furnish 
 themselves with such things as would float, and 
 might with the owner escape the storm ; " and certainly 
 a wise man never loses anything if he have himself. 
 When the city of Nola was ruined by the barbarians, 
 Paulinus, who was bishop of that place, having there 
 lost all he had, and himself a prisoner, prayed after 
 this manner : " O Lord, defend me from being sensi- 
 ble of this loss ; for Thou knowest they have yet 
 touched nothing of that which is mine." The riches 
 that made him rich, and the goods that made him 
 good, were still kept entire. This it is to make 
 choice of treasures that can secure themselves from 
 plunder and violence, and to hide them in such a 
 place into which no one can enter, and that is not 
 to be betrayed by any but ourselves. Wives, chil- 
 dren, and goods must be had, and especially health, 
 by him that can get it ; but we are not so to set our 
 hearts upon them that our happiness must have its 
 dependence upon them ; we must reserve a backshop, 
 
76 ESSAYS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 wholly our own and entirely free, wherein to settle 
 our true liberty, our principal solitude and retreat. 
 And in this we must for the most part entertain our- 
 selves with ourselves, and so privately that no ex- 
 otic knowledge or communication be admitted there ; 
 there to laugh and to talk, as if without wife, chil- 
 dren, goods, train, or attendance, to the end, that 
 when it shall so fall out that we must lose any or 
 all of these, it may be no new thing to be without 
 them. We have a mind pliable in itself, that will 
 be company ; that has herewithal to attack and to 
 defend, to receive and to give : let us not then fear 
 in this solitude to languish under an uncomfortable 
 vacuity. "In solitude, be company for thyself " 
 [Tibullus] . 
 
 Virtue is satisfied with herself, without discipline, 
 without words, without effects. In our ordinary 
 actions there is not one of a thousand that con- 
 cerns ourselves. He that thou seest scrambling 
 up the ruins of that wall, furious and transported, 
 against whom so many harquebus-shots are lev- 
 elled ; and that other all over scars, pale, and 
 fainting with hunger, and yet resolved rather to die 
 than to open the gates to him; dost thou think 
 that these men are there upon their own account? 
 No ; peradventure in the behalf of one whom they 
 never saw and who never concerns himself for 
 their pains and danger, but lies wallowing the while 
 in sloth and pleasure ; this other slavering, blear- 
 eyed, slovenly fellow, that thou seest come out of 
 his study after midnight, dost thou think he has 
 been tumbling over books, to learn how to become 
 
OF SOLITUDE. 77 
 
 a better man, wiser, and more content? No such 
 matter ; he will there end his days, but he will teach 
 posterity the measure of Plautus' verses and the 
 true orthography of a Latin word. Who is it that 
 does not voluntarily exchange his health, his repose, 
 and his very life for reputation and glory, the most 
 useless, frivolous, and false coin that passes current 
 among us. Our own death does not sufficiently ter- 
 rify and trouble us ; let us, moreover, charge our- 
 selves with those of our wives, children, and family : 
 our own affairs do not afford us anxiety enough ; let 
 us undertake those of our neighbors and friends, still 
 more to break our brains and torment us. " Ah, can 
 any man discover or devise anything dearer than he 
 is to himself ? " [Terence] . 
 
 Solitude seems to me to wear the best favor, in 
 such as have already employed their most active and 
 flourishing age in the world's service; after the ex- 
 ample of Thaïes. We have lived enough for others, 
 let us at least live out the small remnant of life for our- 
 selves ; let us now call in our thoughts and intentions 
 to ourselves, and to our own ease and repose. Tis no 
 light thing to make a sure retreat ; it will be enough 
 for us to do without mixing other enterprises. Since 
 God gives us leisure to order our removal, let us 
 make ready, truss our baggage, take leave betimes of 
 the company, and disentangle ourselves from those 
 violent importunities that engage us elsewhere and 
 separate us from ourselves. 
 
 We must break the knot of our obligations, how 
 strong soever, and hereafter love this or that, but 
 espouse nothing but ourselves : that is to say, let 
 
78 ESSAYS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 the remainder be our own, but not so joined and so 
 close as not to be forced away without flaying us or 
 tearing out part of our whole. The greatest thing in 
 the world is for a man to know that he is his own. 
 'Tis time to wean ourselves from society, when we 
 can no longer add anything to it ; he who is not in 
 a condition to lend must forbid himself to borrow. 
 Our forces begin to fail us : let us call them in and 
 concentrate them in and for ourselves. He that can 
 cast off within himself and resolve the offices of 
 friendship and company, let him do it. In this de- 
 cay of nature which renders him useless, burdensome, 
 and importunate to others, let him take care not to 
 be useless, burdensome, and importunate to himself. 
 Let him soothe and caress himself, and above all 
 things be sure to govern himself with reverence to 
 his reason and conscience to that degree as to be 
 ashamed to make a false step in their presence. 
 " For 'tis rarely seen that men have respect and rever- 
 ence enough for themselves " [Quintilian] . Socrates 
 says that boys are to cause themselves to be in- 
 structed, men to exercise themselves in well-doing, 
 and old men to retire from all civil and military em- 
 ployments, living at their own discretion, without 
 the obligation to any office. 
 
 There are some complexions more proper for these 
 precepts of retirement than others. Such as are of a 
 soft and dull apprehension, and of a tender will and 
 affection not readily to be subdued or employed, 
 whereof I am one, both by natural condition and by 
 reflection, will sooner incline to this advice, than 
 active and busy souls, which embrace all, engage in 
 
OF SOLITUDE. 79 
 
 all, are hot upon everything, which offer, present, and 
 give themselves up to every occasion. We are to 
 use these accidental and extraneous commodities, so 
 far as they are pleasant to us, but by no means to 
 lay our principal foundation there ; 'tis no true one : 
 neither nature nor reason allows it so to be. Why 
 therefore should we, contrary to their laws, enslave 
 our own contentment to the power of another? To 
 anticipate also the accidents of fortune, to deprive 
 ourselves of the conveniences we have in our own 
 power, as several have done upon the account of 
 devotion, and some philosophers by reasoning; to 
 be one's own servant, to lie hard, to put out our own 
 eyes, to throw our wealth into the river, to seek out 
 grief; these, by the misery of this life, aiming at bliss 
 in another ; those, by laying themselves low to avoid 
 the danger of falling : all such are acts of an exces- 
 sive virtue. The stoutest and most resolute natures 
 render even their hiding away glorious and exem- 
 plary : " When I run short, I laud a humble and safe 
 condition, content with little : when things turn round, 
 then I change my note, and say that none are wise 
 or know how to live, but those who have plenty of 
 money to lay out in shining villas " [Horace]. 
 
 A great deal less would serve my turn well enough. 
 'Tis enough for me, under fortune's favor, to pre- 
 pare myself for her disgrace, and, being at my ease, 
 to represent to myself, as far as my imagination can 
 stretch, the ill to come ; as we do at jousts and tilt- 
 ings, where we counterfeit war in the greatest calm of 
 peace. I do not think Arcesilaus the philosopher the 
 less temperate and virtuous, for knowing that he 
 
8o ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 made use of gold and silver vessels, when the condi- 
 tion of his fortune allowed him so to do ; I have in- 
 deed a better opinion of him, than if he had denied 
 himself what he used with liberality and moderation. 
 I see the utmost limits of natural necessity : and con- 
 sidering a poor man begging at my door, ofttimes 
 more jocund and more healthy than I myself am, I 
 put myself into his place, and attempt to dress my 
 mind after his mode ; and running, in like manner, 
 over other examples, though I fancy death, poverty, 
 contempt, and sickness treading on my heels, I easily 
 resolve not to be affrighted, forasmuch as a less than 
 I takes them with so much patience ; and am not 
 willing to believe that a less understanding can do 
 more than a greater, or that the effects of precept 
 cannot arrive to as great a height as those of custom. 
 And knowing of how uncertain duration these acci- 
 dental conveniences are, I never forget, in the height 
 of all my enjoyments, to make it my chiefest prayer 
 to Almighty God, that he will please to render me 
 content with myself and the condition wherein I am. 
 I see young men very gay and frolic, who neverthe- 
 less keep a mass of pills in their trunk at home, to 
 take when they've got a cold, which they fear so 
 much the less, because they think they have remedy 
 at hand. Every one should do in like manner, and, 
 moreover, if they find themselves subject to some 
 more violent disease, should furnish themselves with 
 such medicines as may numb and stupefy the part. 
 
 The employment a man should choose for such a 
 life, ought neither to be a laborious nor an unpleasing 
 one ; otherwise 'tis to no purpose at all to be retired. 
 
OF SOLITUDE. 8î 
 
 And this depends upon every one's liking and humor. 
 Mine has no manner of complacency for husbandry, 
 and such as love it ought to apply themselves to it 
 with moderation. Husbandry is otherwise a very 
 servile employment, as Sallust calls it ; though some 
 parts of it are more excusable than the rest, as the 
 care of gardens, which Xenophon attributes to Cyrus ; 
 and a mean may be found out between the sordid and 
 low application, so full of perpetual solicitude, which 
 is seen in men who make it their entire business and 
 study, and the stupid and extreme negligence, letting 
 all things go at random, which we see in others. But 
 let us hear what advice the younger Pliny gives his 
 friend Caninius Rufus upon the subject of solitude : 
 " I advise thee, in the full and plentiful retirement 
 wherein thou art, to leave to thy hinds the care of 
 thy husbandry, and to addict thyself to the study 
 of letters, to extract from thence something that may 
 be entirely and absolutely thine own." By which 
 he means reputation ; like Cicero, who says, that he 
 would employ his solitude and retirement from public 
 affairs, to acquire by his writings an immortal life. 
 
 " Is all thy learning nothing, unless another knows 
 that thou knowest ?" asks Persius. It appears to be 
 reason, when a man talks of retiring from the world, 
 that he should look quite out of himself. These 
 do it but by halves : they design well enough for 
 themselves when they shall be no more in it ; but 
 still they pretend to extract the fruits of that design 
 from the world, when absent from it, by a ridiculous 
 contradiction. 
 
 The imagination of those who seek solitude upon 
 
82 ESS A YS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 the account of devotion, filling their hopes and cour- 
 age with certainty of divine promises in the other 
 life, is much more rationally founded. They propose 
 to themselves God, an infinite object in goodness and 
 power ; the soul has there wherewithal, at full liberty, 
 to satiate her desires : afflictions and sufferings turn 
 to their advantage, being undergone for the acquisi- 
 tion of eternal health and joy ; death is to be wished 
 and longed for, where it is the passage to so perfect 
 a condition ; the asperity of the rules they impose 
 upon themselves is immediately softened by custom, 
 and all their carnal appetites baffled and subdued, by 
 refusing to humor and feed them, these being only 
 supported by use and exercise. This sole end there- 
 fore of another happy and immortal life is that which 
 really merits that we should abandon the pleasures 
 and conveniences of this ; and he who can really 
 and constantly inflame his soul with the ardor of this 
 vivid faith and hope, erects for himself in solitude a 
 more voluptuous and delicious life than any other 
 sort of living whatever. 
 
 Neither the end then nor the means of this advice 
 pleases me, for we often fall out of the frying-pan into 
 the fire. This book employment is as painful as any 
 other, and as great an enemy to health, which ought 
 to be the first thing considered ; neither ought a man 
 to be allured with the pleasure of it, which is the same 
 that destroys the frugal, the avaricious, the voluptu- 
 ous, and the ambitious man. The sages give us cau- 
 tion enough to beware the treachery of our desires, 
 and to distinguish true and entire pleasures from such 
 as are mixed and complicated with greater pain. For 
 
OF SOLITUDE. 8$ 
 
 the most of our pleasures, say they, wheedle and caress 
 only to strangle us, like those thieves the Egyptians 
 called Philistae ; if the headache should come before 
 drunkenness, we should have a care of drinking too 
 much : but pleasure, to deceive us, marches before 
 and conceals her train. Books are pleasant, but if, 
 by being over-studious, we impair our health and 
 spoil our good-humor, the best pieces we have, let 
 us give it over ; I, for my part, am one of those who 
 think that no fruit derived from them can recom- 
 pense so great a loss. As men, who have long felt 
 themselves weakened by indisposition, give them- 
 selves up at last to the mercy of medicine and submit 
 to certain rules of living, which they are for the future 
 never to transgress ; so he who retires, weary of, and 
 disgusted with, the common way of living, ought to 
 model this new one he enters into by the rules of 
 reason, and to institute and establish it by premedi- 
 tation and reflection. He ought to have taken leave 
 of all sorts of labor, what advantage soever it may 
 promise, and generally to have shaken off all those 
 passions which disturb the tranquillity of body and 
 soul, and then choose the way that best suits with 
 his own humor. 
 
 In husbandry, study, hunting, and all other exer- 
 cises, men are to proceed to the utmost limits of 
 pleasure, but must take heed of engaging further, 
 where trouble begins to mix with it. We are to 
 reserve so much employment only as is necessary 
 to keep us in breath and defend us from the incon- 
 veniences that the other extreme of a dull and stupid 
 laziness brings along with it. There are sterile knotty 
 
84 ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 sciences, chiefly hammered out for the crowd ; let 
 such be left to them who are engaged in the world's 
 service. I for my part care for no other books, but 
 either such as are pleasant and easy, to amuse me, or 
 those that comfort and instruct me how to regulate 
 my life and death, " Silently meditating in the healthy 
 groves, what best becomes a wise and honest man " 
 [Horace] . 
 
 Wiser men, having great force and vigor of soul, 
 may propose to themselves a rest wholly spiritual : 
 but for me, who have a very ordinary soul, it is very 
 necessary to support myself with bodily conveniences ; 
 and age having of late deprived me of those pleasures 
 that were more acceptable to me, I instruct and whet 
 my appetite to those that remain, but more suitable 
 to this other season. We ought to hold with all our 
 force, both of hands and teeth, the use of the pleasures 
 of life that our years, one after another, snatch away 
 from us. " Let us pluck life's sweets, 'tis for them 
 we live : by and by we shall be ashes, a ghost, a 
 mere subject of talk " [Persius] . Now, as to the 
 end that Pliny and Cicero propose to us, of glory; 
 'tis infinitely wide of my account. Ambition is of all 
 others the most contrary humor to solitude ; glory 
 and repose are things that cannot possibly inhabit in 
 one and the same place. For so much as I under- 
 stand, these have only their arms and legs disengaged 
 from the crowd ; their soul and intention remain en- 
 gaged behind more than ever : they have only retired 
 to take a better leap, and by a stronger motion to give 
 a brisker charge into the crowd. Will you see how 
 they shoot short ? 
 
OF SOLITUDE. 85 
 
 Let us put into the counterpoise the advice of two 
 philosophers, 1 of two very different sects, writing, the 
 one to Idomeneus, the other to Lucilius, their friends, 
 to retire into solitude from worldly honors and affairs. 
 " You have," say they, " hitherto lived swimming and 
 floating ; come now, and die in the harbor ; you have 
 given the first part of your life to the light, give what 
 remains to the shade. It is impossible to give over 
 business, if you do not also quit the fruit ; therefore 
 disengage yourselves from all concern of name and 
 glory ; 'tis to be feared the lustre of your former 
 actions will give you but too much light, and follow 
 you into your most private retreat. Quit with other 
 pleasures that which proceeds from the approbation 
 of another man : and as to your knowledge and parts, 
 never concern yourselves ; they will not lose their 
 effect if yourselves be the better for them. Remem- 
 ber him, who being asked why he took so much pains 
 in an art that could come to the knowledge of but 
 few persons? 'A few are enough for me, 1 replied he ; 
 f I have enough with one, I have enough with never 
 an one.' He said true ; you and a companion are 
 theatre enough to one another, or you to yourself. 
 Let the people be to you one, and be you one to the 
 whole people. 'Tis an unworthy ambition to think 
 to derive glory from a man's sloth and privacy : you 
 are to do like the beasts of chase, who efface the 
 track at the entrance into their den. You are no 
 more to concern yourself how the world talks of you, 
 but how you are to talk to yourself. Retire yourself 
 into yourself, but first prepare yourself there to receive 
 
 1 Epicurus and Seneca. 
 
86 ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 yourself : it were a folly to trust yourself in your own 
 hands, if you cannot govern yourself. 
 
 " A man may miscarry alone as well as in company. 
 Till you have rendered yourself one before whom you 
 dare not trip, and till you have a bashfulness and 
 respect for yourself, 'Let just and honest things be 
 ever present to the mind ' [Cicero] . Present con- 
 tinually to your imagination Cato, Phocion, and Aris- 
 tides, in whose presence the fools themselves will hide 
 their faults, and make them controllers of all your 
 intentions ; should these deviate from virtue, your 
 respect to those will set you right ; they will keep you 
 in the way to be contented with yourself; to borrow 
 nothing of any other but yourself; to stay and fix 
 your soul in certain and limited thoughts, wherein 
 she may please herself, and having understood the 
 true and real goods, which men the more enjoy the 
 more they understand, to rest satisfied, without desire 
 of prolongation of life or name." 
 
 This is the precept of the true and natural philos- 
 ophy, not of a boasting and prating philosophy, such 
 as that of the two former. 1 
 
 OF THE INEQUALITY AMONG US. 
 
 Plutarch says that he does not find so great a 
 difference between beast and beast as he does be- 
 tween man and man ; which he says in reference to 
 the internal qualities and perfections of the soul. 
 And, in truth I find so vast a distance between 
 Epaminondas, according to my judgment of him, and 
 
 1 Pliny the younger and Cicero. 
 
OF THE INEQUALITY AMONG US. S J 
 
 some that I know, who are yet men of good sense, 
 that I could willingly enhance upon Plutarch, and 
 say that there is more difference between such and 
 such a man than there is between such a man 
 and such a beast. Terence exclaims, "Ah! how 
 much may one man surpass another! " and that there 
 are as many and innumerable degrees of minds as 
 there are cubits between this and heaven. But as 
 touching the estimate of men, 'tis strange that, our- 
 selves excepted, no other creature is esteemed beyond 
 its proper qualities ; we commend a horse for his 
 strength and sureness of foot, and not for his rich 
 caparison ; a greyhound for his speed of heels, not 
 for his fine collar ; a hawk for her wing, not for her 
 jesses and bells. Why, in like manner, do we not 
 value a man for what is properly his own ? He has a 
 great train, a beautiful palace, so much credit, so 
 many thousand pounds a year: all these are about 
 him, but not in him. 
 
 You will not buy a pig in a poke : if you cheapen a 
 horse, you will see him stripped of his housing-cloths, 
 you will see him naked and open to your eye ; or if 
 he be clothed, as they anciently were wont to present 
 them to princes to sell, 'tis only on the less important 
 parts, that you may not so much consider the beauty 
 of his color or the breadth of his crupper, as princi- 
 pally to examine his legs, eyes, and feet, which are 
 the members of greatest use : why, in giving your 
 estimate of a man, do you prize him wrapped and 
 muffled up in clothes? He then discovers nothing to 
 you but such parts as are not in the least his own, and 
 conceals those by which alone one may rightly judge 
 
88 ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 of his value. 'Tis the price of the blade that you 
 inquire into, not of the scabbard : you would not per- 
 adventure bid a farthing for him, if you saw him 
 stripped. You are to judge him by himself, and not 
 by what he wears ; and, as one of the ancients very 
 pleasantly said : " Do you know why you repute him 
 tall? You reckon withal the height of his pattens." 
 The pedestal is no part of the statue. Measure him 
 without his stilts ; let him lay aside his revenues and 
 his titles, let him present himself in his shirt. Then 
 examine if his body be sound and sprightly, active 
 and disposed to perform its functions. What soul 
 has he? 
 
 Is she beautiful, capable, and happily provided of 
 all her faculties ? Is she rich of what is her own or 
 of what she has borrowed ? Has Fortune no hand in 
 the affair ? Can she, without winking, stand the 
 lightning of swords ? is she indifferent whether her 
 life expire by the mouth or through the throat ? Is 
 she settled, even, and content ? This is what is to be 
 examined, and by that you are to judge of the vast 
 differences between man and man. Is he " the wise 
 man, who has command over himself: whom neither 
 poverty, nor death, nor chains affright ; who has the 
 strength and courage to restrain his appetites and to 
 contemn honors; who has his all within himself; a 
 mind well turned and even balanced, like a smooth 
 and perfect ball, which nothing external can stop in 
 its course ; whom fortune assails in vain ? " [Horace]. 
 Such a man is five hundred cubits above kingdoms 
 and duchies ; he is an absolute monarch in and to 
 himself. "The wise man is the master of his own 
 
OF THE INEQUALITY AMONG US. 89 
 
 fortune n [Plautus] . What remains for him to covet 
 or desire ? " Do we not see that man's nature asks 
 no more than that, free from bodily pain, he may 
 exercise his mind agreeably, exempt from fear and 
 anxiety ? " [Lucretius] . 
 
 Compare with such a one the common rabble of 
 mankind, stupid and mean-spirited, servile, instable, 
 and continually floating with the tempest of various 
 passions, that tosses and tumbles them to and fro, 
 and all depending upon others, and you will find a 
 greater distance than between heaven and earth ; and 
 yet the blindness of common usage is such that we 
 make little or no account of it ; whereas, if we con- 
 sider a peasant and a king, a nobleman and a vassal, 
 a magistrate and a private man, a rich man and a 
 poor, there appears a vast disparity, though they differ 
 no more, as a man may say, than in their breeches. 
 
 In Thrace the king was distinguished from his 
 people after a very pleasant and especial manner ; he 
 had a religion by himself, a god all his own, and 
 which his subjects were not to presume to adore, 
 which was Mercury, while, on the other hand, he 
 disdained to have anything to do with theirs, Mars, 
 Bacchus, and Diana. And yet they are no other than 
 pictures that make no essential dissimilitude ; for as 
 you see actors in a play representing the person of a 
 duke or an emperor upon the stage, and immediately 
 after return to their true and original condition of 
 valets and porters, so the emperor, whose pomp and 
 lustre so dazzle you in public, — do but peep behind 
 the curtain, and you will see nothing more than an 
 ordinary man, and peradventure more contemptible 
 
4 
 
 CO ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 than the meanest of his subjects. "True happiness 
 lies within, the other is but a counterfeit felicity," 
 says Seneca. Cowardice, irresolution, ambition, spite, 
 and envy agitate him as much as another. Care and 
 fear attack him even in the centre of his battalions. 
 " The fears and pursuing cares of men fear not the 
 clash of arms nor points of darts, and mingle boldly 
 with great kings and potentates, and respect not their 
 purple and glittering gold " [Lucretius] . 
 
 Do fevers, gout, and apoplexies spare him any 
 more than one of us? When old age hangs heavy 
 upon his shoulders, can the yeomen of his guard ease 
 him of the burden? When he is astounded with the 
 apprehension of death, can the gentlemen of his bed- 
 chamber comfort and assure him? When jealousy or 
 any other caprice swings in his brain, can our com- 
 pliments and ceremonies restore him to his good- 
 humor? The canopy embroidered with pearl and 
 gold he lies under has no virtue against a violent fit 
 of the colic. " Fevers quit a man no sooner because 
 he is stretched on a couch of rich tapestry than if he 
 be in a coarse blanket '-' [Lucretius] . 
 
 The flatterers of Alexander the Great possessed him 
 that he was the son of Jupiter ; but being one day 
 wounded, and observing the blood stream from his 
 wound : " What say you now, my masters," said he, 
 " is not this blood of a crimson color and purely 
 human ? This is not of the complexion of that which 
 Homer makes to issue from the wounded gods. 1 ' He 
 is but a man at best, and if he be deformed or ill 
 qualified from his birth, the empire of the universe 
 cannot set him to rights. What of all that, if he be a 
 
OF THE INEQUALITY AMONG US. 9 1 
 
 fool ? Even pleasure and good fortune are not relished 
 without vigor and understanding. " Things are, as 
 are the souls of their possessors ; good, if well used ; 
 ill, if abused " [Terence]. 
 
 Whatever the benefits of fortune are, they yet re- 
 quire a palate fit to relish them. Horace says : "'Tis 
 not lands, or heaps of gold and silver, that can banish 
 fevers from the body of the sick owner, or cares from 
 his mind. The possessor must be sound and healthy, 
 if he would have the true realization of his wealth. 
 To him who is covetous, or timorous, his house and 
 land are as a picture to a blind man, or a fomentation 
 to a gouty man.'" 
 
 He is a sot, his taste is palled and flat ; he no more 
 enjoys what he has than one that has a cold relishes 
 the flavor of canary, or than a horse is sensible of his 
 rich caparison. Plato is in the right when he tells us 
 that health, beauty, vigor, and riches, and all the other 
 things called goods, are equally evil to the unjust as 
 good to the just, and the evil on the contrary the 
 same. And therefore where the body and the mind 
 are in disorder, to what use serve these external con- 
 veniences ; considering that the least prick with a pin, 
 or the least passion of the soul, is sufficient to deprive 
 one of the pleasure of being sole monarch of the 
 world. At the first twitch of the gout it signifies 
 much to be called Sir and Your Majesty. Does he not 
 forget his palaces and grandeurs? If he be angry, 
 can his being a prince keep him from looking red and 
 looking pale, and grinding his teeth like a madman? 
 Now, if he be a man of parts and of right nature, 
 royalty adds very little to his happiness. Horace 
 
92 ESSAYS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 says : " If your stomach is sound, your lungs and feet 
 in good order, you need no regal riches to make you 
 happy." He discerns 1 tis nothing but counterfeit and 
 gullery. Nay, perhaps he would be of King Seleucus 1 
 opinion, that he who knew the weight of a sceptre 
 would not stoop to pick it up, if he saw it lying before 
 him, so great and painful are the duties incumbent 
 upon a good king. 
 
 Assuredly it can be no easy task to rule others, 
 when we find it so hard a matter to govern ourselves ; 
 and as to dominion, that seems so charming, the 
 frailty of human judgment and the difficulty of choice 
 in things that are new and doubtful considered, I am 
 very much of opinion that it is far more easy and 
 pleasant to follow than to lead ; and that it is a great 
 settlement and satisfaction of mind to have only one 
 path to walk in, and to have none to answer for but a 
 man's self; a, Tis much better calmly to obey than 
 wish to rule 1 ' [Lucretius]. To which we may add 
 that saying of Cyrus, that no man was fit to rule but 
 he who in his own worth was of greater value than 
 those he was to govern. 
 
 Can we think that the singing boys of the choir 
 take any great delight in music ? the satiety rather 
 renders it troublesome and tedious to them. Feasts, 
 balls, masquerades, and tiltings delight such as but 
 rarely see, and desire to see them ; but having been 
 frequently at such entertainments, the relish of them 
 grows flat and insipid. He who will not give himself 
 leisure to be thirsty can never find the true pleasure 
 of drinking. Farces and tumbling tricks are pleasant 
 to the spectators, but a wearisome toil to those by 
 
OF THE INEQUALITY AMONG US. 93 
 
 whom they are performed. And that this is so, we 
 see that princes divert themselves sometimes in dis- 
 guising their quality, awhile to depose themselves, and 
 to stoop to the poor and ordinary way of living of the 
 meanest of their people. " The rich and great are 
 often pleased with variety ; and a plain supper in a 
 poor cottage, where there are neither tapestry nor 
 beds of purple, has made their anxious brow smooth '• 
 [Horace] . 
 
 Nothing is so distasteful and clogging as abun- 
 dance. What appetite would not be baffled to see 
 three hundred women at its mercy, as the grand 
 signor has in his seraglio ? And, of his ancestors, 
 what fruition or taste of sport did he reserve to him- 
 self, who never went hawking without seven thousand 
 falconers ? And besides all this, I fancy that this 
 lustre of grandeur brings with it no little disturbance 
 and uneasiness upon the enjoyment of the most 
 tempting pleasures ; the great are too conspicuous and 
 lie too open to every one^ view. Neither do I know 
 to what end a man should more require of them to 
 conceal their errors, since what is only reputed in- 
 discretion in us, the people in them brand with the 
 names of tyranny and contempt of the laws, and, 
 besides their proclivity to vice, are apt to hold that it 
 is a heightening of pleasure to them, to insult over 
 and to trample upon public observances. Plato, 
 indeed, in his Gorgias, defines a tyrant to be one 
 who in a city has license to do whatever his own will 
 leads him to do ; and by reason of this impunity, the 
 display and publication of their vices do ofttimes 
 more mischief than the vice itself. Every one fears 
 
94 ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 to be pried into and overlooked ; but princes are so, 
 even to their very gestures, looks, and thoughts, the 
 people conceiving they have right and title to be 
 judges of them: besides that the blemishes of the 
 great naturally appear greater by reason of the emi- 
 nence and lustre of the place where they are seated, 
 and that a mole or a wart appears greater in them 
 than a wide gash in others. And this is the reason 
 why the poets feign the amours of Jupiter to be per- 
 formed in the disguises of so many borrowed shapes, 
 and that among the many amorous practices they lay 
 to his charge, there is only one, as I remember, where 
 he appears in his own majesty and grandeur. 
 
 But let us return to Hiero, who complains of the 
 inconveniences he found in his royalty, in that he 
 could not look abroad and travel the world at liberty, 
 being as it were a prisoner in the bounds and limits 
 of his own dominion, and that in all his actions he 
 was evermore surrounded with an importunate crowd. 
 And in truth, to see our kings sit all alone at table, 
 environed with so many people prating about them, 
 and so many strangers staring upon them, as they 
 always are, I have often been moved rather to pity 
 than to envy their condition. King Alfonso was 
 wont to say, that in this, asses were in a better condi- 
 tion than kings, their masters permitting them to feed 
 at their own ease and pleasure, a favor that kings 
 cannot obtain of their servants. And it has never 
 come into my fancy that it could be of any great 
 benefit to the life of a man of sense to have twenty 
 people prating about him when he is at stool ; or that 
 the services of a man of ten thousand livres a year, 
 
OF THE INEQUALITY AMONG US. 95 
 
 or that has taken Casale or defended Siena, should 
 be either more commodious or more acceptable to 
 him, than those of a good groom of the chamber 
 who understands his place. 
 
 The advantages of sovereignty are in a manner but 
 imaginary : every degree of fortune has in it some 
 image of principality. Caesar calls all the lords of 
 France, having free franchise within their own de- 
 mesnes, roitelets or petty kings ; and in truth, the 
 name of sire excepted, they go pretty far toward king- 
 ship ; for do but look into the provinces remote from 
 court, as Brittany, for example, take notice of the 
 train, the vassals, the officers, the employment, ser- 
 vice, ceremony, and state of a lord who lives retired 
 from court in his own house, among his own tenants 
 and servants ; and observe withal, the flight of his 
 imagination, there is nothing more royal : he hears 
 talk of his master once a year, as of a king of Persia, 
 without taking any further recognition of him, than 
 by some remote kindred his secretary keeps in some 
 musty record. And, to speak the truth, our laws are 
 easy enough, so easy that a gentleman of France 
 scarce feels the weight of sovereignty pinch his 
 shoulders above twice in his life. Real and effectual 
 subjection only concerns such among us as volun- 
 tarily thrust their necks under the yoke, and who de- 
 sign to get wealth and honors by such services : for 
 a man that loves his own fireside, and can govern his 
 house without falling by the ears with his neighbors 
 or engaging in suits of law, is as free as a duke of 
 Venice. " Servitude enchains few, but many enchain 
 themselves to servitude' 1 [Seneca]. 
 
9 6 ESSAYS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 But that which Hiero is most concerned at is, that 
 he finds himself stripped of all friendship, deprived of 
 all mutual society, wherein the true and most perfect 
 fruition of human life consists. For what testimony 
 of affection and good will can I extract from him that 
 owes me, whether he will or no, all that he is able to 
 do ? Can I form any assurance of his real respect to 
 me, from his humble way of speaking and submissive 
 behavior, when these are ceremonies it is not in his 
 choice to deny? The honor we receive from those 
 that fear us, is not honor ; those respects are paid 
 to royalty and not to me. Do I not see that the 
 wicked and the good king, he that is hated and he 
 that is beloved, have the one as much reverence paid 
 him as the other? My predecessor was, and my suc- 
 cessor shall be, served with the same ceremony and 
 state. If my subjects do me no harm, 'tis no evi- 
 dence of any good affection ; why should I look upon 
 it as such, seeing it is not in their power to do it if 
 they would? No one follows me or obeys my com- 
 mands, upon the account of any friendship between 
 him and me ; there can be no contracting of friend- 
 ship, where there is so little relation and corre- 
 spondence : my own height has put me out of the 
 familiarity of and intelligence with men : there is 
 too great disparity and disproportion between us. 
 They follow me either upon the account of decency 
 or custom ; or rather my fortune, than me, to increase 
 their own. All they say to me, or do for me, is but 
 outward paint, appearance, their liberty being on all 
 parts restrained by the great power and authority I 
 have over them. I see nothing about me but what is 
 dissembled and disguised. 
 
OF THE INEQUALITY AMONG US. 97 
 
 The Emperor Julian being one day applauded by 
 his courtiers for his exact justice : " I should be 
 proud of these praises," said he, "did they come 
 from persons that durst condemn or disapprove the 
 contrary, in case I should do it." All the real ad- 
 vantages of princes are common to them with men of 
 meaner condition ('tis for the gods to mount winged 
 horses and feed upon ambrosia) : they have no other 
 sleep, nor other appetite than we ; the steel they arm 
 themselves withal, is of no better temper than that 
 we also use ; their crowns neither defend them from 
 the rain nor the sun. 
 
 Diocletian, who wore a crown so fortunate and 
 revered, resigned it to retire to the felicity of a pri- 
 vate life ; and some time after, the necessity of public 
 affairs requiring that he should reassume his charge, 
 he made answer to those who came to court him to 
 it : " You would not offer," said he, " to persuade me 
 to this had you seen the fine order of the trees I have 
 planted in my orchard, and the fair melons I have 
 sown in my garden." 
 
 In Anacharsis' opinion, the happiest state of gov- 
 ernment would be where, all other things being equal, 
 precedency should be measured out by the virtues, 
 and repulses by the vices of men. 
 
 When King Pyrrhus prepared for his expedition 
 into Italy, his wise counsellor Cyneas, to make him 
 sensible of the vanity of his ambition : " Well, sir," 
 said he, " to what end do you make all this mighty 
 preparation?" " To make myself master of Italy," 
 replied the king. " And what after that is done?" 
 said Cyneas. " I will pass over into Gaul and Spain," 
 
\ 
 
 98 ESSAYS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 said the other. "And what then? 1 ' "I will then 
 go to subdue Africa ; and lastly, when I have brought 
 the whole world to my subjection, I will sit down and 
 rest content at my own ease.' 1 u For God's sake, sir," 
 replied Cyneas, " tell me what hinders that you may 
 not, if you please, be now in the condition you speak 
 of? Why do you not now at this instant settle 
 yourself in the state you seem to aim at, and spare 
 all the labor and hazard you interpose ? " 
 
 Lucretius would reply, " Truly because one does not 
 know what is the proper limit of acquisition, and how 
 far real pleasure extends. 1 ' 
 
 I will conclude with an old versicle, that I think 
 very apt to the purpose. "Every man frames his 
 own fortune 1 ' [Cornelius Nepos]. 
 
 OF ANCIENT CUSTOMS. 
 
 I should willingly pardon our people for admitting 
 no other pattern or rule of perfection than their own 
 peculiar manners and customs ; for 'tis a common 
 vice, not of the vulgar only, but almost of all men, 
 to walk in the beaten road their ancestors have trod 
 before them. I am content, when they see Fabricius 
 or Laelius, that they look upon their countenance and 
 behavior as barbarous, seeing they are neither clothed 
 nor fashioned according to our mode. But I find 
 fault with their singular indiscretion in suffering them- 
 selves to be so blinded and imposed upon by the 
 authority of the present usage, as every month to 
 alter their opinion, if custom so required, and that 
 they should so vary their judgment in their own 
 particular concern. 
 
OF ANCIENT CUSTOMS. 99 
 
 When they wore the busk of their doublets up as 
 high as their breasts, they stiffly maintained that it 
 was in its proper place ; some years after, it was 
 slipped down between their thighs, and then they 
 could laugh at the former fashion as uneasy and in- 
 tolerable. The fashion now in use makes them abso- 
 lutely condemn the other two with so great resolution 
 and so universal consent, that a man would think there 
 was a certain kind of madness crept in among them, 
 that infatuates their understandings to this strange 
 degree. Now, seeing that our change of fashions 
 is so prompt and sudden, that the inventions of all 
 the tailors in the world cannot furnish out new whim- 
 whams enow to feed our vanity withal, there will often 
 be a necessity that the despised forms must again come 
 in vogue, and these immediately after fall into the same 
 contempt ; and that the same judgment must, in the 
 space of fifteen or twenty years, take up half-a-dozen 
 not only divers but contrary opinions, with an incredi- 
 ble lightness and inconstancy ; there is not any of us 
 so discreet, who suffers not himself to be gulled with 
 this contradiction, and both in external and internal 
 sight to be insensibly blinded. 
 
 I will here muster up some old customs that I have 
 in memory, some of them the same with ours, the 
 others different, to the end, that bearing in mind this 
 continual variation of human things, we may have our 
 judgment more clearly and firmly settled. 
 
 The thing in use among us of fighting with rapier 
 and cloak, was in practice among the Romans also : 
 "They wrapped their cloaks upon the left arm, and 
 drew their swords," says Caesar; and he observes a 
 
 . 0! C. 
 
IOO ESS A YS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 vicious custom of our nation, that continues yet among 
 us, which is to stop passengers we meet upon the road, 
 to compel them to give an account who they are, and 
 to take it for an affront and just cause of quarrel if 
 they refuse to do it. 
 
 At the baths, which the ancients made use of every 
 day before they went to dinner, and as frequently as 
 we wash our hands, they at first only bathed their 
 arms and legs ; but afterward, and by a custom that 
 has continued for many ages in most nations of the 
 world, they bathed stark naked in mixed and per- 
 fumed water, looking upon it as a great simplicity to 
 bathe in mere water. The most delicate and affected 
 perfumed themselves all over three or four times a 
 day. They often caused their hair to be pinched off, 
 as the women of France have some time since taken 
 up a custom to do their foreheads, though they had 
 ointments proper for that purpose. 
 
 They delighted to lie soft, and alleged it as a great 
 testimony of hardiness, to lie upon a mattress. They 
 ate lying upon beds, much after the manner of the 
 Turks in this age. And His said of the younger Cato, 
 that after the battle of Pharsalia, being entered into a 
 melancholy disposition at the ill posture of the pub- 
 lic affairs, he took his repasts always sitting, assuming 
 a strict and austere course of life. It was also their 
 custom to kiss the hands of great persons ; the more 
 to honor and caress them. And meeting with friends, 
 they always kissed in salutation, as do the Venetians. 
 
 In petitioning or saluting any great man, they used 
 to lay their hands upon his knees. Pasicles, the phi- 
 losopher, brother of Crates, instead of laying his hand 
 
OF ANCIENT CUSTOMS. ioi 
 
 upon his knee laid it upon the private parts, and being 
 roughly repulsed by him to whom he made that in- 
 decent compliment: "What," said he, "is not that 
 part your own as well as the other? " They used to 
 eat fruit, as we do, after dinner. 
 
 They had collation between meals, and had, in sum- 
 mer, cellars of snow to cool their wine ; and some there 
 were who made use of snow in winter, not thinking 
 their wine cool enough, even at that cold season of 
 the year. The men of quality had their cupbearers 
 and carvers, and their buffoons to make them sport. 
 They had their meat served up in winter upon chaf- 
 ing dishes, which were set upon the table ; and had 
 portable kitchens (of which I myself have seen some) 
 wherein all their service was carried about with them. 
 
 In summer, they had a contrivance to bring fresh 
 and clear rills through their lower rooms, wherein 
 were great store of living fish which the guests took 
 out with their own hands to be dressed every man 
 according to his own liking. Fish have ever had this 
 preeminence, and keep it still, 'that the grandees, as 
 to them, all pretend to be cooks ; and indeed the 
 taste is more delicate than that of flesh, at least to 
 my fancy. But in all sorts of magnificence, debauch- 
 ery, and voluptuous inventions of effeminacy and ex- 
 pense, we do, in truth, all we can to parallel them, for 
 our wills are as corrupt as theirs : but we want ability 
 to equal them ; our force is no more able to reach 
 them in their vicious, than in their virtuous qualities, 
 for both the one and the other proceeded from a vigor 
 of soul which was without comparison greater in them 
 than in us. And souls, by how much the weaker they 
 
102 ESSAYS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 are, by so much have they less power to do either very 
 well or very ill. 
 
 The highest place of honor among them was the 
 middle. The name going before, or following after, 
 either in writing or speaking, had no signification of 
 grandeur, as is evident by their writings ; they will as 
 soon say Oppius and Caesar, as Caesar and Oppius ; 
 and me and thee, as thee and me. This is the reason 
 that made me formerly take notice in the life of 
 Flaminius, in our French Plutarch, 1 of one passage, 
 where it seems as if the author, speaking of the jeal- 
 ousy of honor between the ^Etolians and Romans, 
 about the winning of a battle they had with their 
 joined forces obtained, made it of some importance, 
 that in the Greek songs they had put the ^Etolians 
 before the Romans : if there be no amphibology in 
 the words of the French translation. 
 
 The ancient Gauls, says Sidonius Apollinaris, wore 
 their hair long before, and the hinder part of the head 
 shaved, a fashion that begins to revive in this vicious 
 and effeminate age. 
 
 The Romans used to pay the watermen their fare 
 at their first stepping into the boat, which we never 
 do till after landing. The women used to lie on the 
 side of the bed next the wall : and for that reason 
 they called Caesar, " spondum regis Nicomedisy 
 They took breath in their drinking, and watered 
 their wine. And the roguish looks and gestures of 
 our lackeys were also in use among them. The 
 Argian and Roman ladies mourned in white, as 
 ours did formerly and should do still, were I to 
 
 1 Amyot. 
 
OF THE VANITY OF WORDS. 1 03 
 
 govern in this point. But there are whole books 
 on this subject. 
 
 OF THE VANITY OF WORDS. 
 
 A rhetorician of times past said, that to make little 
 things appear great was his profession. This was a 
 shoe-maker, who can make a great shoe for a little 
 foot. They would in Sparta have sent such a fellow 
 to be whipped for making profession of a tricky and 
 deceitful art ; and I fancy that Archidamus, who was 
 king of that country, was a little surprised at the 
 answer of Thucydides, when inquiring of him, which 
 was the better wrestler, Pericles or he, he replied, 
 that it was hard to affirm ; for when I have thrown 
 him, said he, he always persuades the spectators 
 that he had no fall and carries aw T ay the prize. The 
 women who paint, pounce, and plaster up their ruins, 
 filling up their wrinkles and deformities, are less to 
 blame, because it is no great matter whether we see 
 them in their natural complexions ; whereas these 
 make it their business to deceive not our sight only 
 but our judgments, and to adulterate and corrupt the 
 very essence of things. 
 
 The republics that have maintained themselves in a 
 regular and well-modelled government, such as those 
 of Lacedaemon and Crete, had orators in no very 
 great esteem. Aristo wisely defined rhetoric to be 
 " a science to persuade the people ; " Socrates and 
 Plato "an art to flatter and deceive." And those 
 who deny it in the general description, verify it 
 throughout in their precepts. The Mohammedans 
 
104 ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 will not suffer their children to be instructed in it, as 
 being useless, and the Athenians, perceiving of how 
 pernicious consequence the practice of it was, it being 
 in their city of universal esteem, ordered the principal 
 part, which is to move the affections, with their 
 exordiums and perorations, to be taken away. ,r Tis 
 an engine invented to manage and govern a dis- 
 orderly and tumultuous rabble, and that never is 
 made use of, but, like physic to the sick, in a discom- 
 posed state. 
 
 In those where the vulgar or the ignorant, or both 
 together, have been all-powerful and able to give the 
 law, as in those of Athens, Rhodes, and Rome, and 
 where the public affairs have been in a continual tem- 
 pest of commotion, to such places have the orators 
 always repaired. And in truth, we shall find few 
 persons in those republics who have pushed their 
 fortunes to any great degree of eminence without the 
 assistance of eloquence. Pompey, Caesar, Crassus, 
 Lucullus, Lentulus, Metellus, thence took their chiefest 
 spring, to mount to that degree of authority at which 
 they at last arrived, making it of greater use to them 
 than arms, contrary to the opinion of better times ; 
 for, L. Volumnius speaking publicly in favor of the 
 election of Q. Fabius and Pub. Decius, to the consu- 
 lar dignity: " These are men," said he, "born for 
 war and great in execution ; in the combat of the 
 tongue altogether wanting ; spirits truly consular. 
 The subtle, eloquent, and learned are only good for 
 the city, to make praetors of, to administer justice.'" 
 
 Eloquence most flourished at Rome when the 
 public affairs were in the worst condition and most 
 
OF THE VANITY OF WORDS. 1 05 
 
 disquieted with intestine commotions ; as a free and 
 untilled soil bears the worst weeds. By which it 
 should seem that a monarchical government has less 
 need of it than any other : for the stupidity and 
 facility natural to the common people, and that 
 render them subject to be turned and twined and led 
 by the ears by this charming harmony of words, with- 
 out weighing or considering the truth and reality of 
 things by the force of reason : this facility, I say, is 
 not easily found in a single person, and it is also 
 more easy by good education and advice to secure 
 him from the impression of this poison. There was 
 never any famous orator known to come out of Persia 
 or Macedon. 
 
 I have entered into this discourse upon the occasion 
 of an Italian I lately received into my service, and 
 who was clerk of the kitchen to the late Cardinal 
 Caraffa till his death. I put this fellow upon an 
 account of his office ; when he fell to discourse of this 
 palate-science, with such a settled countenance and 
 magisterial gravity, as if he had been handling some 
 profound point of divinity. He made a learned dis- 
 tinction of the several sorts of appetites ; of that a 
 man has before he begins to eat, and of those after 
 the second and third service ; the means simply to 
 satisfy the first, and then to raise and actuate the 
 other two ; the ordering of the sauces, first in general, 
 and then proceeded to the qualities of the ingredients 
 and their effects ; the differences of salads according to 
 their seasons, those which ought to be served up hot, 
 and which cold ; the manner of their garnishment and 
 decoration to render them acceptable to the eye. 
 
106 ESSAYS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 After which he entered upon the order of the whole 
 service, full of weighty and important considerations. 
 And all this set out with lofty and magnificent words, 
 the very same we make use of when we discourse of 
 the government of an empire. Which learned lecture 
 of my man brought this of Terence into my memory : 
 "This is too salt, that's burned, that's not washed 
 enough, that's well ; remember to do so another time. 
 Thus do I ever advise them to have things done 
 properly, according to my capacity ; and lastly, 
 Demea, I command my cooks to look into every dish 
 as if it were a mirror, and tell them what they should 
 do." And yet even the Greeks themselves very much 
 admired and highly applauded the order and disposi- 
 tion that Paulus ^Emilius observed in the feast he 
 gave them at his return from Macedon. But I do not 
 here speak of effects, I speak of words only. 
 
 I do not know whether it may have the same 
 operation upon other men that it has upon me, but 
 when I hear our architects thunder out their bombast 
 words of pilasters, architraves, and cornices, of the 
 Corinthian and Doric orders, and such like jargon, 
 my imagination is presently possessed with the palace 
 of Apollidon ; when, after all, I find them but the 
 paltry pieces of my own kitchen door. 
 
 To hear men talk of metonymies, metaphors, and 
 allegories, and other grammar words, would not one 
 think they signified some rare and exotic form of 
 speaking ? And yet they are phrases that are no 
 better than the chatter of my chambermaid. 
 
 And this other is a gullery of the same stamp, to 
 call the officers of our kingdom by the lofty titles of 
 
OF PRAYERS. 107 
 
 the Romans, though they have no similitude of func- 
 tion, and still less of authority and power. And this 
 also, which I doubt will one day turn to the reproach 
 of this age of ours, unworthily and indifferently to 
 confer upon any we think fit the most glorious sur- 
 names with which antiquity honored but one or two 
 persons in several ages. Plato carried away the sur- 
 name of Divine, by so universal a consent that never 
 any one repined at it, or attempted to take it from 
 him ; and yet the Italians, who pretend, and with 
 good reason, to more sprightly wits and sounder 
 sense than the other nations of their time, have 
 lately bestowed the same title upon Aretin, in whose 
 writings, save tumid phrases set out with smart 
 periods, ingenious indeed but far-fetched and fan- 
 tastic, and the eloquence, be it what it may, I see 
 nothing in him above the ordinary writers of his 
 time, so far is he from approaching the ancient divin-, 
 ity. And we make nothing of giving the surname of 
 great to princes who have nothing more than ordi- 
 nary in them. 
 
 OF PRAYERS. 
 
 I propose formless and undetermined fancies, like 
 those who publish doubtful questions, to be after dis- 
 puted upon in the schools, not to establish truth but 
 to seek it ; and I submit them to the judgments of 
 those whose office it is to regulate, not my writings 
 and actions only, but moreover my very thoughts. 
 Let what I here set down meet with correction or 
 applause, it shall be of equal welcome and utility to 
 me, myself beforehand condemning as absurd and im- 
 
io8 ESSAYS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 pious, if anything shall be found, through ignorance 
 or inadvertency, couched in this rhapsody, contrary 
 to the holy resolutions and prescriptions of the Cath- 
 olic Apostolic and Roman Church, into which I was 
 born and in which I will die. And yet, always sub- 
 mitting to the authority of their censure, which has 
 an absolute power over me, I thus rashly venture at 
 everything, as in treating upon this present subject. 
 
 I know not if or no I am wrong ; but since, by a 
 particular favor of the divine bounty, a certain form 
 of prayer has been prescribed and dictated to us, 
 word by word, from the mouth of God Himself, I 
 have ever been of opinion that we ought to have it 
 in more frequent use than we yet have ; and if I were 
 worthy to advise, at the sitting down to and rising 
 from our tables, at our rising from and going to bed, 
 and in every particular action wherein prayer is used, 
 I would that Christians always make use of the Lord's 
 Prayer, if not alone, yet at least always. The Church 
 may lengthen and diversify prayers, according to the 
 necessity of our instruction, for I know very well that 
 it is always the same in substance and the same thing : 
 but yet such a privilege ought to be given to that 
 prayer, that the people should have it continually in 
 their mouths ; for it is most certain that all necessary 
 petitions are comprehended in it, and that it is in- 
 finitely proper for all occasions. 'Tis the only prayer 
 I use in all places and conditions, and which I still 
 repeat instead of changing ; whence it also happens 
 that I have no other so entirely by heart as that. 
 
 It just now came into my mind, whence it is we 
 should derive that error of having recourse to God in 
 
OF PRAYERS. 109 
 
 all our designs and enterprises, to call Him to our 
 assistance in all sorts of affairs, and in all places 
 where our weakness stands in need of support, with- 
 out considering whether the occasion be just or other- 
 wise ; and to invoke His name and power, in what 
 state soever we are, or action we are engaged in, how- 
 ever vicious. He is, indeed, our sole and unique pro- 
 tector, and can do all things for us : but though He is 
 pleased to honor us with his sweet paternal alliance, 
 He is, notwithstanding, as just as He is good and 
 mighty ; and more often exercises His justice than 
 His power, and favors us according to that, and not 
 according to our petitions. 
 
 Plato, in his Laws, makes three sorts of belief injuri- 
 ous to the gods ; " that there are none ; that they con- 
 cern not themselves about our affairs ; that they never 
 refuse anything to our vows, offerings, and sacrifices." 
 The first of these errors (according to his opinion)., 
 never continued rooted in any man from his infancy 
 to his old age ; the other two, he confesses, men might 
 be obstinate in. 
 
 God's justice and His power are inseparable ; His in 
 vain we invoke His power in an unjust cause. We 
 are to have our souls pure and clean, at that moment 
 at least wherein we pray to Him, and purified from 
 all vicious passions ; otherwise we ourselves present 
 Him the rods wherewith to chastise us ; instead of 
 repairing anything we have done amiss, we double 
 the wickedness and the offence when we offer to Him, 
 to whom we are to sue for pardon, an affection full of 
 irreverence and hatred. Which makes me not very 
 apt to applaud those whom I observe to be so frequent 
 
no ESSAYS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 on their knees, if the actions nearest to the prayer 
 do not give me some evidence of amendment and 
 reformation. And the practice of a man who mixes 
 devotion with an execrable life seems in some sort 
 more to be condemned than that of a man conforma- 
 ble to his own propension, and dissolute throughout ; 
 and for that reason it is that our Church denies admit- 
 tance to and communion with men obstinate and in- 
 corrigible in any notorious wickedness. We pray only 
 by custom and for fashion's sake ; or, rather, we read 
 or pronounce our prayers aloud, which is no better 
 than an hypocritical show of devotion ; and I am scan- 
 dalized to see a man cross himself thrice at the Béné- 
 dicité, and as often at Grace (and the more, because 
 it is a sign I have in great veneration and continual 
 use, even when I yawn), and to dedicate all the other 
 hours of the day to acts of malice, avarice, and in- 
 justice. One hour to God, the rest to the devil, as if 
 by composition and compensation. Tis a wonder to 
 see actions so various in themselves succeed one an- 
 other with such an uniformity of method as not to 
 interfere nor suffer any alteration, even upon the very 
 confines and passes from the one to the other. What 
 a prodigious conscience must that be that can be at 
 quiet within itself while it harbors under the same 
 roof, with so agreeing and so calm a society, both the 
 crime and the judge ? 
 
 A man whose whole meditation is continually work- 
 ing upon nothing but impurity which he knows to be 
 so odious to Almighty God, what can he say when he 
 comes to speak to Him ? He draws back, but imme- 
 diately falls into a relapse. If the object of divine 
 
OF PR A YERS. 1 1 1 
 
 justice and the presence of his Maker did, as he pre- 
 tends, strike and chastise his soul, how short soever 
 the repentance might be. the very fear of offending 
 the infinite Majesty would so often present itself to 
 his imagination that he would soon see himself master 
 of those vices that are most natural and vehement in 
 him. But what shall we say of those who settle their 
 whole course of life upon the profit and emolument 
 of sins, which they know to be mortal? How many 
 trades and vocations have we admitted and counte- 
 nanced among us, whose very essence is vicious? 
 And he that confessing himself to me, voluntarily 
 told me that he had all his lifetime professed and 
 practised a religion, in his opinion damnable and 
 contrary to that he had in his heart, only to preserve 
 his credit and the honor of his employments, how 
 could his courage suffer so infamous a confession? 
 What can men say to the divine justice upon this 
 subject? Their repentance consisting in a visible 
 and manifest reparation, they lose the color of alleg- 
 ing it both to God and man. Are they so impudent 
 as to sue for remission without satisfaction and with- 
 out penitence? I look upon these as in the same 
 condition with the first : but the obstinacy is not there 
 so easy to be overcome. This contrariety and volu- 
 bility of opinion so sudden, so violent, that they feign, 
 are a kind of miracle to me : they present us with the 
 state of an indigestible agony of mind. 
 
 It seemed to me a fantastic imagination in those 
 who, these late years past, were wont to reproach 
 every man they knew to be of any extraordinary 
 parts, and made profession of the Catholic religion. 
 
112 ESSAYS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 that it was but outwardly ; maintaining, moreover, to 
 do him honor forsooth, that whatever he might pre- 
 tend to the contrary he could not but in his heart be 
 of their reformed opinion. An untoward disease, that 
 a man should be so riveted to his own belief as to 
 fancy that others cannot believe otherwise than as he 
 does ; and yet worse, that they should entertain so 
 vicious an opinion of such great parts as to think any 
 man so qualified, should prefer any present advantage 
 of fortune to the promises of eternal life and the 
 menaces of eternal damnation. They may believe 
 me : could anything have tempted my youth, the 
 ambition of the danger and difficulties in the late 
 commotions had not been the least motives. 
 
 It is not without very good reason, in my opinion, 
 that the Church interdicts the promiscuous, indiscreet, 
 and irreverent use of the holy and divine Psalms, with 
 which the Holy Ghost inspired King David. We 
 ought not to mix God in our actions, but with the 
 highest reverence and caution ; that poesy is too holy 
 to be put to no other use than to exercise the lungs 
 and to delight our ears ; it ought to come from the 
 conscience, and not from the tongue. It is not fit 
 that a 'prentice in his shop, among his vain and frivo- 
 lous thoughts, should be permitted to pass away his 
 time and divert himself with such sacred things. 
 Neither is it decent to see the Holy Book of the holy 
 mysteries of our belief tumbled up and down a hall 
 or a kitchen ; they were formerly mysteries, but are 
 now become sports and recreations. 'Tis a book too 
 serious and too venerable to be cursorily or slightly 
 turned over: the reading of the Scripture ought to 
 
OF PRAYERS. 113 
 
 be a temperate and premeditated act, and to which 
 men should always add this devout preface, stir sum 
 corda, preparing even the body to so humble and 
 composed a gesture and countenance as shall evi- 
 dence a particular veneration and attention. Neither 
 is it a book for every one to fist, but the study of 
 select men set apart for that purpose, and whom 
 Almighty God has been pleased to call to that office 
 and sacred function : the wicked and ignorant grow 
 worse by it. Tis not a story to tell, but a history to 
 revere, fear, and adore. Are not they then pleasant 
 men, who think they have rendered this fit for the 
 people's handling, by translating it into the vulgar 
 tongue? Does the understanding of all therein con- 
 tained only stick at words? Shall I venture to say 
 further, that by coming so near to understand a little, 
 they are much wider of the whole scope than before ? 
 A pure and simple ignorance and wholly depending 
 upon the exposition of qualified persons, was far 
 more learned and salutary than this vain and verbal 
 knowledge, which has only proved the nurse of temer- 
 ity and presumption. 
 
 And I do further believe that the liberty every one 
 has taken to disperse the sacred writ into so many 
 idioms carries with it a great deal more of danger 
 than utility. The Jews, Mohammedans, and almost 
 all other peoples, have reverentially espoused the 
 language wherein their mysteries were first con- 
 ceived, and have expressly, and not without color 
 of reason, forbidden the alteration of them into any 
 other. Are we assured that in Biscay and in Brit- 
 tany there are enough competent judges of this affair 
 
114 ESSAYS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 to establish this translation into their own language? 
 The universal Church has not a more difficult and 
 solemn judgment to make. In preaching and speak- 
 ing the interpretation is vague, free, mutable, and of 
 a piece by itself; so 'tis not the same thing. 
 
 One of our Greek historians justly censures the age 
 he lived in, because the secrets of the Christian re- 
 ligion were dispersed into the hands of every me- 
 chanic, to expound and argue upon, according to his 
 own fancy, and that we ought to be much ashamed, we 
 who by God's especial favor enjoy the pure mysteries 
 of piety, to suffer them to be profaned by the ignorant 
 rabble ; considering that the Gentiles expressly for- 
 bade Socrates, Plato, and the other sages to inquire 
 into or so much as to mention the things committed 
 to the priests of Delphi ; and he says, moreover, that 
 the factions of princes upon theological subjects are 
 armed not with zeal but fury ; that zeal springs from 
 the divine wisdom and justice, and governs itself 
 with prudence and moderation, but degenerates into 
 hatred and envy, producing tares and nettles instead 
 of corn and wine when conducted by human passions. 
 And it was truly said by another, who, advising the 
 Emperor Thedosius, told him, that disputes did not 
 so much rock the schisms of the Church asleep, as it 
 roused and animated heresies ; that, therefore, all 
 contentions and dialectic disputations were to be 
 avoided, and men absolutely to acquiesce in the pre- 
 scriptions and formulas of faith established by the 
 ancients. And the Emperor Andronicus having over- 
 heard some great men at high words in his palace 
 with Lapodius about a point of ours of great impor- 
 
OF PRAYERS. 115 
 
 tance, gave them so severe a check as to threaten to 
 cause them to be thrown into the river if they did not 
 desist. The very women and children nowadays take 
 upon them to lecture the oldest and most experienced 
 men about the ecclesiastical laws ; whereas the first 
 of those of Plato forbids them to inquire so much as 
 into the civil laws, which were to stand instead of 
 divine ordinances ; and, allowing the old men to con- 
 fer among themselves or with the magistrate about 
 those things, he adds, provided it be not in the pres- 
 ence of young or profane persons. 
 
 A bishop has left in writing that at the other end 
 of the world there is an isle, by the ancients called 
 Dioscorides, abundantly fertile in all sorts of trees and 
 fruits, and of an exceedingly healthful air ; the in- 
 habitants of which are Christians, having churches 
 and altars, only adorned with crosses without any 
 other images, great observers of fasts and feasts, 
 exact payers of their tithes to the priests, and so 
 chaste, that none of them is permitted to have to do 
 with more than one woman in his life ; as to the rest, 
 so content with their condition, that environed with 
 the sea they know nothing of navigation, and so 
 simple that they understand not one syllable of the 
 religion they profess and wherein they are so devout : 
 a thing incredible to such as do not know that the 
 pagans, who are so zealous idolaters, know nothing 
 more of their gods than their bare names and their 
 statues. The ancient beginning of Menaliftfius, a 
 tragedy of Euripides, ran thus, 
 
 " O Jupiter ! for that name alone 
 Of what thou art to me is known." 
 
1 1 6 ESS A YS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 I have also known in my time some men's writings 
 found fault with for being purely human and philo- 
 sophical, without any mixture of theology ; and yet, 
 with some show of reason, it might, on the contrary, 
 be said that the divine doctrine, as queen and regent 
 of the rest, better keeps her state apart, that she 
 ought to be sovereign throughout, not subsidiary and 
 suffragan, and that, peradventure, grammatical, rhe- 
 torical, logical examples may elsewhere be more suit- 
 ably chosen, as also the material for the stage, games, 
 and public entertainments, than from so sacred a mat- 
 ter ; that divine reasons are considered with greater 
 veneration and attention by themselves, and in their 
 own proper style, than when mixed with and adapted 
 to human discourse ; that is, it is a fault much more 
 often observed that the divines write too humanly, 
 than that the humanists write not theologically 
 enough. Philosophy, says St. Chrysostom, has long 
 been banished the holy schools, as an handmaid alto- 
 gether useless and thought unworthy to look, so much 
 as in passing by the door, into the sanctuary of the 
 holy treasures of the celestial doctrine ; that the hu- 
 man way of speaking is of a much lower form and 
 ought not to adopt for herself the dignity and maj- 
 esty of divine eloquence. Let who will verbis indis- 
 ciplinatis talk of fortune, destiny, accident, good and 
 evil hap, and other such like phrases, according to 
 his own humor; I for my part propose fancies merely 
 human and merely my own, and that simply as human 
 fancies, and separately considered, not as determined 
 by any decree from heaven, incapable of doubt or dis- 
 pute ; matter of opinion not matter of faith ; things 
 
OF PRAYERS. 117 
 
 which I discourse of according to my own notions, 
 not as I believe, according to God ; after a laical, not 
 clerical, and yet always after a very religious manner, 
 as children prepare their exercises, not to instruct, 
 but to be instructed. 
 
 And might it not be said, that an edict enjoining all 
 people but such as are public professors of divinity, 
 to be very reserved in writing of religion, would 
 carry with it a very good color of utility and justice — 
 and to me, among the rest peradventure, to hold my 
 prating ? I have been told that even those who are 
 not of our Church nevertheless among themselves ex- 
 pressly forbid the name of God to be used in common 
 discourse, not so much even by way of interjection, 
 exclamation, assertion of a truth, or comparison ; and 
 I think them in the right : upon what occasion soever 
 we call upon God to accompany and assist us, it 
 ought always to be done with the greatest reverence 
 and devotion. 
 
 There is, as I remember, a passage in Xenophon 
 where he tells us that we ought so much the more 
 seldom to call upon God, by how much it is hard to 
 compose our souls to such a degree of calmness, 
 patience, and devotion as it ought to be in at such a 
 time ; otherwise our prayers are not only vain and 
 fruitless, but vicious : "Forgive us, 1 ' we say, " our tres- 
 passes, as we forgive them that trespass against us ; " 
 what do we mean by this petition but that we present 
 to God a soul free from all rancor and revenge ? And 
 yet we make nothing of invoking God's assistance in 
 our vices, and inviting Him into our unjust designs : 
 " Which you can only impart to the gods privately." 
 
i l8 ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 [Pereius]- The oovetous man prays for the conser- 
 vation of his vain and superfluous riches ; the ambi- 
 tious for victory and the good conduct of his fortune; 
 the thief rails liim to his assistance} to deliver him 
 from the dangers and difficulties that obstruct his 
 wicked designs, or returns Him thanks far the laeilih 
 
 he lias rne.t with in cutting a man's throat; at the 
 door ot the house men are going to storm ©r break 
 into by force ofa petard, they fall to prayeifa for sue 
 cess, their intentions and hopes full of cruelty, avarice, 
 and lust, 
 
 Marguerite, queen of Navarre, tells of a young 
 prince, who, though she does not name him, is easily 
 enough by his great qualities to be known, who going 
 
 upon an amorous assignation to lie with an advocate's 
 
 wife of Taris, his way thither being through a church, 
 he never passed that holy place going to or returning 
 from his pious ejçerdse, but he always» kneeled down 
 to pray. Wherein he would employ the divine favor, 
 
 his soul being full Of such virtUOUS meditations, I 
 
 Leave others to judge, which, nevertheless, she In- 
 stances for a testimony of singular devotion. But 
 
 this LS not the only proof we have that women are 
 
 not very tit to treat of theological affairs. 
 
 A true prayer and religious reconciling of ourselves 
 to Almighty God cannot enter into an impure soul, 
 subject at the very time to the dominion o( Satan, 
 lie who calls God to his assistance while in a course 
 ot vice, does as it a entpnrse should eall a magistrate 
 to help him, or like those who introduce the name 
 o( God to the attestation ot a he. 
 
 There are few men who dare publish to the world 
 
OF PRAYERS. 119 
 
 the prayers they make to Almighty God : "Tis not 
 convenient for every one to bring the prayers he mut- 
 ters, out of the temple, and to give his wishes to the 
 public ear* 1 [Persius]. And this is the reason why 
 the Pythagoreans would have them always public and 
 heard by every one, to the end they might not prefer 
 indecent or unjust petitions as this man : * ; He first 
 exclaims aloud, Apollo ! Then gently moving his lips, 
 fearful to be heard, he murmurs : Oh fair Laverna, 
 grant me the talent to deceive and cheat ; yet all the 
 while to appear holy and just ; shroud my sins with 
 night, and my frauds with a sable cloud'' [Horace. 
 Laverna was the goddess of thieves] . 
 
 The gods severely punished the wicked prayers of 
 Œdipus in granting them : he had prayed that his 
 children might among themselves determine the suc- 
 cession to his throne by arms, and was so miserable 
 as to see himself taken at his word. We are not to 
 pray that all things may go as we would have them, 
 but as most concurrent with prudence. 
 
 We seem, in truth, to make use of our prayers as of 
 a kind of gibberish, and as those do who employ holy 
 words about sorceries and magical operations : and as 
 if we reckoned the benefit we are to reap from them 
 as depending upon the contexture, sound, and jingle 
 of words, or upon the grave composing of the counte- 
 nance. For having the soul contaminated with con- 
 cupiscence, not touched with repentance, or comforted 
 by any late reconciliation with God, we go to present 
 Him such words as the memory suggests to the 
 tongue, and hope from thence to obtain the remission 
 of our sins. There is nothing so easy, so sweet, and 
 
I20 ESSAYS OF MONTAIGNE, 
 
 so favorable, as the divine law : it calls and invites us 
 to her, guilty and abominable as we are ; extends her 
 arms and receives us into her bosom, foul and polluted 
 as we at present are, and are for the future to be. 
 But then, in return, we are to look upon her with a 
 respectful eye ; we are to receive this pardon with all 
 gratitude and submission, and for that instant at least, 
 wherein we address ourselves to her, to have the soul 
 sensible of the ills we have committed, and at enmity 
 with those passions that seduced us to offend her; 
 neither the gods nor good men (says Plato) will 
 accept the present of a wicked man. Says Horace : 
 " If a pure hand touch the altar, the pious offering of 
 a small cake and a few grains of salt will appease the 
 offended gods more effectually than costly sacrifices." 
 
 OF BOOKS. 
 I make no doubt but that I often happen to speak 
 of things that are much better and more truly handled 
 by those who are masters of the trade. You have here 
 purely an essay of my natural parts, and not of those 
 acquired ; and whoever shall catch me tripping in 
 ignorance, will not in any sort get the better of me ; 
 for I should be very unwilling to become responsible 
 to another for my writings, who am not so to myself, 
 nor satisfied with them. Whoever goes in quest of 
 knowledge, let him fish for it where it is to be found ; 
 there is nothing I so little profess. These are fancies 
 of my own, by which I do not pretend to discover 
 things but to lay open myself; they may, perad- 
 venture, one day be known to me, or have formerly 
 been, according as fortune has been able to bring me 
 
OF BOOKS. 121 
 
 in place where they have been explained ; but I have 
 utterly forgotten it ; and if I am a man of some read- 
 ing, I am a man of no retention ; so that I can prom- 
 ise no certainty, more than to make known to what 
 point the knowledge I now have has risen. 
 
 Therefore, let none lay stress upon the matter I 
 write, but upon my method in writing it. Let them 
 observe, in what I borrow, if I have known how to 
 choose what is proper to raise or help the invention, 
 which is always my own. For I make others say for 
 me, not before but after me, what either for want of 
 language or want of sense I cannot myself so well 
 express. I do not number my borrowings, I weigh 
 them : and had I designed to raise their value by 
 number, I had made them twice as many ; they are 
 all, or within a very few, so famed and ancient authors, 
 that they seem, methinks, themselves sufficiently to 
 tell who they are, without giving me the trouble. . 
 
 In reasons, comparisons, and arguments, if I trans- 
 plant any into my own soil, and confound them among 
 my own, I purposely conceal the author, to awe the 
 temerity of those precipitate censors who fall upon 
 all sorts of writings, particularly the late ones, of men 
 yet living, and in the vulgar tongue which puts every 
 one into a capacity of criticising and which seem to 
 convict the conception and design as vulgar also. I 
 will have them give Plutarch a fillip on my nose, and 
 rail against Seneca when they think they rail at me. 
 I must shelter my own weakness under these great 
 reputations. I shall love any one that can unplume 
 me, that is, by clearness of understanding and judg- 
 ment, and by the sole distinction of the force and 
 
122 ES SA YS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 beauty of the discourse. For I who, for want of 
 memory, am at every turn at a loss to pick them out 
 of their national livery, am yet wise enough to know, 
 by the measure of my own abilities, that my soil is 
 incapable of producing any of those rich flowers that 
 I there find growing ; and that all the fruits of my 
 own growth are not worth any one of them. For 
 this, indeed, I hold myself responsible ; if I get in my 
 own way; if there be any vanity and defect in my 
 writings which I do not of myself perceive nor can 
 discern, when pointed out to me by another ; for 
 many faults escape our eye, but the infirmity of judg- 
 ment consists in not being able to discern them when 
 by another laid open to us. 
 
 Knowledge and truth may be in us without judg- 
 ment, and judgment also without them ; but the con- 
 fession of ignorance is one of the finest and surest 
 testimonies of judgment that I know. I have no 
 other officer to put my writings in rank and file, but 
 only fortune. As things come into my head, I heap 
 them one upon another ; sometimes they advance in 
 whole bodies, sometimes in single file. I would that 
 every one should see my natural and ordinary pace, 
 irregular as it is ; I suffer myself to jog on at my own 
 rate. Neither are these subjects which a man is not 
 permitted to be ignorant in, or casually and at a ven- 
 ture, to discourse of. I could wish to have a more 
 perfect knowledge of things, but I will not buy it so 
 dear as it costs. My design is to pass over easily, 
 and not laboriously, the remainder of my life ; there 
 is nothing that I will cudgel my brains about ; no, not 
 even knowledge, of what value soever. 
 
OF BOOKS. 123 
 
 I seek, in the reading of books, only to please my- 
 self, by an honest diversion ; or, if I study, 'tis for no 
 other science than what treats of the knowledge of 
 myself, and instructs me how to die and how to live 
 well. I do not bite my nails about the difficulties I 
 meet with in my reading ; after a charge or two, I 
 give them over. Should I insist upon them, I should 
 both lose myself and time ; for I have an impatient 
 understanding, that must be satisfied at first ; what I 
 do not discern at once, is by persistence rendered 
 more obscure. I do nothing without gayety ; con- 
 tinuation and a too obstinate endeavor darken, stu- 
 pefy, and tire my judgment. My sight is confounded 
 and dissipated with poring ; I must withdraw it, 
 and refer my discovery to new attempts ; just as to 
 judge rightly of the lustre of scarlet, we are taught 
 to pass the eye lightly over it, and again to run it 
 over at several sudden and reiterated glances. If 
 one book does not please me, I take another ; and 
 never meddle with any, but at such times as I am 
 weary of doing nothing. I care not much for new 
 ones, because the old seem fuller and stronger ; 
 neither do I converse much with Greek authors, be- 
 cause my judgment cannot do its work with imperfect 
 intelligence of the material. 
 
 Among books that are simply pleasant, of the mod- 
 erns, Boccaccio's Decameron, Rabelais, and the Basia 
 of Johannes Secundus (if those may be ranged under 
 the title) are worth reading for amusement. As to 
 Amadis, and such kind of stuff, they had not credit 
 to take me, so much as in my childhood. And I 
 will, moreover, say, whether boldly or rashly, that 
 
124 ESSAYS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 this old, heavy soul of mine is now no longer tickled 
 with Ariosto, no, nor with Ovid ; his facility and in- 
 ventions with which I was formerly so ravished, are 
 now of no more relish, and I can hardly have the 
 patience to read them. I speak my opinion freely of 
 all things, even of those that, perhaps, exceed my 
 capacity, and that I do not conceive to be, in any 
 wise, under my jurisdiction. And, accordingly, the 
 judgment I deliver is to show the measure of my 
 own sight, and not of the things I make so bold to 
 criticise. When I find myself disgusted with Plato's 
 Axiochus, 1 as with a work, with due respect to such 
 an author be it spoken, without force, my judgment 
 does not believe itself: it is not so arrogant as to 
 oppose the authority of so many other famous judg- 
 ments of antiquity, which it considers as its tutors 
 and masters, and with whom it is rather content to 
 err ; in such a case, it condemns itself either to stop 
 at the outward bark, not being able to penetrate to 
 the heart, or to consider it by some false light. It 
 is content with only securing itself from trouble and 
 disorder ; as to its own weakness, it frankly acknowl- 
 edges and confesses it. It thinks it gives a just in- 
 terpretation to the appearances by its conceptions 
 presented to it ; but they are weak and imperfect. 
 Most of the Fables of ^Esop have diverse senses and 
 meanings of which the mythologists chose some one 
 that quadrates well to the Fable ; but, for the most 
 part, His but the first face that presents itself and is 
 
 1 The Axiochus is not by Plato, as Diogenes Laertius 
 admitted. It is attributed by some to ^Eschines the Socratic, 
 and by others to Xenocrates of Chalcedon. — Le Clerc 
 
OF BOOKS, 125 
 
 superficial only ; there yet remain others more vivid, 
 essential, and profound, into which they have not 
 been able to penetrate; and just so "'tis with me. 
 
 But, to pursue the business of this essay, I have 
 always thought that, in poesy, Virgil, Lucretius, 
 Catullus, and Horace by many degrees excel the 
 rest ; and signally, Virgil in his Georgtcs, which I 
 look upon as the most accomplished piece in poetry ; 
 and in comparison of which a man may easily discern 
 that there are some places in his JEneids, to which 
 the author would have given a little more of the file, 
 had he had leisure : and the fifth book of his ALneids 
 seems to me the most perfect. I also love Lucan, and 
 willingly read him, not so much for his style, as for 
 his own worth, and the truth and solidity of his opin- 
 ions and judgments. As for Terence, that model of 
 the refined elegancies and grace of the Latin tongue, 
 I find him admirable in his vivid representation of our 
 manners and the movements of the soul ; our actions 
 throw me at every turn upon him ; and I cannot read 
 him so often that I do not still discover some new 
 grace and beauty. Such as lived near Virgil's time 
 were scandalized that some should compare him with 
 Lucretius. I am, I confess, of opinion that the com- 
 parison is, in truth, very unequal ; a belief that, never- 
 theless, I have much ado to assure myself in, when I 
 come upon some excellent passage in Lucretius. But 
 if they were so angry at this comparison, what would 
 they say to the brutish and barbarous stupidity of 
 those who, nowadays, compare him with Ariosto? 
 Would not Ariosto himself say, " O stupid and taste- 
 less age! " 
 
126 ESSAYS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 I think the ancients had more reason to be angry 
 with those who compared Plautus with Terence, 
 though much nearer the mark, than Lucretius with 
 Virgil, It makes much for the estimation and prefer- 
 ence of Terence, that the father of Roman eloquence 
 has him so often, and alone of his class, in his mouth ; 
 and the opinion that the best judge of Roman poets 1 
 has passed upon his companion. I have often ob- 
 served that those of our times, who take upon them 
 to write comedies (in imitation of the Italians, who 
 are happy enough in that way of writing), take three 
 or four plots of those of Plautus or Terence to make 
 one of their own, and crowd five or six of Boccaccio's 
 novels into one single comedy. That which makes 
 them so load themselves with matter is the diffidence 
 they have of being able to support themselves with 
 their own strength. They must find out something 
 to lean to ; and not having of their own stuff where- 
 with to entertain us, they bring in the story to supply 
 the defect of language. 
 
 It is quite otherwise with my author ; the elegance 
 ? and perfection of his way of speaking makes us lose 
 the appetite of his plot ; his refined grace and elegance 
 of diction everywhere occupy us : he is so pleasant 
 throughout, " Liquid, and like a crystal stream," and 
 so possesses the soul with his graces that we forget 
 those of his fable. This same consideration carries 
 me further : I observe that the best of the ancient 
 poets have avoided affectation and the hunting after, 
 not only fantastic Spanish and Petrarchal elevations, 
 but even the softer and more gentle touches, which 
 1 Horace. 
 
OF BOOKS, 127 
 
 are the ornament of all succeeding poesy. And yet 
 there is no good judgment that will condemn this in 
 the ancients, and that does not incomparably more 
 admire the equal polish, and that perpetual sweetness 
 and flourishing beauty of Catullus 1 epigrams, than all 
 the stings with which Martial arms the tails of his. 
 This is by the same reason that I gave before, and as 
 Martial says of himself: " He had all the less for his 
 wit to do that the subject itself supplied what was 
 necessary.'" The first, without being moved, or with- 
 out getting angry, make themselves sufficiently felt; 
 they have matter enough of laughter throughout, they 
 need not tickle themselves ; the others have need of 
 foreign assistance ; as they have the less wit they 
 must have the more body ; they mount on horse- 
 back, because they are not able to stand on their own 
 legs. 
 
 As in our balls, those mean fellows who teach to 
 dance, not being able to represent the presence and 
 dignity of our noblesse, are fain to put themselves 
 forward with dangerous jumping, and other strange 
 motions and tumblers' tricks ; and the ladies are less 
 put to it in dances, where there are various coupées, 
 changes, and quick motions of body, than in some 
 other of a more sedate kind, where they are only to 
 move a natural pace, and to represent their ordinary 
 grace and presence. And so I have seen good drolls, 
 when in their own everyday clothes, and with the 
 same face they always wear, give us all the pleasure 
 of their art, when their apprentices, not yet arrived at 
 such a pitch of perfection, are fain to meal their faces, 
 put themselves into ridiculous disguises, and make a 
 
128 ESSAYS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 hundred grotesque faces to give us whereat to laugh. 
 This conception of mine is nowhere more demon- 
 strable than in comparing the Aïneid with Orlando 
 Furioso ; of which we see the first, by dint of wing, 
 flying in a brave and lofty place, and always follow- 
 ing his point ; the latter, fluttering and hopping from 
 tale to tale, as from branch to branch, not daring to 
 trust his wings but in very short flights, and perching 
 at every turn, lest his breath and strength should 
 fail ; Excursusque breves tentât. These, then, as 
 to this sort of subjects, are the authors that best 
 please me. 
 
 As to what concerns my other reading, that mixes a 
 little more profit with the pleasure, and whence I learn 
 how to marshal my opinions and conditions, the books 
 that serve me to this purpose are Plutarch, since he 
 has been translated into French, and Seneca. Both 
 of these have this notable convenience suited to my 
 humor, that the knowledge I there seek is discoursed 
 in loose pieces, that do not require from me any 
 trouble of reading long, of which I am incapable. 
 Such are the minor works of the first and the epistles 
 of the latter, which are the best and most profiting of 
 all their writings. Tis no great attempt to take one 
 of them in hand, and I give over at pleasure ; for they 
 have no sequence or dependence upon one another. 
 These authors, for the most part, concur in useful and 
 true opinions ; and there is this parallel between them, 
 that fortune brought them into the world about the 
 same century : they were both tutors to two Roman 
 emperors: both sought out from foreign countries: 
 both rich and both great men. Their instruction is 
 
OF BOOKS. 129 
 
 the cream of philosophy, and delivered after a plain 
 and pertinent manner. Plutarch is more uniform and 
 constant ; Seneca more various and waving : the last 
 toiled and bent his whole strength to fortify virtue 
 against weakness, fear, and vicious appetites ; the 
 other seems more to slight their power, and to dis- 
 dain to alter his pace and to stand upon his guard. 
 Plutarch's opinions are Platonic, gentle, and accom- 
 modated to civil society ; those of the other are 
 Stoical and Epicurean, more remote from the com- 
 mon use, but, in my opinion, more individually 
 commodious and more firm. Seneca seems to lean 
 a little to the tyranny of the emperors of his time, 
 and only seems ; for I take it for certain that he 
 speaks against his judgment when he condemns the 
 action of the generous murderers of Caesar. Plutarch 
 is frank throughout : Seneca abounds with brisk 
 touches and sallies ; Plutarch with things that heat 
 and move you more ; this contents and pays you 
 better: he guides us, the other pushes us on. 
 
 As to Cicero, those of his works that are most use- 
 ful to my design are they that treat of philosophy, 
 especially moral. But boldly to confess the truth 
 (for since one has passed the barriers of impudence, 
 off with the bridle), his way of writing, and that of all 
 other long-winded authors, appears to me very tedi- 
 ous : for his prefaces, definitions, divisions, and 
 etymologies take up the greatest part of his work : 
 whatever there is of life and marrow is smothered 
 and lost in the long preparation. When 1 have spent 
 an hour in reading him, which is a great deal for me, 
 and try to recollect what I have thence extracted of 
 
130 ESS A YS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 juice and substance, for the most part I find nothing 
 but wind ; for he is not yet come to the arguments 
 that serve to his purpose, and to the reasons that 
 properly help to form the knot I seek. For me, 
 who only desire to become more wise, not more 
 learned or eloquent, these logical and Aristotelian 
 dispositions of parts are of no use. I would have a 
 man begin with the main proposition. I know well 
 enough what death and pleasure are ; let no man give 
 himself the trouble to anatomize them to me. I look 
 for good and solid reasons, at the first dash, to 
 instruct me how to stand their shock, for which pur- 
 pose neither grammatical subtleties nor the quaint 
 contexture of words and argumentations are of any 
 use at all. I am for discourses that give the first 
 charge into the heart of the redoubt ; his languish 
 about the subject ; they are proper for the schools, 
 for the bar, and for the pulpit, where we have leisure 
 to nod, and may awake a quarter of an hour after, 
 time enough to find again the thread of the discourse. 
 It is necessary to speak after this manner to judges, 
 whom a man has a desire to gain over, right or wrong, 
 to children and common people, to whom a man must 
 say all, and see what will come of it. I would not 
 have an author make it his business to render me 
 attentive : or that he should cry out fifty times Oyez, 
 as the heralds do. The Romans, in their religious 
 exercises, began with Hoc age: as we in ours do 
 with Sur sum corda ; these are so many words lost to 
 me : I come already fully prepared from my chamber. 
 I need no allurement, no invitation, no sauce ; I eat 
 the meat raw, so that, instead of whetting my appetite 
 
OF BOOKS. 131 
 
 by these preparatives, they tire and pall it. Will the 
 license of the time excuse my sacrilegious boldness 
 if I censure the dialogism of Plato himself as also dull 
 and heavy, too much stifling the matter, and lament 
 so much time lost by a man, who had so many better 
 things to say, in so many long and needless pre- 
 liminary interlocutions ? My ignorance will better 
 excuse me in that I understand not Greek so well as 
 to discern the beauty of his language. 
 
 I generally choose books that use sciences, not such 
 as only lead to them. The two first, and Pliny, and 
 their like, have nothing of this Hoc age ; they will 
 have to do with men already instructed ; or if they 
 have, 'tis a substantial Hoc age, and that has a body 
 by itself. I also delight in reading the Epistles to 
 Atticus, not only because they contain a great deal 
 of the history and affairs of his time, but much more 
 because I therein discover much of his own private 
 humors ; for I have a singular curiosity, as I have said 
 elsewhere, to pry into the souls and the natural and 
 true opinions of the authors with whom I converse. 
 A man may indeed judge of their parts, but not of 
 their manners nor of themselves, by the writings they 
 exhibit upon the theatre of the world. I have a thou- 
 sand times lamented the loss of the treatise Brutus 
 wrote upon virtue, for it is well to learn the theory from 
 those who best know the practice. But seeing the mat- 
 ter preached and the preacher are different things, I 
 would as willingly see Brutus in Plutarch, as in a book 
 of his own. I would rather choose to be certainly in- 
 formed of the conference he had in his tent with some 
 particular friends of his the night before a battle, 
 
132 ESSAYS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 than of the harangue he made the next day to his 
 army ; and of what he did in his closet and his cham- 
 ber, than what he did in the public square and in the 
 senate. 
 
 As to Cicero, I am of the common opinion that, 
 learning excepted, he had no great natural excellence. 
 He was a good citizen, of an affable nature, as all fat, 
 heavy men, such as he was, usually are ; but given to 
 ease, and had, in truth, a mighty share of vanity and 
 ambition. Neither do I know how to excuse him for 
 thinking his poetry fit to be published ; His no great 
 imperfection to make ill verses, but it is an imperfec- 
 tion not to be able to judge how unworthy his verses 
 were of the glory of his name. For what concerns 
 his eloquence, that is totally out of all comparison, 
 and I believe it will never be equalled. The younger 
 Cicero, who resembled his father in nothing but 
 in name, while commanding in Asia, had several 
 strangers one day at his table and, among the rest, 
 Cestius seated at the lower end, as men often intrude 
 to the open tables of the great. Cicero asked one of 
 his people who that man was, who presently told him 
 his name ; but he, as one who had his thoughts taken 
 up with something else, and who had forgotten the 
 answer made him, asking three or four times, over and 
 over again, the same question, the fellow, to deliver 
 himself from so many answers and to make him know 
 him by some particular circumstance ; " 'Tis that 
 Cestius," said he, " of whom it w r as told you, that he 
 makes no great account of your father's eloquence in 
 comparison of his own.''' At which Cicero, being 
 suddenly nettled, commanded poor Cestius presently 
 
OF BOOKS. 133 
 
 to be seized, and caused him to be very well whipped 
 in his own presence ; a very discourteous entertainer! 
 
 Yet even among those, who, all things considered, 
 have reputed his eloquence incomparable, there have 
 been some who have not stuck to observe some faults 
 in it ; as that great Brutus his friend, for example, who 
 said it w T as a broken and feeble eloquence, fractam et 
 elumbem. The orators also, nearest to the age 
 wherein he lived, reprehended in him the care he 
 had of a certain long cadence in his periods, and 
 particularly took notice of these words, esse videatur, 
 which he there so often makes use of. For my part, 
 I more approve of a shorter style, and that comes 
 more roundly off. He does, though, sometimes 
 shuffle his parts more briskly together, but 'tis very 
 seldom. I have myself taken notice of this one 
 passage : " Ego vero me minus diu senem mallem, 
 quam esse senem anteqnam es s em." 
 
 The historians are my right ball, for they are 
 pleasant and easy, and where man, in general, the 
 knowledge of whom I hunt after, appears more viv- 
 idly and entire than anywhere else : the variety and 
 truth of his internal qualities, in gross and piecemeal, 
 the diversity of means by which he is united and knit, 
 and the accidents that threaten him. Now those that 
 write lives, by reason they insist more upon counsels 
 than events, more upon what sallies from within, than 
 upon what happens without, are the most proper for 
 my reading : and, therefore, above all others, Plutarch 
 is the man for me. I am very sorry we have not a 
 dozen Laertii, or that he w r as not further extended ; 
 for I am equally curious to know the lives and for- 
 
134 ESSAYS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 tunes of these great instructors of the world, as to 
 know the diversities of their doctrines and opinions. 
 In this kind of study of histories, a man must tumble 
 over, without distinction, all sorts of authors, old and 
 new, French or foreign, there to know the things of 
 which they variously treat. 
 
 But Caesar, in my opinion, particularly deserves to 
 be studied, not for the knowledge of the history only, 
 but for himself, so great an excellence and perfection 
 he has above all the rest, though Sallust be one of 
 the number. In earnest, I read this author with 
 more reverence and respect than is usually allowed to 
 human writings ; one while considering him in his 
 person, by his actions and miraculous greatness, and 
 another in the purity and inimitable polish of his lan- 
 guage, wherein he not only excels all other historians, 
 as Cicero confesses, but, peradventure, even Cicero 
 himself; speaking of his enemies with so much sin- 
 cerity in his judgment, that, the false colors with 
 which he strives to palliate his evil cause, and the 
 ordure of his pestilent ambition excepted, I think 
 there is no fault to be objected against him, saving 
 this, that he speaks too sparingly of himself, seeing 
 so many great things could not have been performed 
 under his conduct, but that his own personal acts 
 must necessarily have had a greater share in them 
 than he attributes to them. 
 
 I love historians, whether of the simple sort, or of 
 the higher order. The simple, who have nothing of 
 their own to mix with it, and who only make it their 
 business to collect all that comes to their knowledge, 
 and faithfully to record all things, without choice or 
 
OF BOOKS. 135 
 
 discrimination, leave to us the entire judgment of dis- 
 cerning the truth. Such, for example among others, 
 is honest Froissart, who has proceeded in his under- 
 taking with so frank a plainness that, having committed 
 an error, he is not ashamed to confess, and correct 
 it in the place where the finger has been laid, and 
 who represents to us even the variety of rumors that 
 were then spread abroad, and the different reports 
 that were made to him ; His the naked and inform 
 matter of history, and of which every one may make 
 his profit, according to his understanding. 
 
 The more excellent sort of historians have judg- 
 ment to pick out what is most worthy to be known ; 
 and, of two reports, to examine which is the most 
 likely to be true : from the condition of princes and 
 their humors, they conclude their counsels, and attrib- 
 ute to them words proper for the occasion ; such 
 have title to assume the authority of regulating our 
 belief to what they themselves believe ; but, certainly, 
 this privilege belongs to very few. For the middle 
 sort of historians, of which the most part are, they 
 spoil all ; they will chew our meat for us ; they take 
 upon them to judge of, and consequently, to incline 
 the history to their own fancy ; for if the judgment 
 lean to one side, a man cannot avoid wresting and 
 writhing his narrative to that bias ; they undertake 
 to select things worthy to be known, and yet often 
 conceal from us such a word, such a private action, 
 as would much better instruct us ; omit, as incredible, 
 such things as they do not understand, and peradven- 
 ture some, because they cannot express them well in 
 good French or Latin. Let them display their elo- 
 
136 ESSAYS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 quence and intelligence, and judge according to their 
 own fancy : but let them, withal, leave us something 
 to judge of after them, and neither alter nor disguise, 
 by their abridgments and at their own choice, any- 
 thing of the substance of the matter, but deliver it 
 to us pure and entire in all its dimensions. 
 
 For the most part, and especially in these latter 
 ages, persons are culled out for this work from among 
 the common people, upon the sole consideration of 
 well-speaking, as if we were to learn grammar from 
 them ; and the men so chosen have fair reason, being 
 hired for no other end and pretending to nothing but 
 babble, not to be very solicitous of any part but that, 
 and so, with a fine jingle of words, prepare us a pretty 
 contexture of reports they pick up in the streets. The 
 only good histories are those that have been written 
 by the persons themselves who held command in the 
 affairs whereof they write, or who participated in the 
 conduct of them, or, at least, who have had the con- 
 duct of others of the same nature. Such are almost 
 all the Greek and Roman histories : for, several eye- 
 witnesses having written of the same subject, in the 
 time when grandeur and learning commonly met in 
 the same person, if there happen to be an error, it 
 must of necessity be a very slight one, and upon a 
 very doubtful incident. What can a man expect from 
 a physician who writes of war, or from a mere scholar, 
 treating of the designs of princes ? 
 
 If we could take notice how scrupulous the Romans 
 were in this, there would need but this example : 
 Asinius Pollio found in the histories of Caesar himself 
 something misreported, a mistake occasioned either 
 
OF BOOKS. 137 
 
 by reason he could not have his eye in all parts of 
 his army at once and had given credit to some indi- 
 vidual persons who had not delivered him a very 
 true account ; or else, for not having had too perfect 
 notice given him by his lieutenants of what they had 
 done in his absence. By which we may see, whether 
 the inquisition after truth be not very delicate, when 
 a man cannot believe the report of a battle from the 
 knowledge of him who there commanded, nor from 
 the soldiers who were engaged in it, unless, after the 
 method of a judicial inquiry, the witnesses be con- 
 fronted and objections considered upon the proof of 
 the least detail of every incident. 
 
 In good earnest the knowledge we have of our own 
 affairs is much more obscure : but that has been 
 sufficiently handled by Bodin, and according to my 
 own sentiment. A little to aid the weakness of 
 my memory (so extreme that it has happened to me 
 more than once, to take books again into my hand 
 as new and unseen, that I had carefully read over a 
 few years before, and scribbled with my notes) I have 
 adopted a custom of late, to note at the end of every 
 book (that is, of those I never intend to read again) 
 the time when I made an end on't, and the judgment 
 I had made of it, to the end that this might, at least, 
 represent to me the character and general idea I had 
 conceived of the author in reading it ; and I will here 
 transcribe some of those annotations. 
 
 I wrote this, some ten years ago, in my Guicciardini 
 (of what language soever my books speak to me 
 in, I always speak to them in my own ) : "He is a 
 diligent historiographer, from whom, in my opinion, 
 
138 ESSAYS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 a man may learn the truth of the affairs of his time, 
 as exactly as from any other ; in the most of which 
 he was himself also a personal actor, and in honor- 
 able command. There is no appearance that he dis- 
 guised anything, either upon the account of hatred, 
 favor, or vanity ; of which the free censures he passes 
 upon the great ones, and particularly those by whom 
 he was advanced and employed in commands of great 
 trust and honor, as Pope Clement VII., give ample 
 testimony. 
 
 " As to that part which he thinks himself the best 
 at, namely his digressions and discourses, he has in- 
 deed some very good, and enriched with fine features ; 
 but he is too fond of them : for, to leave nothing un- 
 said, having a subject so full, ample, almost infinite, 
 he degenerates into pedantry and smacks a little of 
 scholastic prattle. I have also observed this in him, 
 that of so many souls and so many effects, so many 
 motives and so many counsels as he judges, he never 
 attributes any one to virtue, religion, or conscience, 
 as if all these were utterly extinct in the world : and 
 of all the actions, how brave soever in outward show 
 they appear in themselves, he always refers the cause 
 and motive to some vicious occasion or some pros- 
 pect of profit. It is impossible to imagine but that, 
 among such an infinite number of actions as he 
 makes mention of, there must be some one produced 
 by the way of honest reason. No corruption could 
 so universally have infected men that some one would 
 not escape the contagion : which makes me suspect 
 that his own taste was vicious, whence it might hap- 
 pen that he judged other men by himself." 
 
OF BOOKS. 139 
 
 In my Philip de Comines, there is this written : 
 a You will here find the language sweet and delight- 
 ful, of a natural simplicity, the narration pure, with 
 the good faith of the author conspicuous therein ; free 
 from vanity, when speaking of himself, and from affec- 
 tion or envy, when speaking of others : his discourses 
 and exhortations rather accompanied with zeal and 
 truth, than with any exquisite sufficiency ; and, 
 throughout, authority and gravity, which bespeak 
 him a man of good extraction, and brought up in 
 great affairs." 
 
 Upon the Memoirs of Monsieur du Bellay I find 
 this : " 'Tis always pleasant to read things written by 
 those that have experienced how they ought to be 
 carried on ; but withal, it cannot be denied but there 
 is a manifest decadence in these two lords from the 
 freedom and liberty of writing that shine in the elder 
 historians, such as the Sire de Joinville, the familiar 
 companion of St. Louis ; Eginhard, chancellor to 
 Charlemagne : and of later date, Philip de Comines. 
 What we have here is rather an apology for King 
 Francis, against the Emperor Charles V., than history. 
 I will not believe that they have falsified anything, as 
 to matter of fact ; but they make a common practice 
 of twisting the judgment of events, very often con- 
 trary to reason, to our advantage, and of omitting 
 whatsoever is ticklish to be handled in the life of their 
 master; witness the proceedings of Messieurs de 
 Montmorency and de Biron, which are here omitted : 
 nay, so much as the very name of Madame d'Estampes 
 is not here to be found. 
 
 " Secret actions an historian may conceal ; but to 
 
I40 ESSAYS OF MONTAIGNE, 
 
 pass over in silence what all the world knows, and 
 things that have drawn after them public and such 
 high consequences, is an inexcusable defect. In fine, 
 whoever has a mind to have a perfect knowledge of 
 King Francis and the events of his reign, let them 
 seek it elsewhere, if my advice may prevail. The 
 only profit a man can reap from these Memoirs is in 
 the special narrative of battles and other exploits of 
 war wherein these gentlemen were personally engaged ; 
 in some words and private actions of the princes of 
 their time, and in the treaties and negotiations carried 
 on by the Seigneur de Langey, where there are every- 
 where things worthy to be known, and discourses 
 above the vulgar strain." 
 
 OF CRUELTY. 
 
 I fancy virtue to be something else, and something 
 more noble, than good nature, and the mere propen- 
 sion to goodness, that we are born into the world 
 withal. Well-disposed and well-descended souls pur- 
 sue, indeed, the same methods, and represent in their 
 actions the same face that virtue itself does : but the 
 word virtue imports something more great and active 
 than merely for a man to suffer himself by a happy 
 disposition, to be gently and quietly drawn to the rule 
 of reason. He who, by a natural sweetness and facil- 
 ity, should despise injuries received, would doubtless 
 do a very fine and laudable thing; but he who, pro- 
 voked and nettled to the quick by an offence, should 
 fortify himself with the arms of reason against the 
 furious appetite of revenge, and, after a great conflict, 
 
OF CRUELTY. 14 î 
 
 master his own passion, would certainly do a great 
 deal more. The first would do well ; the latter vir- 
 tuously : one action might be called goodness, and 
 the other virtue ; for, methinks, the very name of 
 virtue presupposes difficulty and contention, and can- 
 not be exercised without an opponent. 'Tis for this 
 reason, perhaps, that we call God good, mighty, lib- 
 eral, and just ; but we do not call him virtuous, being 
 that all His operations are natural and without en- 
 deavor. 
 
 It has been the opinion of many philosophers, not 
 only Stoics, but Epicureans — (and this addition I 
 borrow from the vulgar opinion, which is false, not- 
 withstanding the witty conceit of Arcesilaus in answer 
 to one, who, being reproached that many scholars 
 went from his school to the Epicurean, but never any 
 from thence to his school, said in answer, " I believe 
 it indeed ; numbers of capons being made out of 
 cocks, but never any cocks out of capons." For, in 
 truth, the Epicurean sect is not at all inferior to the 
 Stoic in steadiness, and the rigor of opinions and 
 precepts. And a certain Stoic, showing more honesty 
 than those disputants, who, in order to quarrel with 
 Epicurus, and to throw the game into their hands, 
 make him say what he never thought, putting a wrong 
 construction upon his words, clothing his sentences, 
 by the strict rules of grammar, with another meaning, 
 and a different opinion from that which they knew he 
 entertained in his mind, and in his morals, the Stoic, 
 I say, declared that he abandoned the Epicurean sect, 
 upon this, among other considerations, that he thought 
 their road too lofty and inaccessible ; " And those 
 
Î42 ESS A YS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 whom we call lovers of pleasure, being, in effect, lovers 
 of honor and justice, cultivate and practise all the vir- 
 tues " [Cicero] ) — these philosophers say that it is 
 not enough to have the soul seated in a good place, of 
 a good temper, and well disposed to virtue ; it is not 
 enough to have our resolutions and our reasoning fixed 
 above all the power of fortune, but that we are, more- 
 over, to seek occasions wherein to put them to the 
 proof: they would seek pain, necessity, and contempt, 
 to contend with them and to keep the soul in breath : 
 " Multum sibi adjicit virtus lacessita" 'Tis one of 
 the reasons why Epaminondas who was yet of a third 
 sect, refused the riches fortune presented to him by 
 very lawful means; because, said he, "I am to con- 
 tend with poverty," in which extreme he maintained 
 himself to the last. Socrates put himself, methinks, 
 upon a ruder trial, keeping for his exercise a confounded 
 scolding wife ; which was fighting at sharps. Metellus 
 having of all the Roman senators alone attempted, by 
 the power of virtue, to withstand the violence of Sat- 
 urninus, tribune of the people at Rome, who would, 
 by all means, cause an unjust law to pass in favor of 
 the commons, and by so doing, having incurred the 
 capital penalties that Saturninus had established against 
 the dissentient, entertained those who, in this extrem- 
 ity, led him to execution with words to this effect : 
 that it was a thing too easy and too base to do ill ; and 
 that to do well where there was no danger was a com- 
 mon thing ; but that to do well where there was dan- 
 ger was the proper office of a man of virtue. These 
 words of Metellus very clearly represent to us what I 
 I would make out, viz., that virtue refuses facility for 
 
OF CRUELTY. 143 
 
 a companion ; and that the easy, smooth, and de- 
 scending way by which the regular steps of a sweet dis- 
 position of nature are conducted is not that of a true 
 virtue ; she requires a rough and stormy passage ; she 
 will have either exotic difficulties to wrestle with, like 
 that of Metellus, by means whereof fortune delights 
 to interrupt the speed of her career, or internal diffi- 
 culties, that the inordinate appetites and imperfections 
 of our condition introduce to disturb her. 
 
 I am come thus far at my ease ; but here it comes 
 into my head that the soul of Socrates, the most per- 
 fect that ever came to my knowledge, should, by this 
 rule, be of very little recommendation ; for I cannot 
 conceive in that person any the least motion of a 
 vicious inclination : I cannot imagine there could be 
 any difficulty or constraint in the course of his virtue : 
 I know his reason to be so powerful and sovereign 
 over him that she wouk 1 never have suffered a vicious 
 appetite so much as to spring in him. To a virtue so 
 elevated as his, I have nothing to oppose. Methinks 
 I see him march, with a victorious and triumphant 
 pace, in pomp and at his ease, without opposition or 
 disturbance. 
 
 If virtue cannot shine bright, but by the conflict of 
 contrary appetites, shall we then say that she cannot 
 subsist without the assistance of vice, and that it is 
 from her that she derives her reputation and honor ? 
 What then, also, would become of that brave and gen- 
 erous Epicurean pleasure, which makes account that 
 it nourishes virtue tenderly in her lap, and there makes 
 it play and wanton, giving it for toys to play withal, 
 shame, fevers, poverty, death, and torments? If I 
 
144 ESS A Y S OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 presuppose that a perfect virtue manifests itself in 
 contending, in patient enduring of pain, and under- 
 going the uttermost extremity of the gout, without 
 being moved in her seat ; if I give her troubles and 
 difficulty for her necessary objects : what will become 
 of a virtue elevated to such a degree, as not only to 
 despise pain, but, moreover, to rejoice in it, and to be 
 tickled with the daggers of a sharp gout, such as the 
 Epicureans have established, and of which many of 
 them, by their actions, have given most manifest 
 proofs? As have several others, who I find to have 
 surpassed in effects even the very rules of their disci- 
 pline ; witness the younger Cato : when I see him die, 
 and tearing out his own bowels, I am not satisfied sim- 
 ply to believe that he had then his soul totally exempt 
 from all trouble and horror : I cannot think that he 
 only maintained himself in the steadiness that the 
 Stoical rules prescribed him temperate, without emo- 
 tion, and imperturbed. 
 
 There was, methinks, something in the virtue of 
 this man too sprightly and fresh to stop there ; I 
 believe that, without doubt, he felt a pleasure and 
 delight in so noble an action, and was more pleased 
 in it than in any other of his life : a He quitted life, 
 rejoicing that a reason for dying had arisen " [Cicero]. 
 I believe it so thoroughly that I question whether he 
 would have been content to have been deprived of the 
 occasion of so brave an execution ; and if the good- 
 ness that made him embrace the public concern more 
 than his own withheld me not, I should easily fall 
 into an opinion that he thought himself obliged to for- 
 tune for having put his virtue upon so brave a trial, 
 
OF CRUELTY. 145 
 
 and for having favored that thief 1 in treading under- 
 foot the ancient liberty of his country. Methinks I 
 read in this action I know not what exaltation in his 
 soul, and an extraordinary and manly emotion of pleas- 
 ure when he looked upon the generosity and height 
 of his enterprise : " Deliberata morte ferocior" not 
 stimulated with any hope of glory, as the popular and 
 effeminate judgments of some have concluded (for 
 that consideration was too mean and low to possess 
 so generous, so haughty, and so determined a heart as 
 his), but for the very beauty of the thing in itself, 
 which he who had the handling of the springs dis- 
 cerned more clearly and in its perfection than we are 
 able to do. 
 
 Philosophy has obliged me in determining that so 
 brave an action had been indecently placed in any 
 other life than that of Cato ; and that it only apper- 
 tained to his to end so ; notwithstanding, and accord- 
 ing to reason, he commanded his son and the senators 
 who accompanied him to take another course in their 
 affairs : "Nature having endued Cato with an incredible 
 gravity, which he had also fortified with a perpetual 
 constancy, without ever flagging in his resolution, he 
 must of necessity rather die than see the face of the 
 tyrant" [Cicero]. 
 
 Every death ought to hold proportion with the life 
 before it ; we do not become others for dying. 1 
 always interpret the death by the life preceding ; and 
 if any one tell me of a death strong and constant in 
 appearance, annexed to a feeble life, I conclude it 
 produced by some feeble cause, and suitable to the 
 
 1 Caesar. 
 
146 ESS A YS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 life before. The easiness then of this death and the 
 facility of dying he had acquired by the vigor of his 
 soul ; shall we say that it ought to abate anything of 
 the lustre of his virtue? And who, that has his brain 
 never so little tinctured with the true philosophy, can 
 be content to imagine Socrates only free from fear and 
 passion in the accident of his prison, fetters, and con- 
 demnation? and that will not discover in him not 
 only firmness and constancy (which was his ordinary 
 condition), but, moreover, I know not what new satis- 
 faction, and a frolic cheerfulness in his last words and 
 actions? In the start he gave with the pleasure of 
 scratching his leg when his irons were taken off, does 
 he not discover an equal serenity and joy in his soul 
 for being freed from past inconveniences, and at the 
 same time to enter into the knowledge of things to 
 come? Cato shall pardon me, if he please ; his death 
 indeed is more tragical and more lingering; but yet 
 this is, I know not how, methinks, finer. Aristippus, 
 to one that was lamenting this death : " The gods 
 grant me such a one," said he. A man discerns in 
 the soul of these two great men and their imitators 
 (for I very much doubt whether there were ever their 
 equals) so perfect a habitude to virtue, that it was 
 turned to a complexion. It is no longer a laborious 
 virtue nor the precepts of reason, to maintain which 
 the soul is so racked, but the very essence of their 
 soul, its natural and ordinary habit ; they have ren- 
 dered it such by a long practice of philosophical pre- 
 cepts having lit upon a rich and fine nature ; the 
 vicious passions that spring in us can find no entrance 
 into them : the force and vigor of their soul stifle and 
 
OF CRUELTY. 147 
 
 extinguish irregular desires, so soon as they begin to 
 move. 
 
 Now, that it is not more noble, by a high and divine 
 resolution, to hinder the birth of temptations, and to 
 be so formed to virtue, that the very seeds of vice are 
 rooted out, than to hinder by main force their prog- 
 ress ; and, having suffered ourselves to be surprised 
 with the first motions of the passions, to arm ourselves 
 and to stand firm to oppose their progress, and over- 
 come them ; and that this second effect is not also 
 much more generous than to be simply endowed with 
 a facile and affable nature, of itself disaffected to de- 
 bauchery and vice, I do not think can be doubted ; 
 for this third and last sort of virtue seems to render a 
 man innocent, but not virtuous ; free from doing ill, 
 but not apt enough to do well : considering also, that 
 this condition is so near neighbor to imperfection and 
 cowardice, that I know not very well how to separate 
 the confines and distinguish them ; the very names of 
 goodness and innocence are, for this reason, in some 
 sort grown into contempt. I very well know that 
 several virtues, as chastity, sobriety, and temperance, 
 may come to a man through personal defects. Con- 
 stancy in danger, if it must be so called, the contempt 
 of death, and patience in misfortunes, may ofttimes be 
 found in men for want of well judging of such acci- 
 dents, and not apprehending them for such as they 
 are. 
 
 Want of apprehension and stupidity sometimes 
 counterfeit virtuous effects : as I have often seen it 
 happen, that men have been commended for what 
 really merited blame. An Italian lord once said this, 
 
148 ESSAYS OF MONTAIGNE, 
 
 in my presence, to the disadvantage of his own nation : 
 that the subtlety of the Italians, and the vivacity of 
 their conceptions were so great, and they foresaw the 
 dangers and accidents that might befall them so far 
 off, that it was not to be thought strange, if they were 
 often in war observed to provide for their safety, even 
 before they had discovered the peril ; that we French 
 and the Spaniards, who were not so cunning, went on 
 further, and that we must be made to see and feel 
 the danger before we would take the alarm; but that 
 even then we could not stick to it. But the Germans 
 and Swiss, more heavy and thick-skulled, had not the 
 sense to look about them, even when the blows were 
 falling about their ears. Peradventure, he only talked 
 so for mirth's sake ; and yet it is most certain that in 
 war raw soldiers rush into danger with more precipi- 
 tancy than after they have been well cudgelled : " Not 
 ignorant how hope of glory excites the young soldier 
 in the first essay of arms " \_A£neid\ . For this reason 
 it is that, when we judge of a particular action, we are 
 to consider the circumstances, and the whole man by 
 whom it is performed, before we give it a name. 
 
 To instance in myself: I have sometimes known 
 my friends call that prudence in me, which was merely 
 fortune ; and repute that courage and patience, which 
 was judgment and opinion ; and attribute to me one 
 title for another, sometimes to my advantage and 
 sometimes otherwise. As to the rest, I am so far 
 from being arrived at the first and most perfect 
 degree of excellence, where virtue is turned into 
 habit, that even of the second I have made no great 
 proofs. I have not been very solicitous to curb the 
 
OF CRUELTY, 149 
 
 desires by which I have been importuned. My virtue 
 is a virtue, or rather an innocence, casual and acci- 
 dental. If I had been born of a more irregular com- 
 plexion, I am afraid I should have made scurvy work ; 
 for I never observed any great stability in my soul to 
 resist passions, if they were never so little vehement : 
 I have not the knack of nourishing quarrels and 
 debates in my own bosom, and, consequently, owe 
 myself no great thanks that I am free from several 
 vices. I owe it rather to my fortune than my reason. 
 She has caused me to be descended of a race famous 
 for integrity and of a very good father ; I know not 
 whether or no he has infused into me part of his 
 humors, or whether domestic examples and the good 
 education of my infancy have insensibly assisted in 
 the work, or, if I was otherwise born so ; but so it is, 
 that I have naturally a horror for most vices. 
 
 The answer of Antisthenes to him who asked him, 
 which was the best apprenticeship, " to unlearn evil," 
 seems to point at this. I have them in horror, I say, 
 with a detestation so natural, and so much my own ? 
 that the same instinct and impression I brought of 
 them with me from my nurse, I yet retain, and no 
 temptation whatever has had the power to make me 
 alter it. Not so much as my own discourses, which 
 in some things lashing out of the common road might 
 seem easily to license me to actions that my natural 
 inclination makes me hate. I will say a prodigious 
 thing, but I will say it however : I find myself in 
 many things more under reputation by my manners 
 than by my opinion, and my concupiscence less 
 debauched than my reason. 
 
ISO ESS A Y S OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 Aristippus instituted opinions so bold in favor of 
 pleasure and riches as set all the philosophers against 
 him: but as to his manners, Dionysius the tyrant, 
 having presented three beautiful women before him, 
 to take his choice, he made answer, that he would 
 choose them all, and that Paris got himself into 
 trouble for having preferred one before the other 
 two : but, having taken them home to his house, he 
 sent them back untouched. His servant finding him- 
 self overladen upon the way, with the money he 
 carried after him, he ordered him to pour out and 
 throw away that which troubled him. And Epicurus, 
 whose doctrines were so irreligious and effeminate, 
 was in his life very laborious and devout ; he wrote to 
 a friend of his that he lived only upon biscuit and 
 water ? entreating him to send him a little cheese, to 
 lie by him against he had a mind to make a feast. 
 
 Must it be true, that to be a perfect good man, we 
 must be so by an occult, natural, and universal pro- 
 priety, without law, reason, or example ? The de- 
 bauches wherein I have been engaged, have not been, 
 I thank God, of the worst sort, and I have condemned 
 them in myself, for my judgment was never infected 
 by them ; on the contrary, I accuse them more 
 severely in myself than in any other ; but that is all, 
 for, as to the rest, I oppose too little resistance and 
 suffer myself to incline too much to the other side of 
 the balance, excepting that I moderate them, and pre- 
 vent them from mixing with other vices, which, for 
 the most part will cling together, if a man have not 
 a care. I have contracted and curtailed mine, to 
 make them as single and as simple as I can : " not to 
 carry wrong further." 
 
OF CRUELTY. 151 
 
 For as to the opinion of the Stoics, who say, " That 
 the wise man when he works, works by all the virtues 
 together though one be most apparent, according to 
 the nature of the action ; " and herein the similitude 
 of a human body might serve them somewhat, for the 
 action of anger cannot work unless all the humors 
 assist it, though choler predominate ; — if they will 
 thence draw a like consequence, that when the wicked 
 man does wickedly, he does it by all the vices together, 
 I do not believe it to be so, or else I understand them 
 not, for I by effect find the contrary. These are 
 sharp, unsubstantial subtleties, with which philosophy 
 sometimes amuses itself. I follow some vices, but I 
 fly others as much as a saint would do. The Peripa- 
 tetics also disown this indissoluble connection : and 
 Aristotle is of opinion that a prudent and just man may 
 be intemperate and inconsistent. Socrates confessed to 
 some who had discovered a certain inclination to vice 
 in his physiognomy, that it was, in truth, his natural 
 propension, but that he had by discipline corrected it. 
 And such as were familiar with the philosopher Stilpo 
 said, that being born with addiction to wine and 
 women, he had by study rendered himself very 
 abstinent both from the one and the other. 
 
 What I have in me of good, I have, quite contrary, 
 by the chance of my birth ; and hold it not either by 
 law, precept, or any other instruction : the innocence 
 that is in me is a simple one : little vigor and no art. 
 Among other vices, I mortally hate cruelty, both by 
 nature and judgment as the very extreme of all vices ; 
 nay, w T ith so much tenderness that I cannot see a 
 chicken's neck pulled off, without trouble, and cannot, 
 
152 ESSAYS OF MONTAIGNE, 
 
 without impatience, endure the cry of a hare in my 
 dog's teeth, though the chase be a violent pleasure. 
 I conceive that the example of the pleasure of the chase 
 would be more proper ; wherein though the pleasure 
 be less, there is the higher excitement of unexpected 
 joy ; giving no time for the reason, taken by surprise, 
 to prepare itself for the encounter, when after a long 
 quest the beast starts up on a sudden in a place where, 
 peradventure, we least expected it ; the shock and the 
 ardor of the shouts and cries of the hunters so strike 
 us, that it would be hard for those who love this lesser 
 chase, to turn their thoughts, upon the instant, another 
 way ; and the poets make Diana triumph over the 
 torch and shafts of Cupid : " Who among such de- 
 lights, would not remove out of his thoughts the anx- 
 ious cares of love? " asks Horace. 
 
 To return to what I was saying before, I am tenderly 
 compassionate of others' afflictions, and should readily 
 cry for company, if, upon any occasion whatever, I 
 could cry at all. Nothing tempts my tears, but tears, 
 and not only those that are real and true, but what- 
 ever they are, feigned or painted. I do not much la- 
 ment the dead, and should envy them rather ; but I 
 very much lament the dying. The savages do not so 
 much offend me, in roasting and eating the bodies of 
 the dead, as they do who torment and persecute the 
 living. Nay, I cannot look so much as upon the ordi- 
 nary executions of justice, how reasonable soever, with 
 a steady eye. Some one having to give testimony of 
 Julius Caesar's clemency ; " he was," says he, " mild in 
 his revenges. Having compelled the pirates to yield 
 by whom he had before been taken prisoner and put 
 
OF CRUELTY. 15 3 
 
 to ransom : forasmuch as he had threatened them with 
 the cross, he indeed condemned them to it, but it 
 was after they had been first strangled. He punished 
 his secretary Philemon, who had attempted to poison 
 him. with no greater severity than mere death." With- 
 out naming that Latin author who thus dares to allege 
 as a testimony of mercy the killing only of those by 
 whom we have been offended, it is easy to guess that 
 he was struck with the horrid and inhuman examples 
 of cruelty practised by the Roman tyrants. 
 
 For my part, even in justice itself, all that exceeds 
 a simple death appears to me pure cruelty : especially 
 in us who ought, having regard to their souls, to dis- 
 miss them in a good and calm condition : which can- 
 not be. when we have agitated them by insufferable 
 torments. Not long since a soldier who was a pris- 
 oner, perceiving from a tower where he was shut up. 
 that the people began to assemble to the place of 
 execution, and that the carpenters were busy erecting 
 a scaffold, he presently concluded that the prepara- 
 tion was for him : and therefore entered into a reso- 
 lution to kill himself, but could find no instrument 
 to assist him in his design except an old rusty cart-nail 
 that fortune presented to him. With this he first gave 
 himself two great wounds about his throat, but find- 
 ing these would not do. he presently afterwards gave 
 himself a third in the belly, where he left the nail 
 sticking up to the head. The first of his keepers who 
 came in found him in this condition : yet alive, but 
 sunk down and exhausted by his wounds. To make 
 use of time, therefore, before he should die. they made 
 haste to read his sentence : which having done, and 
 
154 ESSAYS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 he hearing that he was only condemned to be be- 
 headed, he seemed to take new courage, accepted wine 
 which he had before refused, and thanked his judges 
 for the unhoped-for mildness of their sentence ; saying, 
 that he had taken a resolution to despatch himself for 
 fear of a more severe and insupportable death, having 
 entertained an opinion, by the preparations he had 
 seen in the place, that they were resolved to torment 
 him with some horrible execution ; and seemed to be 
 delivered from death, in having it changed from what 
 he apprehended. 
 
 I should advise that those examples of severity, by 
 which 'tis designed to retain the people in their duty, 
 might be exercised upon the dead bodies of criminals ; 
 for to see them deprived of sepulture, to see them 
 boiled and divided into quarters, would almost work 
 as much upon the vulgar, as the pain they make the 
 living endure ; though that in effect be little or noth- 
 ing, as God himself says, " Who kill the body, and, 
 after that, have no more that they can do ; " and the 
 poets singularly dwell upon the horrors of this picture, 
 as something worse than death : " Alas ! that the 
 half-burned remains of these kings, and their bared 
 bones, should be shamefully dragged through the 
 dirt!" exclaims Cicero. 
 
 I happened to come by one day, accidentally, at 
 Rome, just as they were executing Catena, a no- 
 torious robber : he was strangled without any emotion 
 of the spectators, but when they came to cut him in 
 quarters the hangman gave not a blow that the people 
 did not follow with a doleful cry and exclamation, as 
 if every one had lent his sense of feeling to the miser- 
 
OF CRUELTY. 155 
 
 able carcass. Those inhuman excesses ought to be 
 exercised upon the bark, and not upon the quick. 
 Artaxerxes, in almost a like case, moderated the sever- 
 ity of the ancient laws of Persia, ordaining that the 
 nobility who had committed a fault, instead of being 
 whipped, as they were used to be, should be stripped 
 only and their clothes whipped for them ; and that 
 whereas they were wont to tear off their hair, they 
 should only take off their high-crowned tiara. The 
 so devout Egyptians thought they sufficiently satis- 
 fied the divine justice by sacrificing hogs in effigy 
 and representation ; a bold invention to pay God. so 
 essential a substance, in picture only and in show. 
 
 I live in a time wherein we abound in incredible 
 examples of this vice, through the license of our civil 
 wars : and we see nothing in ancient histories more 
 extreme than what we have proof of every day, but I 
 cannot, any the more, get used to it. I could hardly 
 persuade myself, before I saw it with my eyes, that 
 there could be found souls so cruel and fell, who, for 
 the sole pleasure of murder, would commit it ; would 
 hack and lop off the limbs of others ; sharpen their 
 wits to invent unusual torments and new kinds of 
 death, without hatred, without profit, and for no other 
 end but only to enjoy the pleasant spectacle of the ges- 
 tures and motions, the lamentable groans and cries of 
 a man dying in anguish. For this is the utmost point 
 to which cruelty can arrive : " Ut homo hominem^ non 
 iratus, non timens, tantum spectaturus^ occidat" 
 [Seneca] . For my own part I cannot without grief 
 see so much as an innocent beast pursued and killed 
 that has no defence ; and from which we have received 
 
156 ESSAYS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 no offence at all ; and that which frequently happens, 
 that the stag we hunt, rinding himself weak and out 
 of breath, and seeing no other remedy, surrenders him- 
 self to us who pursue him, imploring mercy by his tears, 
 has ever been to me a very unpleasing sight ; and I 
 hardly ever take a beast alive that I do not presently 
 turn out again. Pythagoras bought them of fishermen 
 and fowlers to do the same. 
 
 Those natures that are sanguinary toward beasts 
 discover a natural propension to cruelty. After they 
 had accustomed themselves at Rome to spectacles of 
 the slaughter of animals, they proceeded to those 
 of the slaughter of men, to the gladiators. Nature 
 has, herself, I fear, imprinted in man a kind of in- 
 stinct to inhumanity; nobody takes pleasure in see- 
 ing beasts play with and caress one another, but 
 every one is delighted with seeing them dismember, 
 and tear one another to pieces. And that I may not 
 be laughed at for the sympathy I have with them, 
 theology itself enjoins us some favor in their behalf; 
 and considering that one and the same master has 
 lodged us together in this palace for his service, and 
 that they, as well as we, are of his family, it has 
 reason to enjoin us some affection and regard to 
 them. Pythagoras borrowed the metempsychosis 
 from the Egyptians ; but it has since been received 
 by several nations, and particularly by our Druids : 
 " Souls never die, but, having left one seat, are received 
 into new houses," says Ovid. 
 
 The religion of our ancient Gauls maintained that 
 souls, being eternal, never ceased to remove and shift 
 their places from one body to another ; mixing more- 
 
OF CRUELTY. 157 
 
 over with this fancy some consideration of divine jus- 
 tice ; for according to the deportments of the soul, 
 while it had been in Alexander, they said that God 
 assigned it another body to inhabit, more or less 
 painful, and proper for its condition. If it had been 
 valiant, he lodged it in the body of a lion ; if voluptu- 
 ous, in that of a hog ; if timorous, in that of a hart 
 or hare ; if malicious, in that of a fox, and so of the 
 rest, till having purified it by this chastisement, it 
 again entered into the body of some other man : 
 "For I myself remember that in the days of the 
 Trojan war, I was Euphorbus, son of Pantheus," 
 cites Ovid. 
 
 As to the relationship between us and beasts, I 
 do not much admit of it ; nor of that which several 
 nations, and those among the most ancient and most 
 noble, have practised, who have not only received 
 brutes into their society and companionship, but 
 have given them a rank infinitely above themselves, 
 esteeming them one while familiars and favorites of 
 the gods, and having them in more than human 
 reverence and respect ; others acknowledge no other 
 god or divinity than they. Cicero says, "The bar- 
 barians consecrated beasts for their good qualities ; " 
 and Juvenal : " This place adores the crocodile ; another 
 dreads the ibis, feeder on serpents : here you may be- 
 hold the statue of a monkey shining in gold : here men 
 venerate a river fish ; there whole towns worship a dog.'' 1 
 
 And the very interpretation that Plutarch gives to 
 this error, which is very well conceived, is advanta- 
 geous to them : for he says that it was not the cat or 
 the ox, for example, that the Egyptians adored : but 
 
158 ESSAYS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 that they, in those beasts, adored some image of the 
 divine faculties : in this, patience and utility ; in that 
 vivacity, or, as with our neighbors the Burgundians 
 and all the Germans, impatience to see themselves 
 shut up ; by which they represented liberty, which 
 they loved and adored above all other godlike at- 
 tributes, and so of the rest. But when, among the 
 more moderate opinions, I meet with arguments that 
 endeavor to demonstrate the near resemblance be- 
 tween us and animals, how large a share they have 
 in our greatest privileges, and with how much proba- 
 bility they compare us together, truly I abate a great 
 deal of our presumption, and willingly resign that 
 imaginary sovereignty that is attributed to us over 
 other creatures. 
 
 But supposing all this were not true, there is, never- 
 theless, a certain respect, a general duty of humanity, 
 not only to beasts that have life and sense, but even 
 to trees and plants. We owe justice to men, and 
 gracious ness and benignity to other creatures that are 
 capable of it ; there is a certain commerce and mutual 
 obligation between them and us. Nor shall I be 
 afraid to confess the tenderness of my nature so 
 childish, that I cannot well refuse to play with my 
 dog, when he the most unseasonably importunes me 
 so to do. The Turks have alms and hospitals for 
 beasts. The Romans had public care to the nourish- 
 ment of geese, by whose vigilance their Capitol had 
 been preserved. The Athenians made a decree that 
 the mules and moyls which had served at the building 
 of the temple called Hecatompedon should be free and 
 suffered to pasture at their own choice, without hin- 
 
INCONSTANCY OF OUR ACTIONS. 159 
 
 drance. The Agrigentines had a common use solemnly 
 to inter the beasts they had a kindness for, as horses 
 of some rare quality, dogs, and useful birds, and even 
 those that had only been kept to divert their children ; 
 and the magnificence that was ordinary with them in 
 all other things, also particularly appeared in the 
 sumptuosity and numbers of monuments erected to 
 this end, and which remained in their beauty several 
 ages after. The Egyptians buried wolves, bears, 
 crocodiles, dogs, and cats in sacred places, embalmed 
 their bodies, and put on mourning at their death. 
 Cimon gave an honorable sepulture to the mares with 
 which he had three times gained the prize of the 
 course at the Olympic Games. The ancient Xan- 
 tippus caused his dog to be interred on an eminence 
 near the sea, which has ever since retained the name, 
 and Plutarch says, that he had a scruple about sell- 
 ing for a small profit to the slaughterer an ox that 
 had been long in his service. 
 
 OF THE INCONSTANCY OF OUR ACTIONS. 
 
 Such as make it their business to oversee human 
 actions, do not find themselves in anything so much 
 perplexed as to reconcile them and bring them into 
 the world's eye with the same lustre and reputation ; 
 for they commonly so strangely contradict one an- 
 other that it seems impossible they should proceed 
 from one and the same person. We find the younger 
 Marius one while a son of Mars, and another, a son 
 of Venus. Pope Boniface VIII. entered, it is said, 
 into his papacy like a fox, behaved himself in it like 
 
l6o ESSAYS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 a lion and died like a dog ; and who could believe it 
 to be the same Nero, the perfect image of all cruelty, 
 who, having the sentence of a condemned man 
 brought to him to sign, as was the custom, cried out, 
 u O, that I had never been taught to write ! " so much 
 it went to his heart to condemn a man to death. All 
 story is full of such examples, and every man is able 
 to produce so many to himself, or out of his own 
 practice or observation, that I sometimes wonder to 
 see men of understanding give themselves the trouble 
 of sorting these pieces, considering that irresolution 
 appears to me to be the most common and manifest 
 vice of our nature ; witness the famous verse of the 
 player Publius, "Malum consilium est, quod mutari 
 non potest" 
 
 There seems some reason in forming a judgment 
 of a man from the most usual methods of his life ; 
 but, considering the natural instability of our man- 
 ners and opinions, I have often thought even the best 
 authors a little out in so obstinately endeavoring to 
 make of us any constant and solid contexture ; they 
 choose a general air of a man, and according to that 
 interpret all his actions, of which, if they cannot bend 
 some to a uniformity with the rest, they are presently 
 imputed to dissimulation. Augustus has escaped 
 them, for there was in him so apparent, sudden, and 
 continual variety of actions all the whole course of 
 his life, that he has slipped away clear and undecided 
 from the most daring critics. I can more hardly be- 
 lieve a man's constancy than any other virtue, and 
 believe nothing sooner than the contrary. He that 
 would judge of a man in detail and distinctly, bit by 
 
INCONSTANCY OF OUR ACTIONS. 161 
 
 bit, would oftener be able to speak the truth. It is 
 a hard matter, from all antiquity, to pick out a dozen 
 men who have formed their lives to one certain and 
 constant course, which is the principal design of 
 wisdom ; for to comprise it all in one word, says 
 one of the ancients, 1 and to contract all the rules of 
 human life into one, " it is to will, and not to will, 
 always one and the same thing : I will not vouch- 
 safe, 1 ' says he, " to add, provided the will be just, 
 for if it be not just, it is impossible it should be al- 
 ways one. 1 ' 
 
 I have indeed formerly learned that vice is nothing 
 but irregularity and want of measure, and therefore 
 'tis impossible to fix constancy to it. Tis a saying 
 of Demosthenes, " that the beginning of all virtue is 
 consultation and deliberation ; the end and perfec- 
 tion, constancy."" If we would resolve on any certain 
 course by reason, we should pitch upon the best, but 
 nobody has thought on't. " That which he sought 
 he despises; what he has lost, he seeks. He fluctu- 
 ates, and flies from that to this ; his whole life a con- 
 tradiction " [Horace] . 
 
 Our ordinary practice is to follow the inclinations 
 of our appetite, be it to the left or right, upward or 
 downward, according as we are wafted by the breath 
 of occasion. We never meditate what we would have 
 till the instant we have a mind to have it ; and 
 change like that little creature which receives its 
 color from what it is laid upon. What we but just 
 now proposed to ourselves we immediately alter, and 
 presently return again to it ; 'tis nothing but shifting 
 
 1 Seneca. 
 
1 62 ESSAYS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 and inconstancy : " We are turned about as tops turn 
 with the thong," says Horace. 
 
 We do not go, we are driven ; like things that float, 
 now leisurely, then with violence, according to the 
 gentleness or rapidity of the current : " Do we not 
 see them, uncertain what they would have, and always 
 asking for something new, and to get rid of a bur- 
 then ?" asks Lucretius. Every day a new whimsy, and 
 our humors keep motion with the time. Says Cicero: 
 " Such are the minds of men, that they change as the 
 days that father Jupiter sends on the earth."" 
 
 We fluctuate between various inclinations ; we will 
 nothing freely, nothing absolutely, nothing constantly. 
 In any one who had prescribed and established deter- 
 minate laws and rules in his head for his own con- 
 duct, we should perceive an equality of manners, an 
 order and an infallible relation of one thing or action 
 to another, shine through his whole life ; Empedocles 
 observed this discrepancy in the Agrigentines, that 
 they gave themselves up to delights, as if every day 
 were their last, and built as if they had been to live for- 
 ever. The judgment would not be hard to make, as 
 is very evident in the younger Cato ; he who therein 
 has found one step, it will lead them to all the rest. 
 ,r Tis a harmony of very according sounds, that cannot 
 jar. But with us 'tis quite contrary ; every particular 
 action requires a particular judgment. The surest 
 way to steer, in my opinion, would be to take our 
 measures from the nearest allied circumstances, with- 
 out engaging in a longer inquisition, or without con- 
 cluding any other consequence. 
 
 Antigonus, having taken one of his soldiers into a 
 
INCONSTANCY OF OUR ACTIONS. 163 
 
 great degree of favor and esteem for his virtue and 
 valor, gave his physicians strict charge to cure him 
 of a long and inward disease under which he had a 
 great while languished, and observing that, after his 
 cure, he went much more coldly to work than before, 
 he asked him what had so altered and cowed him : 
 " Yourself, sir," replied the other, " by having eased 
 me of the pains that made me weary of my life? 1 
 Lucullus' soldier having been rifled by the enemy, 
 performed upon them in revenge a brave exploit, by 
 which having made himself a gainer, Lucullus, who 
 had conceived a good opinion of him from that action, 
 went about to engage him in some enterprise of very 
 great danger, with all the plausible persuasions and 
 promises he could think of: " Words which would 
 have inspired the greatest coward " [Horace] . " Pray 
 employ," answered he, " some miserable plundered 
 soldier in that affair ; " and flatly refused to go. 
 
 When we read that Mohammed having furiously 
 rated Chasan, Bassa of the Janizaries, because he had 
 seen the Hungarians break into his squadrons, and 
 himself behave very ill in the business, and that Chasan, 
 instead of any other answer, rushed furiously alone, 
 scimitar in hand, into the first body of the enemy 
 where he was presently cut to pieces, we are not to 
 look upon that action, peradventure, so much as vin- 
 dication as a turn of mind not so much proceeding 
 from natural valor as from a sudden despite. The 
 man you saw yesterday so adventurous and brave, you 
 must not think it strange to see him as great a pol- 
 troon the next : anger, necessity, company, wine, or 
 the sound of the trumpet had roused his spirits ; this 
 
1 64 ESSAYS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 is no valor formed and established by reason, but acci- 
 dentally created by such circumstances, and therefore 
 it is no wonder, if by contrary circumstances it appear 
 quite another thing. 
 
 These supple variations and contradictions so mani- 
 fest in us, have given occasion to some to believe 
 that man has two souls ; other two distinct powers 
 that always accompany and incline us, the one toward 
 good and the other toward ill, according to their 
 own nature and propension ; so abrupt a variety not 
 being imaginable to flow from one and the same 
 source. 
 
 For my part, the puff of every accident not only 
 carries me along with it according to its own procliv- 
 ity, but moreover I discompose and trouble myself by 
 the instability of my own posture ; and whoever will 
 look narrowly into his own bosom, will hardly find 
 himself twice in the same condition. I give to my 
 soul sometimes one face and sometimes another, ac- 
 cording to the side I turn her to. If I speak variously 
 of myself, it is because I consider myself variously ; 
 all the contrarieties are there to be found in one cor- 
 ner or another, after one fashion or another : bashful, 
 insolent ; chaste, lustful ; prating, silent ; laborious, 
 delicate ; ingenious, heavy ; melancholic, pleasant ; 
 lying, true ; knowing, ignorant ; liberal, covetous, and 
 prodigal. I find all this in myself, more or less, ac- 
 cording as I turn myself about ; and whoever will sift 
 himself to the bottom, will find in himself and even 
 in his own judgment, this volubility and discordance. 
 I have nothing to say of myself entirely, simply, and 
 solidly without mixture and confusion. Distinguo is 
 
INCONSTANCY OF OUR ACTIONS. 165 
 
 the most universal member of my logic. Though I 
 always intend to speak well of good things, and rather 
 to interpret such things as fall out in the best sense 
 than otherwise, yet such is the strangeness of our 
 condition, that we are often pushed on to do well even 
 by vice itself, if well-doing were not judged by the 
 intention only. 
 
 One gallant action, therefore, ought not to conclude 
 a man valiant ; if a man were brave indeed, he would 
 be always so, and upon all occasions. If it were a 
 habit of valor and not a sally, it would render a man 
 equally resolute in all accidents ; the same alone as 
 in company ; the same in lists as in a battle : for, let 
 them say what they will, there is not one valor for the 
 pavement and another for the field ; he w 7 ould bear a 
 sickness in his bed as bravely as a wound in the field ; 
 and no more fear death in his own house than at an 
 assault. We should not then see the same man charge 
 into a breach with a brave assurance, and afterward 
 torment himself like a woman for the loss of a trial at 
 law or the death of a child ; when, being an infamous 
 coward, he is firm in the necessities of poverty ; when 
 he shrinks at the sight of a barber's razor and rushes 
 fearless upon the swords of the enemy, the action is 
 commendable, not the man. 
 
 Many of the Greeks, says Cicero, cannot endure the 
 sight of an enemy, and yet are courageous in sickness ; 
 the Cimbrians and Celtiberians quite contrary ; " nihil 
 enim potest esse œquabile, quod non a certâ ratione pro- 
 ftciscatur.^ No valor can be more extreme in its kind 
 than that of Alexander : but it is of but one kind nor 
 full enough throughout, nor universal. Incomparable 
 
1 66 ESSAYS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 as it is, it has yet some blemishes ; of which his being 
 so often at his wits' end upon every light suspicion of 
 his captains, conspiring against his life, and the carry- 
 ing himself in that inquisition with so much vehemence 
 and indiscreet injustice, and with a fear that subverted 
 his natural reason, is one pregnant instance. The 
 superstition also, with which he was so much tainted, 
 carries along with it some image of pusillanimity; 
 and the excess of his penitence for the murder of 
 Clytus is also a testimony of the unevenness of his 
 courage. 
 
 All we perform is no other than a cento, as a man 
 may say, of several pieces, and we would acquire honor 
 by a false title. Virtue cannot be followed but for 
 herself, and if one sometimes borrows her mask to 
 some other purpose, she presently pulls it away again. 
 'Tis a vivid and strong tincture which, when the soul 
 has once thoroughly imbibed it, will not out but with 
 the piece. And, therefore, to make a right judgment 
 of a man, we are long and very observingly to follow 
 his trace : if constancy does not there stand firm upon 
 her own proper base, " cut vivendi via considerata 
 at que proviso, est" if the variety of occurrences makes 
 him alter his pace (his path, I mean, for the pace may 
 be faster or slower) let him go ; such a one runs before 
 the wind, " Avau le vent" as the motto of our Talebot 
 has it. 
 
 'Tis no wonder, says one of the ancients, that chance 
 has so great a dominion over us, since it is by chance 
 we live. It is not possible for any one who has not 
 designed his life for some certain end, to dispose his 
 particular actions ; it is impossible for any one to ar- 
 
INCONSTANCY OF OUR ACTIONS. 167 
 
 range the pieces, who has not the whole form already 
 contrived in his imagination. Of what use are colors 
 to him that knows not what he is to paint ? No one 
 lays down a certain design for his life, and we only 
 deliberate thereof by pieces. The archer ought first 
 to know at what he is to aim, and then accommodate 
 his arm, bow, string, shaft, and motion to it ; our 
 counsels deviate and wander, because not levelled to 
 any determinate end. No wind serves him who ad- 
 dresses his voyage to no certain port. I cannot ac- 
 quiesce in the judgment given by one in the behalf of 
 Sophocles, who concluded him capable of the manage- 
 ment of domestic affairs, against the accusation of his 
 son, from having read one of his tragedies. 
 
 Neither do I allow of the conjecture of the Parians, 
 sent to regulate the Milesians, sufficient for such a 
 consequence, as they from thence derived : coming to 
 visit the island, they took notice of such grounds as 
 were best husbanded, and such country-houses as were 
 best governed ; and having taken the names of the 
 owners, when they had assembled the citizens, they 
 appointed these farmers for new governors and magis- 
 trates ; concluding that they, who had been so provi- 
 dent in their own private concerns, would be so of the 
 public too. We are all lumps, and of so various and 
 inform a contexture, that every piece plays, every 
 moment, its own game, and there is as much differ- 
 ence between us and ourselves as between us and 
 others ; " magna?n rem ftuta, unum hominem agere^ 
 Since ambition can teach men valor, temperance, and 
 liberality, and even justice too ; seeing that avarice 
 can inspire the courage of a shop-boy, bred and nursed 
 
1 68 ESSAYS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 up in obscurity and ease, with the assurance to expose 
 himself so far from the fireside to the mercy of the 
 waves and angry Neptune in a frail boat ; that she 
 further teaches discretion and prudence ; and that even 
 Venus can inflate boys under the discipline of the rod 
 with boldness and resolution, and infuse masculine 
 courage into the heart of tender virgins in their 
 mothers' arms : 'tis not all the understanding has to 
 do, simply to judge us by our outward actions ; it must 
 penetrate the very soul, and there discover by what 
 springs the motion is guided. But that being a high 
 and hazardous undertaking, I could wish that fewer 
 would attempt it. 
 
 USE MAKES PERFECT. 
 
 'Tis not to be expected that argument and instruc- 
 tion, though we never so voluntarily surrender our 
 belief to what is read to us, should be of force to 
 lead us on so far as to action, if we do not, over and 
 above, exercise and form the soul by experience to 
 the course for which we design it ; it will, otherwise, 
 doubtless find itself at a loss when it comes to the 
 pinch of the business. This is the reason, why those 
 among the philosophers who were ambitious to attain 
 to a greater excellence, were not contented to await 
 the severities of fortune in the retirement and repose 
 of their own habitations, lest she should have sur- 
 prised them raw and inexpert in the combat, but sal- 
 lied out to meet her, and purposely threw themselves 
 into the proof and difficulties. Some of them aban- 
 doned riches to exercise themselves in a voluntary 
 
USE MAKES PERFECT. 169 
 
 poverty ; others sought out labor and an austerity of 
 life, to inure them to hardships and inconveniences ; 
 others have deprived themselves of their dearest mem- 
 bers, as of sight, and of the instruments of generation, 
 lest their too delightful and effeminate service should 
 soften and debauch the stability of their souls. 
 
 But in dying, which is the greatest work we have to 
 do, practice can give us no assistance at all. A man 
 may by custom fortify himself against pain, shame, 
 necessity, and such like accidents, but, as to death, we 
 can experiment it but once, and are all apprentices 
 when we come to it. There have, anciently, been 
 men so excellent managers of their time that they 
 have tried, even in death itself, to relish and taste it, 
 and who have bent their utmost faculties of mind to 
 discover what this passage is, but they are none of 
 them come back to tell us the news : " No one was 
 ever known to wake who has once fallen into the cold 
 sleep of death " [Lucretius] . 
 
 Canius Julius, a noble Roman of singular constancy 
 and virtue, having been condemned to die by that 
 scoundrel Caligula, besides many marvellous testimo- 
 nies that he gave of his resolution, as he was just going 
 to receive the stroke of the executioner, was asked by 
 a philosopher, a friend of his : " Well, Canius, where- 
 about is your soul now? what is she doing? What 
 are you thinking of ?" "I was thinking," replied the 
 other, "to keep myself ready, and the faculties of my 
 mind full settled and fixed, to try if in this short and 
 quick instant of death, I could perceive the motion of 
 the soul when she parts from the body, and whether 
 she has any sentiment at the separation, that I may 
 
I70 ESSAYS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 after come again, if I can, to acquaint my friends 
 with it." This man philosophizes not unto death only, 
 but in death itself. What a strange assurance was 
 this, and what bravery of courage, to desire his death 
 should be a lesson to him, and to have leisure to think 
 of other things in so great an affair ! 
 
 And yet I fancy, there is a certain way of making it 
 familiar to us, and in some sort of making trial what it 
 is. We may gain experience, if not entire and perfect, 
 yet such, at least, as shall not be totally useless to us, 
 and that may render us more confident and more 
 assured. If we cannot overtake it, we may approach 
 it and view it, and if we do not advance so far as the 
 fort, we may at least discover and make ourselves 
 acquainted with the avenues. It is not without reason 
 that we are taught to consider sleep as a resemblance 
 of death ; with how great facility do we pass from wak- 
 ing to sleeping, and with how little concern do we lose 
 the knowledge of light and of ourselves. Peradventure, 
 the faculty of sleeping would seem useless and con- 
 trary to nature, since it deprives us of all action and 
 sentiment, were it not that by it nature instructs us 
 that she has equally made us to die as to live ; and in 
 life presents to us the eternal state she reserves for us 
 after it, to accustom us to it and to take from us the fear 
 of it. But such as have by some violent accident 
 fallen into a swoon, and in it have lost all sense, these, 
 methinks, have been very near seeing the true and 
 natural face of death ; for as to the moment of the 
 passage, it is not to be feared that it brings with it any 
 pain or displeasure, forasmuch as we can have no 
 feeling without leisure ; our sufferings require time, 
 
USE MAKES PERFECT. 171 
 
 which in death is so short and so precipitous, that it 
 must necessarily be insensible. They are the ap- 
 proaches that we are to fear, and these may fall within 
 the limits of experience. 
 
 Many things seem greater by imagination than they 
 are in effect ; I have passed a good part of my life in 
 a perfect and entire health ; I say, not only entire, but, 
 moreover, sprightly and wanton. This state, so full 
 of verdure, jollity, and vigor, made the consideration 
 of sickness so formidable to me, that when I came to 
 experience it, I found the attacks faint and easy in 
 comparison with what I had apprehended. Of this I 
 have daily experience ; if I am under the shelter of 
 a warm room, in a stormy and tempestuous night, I 
 wonder how people can live abroad, and am afflicted 
 for those who are out in the fields ; if I am there my- 
 self, I do not wish to be anywhere else. This one 
 thing of being always shut up in a chamber I fancied 
 insupportable ; but I was presently inured to be so im- 
 prisoned a w r eek, nay a month together, in a very weak, 
 disordered, and sad condition : and I have found that, 
 in the time of my health, I much more pitied the sick, 
 than I think myself to be pitied when I am so, and that 
 the force of my imagination enhances near one-half of 
 the essence and reality of the thing. I hope that 
 when I come to die, I shall find it the same, and that, 
 after all, it is not worth the pains I take, so much 
 preparation and so much assistance as I call in, to 
 undergo the stroke. But at all events, we cannot 
 give ourselves too much advantage. 
 
 In the time of our third, or second troubles (I do 
 not well remember which), going one day abroad 
 
172 ESS A YS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 to take the air, about a league from my own house, 
 which is seated in the very centre of all the bustle and 
 mischief of the late civil wars in France ; thinking 
 myself in all security and so near to my retreat that I 
 stood in need of no better equipage, I had taken a 
 horse that went very easy upon his pace, but was not 
 very strong. Being upon my return home, a sudden 
 occasion falling out to make use of this horse in a kind 
 of service that he was not accustomed to, one of my 
 train, a lusty, tall fellow, mounted upon a strong Ger- 
 man horse that had a very ill mouth, fresh and vigor- 
 ous, to play the brave and set on ahead of his fellows, 
 comes thundering full speed in the very track where I 
 was, rushing like a Colossus upon the little man and 
 the little horse, with such a career of strength and 
 weight, that he turned us both over and over, topsy- 
 turvy with our heels in the air ; so that there lay the 
 horse overthrown and stunned with the fall, and I ten 
 or twelve paces from him stretched out at length, with 
 my face all battered and broken, my sword which I 
 had had in my hand, above ten paces beyond that, 
 and my belt broken all to pieces, without motion or 
 sense any more than a stock. Twas the only swoon 
 I was ever in till that hour in my life. Those who 
 were with me, after having used all the means they 
 could to bring me to myself, concluding me dead, took 
 me up in their arms, and carried me with very much 
 difficulty home to my house, which was about half a 
 French league from thence. On the way, having 
 been for more than two hours given over for a dead 
 man, I began to move and to fetch my breath ; for so 
 great abundance of blood was fallen into my stomach, 
 
USE MAKES PERFECT. 173 
 
 that nature had need to rouse her forces to discharge 
 it. They then raised me upon my feet, where I threw 
 off a whole bucket of clots of blood, as this I did also 
 several times by the way. This gave me so much 
 ease, that I began to recover a little life, but so lei- 
 surely and by so small advances, that my first senti- 
 ments were much nearer the approaches of death than 
 life : " For the soul doubtful as to its return, could 
 not compose itself ■ ' [Tasso] . 
 
 The remembrance of this accident, which is very 
 well imprinted in my memory, so naturally represent- 
 ing to me the image and idea of death, has in some 
 sort reconciled me to that untoward adventure. When 
 I first began to open my eyes, it was with so per- 
 plexed, so weak and dead a sight, that I could yet 
 distinguish nothing but only discern the light. "A 
 man now opening, now shutting his eyes, between 
 sleep and waking " [Tasso] . 
 
 As to the functions of the soul, they advanced with 
 the same pace and measure with those of the body. I 
 saw myself all bloody, my doublet being stained all over 
 with the blood I had vomited. The first thought that 
 came into my mind was, that I had a harquebus shot 
 in my head, and, indeed, at the time there were a great 
 many fired round about us. Methought my life but 
 just hung upon my lips : and I shut my eyes, to help, 
 methought, to thrust it out, and took a pleasure in lan- 
 guishing and letting myself go. It was an imagination 
 that only superficially floated upon my soul, as tender 
 and weak as all the rest, but really not only exempt 
 from anything displeasing, but mixed with that sweet- 
 ness that people feel when they glide into a slumber. 
 
1 74 ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 I believe it is the very same condition those people 
 are in, whom we see swoon with weakness in the 
 agony of death ; I am of opinion that we pity them 
 without cause, supposing them agitated with grievous 
 dolors, or that their souls suffer under painful thoughts. 
 It has ever been my belief, contrary to the opinion 
 of many, and particularly of La Boetie, that those 
 whom we see so subdued and stupefied at the ap- 
 proaches of their end, or oppressed with the length 
 of the disease, or by accident of an apoplexy of fall- 
 ing sickness, — " Compelled by the force of disease, 
 we often see men as thunderstruck, fall, groan, and 
 foam, tremble, stretch, writhe, breathe short, and in 
 strugglings tire out their strength " [Lucretius] ; or 
 hurt in the head, whom we hear to mutter, and by 
 fits to utter grievous groans ; though we gather from 
 these signs by which it seems as if they had some re- 
 mains of consciousness, and that there are movements 
 of the body, — I have always believed, I say, both the 
 body and the soul benumbed and asleep, and could not 
 believe that in so great a stupefaction of the members 
 and so great a defection of the senses, the soul could 
 maintain any force within to take cognizance of her- 
 self, and that, therefore, they had no tormenting 
 reflections to make them consider and be sensible of 
 the misery of their condition, and consequently were 
 not much to be pitied. 
 
 I can, for my part, think of no state so insupportable 
 and dreadful, as to have the soul vivid and afflicted, 
 without means to declare itself; as one should say of 
 such as are sent to execution v/ith their tongues first 
 cut out (were it not that in this kind of dying, the 
 
USE MAKES PERFECT. 175 
 
 most silent seems to me the most graceful, if accom- 
 panied with a grave and constant countenance) ; or 
 of those miserable prisoners, who fall into the hands 
 of the base hangman soldiers of this age, by whom 
 they are tormented with all sorts of inhuman usage to 
 compel them to some excessive and impossible ran- 
 som ; kept, in the meantime, in such condition and 
 place, where they have no means of expressing or sig- 
 nifying their thoughts and their misery. The poets 
 have feigned some gods who favor the deliverance of 
 such as suffer under a languishing death ; " I by com- 
 mand offer to Pluto this, and from that body dismiss 
 the soul " \/Eneid~\ ; both the interrupted words, and 
 the short and irregular answers one gets from them 
 sometimes, by bawling and keeping a clutter about 
 them ; or the motions which seem to yield some con- 
 sent to what we would have them do, are no testimony, 
 nevertheless, that they live an entire life at least. ^So 
 it happens to us in the yawning of sleep, before it has 
 fully possessed us, to perceive, as in a dream, what is 
 done about us, and to follow the last things that are 
 said with a perplexed and uncertain hearing which 
 seems but to touch upon the borders of the soul ; 
 and make answers to the last words that have been 
 spoken to us, which have more in them of chance 
 than sense. 
 
 Now seeing I have in effect tried it, I have no doubt 
 but I have hitherto made a right judgment ; for first, 
 being in a swoon, I labored to rip open the buttons of 
 my doublet with my nails, for my sword was gone ; 
 and yet I felt nothing in my imagination that hurt me ; 
 for we have many motions in us that do not proceed 
 
176 ESSAYS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 from our direction. " Half-dead fingers grope about, 
 and seek to grasp again the sword" [/Eneid~\\ so 
 falling people extend their arms before them by a 
 natural impulse, which prompts our limbs to offices 
 and motions without any commission from our reason. 
 " They tell how limbs by scythe-bearing chariots are 
 lopped off, but yet move and tremble on the ground ; 
 and yet the mind of him from whom the limb is 
 taken, by the swiftness of the blow feels no pain " 
 [Lucretius] . 
 
 My stomach was so oppressed with the coagulated 
 blood, that my hands moved to that part, of their 
 own voluntary motion, as they frequently do to the 
 part that itches, without being directed by our will. 
 There are several animals, and even men, in whom 
 one may perceive the muscles to stir and tremble 
 after they are dead. Every one experimentally knows 
 that there are some members which grow stiff and 
 flag without his leave. Now, those passions which 
 only touch the outward bark of us cannot be said 
 to be ours : to make them so, there must be a con- 
 currence of the whole man ; and the pains which are 
 felt by the hand or the foot while we are sleeping are 
 none of ours. 
 
 As I drew near my own house, where the alarm of 
 my fall was already got before me, and that my 
 family were come out to meet me, with the hubbub 
 usual in such cases, not only did I make some little 
 answer to some questions which were asked me, but 
 they moreover tell me, that I was sufficiently collected 
 to order them to bring a horse to my wife whom I 
 saw struggling and tiring herself on the road, which 
 
USE MAKES PERFECT. 177 
 
 is hilly and rugged. This consideration should seem 
 to proceed from a soul that retained its functions ; 
 but it was nothing so with me. I knew not what I 
 said or did, and they were nothing but idle thoughts 
 in the clouds, that were stirred up by the senses of 
 the eyes and ears, and proceeded not from me. I 
 knew not for all that, whence I came or whither I 
 went, neither was I capable to weigh and consider 
 what was said to me : these were light effects, that 
 the senses produced of themselves as of custom ; 
 what the soul contributed was in a dream, lightly 
 touched, licked and bedewed by the soft impression 
 of the senses. Notwithstanding, my condition was, 
 in truth, very easy and quiet ; I had no affliction upon 
 me, either for others or myself; it was an extreme 
 languor and weakness, without any manner of pain. 
 I saw my own house, but knew it not. 
 
 When they had put me to bed I found an inex- 
 pressible sweetness in that repose ; for I had been 
 desperately tugged and lugged by those poor people 
 who had taken the pains to carry me upon their 
 arms a very great and a very rough way, and had 
 in so doing all quite tired out themselves, twice or 
 thrice one after another. They offered me several 
 remedies, but I would take none, certainly believing 
 that I was mortally wounded in the head. And, in 
 earnest, it had been a very happy death, for the weak- 
 ness of my understanding deprived me of the faculty 
 of discerning, and that of my body of the sense of 
 feeling ; I was suffering myself to glide away so 
 sweetly and after so soft and easy a manner, that I 
 scarce find any other action less troublesome than 
 
17$ ESSAYS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 that was. But when I came again to myself and to 
 resume my faculties, which was two or three hours 
 after, I felt myself on a sudden involved in terrible 
 pain, having my limbs battered and ground with my 
 fall, and was so ill for two or three nights after, that 
 I thought I was once more dying again, but a more 
 painful death, having concluded myself as good as 
 dead before, and to this hour am sensible of the 
 bruises of that terrible shock. 
 
 I will not here omit, that the last thing I could 
 make them beat into my head was the memory of 
 this accident, and I had it over and over again repeated 
 to me, whither I was going, from whence I came, and 
 at what time of the day this mischance befell me, 
 before I could comprehend it. As to the manner 
 of my fall, that was concealed from me in favor to 
 him who had been the occasion, and other flim-flams 
 were invented. But a long time after, and the very 
 next day that my memory began to return and to 
 represent to me the state wherein I was, at the instant 
 that I perceived this horse coming full drive upon me 
 (for I had seen him at my heels, and gave myself for 
 gone, but this thought had been so sudden, that fear 
 had had no leisure to introduce itself) it seemed to 
 me like a flash of lightning that had pierced my soul, 
 and that I came from the other world. 
 
 This long story of so light an accident would 
 appear vain enough, were it not for the knowledge I 
 have gained by it for my own use ; for I do really 
 find, that to get acquainted with death needs no 
 more but nearly to approach it. Every one, as Pliny 
 says, is a good doctrine to himself, provided he be 
 
USE MAKES PERFECT. 179 
 
 capable of discovering himself near at hand. Here, 
 this is not my doctrine, 'tis my study ; and is not the 
 lesson of another, but my own ; and if I communicate 
 it, it ought not to be ill taken, for that which is of use 
 to me, may also, peradventure, be useful to another. 
 As to the rest, I spoil nothing, I make use of nothing 
 but my own ; and if I play the fool, 1 tis at my own 
 expense and nobody else is concerned in't ; for 'tis a 
 folly that will die with me, and that no one is to 
 inherit. We hear but two or three of the ancients, 
 who have beaten this road, and yet I cannot say if it 
 was after this manner, knowing no more of them but 
 their names. No one since has followed the track; 
 'tis a rugged road, more so than it seems, to follow a 
 pace so rambling and uncertain, as that of the soul ; 
 to penetrate the dark profundities of its intricate 
 internal windings ; to choose and lay hold of so 
 many little nimble motions ; 'tis a new T and extraor- 
 dinary undertaking, and that withdraws us from the 
 common and most recommended employments of the 
 world. 
 
 'Tis now many years since that my thoughts have 
 had no other aim and level than myself, and that I 
 have only pried into and studied myself: or, if I 
 study any other thing, 'tis to apply it to or rather in 
 myself. And yet I do not think it a fault, if, as 
 others do by other much less profitable sciences, I 
 communicate w 7 hat I have learned in this, though I 
 am not very well pleased with my own progress. 
 There is no description so difficult, nor doubtless of 
 so great utility, as that of a man's self, and withal a 
 man must curl his hair and set out and adjust himself, 
 
i8o ESSAYS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 to appear in public ; now I am perpetually tricking 
 myself out, for I am eternally upon my own descrip- 
 tion. Custom has made all speaking of a man's self 
 vicious, and positively interdicts it, in hatred to the 
 boasting that seems inseparable from the testimony 
 men give of themselves : Ci The avoiding a mere fault 
 often leads us into a greater," says Horace. 
 
 Instead of blowing the child's nose, this is to take 
 his nose off altogether. I think the remedy worse 
 than the disease. But, allowing it to be true that it 
 must of necessity be presumption to entertain people 
 with discourses of one's self, I ought not, pursuing 
 my general design, to forbear an action that publishes 
 this infirmity of mine, nor conceal the fault which I 
 not only practise but profess. Notwithstanding, to 
 speak my thought freely, I think that the custom of 
 condemning wine, because some people will be drunk, 
 is itself to be condemned ; a man cannot abuse any- 
 thing but what is good in itself; and I believe that 
 this rule has only regard to the popular vice. They 
 are bits for calves, with which neither the saints 
 whom we hear speak so highly of themselves, nor the 
 philosophers, nor the divines, will be curbed ; neither 
 will I, who am as little the one as the other. If they 
 do not write of it expressly, at all events, when the 
 occasions arise, they don't hesitate to put themselves 
 on the public highway. Of what does Socrates treat 
 more largely than of himself? To what does he more 
 direct and address the discourses of his disciples, 
 than to speak of themselves, not of the lesson in their 
 book, but of the essence and motion of their souls? 
 We confess ourselves religiously to God and our con- 
 
USE MAKES PERFECT. 181 
 
 fessor; as our neighbors do to all the people. But 
 some will answer that we there speak nothing but 
 accusation against ourselves ; why then, we say all ; 
 for our very virtue itself is faulty and penitable. 
 
 My trade and art is to live ; he that forbids me to 
 speak according to my own sense, experience, and 
 practice, may as w T ell enjoin an architect not to speak 
 of building according to his own knowledge, but 
 according to that of his neighbor ; according to the 
 knowledge of another, and not according to his own. 
 If it be vainglory for a man to publish his own virtues, 
 why does not Cicero prefer the eloquence of Horten- 
 sius, and Hortensius that of Cicero? Peradventure 
 they mean that I should give testimony of myself by 
 works and effects, not barely by words. I chiefly 
 paint my thoughts, a subject void of form and incapa- 
 ble of operative production ; 'tis all that I can do to 
 couch it in this airy body of the voice ; the wisest and 
 devoutest men have lived in the greatest care to avoid 
 all apparent effects. Effects would more speak of 
 fortune than of me ; they manifest their own office 
 and not mine, but uncertainly and by conjecture ; 
 patterns of some one particular virtue. I expose 
 myself entire ; 'tis a body where, at one view, the 
 veins, muscles, and tendons are apparent, every one 
 of them in its proper place ; here the effect of a cold ; 
 there of the heart beating, very dubiously. I do not 
 write my own acts, but myself and my essence. 
 
 I am of opinion that a man must be very cautious 
 how he values himself, and equally conscientious to 
 give a true report, be it better or w T orse, impartially. 
 If I thought myself perfectly good and wise, I would 
 
1 82 ESSAYS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 rattle it out to some purpose. To speak less of one's 
 self than what one really is, is folly, not modesty ; 
 and to take that for current pay, which is under a 
 man's value, is pusillanimity and cowardice, accord- 
 ing to Aristotle. No virtue assists itself with false- 
 hood ; truth is never a matter of error. To speak 
 more of one's self than is really true, is not always 
 mere presumption ; 'tis, moreover, very often folly ; 
 to be immeasurably pleased with what one is, and 
 to fall into an indiscreet self-love, is in my opinion 
 the substance of this vice. The most sovereign rem- 
 edy to cure it, is to do quite contrary to what these 
 people direct who, in forbidding men to speak of 
 themselves, consequently, at the same time, interdict 
 thinking of themselves too. Pride dwells in the 
 thought ; the tongue can have but a very little share 
 in it. 
 
 They fancy that to think of one's self is to be de- 
 lighted with one's self; to frequent and converse with 
 one's self, to be over-indulgent ; but this excess springs 
 only in those who take but a superficial view of them- 
 selves, and dedicate their main inspection in their 
 affairs ; who call it mere revery and idleness to oc- 
 cupy one's self with one's self and the building one's 
 self up a mere building of castles in the air; who 
 look upon themselves as a third person only, a 
 stranger. If any one be in rapture with his own 
 knowledge looking only on those below him, let him 
 but turn his eye upward toward past ages, and his 
 pride will be abated, when he shall there find so 
 many thousand wits that trample him under foot. If 
 he enter into a flattering presumption of his personal 
 
OF GLORY. 183 
 
 valor, let him but recollect the lives of Scipio, Epami- 
 nondas ; so many armies, so many nations, that leave 
 him so far behind them. No particular quality can 
 make any one proud, that will at the same time put 
 the many other weak and imperfect ones he has in 
 the other scale, and the nothingness of human con- 
 dition to make up the weight. Because Socrates had 
 alone digested to purpose the precept of his god, u to 
 know himself," and by that study arrived at the per- 
 fection of setting himself at naught, he only was re- 
 puted worthy the title of a sage. Whosoever shall 
 so know himself, let him boldly speak it out. 
 
 OF GLORY, 
 
 There is the name and the thing ; the name is a 
 voice which denotes and signifies the thing ; the name 
 is no part of the thing, nor of the substance ; 'tis a 
 foreign piece joined to the thing, and outside it. 
 
 God, who is all fulness in Himself and the height 
 of all perfection, cannot augment or add anything to 
 Himself within ; but His name may be augmented and 
 increased by the blessing and praise we attribute to 
 His exterior works : which praise seeing we cannot 
 incorporate it in Him, forasmuch as He can have no 
 accession of good, we attribute to His name, which is 
 the part out of Him that is nearest to us. Thus is it 
 that to God alone glory and honor appertain ; and 
 there is nothing so remote from reason as that we 
 should go in quest of it for ourselves ; for, being in- 
 digent and necessitous within, our essence being im- 
 perfect, and having continual need of amelioration, 
 
1 84 ESSAYS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 'tis to that we ought to employ all our endeavor. We 
 are all hollow and empty ; 'tis not with wind and voice 
 that we are to fill ourselves ; we want a more solid 
 substance to repair us : a man starving with hunger 
 would be very simple to seek rather to provide him- 
 self with a gay garment than with a good meal : we 
 are to look after that whereof we have most need. As 
 we have it in our ordinary prayers, " Gloria in excelsis 
 Deo, et in terra pax ho minibus ^ We are in want of 
 beauty, health, wisdom, virtue, and such like essential 
 qualities : exterior ornaments should be looked after 
 when we have made provision for necessary things. 
 Divinity treats amply and more pertinently of this 
 subject, but I am not much versed in it. 
 
 Chrysippus and Diogenes were the earliest and 
 firmest advocates of the contempt of glory ; and 
 maintained that among all pleasures, there was none 
 more dangerous nor more to be avoided, than that 
 which proceeds from the approbation of others. And, 
 in truth, experience makes us sensible of many very 
 hurtful treasons in it. There is nothing that so poi- 
 sons princes as flattery, nor anything whereby wicked 
 men more easily obtain credit and favor with them ; 
 nor panderism so apt and so usually made use of to 
 corrupt the chastity of women as to wheedle and 
 entertain them with their own praises. The first 
 charm, says Homer, that the Syrens made use of to 
 allure Ulysses is of this nature : " Come hither to us, 
 oh admirable Ulysses, come hither, thou greatest orna- 
 ment and pride of Greece." 
 
 These philosophers said that all the glory of the 
 world was not worth an understanding man's holding 
 
« OF GLORY. 185 
 
 out his finger to obtain it. I say for it alone ; for it 
 often brings several commodities along with it, for 
 which it may justly be desired : it acquires us good 
 will, and renders us less subject and exposed to insult 
 and offence from others, and the like. It was also one 
 of the principal doctrines of Epicurus ; for this pre- 
 cept of his sect, Conceal thy life, that forbids men to 
 encumber themselves with public negotiations and 
 offices, also necessarily presupposes a contempt of 
 glory, which is the world's approbation of those actions 
 we produce in public. He that bids us conceal our- 
 selves, and to have no other concern but for ourselves, 
 and who will not have us known to others, would 
 much less have us honored and glorified ; and so ad- 
 vises Idomeneus not in any sort to regulate his actions 
 by the common reputation or opinion, except so as to 
 avoid the other accidental inconveniences that the 
 contempt of men might bring upon him. 
 
 Those discourses are, in my opinion, very true and 
 rational ; but we are, I know not how, double in 
 ourselves, which is the cause that what w r e believe 
 Ave do not believe, and cannot disengage ourselves 
 from what we condemn. Let us see the last and 
 dying words of Epicurus ; they are grand, and worthy 
 of such a philosopher, and yet they carry some touches 
 of the recommendation of his name and of that humor 
 he had decried by his precepts. Here is a letter that 
 he dictated a little before his last gasp : x 
 
 " Epicurus to Hermachus, greeting. 
 " While I was passing over the happy and last day 
 1 Cicero. 
 
1 86 ESSAYS OF MONTAIGNE. . 
 
 of my life, I write this, but at the same time, afflicted 
 with such pain in my bladder and bowels that nothing 
 can be greater, but it was recompensed with the pleas- 
 ure the remembrance of my inventions and doctrines 
 brought to my soul. Now, as the affection thou hast 
 ever from thy infancy borne toward me and philosophy 
 requires, take upon thee the protection of Metrodorus 1 
 children." 
 
 This is the letter. And that which makes me in- 
 terpret that the pleasure he says he had in his soul 
 concerning his inventions, has some reference to the 
 reputation he hoped for thence after his death, is the 
 manner of his will in which he gives order that Amy- 
 nomachus and Timocrates, his heirs should, every 
 January, defray the expense of the celebration of his 
 birthday as Hermachus should appoint : and also the 
 expense that should be made the twentieth of every 
 moon in entertaining the philosophers, his friends, 
 who should assemble in honor of the memory of him 
 and of Metrodorus. 
 
 Carneades was head of the contrary opinion, and 
 maintained that glory was to be desired for itself, 
 even as we embrace our posthumous issue for them- 
 selves, having no knowledge nor enjoyment of them. 
 This opinion has not failed to be the more universally 
 followed, as those commonly are that are most suit- 
 able to our inclinations. Aristotle gives it the first 
 place among external goods : and avoids, as too ex- 
 treme vices, the immoderate either seeking or evading 
 it. I believe that, if we had the books Cicero wrote 
 upon this subject, we should there find pretty stories ; 
 
OF GLORY. 187 
 
 for he was so possessed with this passion, that, if he 
 had dared, I think he could willingly have fallen into 
 the excess that others did, that virtue itself was not 
 to be coveted, but upon the account of the honor 
 that always attends it : " Virtue concealed little dif- 
 fers from dead sloth, 1 "' says Horace, which is an opinion 
 so false, that I am vexed it could ever enter into the 
 understanding of a man that was honored with the 
 name of philosopher. 
 
 If this were true, men need not be virtuous but in 
 public ; and we should be no further concerned to 
 keep the operations of the -soul, which is the true seat 
 of virtue, regular and in order, than as they are to 
 arrive at the knowledge of others. Is there no more 
 in it, then, but only slyly and with circumspection 
 to do ill? "If thou knowest," says Carneades, "of a 
 serpent lurking in a place where, without suspicion, 
 a person is going to sit down, by whose death thou 
 expectest an advantage, thcu dost ill if thou dost 
 not give him caution of his danger; and so much 
 the more because the action is to be known by none 
 but thyself." If we do not take up of ourselves the 
 rule of well-doing, if impunity pass with us for justice, 
 to how many sorts of wickedness shall we every day 
 abandon ourselves ? I do not find what Sextus 
 Peduceus did, in faithfully restoring the treasure that 
 C. Plotius had committed to his sole secrecy and 
 trust, a thing that I had often done myself, so com- 
 mendable, as I should think it an execrable baseness 
 had we done otherwise ; and I think it of good use 
 in our days to recall the example of P. Sextilius 
 Rufus, whom Cicero accuses to have entered upon 
 
1 88 ESSAYS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 an inheritance contrary to his conscience, not only 
 not against law, but even by the determination of the 
 laws themselves ; and M. Crassus and Q. Hortensius, 
 who, by reason of their authority and power, having 
 been called in by a stranger to share in the succes- 
 sion of a forged will, that so he might secure his own 
 part, satisfied themselves with having no hand in the 
 forgery, and refused not to make their advantage and 
 to come in for a share : secure enough, if they could 
 shroud themselves from accusations, witnesses, and 
 the cognizance of the laws : " Let them consider they 
 have God to witness, that is (as I interpret it) their 
 own consciences," says Cicero. 
 
 Virtue is a very vain and frivolous thing, if it 
 derive its recommendation from glory ; and 'tis to 
 no purpose that we endeavor to give it a station by 
 itself, and separate it from fortune ; for what is more 
 accidental than reputation? "Fortune rules in all 
 things, and advances and depresses things more out 
 of her own will than of right and justice " [Sallust] . 
 So to order it that actions may be known and seen 
 is purely the work of fortune ; 'tis chance that helps 
 us to glory, according to its own temerity. I have 
 often seen her go before merit, and often very much 
 outstrip it. He who first likened glory to a shadow 
 did better than he was aware of; they are both of 
 them things pre-eminently vain : glory also, like a 
 shadow, goes sometimes before the body, and some- 
 times in length infinitely exceeds it. They who in- 
 struct gentlemen only to employ their valor for the 
 obtaining of honor, " quasi non sit honestu?n, quod 
 nobilitatum non sit ; " what do they intend by that 
 
OF GLORY. 189 
 
 but to instruct them never to hazard themselves if 
 they are not seen, and to observe well if there be 
 witnesses present who may carry news of their valor, 
 whereas a thousand occasions of well-doing present 
 themselves which cannot be taken notice of? How 
 many brave individual actions are buried in the crowd 
 of a battle? Whoever shall take upon him to watch 
 another's behavior in such a confusion is not very 
 busy himself, and the testimony he shall give of his 
 companion's deportment will be evidence against him- 
 self. Says Cicero "The true and wise magnanimity 
 judges that the bravery which most follows nature 
 more consists in act than glory. 11 
 
 All the glory that I pretend to derive from my life 
 is that I have lived it in quiet ; in quiet, not accord- 
 ing to Metrodorus, or Arcesilaus, or Aristippus, but 
 according to myself. For seeing philosophy has not 
 been able to find out any way to tranquillity that . is 
 good in common, let every one seek it in particular. 
 
 To what do Caesar and Alexander owe the infinite 
 grandeur of their renown but to fortune? How many 
 men has she extinguished in the beginning of their 
 progress, of whom we have no knowledge, who brought 
 as much courage to the work as they, if their adverse 
 hap had not cut them off in the first sally of their 
 arms ? Among so many and so great dangers I do 
 not remember I have anywhere read that Caesar was 
 ever wounded : a thousand have fallen in less dangers 
 than the least of those he went through. An infinite 
 number of brave actions must be performed without 
 witness and lost, before one turns to account. A 
 man is not always on the top of a breach, or at the 
 
19° ESSAYS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 head of an army, in the sight of his general, as upon 
 a scaffold ; a man is often surprised between the hedge 
 and the ditch ; he must run the hazard of his life 
 against a henroost ; he must dislodge four rascally 
 musketeers out of a barn ; he must prick out single 
 from his party, and alone make some attempts, accord- 
 ing as necessity will have it. And whoever will ob- 
 serve will, I believe, find it experimentally true that 
 occasions of the least lustre are ever the most danger- 
 ous ; and that in the wars of our own times there 
 have more brave men been lost in occasions of little 
 moment, and in the dispute about some little paltry 
 fort, than in places of greatest importance, and where 
 their valor might have been more honorably employed. 
 Who thinks his death unworthy of him if he do 
 not fall in some signal occasion, instead of illustrat- 
 ing his death, wilfully obscures his life, suffering in 
 the meantime many very just occasions of hazarding 
 himself to slip out of his hands ; and every just one 
 is illustrious enough, every man's conscience being a 
 sufficient trumpet to him. " Gloria nostra est testi- 
 monium conscientiœ nostrœ" He who is only a good 
 man that men may know it, and that he may be the 
 better esteemed when 'tis known : who will not do 
 well but upon condition diat his virtue may be known 
 to men : is one from whom much service is not to be 
 expected. "The rest of the winter, I presume, was 
 spent in actions worthy of narration, but they were 
 done so secretly that if I do not tell them I am not 
 to blame, for Orlando was more bent to do great acts 
 than to boast of them, so that no deeds of his were 
 ever known but those that had witnesses " [Ariosto] . 
 
OF GLORY. I9 1 
 
 A man must go to the war upon the account ot 
 duty, and expect the recompense that never fails 
 brave and worthy actions, how private soever, or 
 even virtuous thoughts — the satisfaction that a well- 
 disposed conscience receives in itself in doing well. 
 A man must be valiant for himself, and upon account 
 of the advantage it is to him to have his courage 
 seated in a firm and secure place against the assaults 
 of fortune. Says Horace: "Virtue, repudiating all 
 base repulse, shines in taintless honors, nor takes nor 
 leaves dignities at the mere will of the vulgar.*" 
 
 It is not for outward show that the soul is to play 
 its part, but for ourselves within, where no eyes can 
 pierce but our own ; there she defends us from the 
 fear of death, of pain, of shame itself; there she arms 
 us against the loss of our children, friends, and for- 
 tunes ; and when opportunity presents itself, she 
 leads us on to the hazards of war, " non emolumento 
 aliquo, sed ipsius honest atis décore" This profit 
 is of much greater advantage, and more worthy to 
 be coveted and hoped for, than honor and glory, 
 which are no other than a favorable judgment given 
 of us. 
 
 A dozen men must be called out of a whole nation 
 to judge about an acre of land ; and the judgment of 
 our inclinations and actions, the most difficult and 
 most important matter that is, we refer to the voice 
 and determination of the rabble, the mother of igno- 
 rance, injustice, and inconstancy. Is it reasonable 
 that the life of a wise man should depend upon the 
 judgment of fools? "Can anything be more foolish 
 than to think that those you despise single can be 
 
192 ESS A Y S OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 any other when joined together ? M asks Cicero. He 
 that makes it his business to please them, will have 
 enough to do and never have done ; 'tis a mark that 
 can never be aimed at or hit : u Nil tarn inœstimabile 
 est, qua?n animi midtitudinis ." Demetrius pleasantly 
 said of the voice of the people, that he made no more 
 account of that which came from above than of that 
 which came from below. Cicero says more : " I am 
 of opinion, that, though a thing be not foul in itself, 
 yet it cannot but become so when commended by the 
 multitude. ,, No art, no activity of wit, could conduct 
 our steps so as to follow so wandering and so irregu- 
 lar a guide ; in this windy confusion of the noise of 
 vulgar reports and opinions that drive us on, no way 
 worth anything can be chosen. 
 
 Let us not propose to ourselves so floating and 
 wavering an end ; let us follow constantly after rea- 
 son ; let the public approbation follow us there, if it 
 will ; and as it wholly depends upon fortune, we have 
 no reason sooner to expect it by any other way than 
 that. Even though I would not follow the right way 
 because it is right, I should, however, follow it as 
 having experimentally found that, at the end of the 
 reckoning, 'tis commonly the most happy and of 
 greatest utility : " This gift Providence has given to 
 men, that honest things should be the most useful " 
 [Quintilian] . The mariner of old said thus to Nep- 
 tune, in a great tempest : " Oh, God, thou mayest 
 save me if thou wilt, and if thou wilt, thou mayest 
 destroy me ; but, however, I will steer my rudder 
 true." I have seen in my time a thousand men sup- 
 ple, mongrel, ambiguous, whom no one doubted to 
 
OF GLORY. 193 
 
 be more worldly wise than I, destroy themselves, 
 where 1 have saved myself. 
 
 Paulus ^Emilius, going on the glorious expedition 
 of Macedonia, above all things charged the people 
 of Rome not to speak of his actions during his ab- 
 sence. Oh. the license of judgments is a great dis- 
 turbance to great affairs ! forasmuch as every one has 
 not the firmness of Fabius against common, adverse, 
 and injurious tongues, who rather suffered his author- 
 ity to be dissected by the vain fancies of men, than 
 to do less well in his charge with a favorable reputa- 
 tion and the popular applause. 
 
 There is I know not what natural sweetness in 
 hearing one's self commended : but we are a great 
 deal too fond of it. Says Persius : " I domt dislike 
 being praised, for my heart is not made of horn ; but 
 I deny that ' excellent — admirably done/ are the 
 terms and final aim of virtue." 
 
 I care not so much what I am in the opinion of 
 others, as what I am in my own ; I would be rich of 
 myself, and not by borrowing. Strangers see noth- 
 ing but events and outward appearances ; everybody 
 can set a good face on the matter, when they have 
 trembling and terror within ; they do not see my 
 heart, they see but my countenance. 'Tis with good 
 reason that men decry the hypocrisy that is in war ; 
 for what is more easy to an old soldier than to shift 
 in a time of danger, and to counterfeit the brave when 
 he has no more heart than a chicken ? There are so 
 many ways to avoid hazarding a man's own person, 
 that we have deceived the world a thousand times 
 before we come to be engaged in a real danger : and 
 
194 ESSAYS OF MONTAIGNE, 
 
 even then, finding ourselves in an inevitable necessity 
 of doing something, we can make shift for that time 
 to conceal our apprehensions by setting a good face 
 on the business, though the heart beats within ; and 
 whoever had the use of the Platonic ring, which ren- 
 ders those invisible that wear it, if turned inward tow- 
 ard the palm of the hand, a great many would very 
 often hide themselves when they ought most to appear, 
 and would repent being placed in so honorable a 
 post, when necessity must make them bold. Horace 
 says : "False honor pleases, and calumny affrights, the 
 guilty and the liar.'' 
 
 Thus we see how all the judgments that are founded 
 upon external appearances, are marvellously uncertain 
 and doubtful ; and that there is no so certain testi- 
 mony as every one is to himself. In these, how 
 many soldier's boys are companions of our glory? 
 he who stands firm in an open trench, what does he 
 in that more than fifty poor pioneers, who open to 
 him the way and cover it with their own bodies for 
 fivepence a day pay, do before him? "Do not, if 
 turbid Rome should disparage anything, agree with 
 it, nor correct a false balance by that scale ; seek not 
 thyself out of thyself," says Persius. 
 
 The dispersing and scattering our names into many 
 mouths, we call making them more great ; we will 
 have them there well received, and that this increase 
 turn to their advantage, which is all that can be ex- 
 cusable in this design. But the excess of this disease 
 proceeds so far that many covet to have a name, be 
 it what it will. Trogus Pompeius says of Herostratus, 
 and Titus Livius of Manlius Capitolinus, that they 
 
OF GLORY. 195 
 
 were more ambitious of a great reputation than of a 
 good one. This is very common ; we are more so- 
 licitous that men speak of us, than how they speak : 
 and it is enough for us that our names are often men- 
 tioned, be it after what manner it will. It should 
 seem that to be known, is in some sort to have a 
 man's life and its duration in others 1 keeping. 
 
 I, for my part, hold that I am not, but in myself ; 
 and of that other life of mine which lies in the knowl- 
 edge of my friends, to consider it naked and simply 
 in itself, I know very well that I am sensible of no fruit 
 nor enjoyment from it but by the vanity of a fantastic 
 opinion ; and when I shall be dead, I shall be still and 
 much less sensible of it ; and shall, withal, absolutely 
 lose the use of those real advantages that sometimes 
 accidentally follow it. I shall have no more handle 
 whereby to take hold of reputation, neither shall it have 
 any whereby to take hold of or to cleave to me ; for to 
 expect that my name should be advanced by it, in'the 
 first place, I have no name that is enough my own ; of 
 two that I have, one is common to all my race, and, in- 
 deed, to others also ; there are two families at Paris and 
 Montpellier, whose surname is Montaigne, another in 
 Brittany, and one in Xaintonge, De La Montaigne. 
 The transposition of one syllable only would suffice 
 so to ravel our affairs that I shall share in their glory, 
 and they, peradventure, shall partake of my shame : 
 and, moreover, my ancestors have formerly been sur- 
 named Eyquem, a name wherein a family well known 
 in England is at this day concerned. 
 
 As to my other name, every one may take it that 
 will, and so, perhaps, I may honor a porter in my own 
 
196 ESSAYS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 stead. And, besides, though I had a particular dis- 
 tinction by myself, what can it distinguish when I am 
 no more ? Can it point out and favor inanity ? " The 
 tomb will not press with less weight upon my bones. 
 Posterity may praise : what then? not from my manes, 
 not from the tomb, not from the ashes, will violets 
 grow" [Persius] : but of this I have spoken else- 
 where. As to what remains, in a great battle w r here 
 ten thousand men are maimed or killed, there are not 
 fifteen who are taken notice of; it must be some very 
 eminent greatness, or some consequence of great 
 importance that fortune has added to it, that signal- 
 izes a private action, not of a harquebuser only, but 
 of a great captain ; for to kill a man, or two, or ten : 
 to expose a man's self bravely to the utmost peril of 
 death, is, indeed, something in every one of us, because 
 we there hazard all ; but for the world's concern, they 
 are things so ordinary, and so many of them are every 
 day seen, and there must of necessity be so many of 
 the same kind to produce any notable effect, that we 
 cannot expect any particular renown from it ; " The 
 accident is known to many, and now trite ; and drawn 
 from the amidst of Fortune's heap" [Juvenal]. 
 
 Of so many thousands of valiant men who have 
 died within these fifteen hundred years in France with 
 their swords in their hands, not a hundred have come 
 to our knowledge. The memory, not of the comman- 
 ders only, but of battles and victories, is buried and 
 gone ; the fortunes of above half of the world, for 
 want of a record, stir not from their place, and vanish 
 without duration. If I had unknown events in my 
 possession, I. should think with great ease to outdo 
 
OF GLORY. 197 
 
 those that are recorded, in all sorts of examples. Is 
 it not strange that even of the Greeks and Romans, 
 with so many writers and witnesses, and so many 
 rare and noble exploits, so few are arrived at our 
 knowledge? It will be much, if a hundred years 
 hence, it be remembered in gross that in our times 
 there were civil wars in France. The Lacedaemo- 
 nians, entering into battle, sacrificed to the Muses, to 
 the end that their actions might be well and worthily 
 written, looking upon it as a divine and no common 
 favor, that brave acts should find witnesses that could 
 give them life and memory. Do we expect that at 
 every musket shot we receive, and at every hazard we 
 run, there must be a register ready to record it? and, 
 besides, a hundred registers may enroll them whose 
 commentaries will not last above three days, and will 
 never come to the sight of any one. 
 
 We have not the thousandth part of ancient writings ; 
 'tis fortune that gives them a shorter or longer life, 
 according to her favor ; and 'tis permissible to doubt 
 whether those we have be not the worst, not having 
 seen the rest. Men do not write histories of things 
 of so little moment : a man must have been general 
 in the conquest of an empire or a kingdom ; he must 
 have won two-and-fifty set battles, and always the 
 weaker in number, as Caesar did : ten thousand brave 
 fellows and many great captains lost their lives val- 
 iantly in his service, whose names lasted no longer 
 than their wives and children lived : " Quos fama 
 obscura recondite Even those we see behave them- 
 selves the best, three months or three years after they 
 have been knocked on the head, are no more spoken 
 
1 98 ESSAYS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 of than if they had never been. Whoever will justly 
 consider, and with due proportion, of what kind of 
 men and of what sort of actions the glory sustains 
 itself in the records of history, will find that there are 
 very few actions and very few persons of our times who 
 can there pretend any right. How many worthy men 
 have we known to survive their own reputation, who 
 have seen and suffered the honor and glory most justly 
 acquired in their youth, extinguished in their own 
 presence? And for three years of this fantastic and 
 imaginary life we must go and throw away our true 
 and essential life, and engage ourselves in a perpetual 
 death ! 
 
 The sages propose to themselves a nobler and more 
 just end in so important an enterprise. Says Seneca : 
 "The reward of a good deed is the deed itself." 
 It were, peradventure, excusable in a painter or other 
 artisan, or in a rhetorician or a grammarian, to endeavor 
 to raise himself a name by his works ; but the actions 
 of virtue are too noble in themselves to seek any other 
 reward than from their own value, and especially to 
 seek it in the vanity of human judgments. 
 
 If this false opinion, nevertheless, be of such use to 
 the public as to keep men in their duty ; if the people 
 are thereby stirred up to virtue ; if princes are touched 
 to see the world bless the memory of Trajan, and 
 abominate that of Nero ; if it moves them to see the 
 name of that great beast, once so terrible and feared, so 
 freely cursed and reviled by every schoolboy, let it by 
 all means increase, and be as much as possible nursed 
 up and cherished among us ; and Plato, bending his 
 whole endeavor to make his citizens virtuous, also 
 
OF GLORY. 199 
 
 advises them not to despise the good repute and es- 
 teem of the people ; and says it falls out, by a certain 
 divine inspiration, that even the wicked themselves 
 ofttimes, as well by word as opinion, can rightly dis- 
 tinguish the virtuous from the wicked. This person 
 and his tutor are both marvellous and bold artificers 
 everywhere to add divine operations and revelations 
 where human force is wanting. " As tragic poets fly 
 to some god, when they cannot explain the trend of 
 their argument, 1 ' says Cicero : and, peradventure, for 
 this reason it was that Timon, railing at him, called 
 him the great forger of miracles. Seeing that men by 
 their insufficiency cannot pay themselves well enough 
 with current money, let the counterfeit be superadded. 
 'Tis a way that has been practised by all the legisla- 
 tors ; and there is no government that has not some 
 mixture either of ceremonial vanity or of false opinion, 
 that serves for a curb to keep the people in their 
 duty. 
 
 'Tis for this that most of them have their originals 
 and beginnings fabulous, and enriched with super- 
 natural mysteries ; 'tis this that has given credit to 
 bastard religions, and caused them to be countenanced 
 by men of understanding ; and for this, that Numa 
 and Sertorius, to possess their men with a better 
 opinion of them, fed them with this foppery ; one, 
 that the nymph Egeria, the other that his white hind, 
 brought them all their counsels from the gods. And 
 the authority that Numa gave to his laws, under the 
 title of the patronage of this goddess, Zoroaster, legis- 
 lator of the Bactrians and Persians, gave to his under 
 the name of the god Oromazis ; Trismegistus, legis- 
 
200 ESSAYS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 lator of the Egyptians, under that of Mercury ; Xa- 
 molxis, legislator of the Scythians, under that of Vesta ; 
 Charondas, legislator of the Chalcidians, under that of 
 Saturn ; Minos, legislator of the Candiots, under that 
 of Jupiter ; Lycurgus, legislator of the Lacedaemonians, 
 under that of Apollo ; and Draco and Solon, legisla- 
 tors of the Athenians, under that of Minerva. And 
 every government has a god at the head of it ; the 
 others falsely, that truly, which Moses set over the 
 Jews at their departure out of Egypt. The religion 
 of the Bedouins, as the Sire de Joinville reports, among 
 other things, enjoined a belief that the soul of him 
 among them who died for his prince, went into 
 another body more happy, more beautiful, and more 
 robust than the former, by which means they much 
 more willingly ventured their lives : " Men invite the 
 steel and seek death : 'tis base to save a life that is to 
 return " [Lucan]. This is a very comfortable belief, 
 however erroneous. Every nation has many such ex- 
 amples of its own ; but this subject would require a 
 treatise by itself. 
 
 To add one word more to my former discourse, 
 I would advise the ladies no longer to call that honor 
 which is but their duty ; " According to the vulgar 
 notion, which only approves that as honorable 
 that is glorious by the public voice V [Cicero] ; their 
 duty is the mark, their honor but the outward rind. 
 Neither would I advise them to give this excuse for 
 payment of their denial : for I presuppose that their 
 intentions, their desire, and will, which are things 
 wherein their honor is not at all concerned, forasmuch 
 as nothing thereof appears without, are much better 
 
OF PRESUMPTION. 201 
 
 regulated than the effects : " Quœ, quia non liceat, non 
 facit, ilia facile 
 
 The offence, both toward God and in the conscience, 
 would be as great to desire as to do it : and, besides, 
 they are actions so private and secret of themselves, 
 as would be easily enough kept from the knowledge 
 of others, wherein the honor consists, if they had not 
 another respect to their duty, and the affection they 
 bear to chastity, for itself. Every woman of honor will 
 much rather choose to lose her honor, than to hurt 
 her conscience. 
 
 OF PRESUMPTION. 
 
 There is another sort of glory, which is the having 
 too good an opinion of our own worth. 'Tis an incon- 
 siderate affection with which we flatter ourselves, and 
 that represents us to ourselves other than we truly 
 are ; like the passion of love, and that lends beauties 
 and graces to the object, and makes those who are 
 caught by it, with a depraved and corrupt judgment, 
 consider the thing which they love other and more 
 perfect than it is. 
 
 I would not, nevertheless, for fear of failing on this 
 side, that a man should not know himself aright, or 
 think himself less than he is ; the judgment ought in all 
 things to maintain its rights ; 'tis all the reason in the 
 world he should discern in himself, as well as in others, 
 what truth sets before him ; if it be Caesar, let him 
 boldly think himself the greatest captain in the world. 
 We are nothing but ceremony ; ceremony carries us 
 away, and we leave the substance of things ; we hold 
 
202 ESS A YS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 by the branches, and quit the trunk and the body ; 
 we have taught the ladies to blush when they hear that 
 but named which they are not at all afraid to do ; we 
 dare not call our members by their right names, yet are 
 not afraid to employ them in all sorts of debauchery ; 
 ceremony forbids us to express by words things that 
 are lawful and natural, and we obey it ; reason forbids 
 us to do things unlawful and ill, and nobody obeys it. 
 I find myself here fettered by the laws of ceremony ; 
 for it neither permits a man to speak well of himself, 
 nor ill ; we will leave it there for this time. 
 
 They whom fortune (call it good or ill) has made 
 to pass their lives in some eminent degree, may by 
 their public actions manifest what they are ; but they 
 whom she has only employed in the crowd, and of 
 whom nobody will say a word unless they speak them- 
 selves, are to be excused if they take the boldness to 
 speak of themselves to such as are interested to know 
 them ; by the example of Lucilius, "He confided his 
 secret thoughts to his writings, as to a tried friend, and 
 for good and evil, sought no other confidant ; hence it 
 came to pass, that the old man's life is there all seen 
 as on a votive tablet " [Horace] ; he always committed 
 to paper his actions and thoughts, and there portrayed 
 himself such as he found himself to be; " Nor were 
 Rutilius or Scaurus misbelieved or condemned for 
 writing their memoirs" [Tacitus]. 
 
 I remember, then, that from my infancy there was 
 observed in me I know not what kind of carriage and 
 behavior, that seemed to relish of pride and arrogance. 
 I will say this, by the way, that it is not unreasonable 
 to suppose that we have qualities and inclinations so 
 
OF PRESUMPTION. 203 
 
 much our own, and so incorporate in us, that we have 
 not the means to feel and recognize them ; and of 
 such natural inclinations the body will retain a certain 
 bent, without our knowledge or consent. It was an 
 affectation conformable with his beauty, that made 
 Alexander carry his head on one side, and caused Al- 
 cibiades to lisp ; Julius Cassar scratched his head with 
 one finger, which is the fashion of a man full of trouble- 
 some thoughts ; and Cicero, as I remember, was wont 
 to pucker up his nose, a sign of a man given to scoff- 
 ing ; such motions as these may imperceptibly happen 
 in us. There are other artificial ones which I meddle 
 uot with, as salutations and congees, by which men 
 acquire, for the most part unjustly, the reputation of 
 being humble and courteous ; one may be humble out 
 of pride. 
 
 I am prodigal enough of my hat, especially in sum- 
 mer, and never am so saluted but that I pay it again 
 from persons of what quality soever, unless they be 
 in my own service. I should make it my request to 
 some princes whom I know, that they would be more 
 sparing of that ceremony, and bestow that courtesy 
 where it is more due ; for being so indiscreetly and 
 indifferently conferred on all, it is thrown away to no 
 purpose ; if it be without respect of persons, it loses 
 its effect. Among irregular deportment, let us not 
 forget that haughty one of the Emperor Constantius, 
 who always in public held his head upright and stiff, 
 without bending or turning on either side, not so 
 much as to look upon those who saluted him on one 
 side, planting his body in a rigid immovable posture, 
 without suffering it to yield to the motion of his coach, 
 
204 ESSAYS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 not daring so much as to spit, blow his nose, or wipe 
 his face before people. I know not whether the ges- 
 tures that were observed in me were of this first qual- 
 ity, and whether I had really any occult propension to 
 this vice, as it might well be ; and I cannot be re- 
 sponsible for the motions of the body ; but as to the 
 motions of the soul, I must here confess what I think 
 of the matter. 
 
 This glory consists of two parts ; the one in setting 
 too great a value upon ourselves, and the other in 
 setting too little a value upon others. As to the one, 
 methinks these considerations ought, in the first place, 
 to be of some force ; I feel myself importuned by an 
 error of the soul that displeases me, both as it is unjust, 
 and still more as it is troublesome ; I attempt to cor- 
 rect it, but I cannot root it out : and this is, that I 
 lessen the just value of things that I possess, and over- 
 value things, because they are foreign, absent, and 
 none of mine ; this humor spreads very far. As the 
 prerogative of the authority makes husbands look 
 upon their own wives with a vicious disdain, and many 
 fathers their children ; so I, between two equal merits 
 should always be swayed against my own ; not so 
 much that the jealousy of my advancement and better- 
 ing troubles my judgment, and hinders me from satis- 
 fying myself, as that of itself possession begets a 
 contempt of what it holds and rules. 
 
 Foreign governments, manners, and languages, in- 
 sinuate themselves into my esteem ; and I am sensible 
 that Latin allures me by the favor of its dignity to 
 value it above its due, as it does with children, and 
 the common sort of people : the domestic government, 
 
OF PRESUMPTION. 205 
 
 house, horse, of my neighbor, though no better than 
 my own, I prize above my own, because they are not 
 mine. Besides that I am very ignorant in my own 
 affairs, I am struck by the assurance that every one 
 has of himself: whereas, there is scarcely anything 
 that I am sure I know, or that I dare be responsible 
 to myself that I can do : I have not my means of doing 
 anything in condition and ready, and am only instructed 
 therein after the effect ; as doubtful of my own force 
 as I am of another's. Whence it comes to pass that 
 if I happen to do anything commendable, I attribute 
 it more to my fortune than industry, forasmuch as I 
 design everything by chance and in fear. I have this, 
 also, in general, that of all the opinions antiquity has 
 held of men in gross, I most willingly embrace and 
 adhere to those that most contemn and undervalue us, 
 and most push us to naught ; methinks, philosophy 
 has never so fair a game to play as when it falls upon 
 our vanity and presumption ; when it most lays open 
 our irresolution, weakness, and ignorance. 
 
 I look upon the too good opinion that man has of 
 himself to be the nursing mother of all the most false 
 opinions, both public and private. Those people who 
 ride astride upon the epicycle of Mercury, who see so 
 far into the heavens, are worse to me than a tooth- 
 drawer that comes to draw my teeth ; for in my study, 
 the subject of which is man, finding so great a variety 
 of judgments, so profound a labyrinth of difficulties, 
 one upon another, so great diversity and uncertainty, 
 even in the school of wisdom itself, you may judge, 
 seeing these people could not resolve upon the knowl- 
 edge of themselves and their own condition, which is 
 
206 ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 continually before their eyes, and within them, seeing 
 they do not know how that moves, which they them- 
 selves move, nor how to give us a description of the 
 springs they themselves govern and make use of, how 
 can I believe them about the ebbing and flowing of 
 the Nile. The curiosity of knowing things has been 
 given to man for a scourge, says the holy Scripture. 
 
 But to return to what concerns myself; I think it 
 would be very difficult for any other man to have a 
 meaner opinion of himself; nay, for any other to have 
 a meaner opinion of me than I have of myself: I look 
 upon myself as one of the common sort, saving in this, 
 that I have no better an opinion of myself; guilty of 
 the meanest and most popular defects, but not dis- 
 owning or excusing them ; and I do not value myself 
 upon any other account than because I know my own 
 value. If there be any vanity in the case, 'tis super- 
 ficially infused into me by the treachery of my com- 
 plexion, and has no body that my judgment can 
 discern : I am sprinkled, but not dyed. For in truth, 
 as to the effects of the mind, there is no part of me, 
 be it what it will, with which I am satisfied ; and the 
 approbation of others makes me not think the better 
 of myself. My judgment is tender and nice, especially 
 in things that concern myself; I ever repudiate my- 
 self, and feel myself float and waver by reason of my 
 weakness. I have nothing of my own that satisfies 
 my judgment. My sight is clear and regular enough, 
 but, at working, it is apt to dazzle ; as I most mani- 
 festly find in poetry : I love it infinitely, and am able 
 to give a tolerable judgment of other men's works ; 
 but, in good earnest, when I apply myself to it, I play 
 
OF PRESUMPTION. 207 
 
 the child, and am not able to endure myself. A man 
 may play the fool in everything else, but not in poetry ; 
 "Neither men, nor gods, nor the pillars [on which 
 the poets offered their writings], permit mediocrity in 
 poets, 1 ' says Horace. 
 
 I would to God this sentence from Martial were 
 written over the doors of all our printers, to forbid the 
 entrance of so many rhymesters ! " The truth is, that 
 nothing is more confident than a bad poet." 
 
 Why have not we such people? Dionysius the 
 father valued himself upon nothing so much as his 
 poetry ; at the Olympic games, with chariots surpass- 
 ing all the others in magnificence, he sent also poets and 
 musicians to present his verses, with tent and pavilions 
 royally gilt and hung with tapestry. When his verses 
 came to be recited, the excellence of the delivery at 
 first attracted the attention of the people ; but when 
 they afterwards came to poise the meanness of the 
 composition, they first entered into disdain, and con- 
 tinuing to nettle their judgments, presently proceeded 
 to fury, and ran to pull down and tear to pieces all 
 his pavilions : and, that his chariots neither performed 
 anything to purpose in the race, and that the ship 
 which brought back his people failed of making Sicily, 
 and was by the tempest driven and wrecked upon the 
 coast of Tarentum, they certainly believed was through 
 the anger of the gods, incensed, as they themselves 
 were, against that paltry poem ; and even the mariners 
 who escaped from the wreck seconded this opinion of 
 the people : to which also the oracle that foretold his 
 death seemed to subscribe ; which was, " that Dionysius 
 should be near his end, when he should have overcome 
 
208 ESS A Y S OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 those who were better than himself," which he inter- 
 preted of the Carthaginians, who surpassed him in 
 power ; and having war with them, often declined the 
 victory, not to incur the sense of this prediction, but 
 he understood it ill ; for the god indicated the time 
 of the advantage, that by favor and injustice he ob- 
 tained at Athens over the tragic poets, better than 
 himself, having caused his own play called the Leneians 
 to be acted in emulation ; presently after which victory 
 he died, and partly of the excessive joy he conceived 
 at the success. 
 
 What I find tolerable of mine, is not so really and 
 in itself, but in comparison of other worse things, that 
 I see well enough received. I envy the happiness of 
 those who can please and hug themselves in what 
 they do ; for 'tis an easy thing to be so pleased, 
 because a man extracts that pleasure from himself, 
 especially if he be constant in his self-conceit. I 
 know a poet, against whom the intelligent and the 
 ignorant, abroad and at home, both heaven and earth 
 exclaim that he has but very little notion of it ; and 
 yet for all that he has never a whit the worse opinion 
 of himself; but is always falling upon some new 
 piece, always contriving some new invention, and still 
 persists in his opinion, by so much the more obsti- 
 nately, as it only concerns him to maintain it. 
 
 My works are so far from pleasing me, that as often 
 as I review them, they disgust me : " When I re- 
 peruse, I blush at what I have written ; I ever see one 
 passage after another that I the author, being the 
 judge, consider should be erased" [Ovid]. I have 
 always an idea in my soul, and a sort of disturbed 
 
OF PRESUMPTION. 209 
 
 image which presents me as in a dream with a better 
 form than that I have made use of; but I cannot 
 catch it nor fit it to my purpose : and even that idea 
 is but of the meaner sort. Hence I conclude that the 
 productions of those great and rich souls of former 
 times are very much beyond the utmost stretch of my 
 imagination or my wish : their writings do not only 
 satisfy and fill me, but they astound rae, and ravish me 
 with admiration ; I judge of their beauty ; I see it. if not 
 to the utmost, yet so far at least as 'tis possible for me 
 to aspire. Whatever I undertake. I owe a sacrifice to 
 the Graces, as Plutarch says of some one, to concili- 
 ate their favor : " If anything please that I write, if it 
 infuse delight into men's minds, all is due to the 
 charming Graces. " 
 
 They abandon me throughout ; all I write is rude ; 
 polish and beauty are wanting : I cannot set things 
 off to any advantage ; my handling adds nothing to 
 the matter ; for which reason I must have it forcible, 
 very full, and that has lustre of its own. If I pitch 
 upon subjects that are popular and gay. 'tis to follow 
 my own inclination, who do not affect a grave and 
 ceremonious wisdom, as the world does ; and to make 
 myself more sprightly, but not my style more wanton, 
 which would rather have them grave and severe : at 
 least, if I may call that a style, which is an inform 
 and irregular way of speaking, a popular jargon, a 
 proceeding without definition, division, conclusion, 
 perplexed like that Amafanius and Rabirius. I can 
 neither please nor delight, nor even tickle my readers : 
 the best story in the world is spoiled by my hand- 
 ling, and becomes flat ; I cannot speak but in rough 
 
2IO ESSAYS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 earnest, and am totally unprovided of that facility 
 which I observe in many of my acquaintance, of 
 entertaining the first comers and keeping a whole 
 company in breath, or taking up the ear of a prince 
 with all sorts of discourse without wearying them- 
 selves : they never want matter by reason of the 
 faculty and grace they have in taking hold of the 
 first thing that starts up, and accommodating it to 
 the humor and capacity of those with whom they 
 have to do. 
 
 Princes do not much affect solid discourses, nor I 
 to tell stories. The first and easiest reasons, which 
 are commonly the best taken, I know not how to 
 employ : I am an ill orator to the common sort. I 
 am apt of everything to say the extremest that I know. 
 Cicero is of opinion that in treatises of philosophy the 
 exordium is the hardest part ; if this be true, I am 
 wise in sticking to the conclusion. And yet we are 
 to know how to wind the string to all notes, and the 
 sharpest is that which is the most seldom touched. 
 There is at least as much perfection in elevating an 
 empty as in supporting a weighty thing. A man 
 must sometimes superficially handle things, and some- 
 times push them home. I know very well that most 
 men keep themselves in this lower form from not 
 conceiving things otherwise than by this outward 
 bark; but I likewise know that the greatest masters, 
 and Xenophon and Plato are often seen to stoop to 
 this low and popular manner of speaking and treating 
 of things, but supporting it with graces which never 
 fail them. 
 
 Further, my language has nothing in it that is facile 
 
OF PRES UMPTION. 2 1 1 
 
 and polished ; 'tis rough, free, and irregular, and as 
 such pleases, if not my judgment, at all events my in- 
 clination, but I very well perceive that I sometimes 
 give myself too much rein, and that by endeavoring to 
 avoid art and affectation I fall into the other incon- 
 venience : " Endeavoring to be brief, I become 
 obscure.' 1 
 
 Plato says that the long or the short are not prop- 
 erties that either take away or give value to language. 
 Should I attempt to follow the other more moderate, 
 united, and regular style, I should never attain to it ; 
 and though the short round periods of Sallust best 
 suit with my humor, yet I find Caesar much grander 
 and harder to imitate ; and though my inclination 
 would rather prompt me to imitate Seneca's way of 
 writing, yet I do, nevertheless, more esteem that of 
 Plutarch. Both in doing and speaking I simply 
 follow my own natural way ; whence, peradventure, it 
 falls out that I am better at speaking than writing. 
 Motion and action animate words, especially in those 
 who lay about them briskly, as I do, and grow hot. 
 The comportment, the countenance, the voice, the 
 robe, the place, will set off some things that of them- 
 selves would appear no better than prating. Massalla 
 complains in Tacitus of the straightness of some gar- 
 ments in his time, and of the fashion of the benches 
 where the orators were to declaim, that were a dis- 
 advantage to their eloquence. 
 
 My French tongue is corrupted, both in the pro- 
 nunciation and otherwise, by the barbarism of my 
 country. I never saw a man who was a native of any 
 of the provinces on his side of the kingdom who had 
 
212 ESSAYS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 not a twang of his place of birth, and that was not 
 offensive to ears that were purely French. And yet 
 it is not that I am so perfect in my Perigordin : for I 
 can no more speak it than High Dutch, nor do I much 
 care. 'Tis a language (as the rest about me on every 
 side, of Poitou, Xaintonge, Angoumousin, Limosin, 
 Auvergne), a poor, drawling, scurvy language. There 
 is, indeed, above us toward the mountains a sort of 
 Gascon spoken, that I am mightily taken with : blunt, 
 brief, significant, and in truth a more manly and 
 military language than any other I am acquainted 
 with, as sinewy, powerful, and pertinent as the French 
 is graceful, neat, and luxuriant. 
 
 As to the Latin, which was given me for my mother 
 tongue, I have, by discontinuance, lost the use of 
 speaking it, and, indeed, of writing it too, wherein 
 I formerly had a particular reputation, by which you 
 may see how inconsiderable I am on that side. 
 
 Beauty is a thing of great recommendation in the 
 correspondence among men ; 'tis the first means of 
 acquiring the favor and good liking of one another, 
 and no man is so barbarous and morose as not to 
 perceive himself in some sort struck with its attrac- 
 tion. The body has a great share in our being, has 
 an eminent place there, and therefore its structure and 
 composition are of very just consideration. They 
 who go about to disunite and separate our two 
 principal parts from one another are to blame; we 
 must, on the contrary, reunite and rejoin them. We 
 must command the soul not to withdraw and enter- 
 tain itself apart, not to despise and abandon the body 
 (neither can she do it but by some apish counterfeit), 
 
OF PRESUMPTION. 213 
 
 but to unite herself close to it, to embrace, cherish, 
 assist, govern, and advise it, and to bring it back and 
 set it into the true way when it wanders ; in sum, to 
 espouse and be a husband to it, so that their effects 
 may not appear to be diverse and contrary, but uni- 
 form and concurring. 
 
 Christians have a particular instruction concerning 
 this connection, for they know that the Divine justice 
 embraces this society and juncture of body and soul, 
 even to the making the body capable of eternal 
 rewards ; and that God has an eye to the whole 
 man's ways, and wills that he receive entire chastise- 
 ment or reward according to his demerits or merits. 
 The sect of the Peripatetics, of all sects the most 
 sociable, attribute to wisdom this sole care equally to 
 provide for the good of these two associate parts : and 
 the other sects, in not sufficiently applying themselves 
 to the consideration of this mixture, show themselves 
 to be divided, one for the body and the other for the 
 soul, with equal error, and to have lost sight of their 
 subject, which is Man, and their guide, which they 
 generally confess to be Nature. The first distinction 
 that ever was among men, and the first consideration 
 that gave some pre-eminence over others, 'tis likely 
 was the advantage of beauty : " They distributed and 
 conferred the lands to every man according to his 
 beauty, strength, or understanding, for beauty and 
 strength had first influence," says Lucretius. 
 
 Now I am of something lower than the middle 
 stature, a defect that not only borders upon deform- 
 ity, but carries withal a great deal of inconvenience 
 along with it, especially for those who are in office 
 
214 ESSAYS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 and command; for the authority which a graceful 
 presence and a majestic mien beget, is wanting. 
 C. Marius did not willingly enlist any soldiers who 
 were not six feet high. The courtier has, indeed, 
 reason to desire a moderate stature in the gentlemen 
 he is setting forth, rather than any other, and to reject 
 all strangeness that should make him be pointed at. 
 But if I were to choose whether this medium must 
 be rather below than above the common standard, I 
 would not have it so in a soldier. Little men, says 
 Aristotle, are pretty but not handsome ; and great- 
 ness of soul is discovered in a great body, as beauty 
 is in a conspicuous stature : the Ethiopians and 
 Indians, says he, in choosing their kings and magis- 
 trates, had regard to the beauty and stature of their 
 persons. They had reason ; for it creates respect in 
 those who follow them, and is a terror to the enemy 
 to see a leader of a brave and goodly stature inarch 
 at the head of a battalion. " In the first rank marched 
 Turnus, brandishing his weapon, taller by a head than 
 all the rest," says Virgil. 
 
 Our holy and heavenly King, of whom every cir- 
 cumstance is most carefully and with the greatest 
 religion and reverence to be observed, has not him- 
 self rejected bodily recommendation, " Speciosus forma 
 pro? filiis hominien" And Plato, together with tem- 
 perance and fortitude, requires beauty in the con- 
 servators of his republic. It would vex you that a 
 man should apply himself to you among your servants 
 to inquire where Monsieur is, and that you should 
 only have the remainder of the compliment of the 
 hat that is made to your barber or your secretary ; 
 
OF PRESUMPTION. 215 
 
 as it happened to poor Philopcemen, who arriving the 
 first of all his company at an inn where he was ex- 
 pected, the hostess who knew him not, and saw him 
 an unsightly fellow, employed him to go help her 
 maids a little to draw water, and make a fire against 
 Phiiopcemen's coming : the gentlemen of his train 
 arriving presently after, and surprised to see him 
 busy in this fine employment, for he failed not to 
 obey his landlady^ command, asked him what he was 
 doing there. " I am," said he, " paying the penalty of 
 my ugliness." The other beauties belong to women ; 
 the beauty of stature is the only beauty of men. 
 
 Where there is a contemptible stature, neither the 
 largeness and roundness of the forehead, nor the 
 whiteness and sweetness of the eyes, nor the moderate 
 proportion of the nose, nor the littleness of the ears 
 and mouth, nor the evenness and whiteness of the 
 teeth, nor the thickness of a well-set brown beard, 
 shining like the husk of a chestnut, nor curled hair, 
 nor the just proportion of the head, nor a fresh com- 
 plexion, nor a pleasing air of a face, nor a body with- 
 out any offensive scent, nor the just proportion of 
 limbs, can make a handsome man. I am, as to the 
 rest, strong and well knit ; my face is not puffed, but 
 full, and my complexion between jovial and melan- 
 cholic, moderately sanguine and hot, my health vig- 
 orous and sprightly, even to a well advanced age, 
 and rarely troubled with sickness. Such I was, for I 
 do not now make any account of myself, now that I 
 am engaged in the avenues of old age, being already 
 past forty : what shall be from this time forward, will 
 be but a half-being, and no more me. I every day 
 
2l6 ESSAYS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 escape and steal away from myself. " Of the fleeting 
 years each steals something from me 11 [Horace]. 
 Agility and address I never had, and yet am the son 
 of a very active and sprightly father, who continued 
 to be so to an extreme old age. I have scarce known 
 any man of his condition, his equal in all bodily exer- 
 cises : as I have seldom met with any who have not 
 excelled me, except in running, at which I was pretty 
 good. In music or singing, for which I have a very 
 unfit voice, or to play on any sort of instrument, they 
 could never teach me anything. In dancing, tennis, 
 or wrestling, I could never arrive to more than an 
 ordinary pitch ; in swimming, fencing, vaulting, and 
 leaping, to none at all. My hands are so clumsy that 
 I cannot even write so as to read it myself, so that I 
 had rather do what I have scribbled over again, than 
 take upon me the trouble to make it out. I do not 
 read much better than I write, and feel that I weary 
 my auditors : otherwise, not a bad clerk. I cannot 
 decently fold up a letter, nor could ever make a pen, 
 or carve at table worth a pin, nor saddle a horse, nor 
 carry a hawk and fly her, nor hunt the dogs, nor lure 
 a hawk, nor speak to a horse. 
 
 In fine, my bodily qualities are very well suited to 
 those of my soul ; there is nothing sprightly, only a 
 full and firm vigor : I am patient enough of labor and 
 pains, but it is only when I go voluntary to work, and 
 only so long as my own desire prompts me to it ; 
 otherwise, if I am not allured with some pleasure, or 
 have other guide than my own pure and free inclina- 
 tion, I am good for nothing : for I am of a humor 
 that, life and health excepted, there is nothing for 
 
OF PRESUMPTION. 217 
 
 which I will bite my nails, and that I will purchase 
 at the price of torment of mind and constraint : " I 
 would not buy rich Tagus sands so dear, nor all the 
 gold that lies in the sea" [Juvenal]. Extremely idle, 
 extremely given up to my own inclination both by 
 nature and art, I would as willingly lend a man my 
 blood as my pains. I have a soul free and entirely 
 its own, and accustomed to guide itself after its own 
 fashion ; having hitherto never had either master or 
 governor imposed upon me ; I have walked as far as 
 I would, and at the pace that best pleased myself; 
 that is it that has rendered me unfit for the service 
 of others, and has made me of no use to any one but 
 myself. 
 
 Nor was there any need of forcing my heavy and 
 lazy disposition ; for being born to such a fortune as 
 I had reason to be contented with (a reason, never- 
 theless, that a thousand others of my acquaintance 
 would have rather made use of for a plank upon 
 which to pass over in search of higher fortune, to 
 tumult and disquiet), and with as much intelligence 
 as I required, I sought for no more, and also got no 
 more : u The northern w T ind does not agitate my 
 sails ; nor Auster trouble my course with storms. In 
 strength, talent, figure, virtue, honor, wealth, I am 
 short of the foremost, but before the last" [Horace]. 
 I had only need of what was sufficient to content me : 
 which nevertheless is a government of soul, to take 
 it right, equally difficult in all sorts of conditions, and 
 that, of custom, we see more easily found in want 
 than in abundance : forasmuch, peradventure, as ac- 
 cording to the course of our other passions, the de- 
 
2i8 ESS A Y S OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 sire of riches is more sharpened by their use than by 
 the need of them : and the virtue of moderation more 
 rare than that of patience ; and I never had anything 
 to desire, but happily to enjoy the estate that God by 
 His bounty had put into my hands. I have never 
 known anything of trouble, and have had little to do 
 in anything but the management of my own affairs : 
 or, if I have, it has been upon condition to do it at 
 my own leisure and after my own method ; committed 
 to my trust by such as had a confidence in me, who 
 did not importune me, and who knew my humor ; 
 for good horsemen will make shift to get service out 
 of a rusty and broken- winded jade. 
 
 Even my infancy was trained up after a gentle and 
 free manner, and exempt from any rigorous subjec- 
 tion. All this has helped me to a complexion deli- 
 cate and incapable of solicitude, even to that degree 
 that I love to have my losses and the disorders 
 wherein I am concerned, concealed from me. In the 
 account of my expenses, I put down what my negli- 
 gence costs me in feeding and maintaining it ; " That 
 overplus, which the owner knows not of, but which 
 benefits the thieves" [Horace]. 
 
 I love not to know what I have, that I may be less 
 sensible of my loss ; I entreat those who serve me, 
 where affection and integrity are absent, to deceive 
 me with something like a decent appearance. For 
 want of constancy enough to support the shock of 
 adverse accidents to which we are subject, and of 
 patience seriously to apply myself to the management 
 of my affairs, I nourish as much as I can this in my- 
 self, wholly leaving all to fortune " to take all things 
 
OF PRESUMPTION. 219 
 
 at the worst, and to resolve to bear that worst with 
 temper and patience ; " that is the only thing I aim 
 at, and to which I apply my whole meditation. In 
 a danger, I do not so much consider how I shall es- 
 cape it, as of how little importance it is, whether I 
 escape it or no ; should I be left dead upon the place, 
 what matter? Not being able to govern events, I 
 govern myself, and apply myself to them, if they will 
 not apply themselves to me. I have no great art to 
 evade, escape from, or force fortune, and by prudence 
 to guide and incline things to my own bias. I have 
 still less patience to undergo the troublesome and 
 painful care therein required ; and the most uneasy 
 condition for me is to be suspended on urgent occa- 
 sions, and to be agitated between hope and fear. 
 
 Deliberation, even in things of lightest moment, 
 is very troublesome to me ; and I find rny mind more 
 put to it to undergo the various tumblings and toss- 
 ings of doubt and consultation, than to set up its rest 
 and to acquiesce in whatever shall happen after the 
 die is thrown. Few passions break my sleep, but of 
 deliberations, the least will do it. As in roads, I pref- 
 erably avoid those that are sloping and slippery, and 
 put myself into the beaten track how dirty or deep 
 soever, where I can fall no lower, and there seek my 
 safety ; so I love misfortunes that are purely so, that 
 do not torment and tease me with the uncertainty of 
 their growing better ; but that at the first push plunge 
 me directly into the worst that can be expected: 
 — for, says Seneca, " Doubtful ills plague us worst." 
 
 In events, I carry myself like a man ; in the con- 
 duct, like a child. The fear of the fall more fevers 
 
2 20 ESSAYS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 me than the fall itself. The game is not worth the 
 candle. The covetous man fares worse with his pas- 
 sion than the poor, and the jealous man than the 
 cuckold ; and a man ofttimes loses more by defend- 
 ing his vineyard than if he gave it up. The lowest 
 walk is the safest; 'tis the seat of constancy; you 
 have there need of no one but yourself; 'tis there 
 founded and wholly stands upon its own basis. Has 
 not this example of a gentleman very well known, 
 some air of philosophy in it? He married, being 
 well advanced in years, having spent his youth in 
 good fellowship, a great talker and a great jeerer, call- 
 ing to mind how much the subject of cuckoldry had 
 given him occasion to talk and scoff at others. To 
 prevent them from paying him in his own coin he 
 married a wife from a place where any one may 
 have flesh for his money ; " Good-morrow, strumpet ; " 
 " good-morrow, cuckold ; " and there was not any- 
 thing wherewith he more commonly and openly en- 
 tertained those who came to see him, than with this 
 design of his, by which he stopped the private chat- 
 tering of mockers, and blunted all the point from this 
 reproach. 
 
 As to ambition, which is neighbor, or rather daugh- 
 ter to presumption, fortune, to advance me, must have 
 come and taken me by the hand ; for to trouble my- 
 self for an uncertain hope, and to have submitted 
 myself to all the difficulties that accompany those 
 who endeavor to bring themselves into credit in the 
 beginning of their progress, I could never have done 
 it. Terence puts it : "I will not purchase hope with 
 ready money." 
 
OF PRESUMPTION. 221 
 
 I apply myself to what I see and to what I have in 
 my hand, and go not very far from the shore ; " One 
 oar plunging into the sea, the other raking the sands " 
 [Propertius] : and besides, a man rarely arrives to 
 these advancements but in first hazarding what he 
 has of his own ; and I am of opinion, that if a man 
 have sufficient to maintain him in the condition 
 wherein he was born and brought up, 'tis a great folly 
 to hazard that upon the uncertainty of augmenting it. 
 
 He to whom fortune has denied whereon to set his 
 foot, and to settle a quiet and composed way of living, 
 is to be excused if he venture what he has, because, 
 happen what will, necessity puts him upon shifting 
 for himself. " A desperate case must have a desperate 
 course " says Seneca : and I rather excuse a younger 
 brother for exposing what his friends have left him to 
 the courtesy of fortune, than him with whom the honor 
 of his family is intrusted, who cannot be necessitous 
 but by his own fault. I have found a much shorter 
 and more easy way, by the advice of the good friends 
 I had in my younger days, to free myself from any 
 such ambition, and to sit still ; " What more agreeable 
 condition, than to have gained the palm without the 
 dust of the course " [Horace] ; judging rightly enough 
 of my own strength, that it was not capable of any 
 great matters ; and calling to mind the saying of the 
 late Chancellor Olivier, that the French were like 
 monkeys that swarm up a tree from branch to branch, 
 and never stop till they come to the highest, and 
 there show their breech. Propertius says: "It is a 
 shame to load the head so that it cannot bear the 
 burthen, and the knees give way." 
 
2 22 ESSAYS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 I should find the best qualities I have useless in 
 that age ; the facility of my manners would have been 
 called weakness and negligence ; my faith and con- 
 science, scrupulosity and superstition ; my liberty and 
 freedom would have been reputed troublesome, incon- 
 siderate, and rash. Ill luck is good for something. 
 It is good to be born in a very depraved age ; for so, 
 in comparison of others, you shall be reputed virtuous 
 cheaply ; he who in our days is but a parricide and a 
 sacrilegious person, is an honest man and a man of 
 honor. Juvenal says of the times, " Nowadays, if a 
 friend does not deny his trust, but restores the old 
 purse with all its rusty coin untouched, 'tis a pro- 
 digious faith, that ought to be enrolled in gold, 
 among the Tuscan annals, and a crowned lamb should 
 be sacrificed to such exemplary integrity " : and never 
 was time or place wherein princes might propose to 
 themselves more assured or greater rewards for virtue 
 and justice. 
 
 The first who shall make it his business to get him- 
 self into favor and esteem by those ways, I am much 
 deceived if he do not and by the best title outstrip 
 his competitors : force and violence can do some- 
 thing, but not always all. We see merchants, coun- 
 try justices, and artisans, go cheek by jowl with the 
 best gentry in valor and military knowledge : they 
 perform honorable actions, both in public engage- 
 ments and private quarrels ; they fight duels, they 
 defend towns in our present wars; a prince stifles 
 his special recommendation, renown, in this crowd ; 
 let him shine bright in humanity, truth, loyalty, tem- 
 perance, and especially in justice ; marks rare, un- 
 
OF PRESUMPTION. 223 
 
 known, and exiled ; 'tis by no other means but by 
 the sole good will of the people that he can do his 
 business ; and no other qualities can attract their 
 good will like those, as being of the greatest utility 
 to them : " Nil est tam poptclarej quam bonitas" 
 
 By this standard, I had been great and rare, just as 
 I find myself now pygmy and vulgar by the standard 
 of some past ages, wherein, if no other better qualities 
 concurred, it was ordinary and common to see a man 
 moderate in his revenges, gentle in resenting injuries, 
 religious of his word, neither double nor supple, nor 
 accommodating his faith to the will of others, or the 
 turns of the times : I would rather see all affairs go to 
 wreck and ruin than falsify my faith to secure them. 
 For as to this new virtue of feigning and dissimulation, 
 which is now in so great credit, I mortally hate it ; 
 and of all vices find none that evidences so much 
 baseness and meanness of spirit. 'Tis a cowardly. and 
 servile humor to hide and disguise a man's self under 
 a visor, and not to dare to show himself what he is ; 
 'tis by this our servants are trained up to treachery ; 
 being brought up to speak what is not true, they make 
 no conscience of a lie. A generous heart ought not to 
 belie its own thoughts ; it will make itself seen within ; 
 all there is good, or at least, human. 
 
 Aristotle reputes it the office of magnanimity openly 
 and professedly to love and hate ; to judge and speak 
 with all freedom ; and not to value the approbation or 
 dislike of others in comparison of truth. Apollonius 
 said, it was for slaves to lie, and for freemen to speak 
 truth : 'tis the chief and fundamental part of virtue ; 
 we must love it for itself. He who speaks truth be- 
 
224 ESSAYS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 cause he is obliged so to do, and because it serves 
 him, and who is not afraid to lie when it signifies 
 nothing to anybody, is not sufficiently true. My soul 
 naturally abominates lying, and hates the very thought 
 of it. I have an inward shame and a sharp remorse, 
 if sometimes a lie escape me ; as sometimes it does, 
 being surprised by occasions that allow me no pre- 
 meditation. A man must not always tell all, for that 
 were folly : but what a man says should be what he 
 thinks, otherwise 'tis knavery. 
 
 I do not know what advantage men pretend to by 
 eternally counterfeiting and dissembling, if not, never 
 to be believed when they speak the truth ; it may once 
 or twice pass with men ; but to profess the concealing 
 their thought, and to brag, as some of our princes 
 have done, that they would burn their shirts if they 
 knew their true intentions, which was a saying of the 
 ancient Metellus of Macedon ; and that they who 
 know not how to dissemble know not how to rule, is 
 to give warning to all who have anything to do with 
 them, that all they say is nothing but lying and deceit. 
 " By how much any one is more subtle and cunning, 
 by so much is he hated and suspected, the opinion of 
 his integrity being lost and gone " says Cicero. It were 
 a great simplicity in any one to lay any stress either 
 on the countenance or word of a man, who has put on 
 a resolution to be always another thing without than 
 he is within, as Tiberius did ; and I cannot conceive 
 what part such persons can have in conversation with 
 men, seeing they produce nothing that is received as 
 true : whoever is disloyal to truth, is the same to false- 
 hood also. 
 
OF PRESUMPTION. 225 
 
 Those of our time, who have considered in the es- 
 tablishment of the duty of a prince, the good of his 
 affairs only, and have preferred that to the care of his 
 faith and conscience, might have something to say to 
 a prince whose affairs fortune had put into such a 
 posture that he might forever establish them by only 
 once breaking his word : but it will not go so ; they 
 often buy in the same market ; they make more than 
 one peace and enter into more than one treaty in their 
 lives. Gain tempts to the first breach of faith, and 
 almost always presents itself, as in all other ill acts, 
 sacrileges, murders, rebellions, treasons, as being un- 
 dertaken for some kind of advantage ; but this first 
 gain has infinite mischievous consequences, throwing 
 this prince out of all correspondence and negotiation, 
 by this example of infidelity. Soliman, of the Otto- 
 man race, a race not very solicitous of keeping their 
 words or compacts, when, in my infancy he made his 
 army land at Otranto, being informed that Mercurino 
 de' Gratin are, and the inhabitants of Castro were de- 
 tained prisoners, after having surrendered the place, 
 contrary to the articles of their capitulation, sent 
 orders to have them set at liberty, saying that having 
 other great enterprises in hand in those parts, the dis- 
 loyalty, though it carried a show of present utility, 
 would for the future bring on him a disrepute and dis- 
 trust of infinite prejudice. 
 
 Now, for my part, I had rather be troublesome and 
 indiscreet, than a flatterer and a dissembler. I con- 
 fess that there may be some mixture of pride and ob- 
 stinacy in keeping myself so upright and open as I do 
 without any consideration of others ; and methinks I 
 
2 26 ESSAYS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 am a little too free, where I ought least to be so, and 
 that I grow hot by the opposition of respect ; and 
 it may be, also, that I suffer myself to follow the pro- 
 pension of my own nature for want of art ; using the 
 same liberty, speech, and countenance toward great 
 persons, that I bring with me from my own house : I 
 am sensible how much it declines toward incivility 
 and indiscretion : but, besides that I am so bred, I 
 have not a wit supple enough to evade a sudden 
 question and to escape by some evasion, nor to feign 
 a truth, nor memory enough to retain it so feigned ; 
 nor, truly, assurance enough to maintain it, and so 
 play the brave out of weakness. And therefore it is 
 that I abandon myself to candor, always to speak as I 
 think, both by complexion and design leaving the 
 event to fortune. Aristippus was wont to say that 
 the principal benefit he had extracted from philosophy 
 was that he spoke freely and openly to all. 
 
 Memory is a faculty of wonderful use, and without 
 which the judgment can very hardly perform its office ; 
 for my part I have none at all. What any one will 
 propound to me, he must do it piecemeal, for to an- 
 swer a speech consisting of several heads I am not able. 
 I could not receive a commission by word of mouth, 
 without a note-book. And when I have a speech of 
 consequence to make, if it be long, I am reduced to 
 the miserable necessity of getting by heart, word for 
 word, what I am to say ; I should otherwise have 
 neither method nor assurance, being in fear that my 
 memory would play me a slippery trick. But this way 
 is no less difficult to me than the other ; I must have 
 three hours to learn three verses. And besides, in a 
 
OF PRESUMPTION. 227 
 
 work of a man's own, the liberty and authority of al- 
 tering the order, of changing a word, incessantly vary- 
 ing the matter, makes it harder to stick in the memory 
 of the author. The more I mistrust it the worse it is ; 
 it serves me best by chance ; I must solicit it negligently ; 
 for if I press it, 'tis confused, and after it once begins 
 to stagger, the more I sound it, the more it is per- 
 plexed ; it serves me at its own hour, not at mine. 
 
 And the same defect I find in my memory, I find 
 also in several other parts. I fly command, obli- 
 gation, and constraint ; that which I can otherwise 
 naturally and easily do, if I impose it upon my- 
 self by an express and strict injunction, I can- 
 not do it. Even the members of my body, which 
 have a more particular jurisdiction of their own, 
 sometimes refuse to obey me, if I enjoin them a neces- 
 sary service at a certain hour. This tyrannical and 
 compulsive appointment baffles them ; they shrink up 
 either through fear or spite, and fall into a trance. 
 Being once in a place where it is looked upon as the 
 greatest discourtesy imaginable not to pledge those 
 who drink to you, though I had there all liberty al- 
 lowed me, I tried to play the good fellow, out of respect 
 to the ladies who were there, according to the custom 
 of the country ; but there was sport enough ; for this 
 threatening and preparation, that I was to force my- 
 self contrary to my custom and inclination, so stopped 
 my throat that I could not swallow one drop, and 
 was deprived of drinking so much as with my meat ; 
 I found myself gorged, and my thirst quenched by 
 the quantity of drink that my imagination had swal- 
 lowed. This effect is most manifest in such as have 
 
228 ESSAYS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 the most vehement and powerful imagination ; but it 
 is natural, notwithstanding, and there is no one who 
 does not in some measure feel it. They offered an 
 excellent archer, condemned to die, to save his life, if 
 he would show some notable proof of his art, but he 
 refused to try, fearing lest the too great contention of 
 his will should make him shoot wide, and that instead 
 of saving his life, he should also lose the reputation 
 he had got of being a good marksman. A man who 
 thinks of something else, will not fail to take over and 
 over again the same number and measure of steps, 
 even to an inch, in the place where he walks ; but if 
 he make it his business to measure and count them, he 
 will find that what he did by nature and accident, he 
 cannot so exactly do by design. 
 
 My library, which is of the best sort of country 
 libraries, is situated in a corner of my house ; if any- 
 thing comes into my head that I have a mind to look 
 at or to write there, lest I should forget it in but going 
 across the court, I am fain to commit it to the memory 
 of some other. If I venture in speaking to digress 
 never so little from my subject, I am infallibly lost, 
 which is the reason that I keep myself, in discourse, 
 strictly close. I am forced to call the men who serve 
 me either by the names of their offices or their coun- 
 try ; for names are very hard for me to remember. 
 I can tell, indeed, that there are three syllables, that 
 it has a harsh sound, and that it begins or ends with 
 such a letter, but that's all : and if I should live long, 
 I do not doubt but I should forget my own name, as 
 some others have done. Messala Corvinus was two 
 years without any trace of memory, which is also said 
 
OF PRESUMPTION. 229 
 
 of Georgius Trapezuntius. For my own interest I 
 often meditate what a kind of life theirs was, and if, 
 without this faculty, I should have enough left to sup- 
 port me with any manner of ease ; and prying nar- 
 rowly into it, I fear that this privation, if absolute, 
 destroys all the other functions of the soul : " Plenus 
 rimarum sum, hac at que iliac fterfluo" 
 
 It has befallen me more than once to forget the 
 watchword I had three hours before given or re- 
 ceived, and to forget where I had hidden my purse ; 
 whatever Cicero is pleased to say, I help myself to lose 
 what I have a particular care to lock safe up. "It is 
 certain that memory contains not only philosophy, 
 but all the arts and all that appertain to the use of 
 life." Memory is the receptacle and case of science : 
 and therefore mine being so treacherous, if I know 
 little, I cannot much complain. I know, in gen- 
 eral, the names of the arts, and of what they treat, 
 but nothing more. I turn over books ; I do not study 
 them. What I retain I no longer recognize as an- 
 other's ; 'tis only what my judgment has made its 
 advantage of, the discourses and imaginations in 
 w T hich it has been instructed : the author, place, 
 words, and other circumstances, I immediately for- 
 get ; and I am so excellent at forgetting, that I no 
 less forget my own writings and compositions than 
 the rest. I am very often quoted to myself and am 
 not aware of it. Whoever should inquire of me where 
 I had the verses and examples that I have here hud- 
 dled together, would puzzle me to tell him, and yet I 
 have not borrowed them but from famous and known 
 authors, not contenting myself that they were rich, if 
 
230 ESSAYS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 I, moreover, had them not from rich and honorable 
 hands, where there is a concurrence of authority with 
 reason. It is no great wonder if my book run the 
 same fortune that other books do, and if my memory 
 lose what I have written as well as what I have read, 
 and what I give as well as what I receive. 
 
 Besides the defect of memory, I have others which 
 very much contribute to my ignorance; I have a slow 
 and heavy wit, the least cloud stops its progress, so 
 that, for example, I never proposed to it any never 
 so easy a riddle that it could find out ; there is not 
 the least idle subtlety that will not gravel me ; in 
 games, where wit is required, as chess, draughts, and 
 the like, I understand no more than the common 
 movements. I have a slow and perplexed apprehen- 
 sion, but what it once apprehends, it apprehends well, 
 for the time it retains it. My sight is perfect, entire, 
 and discovers at a very great distance, but is soon 
 weary and heavy at work, which occasions that I can- 
 not read long, but am forced to have one to read to 
 me. The younger Pliny can inform such as have not 
 experimented it themselves, what, and how important, 
 an impediment this is to those who addict themselves 
 to study. 
 
 There is no so wretched and coarse a soul, wherein 
 some particular faculty is not seen to shine ; no soul 
 so buried in sloth and ignorance, but it will sally at 
 one end or another ; and how it comes to pass that 
 a man blind and asleep to everything else, shall be 
 found sprightly, clear, and excellent in some one par- 
 ticular effect, we are to inquire of our masters : but 
 the beautiful souls are they that are universal, open, 
 
OF PRESUMPTION. 231 
 
 and ready for all things ; if not instructed, at least 
 capable of being so : which I say to accuse my own : 
 for whether it be through infirmity or negligence (and 
 to neglect that which lies at our feet, which we have 
 in our hands, and what nearest concerns the use of 
 life, is far from my doctrine) there is not a soul in the 
 world so awkward as mine, and so ignorant of many 
 common things, and such as a man cannot without 
 shame fail to know. I must give some examples. 
 
 I was born and bred up in the country, and among 
 husbandmen : I have had business and husbandry in 
 my own hands ever since my predecessors, who were 
 lords of the estate I now enjoy, left me to succeed 
 them : and yet I can neither cast accounts, nor reckon 
 my counters ; most of our current money I do not 
 know, nor the difference between one grain and an- 
 other, either growing or in the barn, if it be not too 
 apparent : and scarcely can distinguish between the 
 cabbage and lettuce in my garden. I do not so much 
 as understand the names of the chief instruments of 
 husbandry, nor the most ordinary elements of agri- 
 culture, which the very children know 7 : much less 
 the mechanic arts, traffic, merchandise, the variety 
 and nature of fruits, wines, and viands, nor how to 
 make a hawk fly, nor to physic a horse or a dog. 
 And. since I must publish my whole shame, 'tis not 
 above a month ago, that I was trapped in my igno- 
 rance of the use of leaven to make bread, or to what 
 end it was to keep wine in the vat. They conjec- 
 tured of old at Athens an aptitude for the mathe- 
 matics in him they saw 7 ingeniously bavin up a burthen 
 of brushwood. In earnest, they would draw a quite con- 
 
232 ESSAYS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 trary conclusion from me, for give me the whole pro- 
 vision and necessaries of a kitchen, I should starve. 
 
 By these features of my confession men may imagine 
 others to my prejudice : but whatever I deliver myself 
 to be, provided it be such as I really am, I have my 
 end ; neither will I make any excuse for committing 
 to paper such mean and frivolous things as these ; 
 the meanness of the subject compels me to it. They 
 may, if they please, accuse my project, but not my 
 progress ; so it is, that without anybody's needing to 
 tell me, I sufficiently see of how little weight and value 
 all this is, and the folly of my design : 'tis enough that 
 my judgment does not contradict itself, of which these 
 are the essays. I am not obliged to refrain from 
 uttering absurdities, provided I am not deceived in 
 them and know them to be such ; and to trip know- 
 ingly, is so ordinary with me, that I seldom do it 
 otherwise, and rarely trip by chance. 'Tis no great 
 matter to add ridiculous actions to the temerity of 
 my humor, since I cannot ordinarily help supplying 
 it with those that are vicious. 
 
 I was present one day at Barleduc, when King 
 Francis II., for a memorial of René, king of Sicily, 
 was presented with a portrait he had drawn of him- 
 self; why is it not, in like manner, lawful for every 
 one to draw himself with a pen as he did with a 
 crayon? I will not therefore omit this blemish, 
 though very unfit to be published, which is irresolu- 
 tion ; a very great defect, and very incommodious in 
 the negotiations of the affairs of the world ; in doubt- 
 ful enterprises, I know not which to choose : " My 
 heart does not tell me either yes or no." 
 
OF PRESUMPTION. 233 
 
 I can maintain an opinion, but I cannot choose 
 one. By reason that in human things, to what sect 
 soever we incline, many appearances present them- 
 selves that confirm us in it (and the philosopher 
 Chrysippus said, that he would of Zeno and Cleanthes, 
 his masters, learn their doctrines only ; for, as to 
 proofs and reasons, he should find enough of his 
 own), which way soever I turn, I still furnish myself 
 with causes, and likelihood enough to fix me there ; 
 which makes me detain doubt and the liberty of choos- 
 ing, till occasion presses ; and then, to confess the 
 truth, I, for the most part, throw the feather into the 
 wind, as the saying is, and commit myself to the mercy 
 of fortune ; a very light inclination and circumstance 
 carries me along with it : " The mind being in doubt, 
 in short time is driven this way and that" [Terence]. 
 
 The uncertainty of my judgment is so equally bal- 
 anced in most occurrences, that I could willingly refer it 
 to be decided by the chance of a die : and I observe, 
 with great consideration of our human infirmity, the ex- 
 amples that the divine history itself has left us of this 
 custom of referring to fortune and chance the deter- 
 mination of election in doubtful things : " Sors cecidit 
 super Matt Mam." Human reason is a two-edged and 
 dangerous sword : observe in the hands of Socrates, 
 her most intimate and familiar friend, how many 
 several points it has. I am thus good for nothing 
 but to follow and suffer myself to be easily carried 
 away with the crowd ; I have not confidence enough 
 in my own strength to take upon me to command and 
 lead ; I am very glad to find the way beaten before 
 me by others. If I must run the hazard of an uncer- 
 
234 ESSAYS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 tain choice, I am rather willing to have it under such 
 a one as is more confident in his opinions than I am 
 in mine, whose ground and foundation I find to be 
 very slippery and unsure. 
 
 Yet, I do not easily change, by reason that I discern 
 the same weakness in contrary opinions. " The very 
 custom of assenting seems dangerous," Cicero says. 
 Especially in political affairs there is a large field 
 open for changes and contestation : "As a just 
 balance pressed with equal weight, neither dips nor 
 rises on either side" [Tibullus]. MachiavellPs writ- 
 ings, for example, were solid enough for the subject, yet 
 were they easy enough to be controverted ; and they 
 who have taken up the cudgels against him, have left as 
 great a facility of controverting theirs ; there was never 
 wanting, in that kind of argument, replies and replies 
 upon replies, and as infinite a contexture of debates, as 
 our wrangling lawyers have extended in favor of long 
 suits. " It is a fight wherein we exhaust each other by 
 mutual wounds " says Horace ; the reasons having 
 little other foundation than experience, and the 
 variety of human events presenting us with infinite 
 examples of all sorts of forms. 
 
 An understanding person of our times says : That 
 whoever would, in contradiction to our almanacs, 
 write cold where they say hot, and wet where they 
 say dry, and always put the contrary to what they 
 foretell ; if he were to lay a wager, he would not 
 care which side he took, excepting where no uncer- 
 tainty could fall out, as to promise excessive heats at 
 Christmas, or extremity of cold at midsummer. I 
 have the same opinion of these political controversies ; 
 
OF PRESUMPTION, 235 
 
 be on which side you will, you have as fair a game to 
 play as your adversary, provided you do not proceed 
 so far as to jostle principles that are too manifest to 
 be disputed. And yet, in my conceit, in public affairs, 
 there is no government so ill, provided it be an- 
 cient and has been constant, that is not better than 
 change and alteration. Our manners are infinitely cor- 
 rupt, and wonderfully incline to the worse ; of our laws 
 and customs there are many that are barbarous and 
 monstrous : nevertheless, by reason of the difficulty of 
 reformation, and the danger of stirring things, if I 
 could put something under to stop the wheel, and 
 keep it where it is, I would do it with all my 
 heart : " The examples we produce, are not so shame- 
 ful and foul but that far worse remain behind," 
 remarks Juvenal. 
 
 The worst thing I find in our state is instability, 
 and that our laws, no more than our clothes, cannot 
 settle in any certain form. It is very easy to accuse a 
 government of imperfection, for all mortal things are 
 full of it : it is very easy to beget in a people a con- 
 tempt of ancient observances ; never any man under- 
 took it but he did it ; but to establish a better regimen 
 in the stead of that which a man has overthrown, 
 many who have attempted it have foundered. I very 
 little consult my prudence in my conduct ; I am will- 
 ing to let it be guided by the public rule. Happy the 
 people who do what they are commanded, better than 
 they who command, without tormenting themselves 
 as to the causes ; who suffer themselves gently to roll 
 after the celestial revolution! Obedience is never 
 pure nor calm in him who reasons and disputes. 
 
236 ESSAYS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 In fine, to return to myself: the only thing by 
 which I esteem myself to be something, is that wherein 
 never any man thought himself to be defective; my 
 recommendation is vulgar and common, for who ever 
 thought he wanted sense? It would be a proposition 
 that would imply a contradiction in itself; 'tis a dis- 
 ease that never is where it is discerned ; 'tis tenacious 
 and strong, but what the first ray of the patient's sight 
 nevertheless pierces through and disperses, as the 
 beams of the sun do thick and obscure mists : to 
 accuse one's self would be to excuse in this case, and 
 to condemn, to absolve. There never was porter or 
 the silliest girl, that did not think they had sense 
 enough to do their business. We easily enough con- 
 fess in others an advantage of courage, strength, 
 experience, activity, and beauty; but an advantage in 
 judgment we yield to none ; and the reasons that pro- 
 ceed simply from the natural conclusions of others, we 
 think, if we had but turned our thoughts that way, we 
 should ourselves have found out as well as they. 
 
 Knowledge, style, and such parts as we see in 
 others' works, we are soon aware of, if they excel our 
 own : but for the simple products of the understanding, 
 every one thinks he could have found out the like in 
 himself, and is hardly sensible of the weight and diffi- 
 culty, if not (and then with much ado), in an extreme 
 and incomparable distance. And whoever should be 
 able clearly to discern the height of another's judg- 
 ment, would be also able to raise his own to the same 
 pitch o So that it is a sort of exercise, from which a 
 man is to expect very little praise ; a kind of composi- 
 tion of small repute. And, besides, for whom do you 
 
OF PRESUMPTION. 237 
 
 write ? The learned, to whom the authority appertains 
 of judging books, know no other value but that of 
 learning, and allow of no other proceeding of wit but 
 that of erudition and art : if you have mistaken one of 
 the Scipios for another, what is all the rest you have 
 to say worth? Whoever is ignorant of Aristotle, 
 according to their rule, is in some sort ignorant of 
 himself; vulgar souls cannot discern the grace and 
 force of a lofty and delicate style. Now these two 
 sorts of men take up the world. The third sort into 
 whose hands you fall, of souls that are regular and 
 strong of themselves, is so rare, that it justly has 
 neither name nor place among us ; and 'tis so much 
 time lost to aspire unto it, or to endeavor to please it. 
 'Tis commonly said that the justest portion nature 
 has given us of her favors, is that of sense ; for there 
 is no one who is not contented with his share : is 
 it not reason? whoever should see beyond that, 
 would see beyond his sight. I think my opinions are 
 good and sound, but who does not think the same of 
 his own? One of the best proofs I have that mine 
 are so, is the small esteem I have of myself ; for had 
 they not been very well assured, they would easily 
 have suffered themselves to have been deceived by 
 the peculiar affection I have to myself, as one that 
 places it almost wholly in myself, and does not let 
 much run out. All that others distribute among an 
 infinité number of friends and acquaintance, to their 
 glory and grandeur, I dedicate to the repose of my 
 own mind and to myself; that which escapes thence 
 is not properly by my direction : " Mihi nempe valere 
 et vivere doctus" 
 
238 ESSAYS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 Now I find my opinions very bold and constant in 
 condemning my own imperfection. And, to say the 
 truth, 'tis a subject upon which I exercise my judg- 
 ment, as much as upon any other. The world looks 
 always opposite ; I turn my sight inward, and there 
 fix and employ it. I have no other business but 
 myself, I am eternally meditating upon myself, consid- 
 ering and tasting myself. Other men's thoughts are 
 ever wandering abroad, if they will but see it ; they 
 are still going forward ; " Nemo in sese tentât descen- 
 der e ; " for my part, I circulate in myself. This capacity 
 of trying the truth, whatever it be, in myself, and this 
 free humor of not over easily subjecting my belief, I 
 owe principally to myself; for the strongest and most 
 general imaginations I have are those that, as a man 
 may say, were born with me; they are natural and 
 entirely my own. I produced them crude and simple, 
 with a strong and bold production, but a little troubled 
 and imperfect ; I have since established and fortified 
 them with the authority of others and the sound ex- 
 amples of the ancients, whom I have found of the same 
 judgment ; they have given me faster hold, and a 
 more manifest fruition and possession of that I had 
 before embraced. The reputation that every one 
 pretends to of vivacity and promptness of wit, I seek 
 in regularity ; the glory they pretend to from a strik- 
 ing and signal action, or some particular excellence, I 
 claim from order, correspondence, and tranquillity of 
 opinions and manners : " If anything be entirely de- 
 corous, nothing certainly can be more so than an 
 equability in the whole life, and in every particular 
 action of it ; which thou canst not possibly observe 
 
OF PRESUMPTION, 239 
 
 and keep, if imitating other men's natures thou lay est 
 aside thy own," says Cicero. 
 
 Here, then, you see to what degree I find myself 
 guilty of this first part, that I said was the vice of pre- 
 sumption. As to the second, which consists in not 
 having a sufficient esteem for others, I know not 
 whether or no I can so well excuse myself; but what- 
 ever comes on't I am resolved to speak the truth. 
 And whether, peradventure, it be that the continual 
 fréquentation I have had with the humors of the 
 ancients, and the idea of those great souls of past 
 ages, put me out of taste both with others and myself, 
 or that, in truth, the age we live in produces but very 
 indifferent things, yet so it is that I see nothing 
 worthy of any great admiration. Neither, indeed, 
 have I so great an intimacy with many men as is 
 requisite to make a right judgment of them ; and 
 those with whom my condition makes me the most 
 frequent, are, for the most part, men who have little 
 care of the culture of the soul, but that look upon 
 honor as the sum of all blessings, and valor as the 
 height of all perfection. 
 
 What I see that is fine in others I very readily com- 
 mend and esteem: nay, I often say more in their 
 commendation than I think they really deserve, and 
 give me myself so far leave to lie, for I cannot invent 
 a false subject : my testimony is never wanting to my 
 friends in what I conceive deserves praise, and where 
 a foot is due I am willing to give them a foot and a 
 half; but to attribute to them qualities that they have 
 not, I cannot do it, nor openly defend their imperfec- 
 tions. Nay, I frankly give my very enemies their due 
 
240 ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE, 
 
 testimony of honor ; my affection alters, my judg- 
 ment does not, and I never confound my animosity 
 with other circumstances that are foreign to it ; and I 
 am so jealous of the liberty of my judgment that I can 
 very hardly part with it for any passion whatever. I 
 do myself a greater injury in lying than I do him of 
 whom I tell a lie. This commendable and generous 
 custom is observed of the Persian nation, that they 
 spoke of their mortal enemies and with whom they 
 were at deadly war, as honorably and justly as their 
 virtues deserved. 
 
 I know men enough that have several fine parts ; 
 one wit, another courage, another address, another 
 conscience, another language, one, one science, an- 
 other, another ; but a generally great man, and who 
 has all these brave parts together, or any one of them 
 to such a degree of excellence that we should admire 
 him or compare him with those we honor of times 
 past, my fortune never brought me acquainted with ; 
 and the greatest I ever knew, I mean for the natural 
 parts of the soul, was Etienne De la Boetie; his was 
 a full soul indeed, and that had every way a beautiful 
 aspect : a soul of the old stamp, and that had produced 
 great effects had his fortune been so pleased, having 
 added much to those great natural parts by learning 
 and study. 
 
 But how it comes to pass I know not, and yet it is 
 certainly so, there is as much vanity and weakness of 
 judgment in those who profess the greatest abilities, 
 who take upon them learned callings and bookish 
 employments as in any other sort of men whatever; 
 either because more is required and expected from 
 
OF PRESUMPTION. 241 
 
 them, and that common defects are excusable in 
 them, or because the opinion they have of their own 
 learning makes them more bold to expose and lay 
 themselves too open, by which they lose and betray 
 themselves. As an artificer more manifests his want 
 of skill in a rich matter he has in hand, if he disgrace 
 the work by ill handling and contrary to the rules re- 
 quired, than in a matter of less value ; and men are 
 more displeased at a disproportion in a statue of gold 
 than in one of plaster ; so do these when they advance 
 things that in themselves and in their place would be 
 good ; for they make use of them without discretion, 
 honoring their memories at the expense of their un- 
 derstandings, and making themselves ridiculous by 
 honoring Cicero, Galen, Ulpian, and St. Jerome alike. 
 I willingly fall again into the discourse of the vanity 
 of our education, the end of which is not to render us 
 good and wise, but learned, and she has obtained it. 
 She has not taught us to follow and embrace virtue and 
 prudence, but she has imprinted in us their derivation 
 and etymology ; we know how to decline virtue, if we 
 know not how to love it : if we do not know what pru- 
 dence is really and in effect, and by experience, we have 
 it, however, by jargon and heart : we are not content 
 to know the extraction, kindred, and alliances of our 
 neighbors ; we desire, moreover, to have them our 
 friends and to establish a correspondence and intelli- 
 gence with them ; but this education of ours has taught 
 us definitions, divisions, and partitions of virtue, as so 
 many surnames and branches of a genealogy, without 
 any further care of establishing any familiarity or inti- 
 macy between her and us. It has culled out for our 
 
242 ESSAYS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 initiatory instruction not such books as contain the 
 soundest and truest opinions, but those that speak the 
 best Greek and Latin, and by their fine words has in- 
 stilled into our fancy the vainest humors of antiquity. 
 
 A good education alters the judgment and manners ; 
 as it happened to Polemon, a lewd and debauched 
 young Greek, who going by chance to hear one of 
 Xenocrates' lectures, did not only observe the elo- 
 quence and learning of the reader, and not only brought 
 away the knowledge of some fine matter, but a more 
 manifest and a more solid profit, which was the sudden 
 change and reformation of his former life. Whoever 
 found such an effect of our discipline? That seems 
 to me to be the least contemptible condition of men, 
 which by its plainness and simplicity is seated in the 
 lowest degree, and invites us to a more regular course. 
 I find the rude manners and language of country peo- 
 ple commonly better suited to the rule and prescrip- 
 tion of true philosophy, than those of our philosophers 
 themselves : The vulgar are so much the wiser, be- 
 cause they only know essentials. 
 
 The most remarkable men, as I have judged by out- 
 ward appearance (for to judge of them according to my 
 own method, I must penetrate a great deal deeper) for 
 soldiers and military conduct, were the duke of Guise, 
 who died at Orleans, and the late Marshal Strozzi ; 
 and for men of great ability and no common virtue, 
 Olivier, and De FHospital, chancellors of France. 
 Poetry, too, in my opinion, has flourished in this age 
 of ours ; we have abundance of very good artificers 
 in the trade ; D'Aurat, Beza, Buchanan, L'Hospital, 
 Montdoré, Turnebus : as to the French poets, I be- 
 
OF PRESUMPTION. 243 
 
 lieve they raised their art to the highest pitch to which 
 it can ever arrive ; and in those parts of it wherein 
 Ronsard and du Bellay excel, I find them little inferior 
 to the ancient perfection. Adrian Turnebus knew 
 more and, what he did know, better than any man of 
 his time, or long before him. The lives of the last 
 duke of Alva, and of our Constable de Montmorency, 
 were both of them great and noble, and that had many 
 rare resemblances of fortune ; but the beauty and glory 
 of the death of the last, in the sight of Paris and of 
 his king, in their service, against his nearest relations, 
 at the head of an army through his conduct victorious, 
 and by a sudden stroke, in so extreme old age, merits 
 methinks to be recorded among the most remarkable 
 events of our times. As also the constant goodness, 
 sweetness of manners, and conscientious facility of 
 Monsieur de la Noue, in so great an injustice of armed 
 parties (the true school of treason, inhumanity,^ and 
 robbery), wherein he always kept up the reputation 
 of a great and experienced captain. 
 
 I have taken a delight to publish in several places 
 the hopes I have of Marie de Gournay le Jars, my 
 adopted daughter, and certainly beloved by me with 
 more than a paternal love, and enveloped in my soli- 
 tude and retirement as one of the best parts of my 
 own being ; I have no longer regard to anything in 
 this world but her. And if a man may presage from 
 her youth, her soul will one day be capable of very 
 great things ; and among others, of the perfection of 
 that sacred friendship, to which we do not read that 
 any of her sex could ever yet arrive ; the sincerity and 
 solidity of her manners are already sufficient for it, 
 
244 ESS A YS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 and her affection towards me more than superabun- 
 dant, and such, in short, as that there is nothing more 
 to be wished, if not that the apprehension she has of 
 my end, being now five and fifty years old, might not 
 so much afflict her. The judgment she made of my 
 first Essays, being a woman, so young, and in this age, 
 and alone in her own country ; and the famous vehe- 
 mence wherewith she loved me, and desired my ac- 
 quaintance solely from the esteem she had thence of 
 me, before she ever saw my face, is an incident very 
 worthy of consideration. 
 
 Other virtues have had little or no credit in this 
 age ; but valor is become popular by our civil wars ; 
 and in this, we have souls brave even to perfection, 
 and in so great number that the choice is impossible 
 to be made. 
 
 This is all of extraordinary and not common gran- 
 deur that has hitherto arrived at my knowledge. 
 
 OF GIVING THE LIE. 
 
 Well, but some one will say to me, this design of 
 making a man's self the subject of his writing were 
 indeed excusable in rare and famous men, who by 
 their reputation had given others a curiosity to be 
 fully informed of them. It is most true, I confess and 
 know very well, that a mechanic will scarce lift his 
 eye from his work to look at an ordinary man, whereas 
 a man will forsake his business and his shop to stare 
 at an eminent person when he comes into a town. It 
 misbecomes any other to give his own character, but 
 him who has qualities worthy of imitation, and whose 
 
OF GIVING THE LIE. 245 
 
 life and opinions may serve for example : Caesar and 
 Xenophon had a just and solid foundation whereon to 
 found their narrations, in the greatness of their own 
 performances ; and it were to be wished that we had 
 the journals of Alexander the Great, the commentaries 
 that Augustus, Cato, Sylla, Brutus, and others left of 
 their actions ; of such persons men love and contem- 
 plate the very statues even in copper and marble. 
 
 This remonstrance is very true ; but it very little 
 concerns me. Horace says : " I repeat my poems 
 only to my friends, and when asked to do so ; not 
 before every one, and everywhere ; there are plenty 
 of reciters in the open market-place and at the baths.' 1 
 I do not here form a statue to erect in the great square 
 of a city, in a church, or any public place : " I study 
 not to make my pages swell with empty trifles ; you 
 and I are talking in private " [Persius] : 'tis for some 
 corner of a library, or to entertain a neighbor, a kins- 
 man, a friend, who has a mind to renew his acquaint- 
 ance and familiarity with me in this image of myself. 
 Others have been encouraged to speak of themselves, 
 because they found the subject worthy and rich ; I, on 
 the contrary, am the bolder, by reason the subject is 
 so poor and sterile that I cannot be suspected of 
 ostentation. I judge freely of the actions of others ; 
 I give little of my own to judge of, because they are 
 nothing : I do not find so much good in myself, that 
 I cannot tell it without blushing. 
 
 What contentment would it not be to me to hear 
 any one thus relate to me the manners, faces, counte- 
 nances, the ordinary words and fortunes of my 
 ancestors ? how attentively should I listen to it! In 
 
246 ESSAYS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 earnest, it would be evil nature to despise so much 
 as the pictures of our friends and predecessors, the 
 fashion of their clothes and arms. I preserve their 
 writing, seal, and a particular sword they wore, and 
 have not thrown the long staves my father used to 
 carry in his hand out of my closet : u A father's gar- 
 ment and ring is by so much dearer to his posterity, 
 as they had the greater affection toward him." If 
 my posterity, nevertheless, shall be of another mind, 
 I shall be revenged on them ; for they cannot care 
 less for me, than I shall then do for them. All the 
 traffic that I have in this with the public, is that I 
 borrow their utensils of writing, which are more easy 
 and most at hand ; and in recompense shall, perad- 
 venture, keep a pound of butter in the market from 
 melting in the sun. 
 
 And though nobody should read me, have I lost 
 my time in entertaining myself so many idle hours, in 
 so pleasing and useful thoughts? In moulding this 
 figure upon myself, I have been so often constrained 
 to temper and compose myself in a right posture that 
 the copy is truly taken, and has in some sort formed 
 itself; painting myself for others, I represent myself 
 in a better coloring than my own natural complexion. 
 I have no more made my book, than my book has 
 made me : 'tis a book consubstantial with the author, 
 of a peculiar design, a member of my life, and whose 
 business is not designed for others, as that of all other 
 books is. In giving myself so continual and so exact 
 an account of myself, have I lost my time ? For they 
 who sometimes cursorily survey themselves only, do 
 not so strictly examine themselves, nor penetrate so 
 
OF GIVING THE LIE. 247 
 
 deep, as he who makes it his business, his study, and 
 his employment, who intends a lasting record, with 
 all his fidelity, and with all his force. 
 
 The most delicious pleasures digested within, avoid 
 leaving any trace of themselves, and avoid the sight 
 not only of the people, but of any other person. How 
 often has this work diverted me from troublesome 
 thoughts ? and all that are frivolous should be reputed 
 so. Nature has presented us with a large faculty of 
 entertaining ourselves alone ; and often calls us to it, 
 to teach us that we owe ourselves in part to society, 
 but chiefly and mostly to ourselves. That I may 
 habituate my fancy even to meditate in some method 
 and to some end, and to keep it from losing itself and 
 roving at random, 'tis but to give to body and to 
 record all the little thoughts that present themselves 
 to it, I give ear to my whimsies, because I am to 
 record them. It often falls out, that being displeased 
 at some action that civility and reason will not permit 
 me openly to reprove, I here disgorge myself, not 
 without design of public instruction : and also these 
 poetical lashes : 
 
 " Zon sus l'œil, zon sur le groin, 
 Zon sur le dos du sagoin," 
 
 imprint themselves better upon paper than upon the 
 flesh. What if I listen to books a little more atten- 
 tively than ordinary, since I watch if I can purloin 
 anything that may adorn or support my own ? I have 
 not at all studied to make a book, but I have in some 
 sort studied because I had made it ; if it be studying 
 to scratch and pinch now one author, and then an- 
 other, either by the head or foot, not with any design 
 
248 ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 to form opinions from them, but to assist, second, and 
 fortify those I already have embraced. 
 
 But whom shall we believe in the report he makes 
 of himself in so corrupt an age ? considering there 
 are so few, if any at all, whom we can believe when 
 speaking of others, where there is less interest to lie. 
 The first thing done in the corruption of manners is 
 banishing truth ; for, as Pindar says, to be true is the 
 beginning of a great virtue, and the first article that 
 Plato requires in the governor of his Republic. The 
 truth of these days is not that which really is, but 
 what every man persuades another man to believe ; 
 as we generally give the name of money not only to 
 pieces of the just alloy, but even to the false also, if 
 they will pass. Our nation has long been reproached 
 with this vice ; for Salvianus Massiliensis, who lived 
 in the time of the Emperor Valentinian, says that 
 lying and forswearing themselves is with the French 
 not a vice, but a way of speaking. He who would 
 enhance this testimony, might say that it is now a 
 virtue in them ; men form and fashion themselves to 
 it as to an exercise of honor ; for dissimulation is one 
 of the most notable qualities of this age. 
 
 I have often considered whence this custom that 
 we so religiously observe should spring, of being more 
 highly offended with the reproach of a vice so fa- 
 miliar to us than with any other, and that it should 
 be the highest insult that can in words be done us to 
 reproach us with a lie. Upon examination, I find 
 that it is natural most to defend the defects with 
 which we are most tainted. It seems as if by resent- 
 ing and being moved at the accusation, we in some 
 
OF GIVING THE HE. 249 
 
 sort acquit ourselves of the fault ; though we have it 
 in effect, we condemn it in outward appearance. May 
 it not also be that this reproach seems to imply coward- 
 ice and feebleness of heart ? of which can there be a 
 more manifest sign than to eat a man's own words 
 — nay, to lie against a man's own knowledge ? 
 Lying is a base vice ; a vice that one of the ancients l 
 portrays in the most odious colors when he says, 
 " that it is to manifest a contempt of God, and withal 
 a fear of men." It is not possible more fully to 
 represent the horror, baseness, and irregularity of it ; 
 for what can a man imagine more hateful and con- 
 temptible than to be a coward toward men, and 
 valiant against his Maker ? 
 
 Our intelligence" being by no other way communi- 
 cable to one another but by a particular word, he who 
 falsifies that betrays public society. 'Tis the only 
 way by which we communicate our thoughts and 
 wills ; 'tis the interpreter of the soul, and if it 
 deceives us, we no longer know nor have further 
 tie upon one another; if that deceive us, it breaks 
 all our correspondence, and dissolves all the ties of 
 government. Certain nations of the newly discovered 
 Indies (I need not give them names, seeing they are 
 no more ; for, by wonderful and unheard-of example, 
 the desolation of that conquest has extended to the 
 utter abolition of names and the ancient knowledge 
 of places) offered to their gods human blood, but 
 only such as was drawn from the tongue and ears, to 
 expiate for the sin of lying, as well heard as pro- 
 nounced. The good fellow of Greece 1 was wont to 
 1 Lysander. 
 
250 ES SA YS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 say that children were amused with toys and men 
 with words. 
 
 As to the diverse usage of giving the lie, and the 
 laws of honor in that case, and the alterations they 
 have received, I shall defer saying what I know of 
 them to another time, and shall learn, if I can, in the 
 meanwhile, at what time the custom took beginning 
 of so exactly weighing and measuring words, and of 
 making our honor so interested in them; for it is 
 easy to judge that it was not anciently among the 
 Greeks and Romans ; and I have often thought it 
 strange to see them rail at and give one another the 
 lie without any further quarrel. Their laws of duty 
 steered some other course than ours. Caesar is some- 
 times called thief, and sometimes drunkard, to his 
 teeth. We see the liberty of invectives they prac- 
 tised upon one another, I mean the greatest chiefs of 
 war of both nations, where words are only revenged 
 with words, and never proceed any farther. 
 
 OF LIBERTY OF CONSCIENCE. 
 
 'Tis usual to see good intentions, if carried on with- 
 out moderation, push men on to very vicious effects. 
 In this dispute which has at this time engaged France 
 in a civil war, the better and the soundest cause, no 
 doubt, is that which maintains the ancient religion and 
 government of the kingdom. Nevertheless, among the 
 good men of that party (for I do not speak of those 
 who only make a pretence of it, either to execute their 
 own particular revenges or to gratify their avarice, or 
 to conciliate the favor of princes, but of those who 
 
OF LIBERTY OF CONSCIENCE. 251 
 
 engage in the quarrel out of true zeal to religion and 
 a holy desire to maintain the peace and government 
 of their country), of these I say, we see many whom 
 passion transports beyond the bounds of reason, and 
 sometimes inspires with counsels that are unjust and 
 violent, and, moreover, rash. 
 
 It is certain that in those first times, when our 
 religion began to gain authority with the laws, zeal 
 armed many against all sorts of pagan books, by 
 which the learned suffered an exceeding great loss, 
 a disorder that I conceive to have done more prej- 
 udice to letters than all the flames of the barbarians. 
 Of this Cornelius Tacitus is a very good testimony ; 
 for though the Emperor Tacitus, his kinsman, had, 
 by express order, furnished all the libraries in the 
 world with it, nevertheless one entire copy could not 
 escape the curious examination of those who desired 
 to abolish it for only ûve or six idle clauses that were 
 contrary to our belief. 
 
 They had also the trick easily to lend undue 
 praises to all the emperors who did anything for us, 
 and universally to condemn all the actions of those 
 who were our adversaries as is evidently manifest in 
 the Emperor Julian, surnamed the Apostate, who was, 
 in truth, a very great and rare man, a man in whose 
 soul philosophy was imprinted in the best characters, 
 by which he professed to govern all his actions ; and, 
 in truth, there is no sort of virtue of which he has 
 not left behind him very notable examples ; in chas- 
 tity (of which the whole of his life gave manifest 
 proof) we read the same of him, that was said of 
 Alexander and Scipio, that being in the flower of his 
 
252 ESSAYS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 age, for he was slain by the Parthians at one and 
 thirty, of a great many very beautiful captives, he 
 would not so much as look upon one. As to his 
 justice, he took himself the pains to hear the parties, 
 and although he would out of curiosity inquire what 
 religion they were of, nevertheless, the hatred he had 
 to ours never gave any counterpoise to the balance. 
 He made himself several good laws, and cut off a 
 great part of the subsidies and taxes imposed and 
 levied by his predecessors. 
 
 We have two good historians who were eye-witnesses 
 of his actions ; one of whom, Marcellinus, in several 
 places of his history, sharply reproves an edict of his 
 whereby he interdicted all Christians, rhetoricians, and 
 grammarians to keep school, or to teach, and says he 
 could wish that act of his had been buried in silence : 
 it is probable that, had he done any more severe thing 
 against us, he, so affectionate as he was to our party, 
 would not have passed it over in silence. He was, 
 indeed, sharp against us ; but yet no cruel enemy ; 
 for our own people tell this story of him, that one 
 day, walking about the city of Chalcedon, Maris, 
 bishop of the place, was so bold as to tell him that 
 he was impious, and an enemy to Christ, at which, 
 say they, therein affecting a philosophical patience, 
 he was no further moved than to reply, " Go, poor 
 wretch, and lament the loss of thy eyes ; " to which the 
 bishop replied again, "I thank Jesus Christ for taking 
 away my sight, that I may not see thy impudent face." 
 But this action of his savors nothing of the cruelty 
 that he is said to have exercised toward us. 
 
 " He was," says Eutropius, my other witness, " an 
 
OF LIBERTY OF CONSCIENCE. 253 
 
 enemy to Christianity, but without putting his hand 
 to blood." And, to return to his justice, there is 
 nothing in that whereof he can be accused, the 
 severity excepted he practised in the beginning of 
 his reign against those who had followed the party 
 of Constantius, his predecessor. As to his sobriety. 
 he lived always a soldier's kind of life ; and kept a 
 table in the most profound peace, like one that pre- 
 pared and inured himself to the austerities of war. 
 His vigilance was such, that he divided the night into 
 three or four parts, of which the least was dedicated 
 to sleep ; the rest was spent either in visiting the state 
 of his army and guards, in person, or in study ; for 
 among other rare qualities, he was very excellent in 
 all sorts of learning. 
 
 'Tis said of Alexander the Great, that being in bed, 
 for fear lest sleep should divert him from his thoughts 
 and studies, he had always a basin set by his bedside, 
 and held one of his hands out with a ball of copper 
 in it, to the end that, beginning to fall asleep, and his 
 fingers leaving their hold, the ball, by falling into the 
 basin, might awake him. But the other had his soul 
 so bent upon what he had a mind to do, and so little 
 disturbed with fumes by reason of his singular ab- 
 stinence, that he had no need of any such invention. 
 As to his military experience, he was excellent in all 
 the qualities of a great captain, as it was likely he 
 should, being almost all his life in a continual exer- 
 cise of war, and most of that time with us in France, 
 against the Germans and Franks : we hardly read of 
 any man who ever saw more dangers, or who made 
 more frequent proofs of his personal valor. 
 
254 ES SA Y S OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 His death has something in it parallel with that of 
 Epaminondas, for he was wounded with an arrow, 
 and tried to pull it out, and had done so, but that, 
 being edged, it cut and disabled his hand. He inces- 
 santly called out, that they should carry him again 
 into the heat of the battle to encourage his soldiers, 
 who very bravely disputed the fight without him, till 
 night parted the armies. He stood obliged to his 
 philosophy for the singular contempt he had for his 
 life, and all human things. He had a firm belief of 
 the immortality of the soul. 
 
 In matter of religion, he was wrong throughout ; and 
 was surnamed the Apostate for having relinquished 
 ours ; though, methinks, 'tis more likely that he had 
 never thoroughly embraced it, but had dissembled out 
 of obedience to the laws, till he came to the empire. 
 He was in his own so superstitious, that he was 
 laughed at for it by those of his own time, of the 
 same opinion, who jeeringly said, that had he got the 
 victory over the Parthians, he had destroyed the breed 
 of oxen in the world to supply his sacrifices. He was, 
 moreover, besotted with the art of divination, and 
 gave authority to all sorts of predictions. He said, 
 among other things, at his death, that he was obliged 
 to the gods, and thanked them, in that they would 
 not cut him off by surprise, having long before adver- 
 tised him of the place and hour of his death, nor by a 
 mean and unmanly death, more becoming lazy and 
 delicate people ; nor by a death that was languishing, 
 long, and painful ; and that they had thought him 
 worthy to die after that noble manner, in the progress 
 of his victories, in the flower of his glory. He had a 
 
OF LIBERTY OF CONSCIENCE. 255 
 
 vision like that of Marcus Brutus, that first threatened 
 him in Gaul, and afterward appeared to him in Persia 
 just before his death. These words that some make 
 him say when he felt himself wounded : " Thou hast 
 overcome, Nazarene ; " or as others, " Content thyself, 
 Nazarene ; " would hardly have been omitted, had they 
 been believed, by my witnesses who, being present in 
 the army, have set down to the least motions and 
 words of his end ; no more than certain other miracles 
 that are reported about it. 
 
 And to return to my subject, he long nourished, 
 says Marcellinus, paganism in his heart ; but all his 
 army being Christians, he dared not own it. But in the 
 end, seeing himself strong enough to dare to discover 
 himself, he caused the temples of the gods to be 
 thrown open, and did his utmost to set on foot and 
 to encourage idolatry. Which the better to effect, hav- 
 ing at Constantinople found the people disunited, and 
 also the prelates of the Church divided among them- 
 selves, having convened them all before him, he ear- 
 nestly admonished them to calm those civil dissensions, 
 and that every one might freely, and without fear, 
 follow his own religion. Which he the more sedu- 
 lously solicited, in hope that this license would aug- 
 ment the schisms and factions of their division, and 
 hinder the people from reuniting, and consequently 
 fortifying themselves against him by their unanimous 
 intelligence and concord ; having experience by the 
 cruelty of some Christians, that there is no beast in 
 the world so much to be feared by man as man ; 
 these are very nearly his words. 
 
 Therein this is very worthy of consideration, that 
 
256 ESSAYS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 the Emperor Julian made use of the same receipt of 
 liberty of conscience to inflame the civil dissensions, 
 that our kings do to extinguish them. So that a man 
 may say on one side, that to give the people the reins 
 to entertain every man his own opinion, is to scatter 
 and sow division, and, as it were, to lend a hand to 
 augment it, there being no legal impediment or 
 restraint to stop or hinder their career; but, on the 
 other side, a man may also say, that to give the 
 people the reins to entertain every man his own opin- 
 ion, is to mollify and appease them by facility and 
 toleration, and to dull the point which is whetted and 
 made sharper by singularity, novelty, and difficulty : 
 and I think it is better for the honor of the devotion 
 of our kings, that not having been able to do what 
 they would, they have made a show of being willing 
 to do what they could. 
 
 OF VIRTUE, 
 
 I find by experience, that there is a vast difference 
 between the starts and sallies of the soul, and a res- 
 olute and constant habit ; and very well perceive 
 that there is nothing we may not do, nay, even to 
 the surpassing the Divinity itself, says a certain per- 
 son, forasmuch as it is more to render a man's self 
 impassible by his own study and industry, than to 
 be so by his natural condition ; and even to be able 
 to conjoin to man's imbecility and frailty a God-like 
 resolution and assurance ; but it is by fits and starts ; 
 and in the lives of those heroes of times past there 
 are sometimes miraculous sallies, and that seem in- 
 
OF VIRTUE. 257 
 
 finitely to exceed our natural force ; but they are 
 indeed only sallies and His hard to believe, that these 
 so elevated qualities in a man can so thoroughly tinct 
 and imbue the soul that they should become ordi- 
 nary, and, as it were, natural in him. 
 
 It accidentally happens even to us, who are but 
 abortive births of men, sometimes to dart out our souls, 
 when roused by the discourses or example of others, 
 much beyond their ordinary stretch ; but 'tis a kind 
 of passion which pushes and pricks them on, and 
 in some sort ravishes them from themselves : but, 
 this whirlwind once blown over, we see that they 
 insensibly flag and slacken of themselves, if not to 
 the lowest degree, at least so as to be no more the 
 same ; insomuch as that upon every trivial occasion, 
 the losing of a hawk, or the breaking of a glass, 
 we suffer ourselves to be moved little less than one 
 of the common people. I am of opinion that, order, 
 moderation, and constancy excepted, all things are 
 to be done by a man that is very imperfect and de- 
 fective in general. Therefore it is, say the Sages, 
 that to make a right judgment of a man, you are 
 chiefly to pry into his common actions, and surprise 
 him in his everyday habit. 
 
 Pyrrho, he who erected so pleasant a knowledge 
 upon ignorance, endeavored, as all the rest who were 
 really philosophers did, to make his life correspond 
 with his doctrine. And because he maintained the 
 imbecility of human judgment to be so extreme as 
 to be incapable of any choice or inclination, and 
 would have it perpetually wavering and suspended, 
 considering and receiving all things as indifferent, 'tis 
 
258 ESSAYS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 said, that he always comported himself after the same 
 manner and countenance : if he had begun a dis- 
 course, he would always end what he had to say, 
 though the person he was speaking to had gone 
 away : if he walked, he never stopped for any impedi- 
 ment that stood in his way, being preserved from 
 precipices, the jostle of carts, and other like accidents, 
 by the care of his friends : for, to fear or to avoid any- 
 thing, had been to shock his own propositions, which 
 deprived the senses themselves of all election and cer- 
 tainty. Sometimes he suffered incision and cauteries 
 with so great constancy, as never to be seen so much 
 as to wince. 
 
 'Tis something to bring the soul to these imagina- 
 tions ; 'tis more to join the effects, and yet not im- 
 possible ; but to conjoin them with such perseverance 
 and constancy as to make them habitual, is certainly, 
 in attempts so remote from the common usage, al- 
 most incredible to be done. Therefore it was, that 
 being one day taken in his house terribly scolding 
 with his sister, and being reproached that he therein 
 transgressed his own rules of indifference : " What ! " 
 said he, "must this foolish woman also serve for a 
 testimony to my rules?" Another time, being seen 
 to defend himself against a dog : " It is," said he, 
 " very hard totally to put off man ; and we must en- 
 deavor and force ourselves to resist and encounter 
 things, first by effects, but at least by reason and 
 argument." 
 
 A few days since, at Bergerac, within five leagues 
 of my house, up the river Dordogne, a woman having 
 overnight been beaten and abused by her husband, a 
 
OF VIRTUE. 259 
 
 choleric ill-conditioned fellow, resolved to escape from 
 his ill-usage at the price of her life ; and going so 
 soon as she was up the next morning to visit her 
 neighbors, as she was wont to do, and having let 
 some words fall in recommendation of her affairs, she 
 took a sister of hers by the hand, and led her to the 
 bridge ; whither being come, and having taken leave 
 of her in jest as it were, without any manner of altera- 
 tion in her countenance, she threw herself headlong 
 from the top into the river, and was there drowned. 
 That which is the most remarkable in this is, that 
 this resolution w T as a whole night forming in her 
 head. 
 
 But is quite another thing with the Indian women ; 
 for it being the custom there for the men to have 
 many w T ives, and the best beloved of them to kill her- 
 self at her husband's decease, every one of them 
 makes it the business of her whole life to obtain this 
 privilege and gain this advantage over her compan- 
 ions ; and the good offices they do their husbands 
 aim at no other recompense but to be preferred in 
 accompanying him in death. 
 
 A certain author of our times reports that he has 
 seen in those oriental nations this custom in practice, 
 that not only the wives bury themselves with their hus- 
 bands, but even the slaves he has enjoyed also ; which 
 is done after this manner : the husband being dead, the 
 widow may if she will (but few will), demand two or 
 three months' respite wherein to order her affairs. The 
 day being come, she mounts on horseback, dressed as 
 fine as at her wedding, and with a cheerful countenance 
 says she is going to sleep with her spouse, holding a 
 
26o ESSAYS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 looking-glass in her left hand and an arrow in the other. 
 Being thus conducted in pomp, accompanied with her 
 kindred and friends and a great concourse of people 
 in great joy, she is at last brought to the public place 
 appointed for such spectacles : this is a great space, 
 in the midst of which is a pit full of wood, and ad- 
 joining to it a mount raised four or five steps, upon 
 which she is brought and served with a magnificent 
 repast : which being done, she falls to dancing and 
 singing, and gives order, when she thinks fit, to kindle 
 the fire. This being done, she descends, and taking 
 the nearest of her husband's relations by the hand, 
 they walk to the river close by, where she strips her- 
 self stark naked, and having distributed her clothes 
 and jewels to her friends plunges herself into the water, 
 as if there to cleanse herself from her sins ; coming 
 out thence, she wraps herself in a yellow linen of five- 
 and-twenty ells long, and again giving her hand to 
 this kinsman of her husband's, they return back to the 
 mount, where she makes a speech to the people, and 
 recommends her children to them, if she have any. 
 Between the pit and the mount there is commonly 
 a curtain drawn to screen the burning furnace from 
 their sight, which some of them, to manifest the 
 greater courage, forbid. Having ended what she has 
 to say, a woman presents her with a vessel of oil, 
 wherewith to anoint her head and her whole body, 
 which when done with she throws into the fire, and in 
 an instant precipitates herself after. Immediately, the 
 people throw a great many billets and logs upon her 
 that she may not be long in dying, and convert all 
 their joy into sorrow and mourning. 
 
OF VIRTUE, 261 
 
 If they are persons of meaner condition, the body 
 of the defunct is carried to the place of sepulture, and 
 there placed sitting, the widow kneeling before him, 
 embracing the dead body ; and they continue in this 
 posture while the people build a wall about them, 
 which so soon as it is raised to the height of the 
 woman's shoulders, one of her relations comes behind 
 her, and taking hold of her head, twists her neck : so 
 soon as she is dead, the wall is presently raised up, 
 and closed, and there they remain entombed. 
 
 There was, in this same country, something like this 
 in their gymnosophists ; for not by constraint of others 
 nor by the impetuosity of a sudden humor, but by the 
 express profession of their order, their custom was, 
 as soon as they arrived at a certain age, or that they 
 saw themselves threatened by any disease, to cause a 
 funeral pile to be erected for them, and on the top a 
 stately bed, where, after having joyfully feasted their 
 friends and acquaintance, they laid them down with so 
 great resolution, that fire being applied to it, they were 
 never seen to stir either hand or foot ; and after this 
 manner, one of them, Calanus by name, expired in 
 the presence of the whole army of Alexander the Great. 
 And he was neither reputed holy nor happy among 
 them, who did not thus destroy himself, dismissing 
 his soul purged and purified by the fire, after having 
 consumed all that was earthly and mortal. This con- 
 stant premeditation of the whole life is that which 
 makes the wonder. 
 
 Among our other controversies, that of Fatum has 
 also crept in ; and to tie things to come, and even our 
 own wills, to a certain and inevitable necessity, we are 
 
2 62 ESSAYS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 yet upon this argument of time past ; " Since God 
 foresees that all things shall so fall out, as doubtless 
 He does, it must then necessarily follow, that they 
 must so fall out ; " to which our masters reply : " that 
 the seeing anything come to pass as we do, and as 
 God Himself also does (for all things being present with 
 Him, He rather sees, than foresees) is not to compel 
 an event : that is, we see because things do fall out, 
 but things do not fall out because we see : events 
 cause knowledge, but knowledge does not cause events. 
 That which we see happen, does happen ; but it might 
 have happened otherwise: and God, in the catalogue 
 of the causes of events which He has in his prescience, 
 has also those which we call accidental and voluntary, 
 depending upon the liberty. He has given our free will, 
 and knows that we do amiss because we would do so. ,, 
 I have seen a great many commanders encourage their 
 soldiers with this fatal necessity : for if our time be 
 limited to a certain hour, neither the enemies' shot, 
 nor our own boldness, nor our flight and cowardice, 
 can either shorten or prolong our lives. This is easily 
 said, but see who will be so persuaded ; and if it be so 
 that a strong and lively faith draws along with it 
 actions of the same kind, certain]y this faith we so 
 much brag of, is very light in this age of ours, unless 
 the contempt it has of works makes it disdain their 
 company. So it is, that to this very purpose the Sire 
 de Joinville, as credible a witness as any other what- 
 ever, tells us of the Bedouins, a nation among the Sara- 
 cens, with whom the king St. Louis had to do in the 
 Holy Land, that they, in their religion, so firmly be- 
 lieve the number of every man's days to be from all 
 
OF VIRTUE. 263 
 
 eternity prefixed and set down by an inevitable decree, 
 that they went naked to the wars, excepting a Turkish 
 sword, and their bodies only covered with a white 
 linen cloth : and for the greatest curse they could 
 invent when they were angry, this was always in their 
 mouths : " Accursed be thou, as he that arms himself 
 for fear of death." This is a testimony of faith very 
 much beyond ours. And of this sort is that also 
 that two friars of Florence gave in our fathers 1 days. 
 Being engaged in some controversy of learning, they 
 agreed to go both of them into the fire in the sight of 
 all the people, each for the verification of his argument, 
 and all things were already prepared, and the thing 
 just upon the point of execution, when it was inter- 
 rupted by an unexpected accident. 
 
 A young Turkish lord, having performed a notable 
 exploit in his own person in the sight of both armies, 
 that of Amurath and that of Huniades, ready to join 
 battle, being asked by Amurath, what in such tender 
 and inexperienced years (for it was his first sally into 
 arms) had inspired him with so brave a courage, re- 
 plied, that his chief tutor for valor was a hare. " For 
 being, 1 ' said he, " one day a-hunting, I found a hare 
 sitting, and though I had a brace of excellent grey- 
 hounds with me, yet methought it would be best for 
 sureness to make use of my bow ; for she sat very 
 fair. I then fell to letting fly my arrows, and shot 
 forty that I had in my quiver, not only without hurt- 
 ing, but without starting her from her form. At last 
 I slipped my dogs after her, but to no more purpose 
 than I had shot : by which I understood that she had 
 been secured by her destiny ; and that neither darts 
 
264 ESSAYS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 nor swords can wound without the permission of fate, 
 which we can neither hasten nor defer." This story 
 may serve, by the way, to let us see how flexible our 
 reason is to all sorts of images. 
 
 A person of great years, name, dignity, and learn- 
 ing, boasted to me that he had been induced to a 
 certain very important change in his faith by a strange 
 and whimsical incitation, and one otherwise so inade- 
 quate, that I thought it much stronger, taken the 
 contrary way : he called it a miracle, and so I look 
 upon it, but in a different sense. The Turkish his- 
 torians say, that the persuasion those of their nation 
 have imprinted in them of the fatal and unalterable 
 prescription of their days, manifestly conduces to the 
 giving them great assurance in dangers. And I know 
 a great prince who makes very fortunate use of it, 
 whether it may be that he really believes it, or that he 
 makes it his excuse for so wonderfully hazarding him- 
 self: let us hope Fortune may not be too soon weary 
 of her favor to him. 
 
 There has not happened in our memory a more 
 admirable effect of resolution, than in those two who 
 conspired the death of the Prince of Orange. 'Tis 
 marvellous how the second who executed it, could ever 
 be persuaded into an attempt, wherein his companion, 
 who had done his utmost, had had so ill success ; and 
 after the same method, and with the same arms, to go 
 attack a lord, armed with so recent a late lesson of 
 distrust, powerful in followers and bodily strength, in 
 his own hall, amid his guards, and in a city wholly 
 at his devotion. Assuredly, he employed a very reso- 
 lute arm and a courage inflamed with furious passion. 
 
OF VIRTUE. 265 
 
 A poniard is surer for striking home, but by reason 
 that more motion and force of hand is required than 
 with a pistol, the blow is more subject to be put by or 
 hindered. That this man did not run to a certain 
 death, I make no great doubt ; for the hopes any one 
 could flatter him withal, could not find place in any 
 sober understanding, and the conduct of his exploit 
 sufficiently manifests that he had no want of that, no 
 more than of courage. 
 
 The motives of so powerful a persuasion may be 
 diverse, for our fancy does what it will, both with 
 itself and us. The execution that was done near 
 Orleans was nothing like this ; there was in this more 
 of chance than vigor ; the wound was not mortal, if 
 fortune had not made it so, and to attempt to shoot 
 on horseback, and at a great distance, by one whose 
 body was in motion from i;he motion of his horse, was 
 the attempt of a man who had rather miss his blow 
 than fail of saving himself. This was apparent from 
 what followed ; for he was so astonished and stupefied 
 with the thought of so high an execution, that he 
 totally lost his judgment both to find his way to flight 
 and to govern his tongue. What needed he to have 
 done more than to fly back to his friends across a 
 river? 'Tis what I have done in less dangers, and 
 that I think of very little hazard, how broad soever 
 the river may be, provided your horse have easy going 
 in,, and that you see on the other side easy landing 
 according to the stream. The other, when they pro- 
 nounced his dreadful sentence, " I was prepared for 
 this," said he, " beforehand, and I will make you won- 
 der at my patience." 
 
266 ESSAYS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 The Assassins, a nation bordering upon Phoenicia, 
 are reputed among the Mohammedans a people of 
 very great devotion, and purity of manners. They 
 hold that the nearest way to gain paradise is to kill 
 some one of a contrary religion ; which is the reason 
 they have often been seen, being but one or two, and 
 without armor, to attempt against powerful enemies 
 at the price of a certain death and without any con- 
 sideration of their own danger. So was our Count 
 Raymond of Tripoli assassinated (which word is de- 
 rived from their name) in the heart of his city, during 
 our enterprises of the Holy War : and likewise Conrad, 
 marquis of Monserrat, the murderers at their execution 
 bearing themselves with great pride and glory that 
 they had performed so brave an exploit. 
 
 OF ANGER. 
 
 Plutarch is admirable throughout, but especially 
 where he judges of human actions. What fine things 
 does he say in the comparison of Lycurgus and Nuraa 
 upon the subject of our great folly in abandoning 
 children to the care and government of their fathers? 
 The most of our civil governments, as Aristotle says, 
 leave, after the manner of the Cyclops, to every one 
 the ordering of their wives and children, according to 
 their own foolish and indiscreet fancy ; and the Lace- 
 daemonian and Cretan are almost the only govern- 
 ments that have committed the education of children 
 to the laws. Who does not see that in a state all 
 depends upon their nurture and bringing up? and 
 yet they are left to the mercy of parents, let them be 
 
OF ANGER. 267 
 
 as foolish and ill-conditioned as they may, without 
 any manner of discretion. 
 
 Among other things, how often have I, as I have 
 passed along our streets, had a good mind to get up 
 a farce, to revenge the poor boys whom I have seen 
 flayed, knocked down, and miserably beaten by some 
 father or mother, when in their fury, and mad with 
 rage? You shall see them come out with fire and fury 
 sparkling in their eyes — or, as Juvenal says, " Borne 
 headlong with burning fury as great stones torn from 
 the mountains, by which the steep sides are left naked 
 and bare " (and according to Hippocrates, the most 
 dangerous maladies are they that disfigure the counte- 
 nance) — with a roaring and terrible voice, very often 
 against those that are but newly come from nurse, 
 and there they are lamed and spoiled with blows, 
 while our justice takes no cognizance of it, as if these 
 maims and dislocations were not executed upon mem- 
 bers of our commonwealth. "It is well when to thy 
 country and the people thou hast given a citizen, pro- 
 vided thou make him fit for his country's service ; use- 
 ful to till the earth, useful in affairs of war and peace/ 1 
 
 There is no passion that so much transports men 
 from their right judgment as anger. No one would 
 demur upon punishing a judge with death who should 
 condemn a criminal on the account of his own choler ; 
 why, then, should fathers and pedagogues be any more 
 allowed to whip and chastise children in their anger? 
 'Tis then no longer correction, but revenge. Chas- 
 tisement is instead of physic to children : and should 
 we endure a physician who should be animated against 
 and enraged at his patient? 
 
268 ESSAYS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 We ourselves, to do well, should never lay a hand 
 upon our servants while our anger lasts. When the 
 pulse beats, and we feel emotion in ourselves, let us 
 defer the business ; things will indeed appear other- 
 wise to us when we are calm and cool. 'Tis passion 
 that then commands, 'tis passion that speaks, and 
 not we. Faults seen through passion appear much 
 greater to us than they really are, as bodies do when 
 seen through a mist. He who is hungry uses meat ; 
 but he who will make use of chastisement should have 
 neither hunger nor thirst to it. And moreover, chas- 
 tisements that are inflicted with weight and discretion, 
 are much better received and with greater benefit by 
 him who suffers ; otherwise, he will not think himself 
 justly condemned by a man transported with anger 
 and fury, and will allege his master's excessive pas- 
 sion, his inflamed countenance, his unwonted oaths, 
 his emotion and precipitous rashness, for his own 
 justification : " Their faces swell, their veins grow 
 black with rage, and their eyes sparkle with Gor- 
 gonian fire " [Ovid] . 
 
 Suetonius reports that Caius Rabirius having been 
 condemned by Caesar, the thing that most prevailed 
 upon the people (to whom he had appealed) to de- 
 termine the cause in his favor, was the animosity 
 and vehemence that Caesar had manifested in that 
 sentence. 
 
 Saying is one thing and doing is another ; we are 
 to consider the sermon and the preacher distinctly and 
 apart. Though men have had a pretty business in 
 hand, who in our times have attempted to shake the 
 truth of our Church by the vices of her ministers, she 
 
OF ANGER. 269 
 
 extracts her testimony elsewhere ; for 'tis a foolish way 
 of arguing and that would throw all things into con- 
 fusion. A man, whose morals are good, may have 
 false opinions, and a wicked man may preach truth, 
 even though he believe it not himself. Tis doubt- 
 less a fine harmony when doing and saying go to- 
 gether ; and I will not deny but that saying, when 
 the actions follow, is not of greater authority and 
 efficacy, as Eudamidas said, hearing a philosopher 
 talk of military affairs : " These things are finely said, 
 but he who speaks them is not to be believed, for 
 his ears have never been used to the sound of the 
 trumpet. " And Cleomenes, hearing an orator de- 
 claiming upon valor, burst out into laughter, at which 
 the other being angry : " I should," said he to him, 
 " do the same if it were a swallow that spoke of this 
 subject ; but if it were an eagle I should willingly 
 hear him." 
 
 I perceive, methinks, in the writings of the ancients, 
 that he who speaks what he thinks, strikes much more 
 home than he who only feigns. Hear Cicero speak 
 of the love of liberty ; hear Brutus speak of it, the 
 mere written words of this man sound as if he would 
 purchase it at the price of his life. Let Cicero, the 
 father of eloquence, treat of the contempt of death ; 
 let Seneca do the same ; the first languishingly drawls 
 it out, so that you perceive he would make you resolve 
 upon a thing on which he is not resolved himself; he 
 inspires you not with courage, for he himself has none ; 
 the other animates and inflames you. I never read 
 an author, even of those who treat of virtue and of 
 actions, that I do not curiously inquire what kind of a 
 
270 ESSAYS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 man he was himself; for the Ephori at Sparta, seeing 
 a dissolute fellow propose a wholesome advice to the 
 people, commanded him to hold his peace, and en- 
 treated a virtuous man to attribute to himself the 
 invention, and to propose it. 
 
 Plutarch's writings, if well understood, sufficiently 
 bespeak their author, and so that I think I know him 
 even into his soul ; and yet I could wish that we had 
 some fuller account of his life. And I am thus far 
 wandered from my subject, upon the account of the 
 obligation I have to Aulus Gellius, for having left us 
 in writing this story of his manners, that brings me 
 back to my subject of anger. 
 
 A slave of his, a vicious, ill-conditioned fellow, but 
 who had the precepts of philosophy often ringing in 
 his ears, having for some offence of his been stripped 
 by Plutarch's command, while he was being whipped, 
 muttered at first, that it was without cause and that 
 he had done nothing to deserve it ; but at last falling 
 in good earnest to exclaim against and rail at his mas- 
 ter, he reproached him that he was no philosopher, as 
 he had boasted himself to be : that he had often heard 
 him say it was indecent to be angry, nay, had written 
 a book to that purpose ; and that the causing him to 
 be so cruelly beaten, in the height of his rage, totally 
 gave the lie to all his writings, to which Plutarch 
 calmly and coldly answered : " How, ruffian/' said he, 
 " by what dost thou judge that I am now angry? 
 Does either my face, my color, or my voice give any 
 manifestation of my being moved? I do not think 
 my eyes look fierce, that my countenance appears 
 troubled, or that my voice is dreadful ; am I red, do 
 
OF ANGER. 271 
 
 I foam, does any word escape my lips I ought to 
 repent? Do I start? Do I tremble with fury? For 
 those, I tell thee, are the true signs of anger. 1 ' And 
 so turning to the fellow that was whipping him, " Ply 
 on thy work,' 1 said he, " w r hile this gentleman and I 
 dispute." This is the story. 
 
 Archytas Tarentinus, returning from a war wherein 
 he had been captain-general, found all things in his 
 house in very great disorder, and his lands quite out 
 of tillage, through the ill husbandry of his receiver, 
 and having caused him to be called to him : " Go," 
 said he, "if I were not in anger I would soundly 
 drub your sides." Plato likewise, being highly of- 
 fended with one of his slaves, gave Speusippus order 
 to chastise him, excusing himself from doing it be- 
 cause he was in anger. And Carillus, a Lacedae- 
 monian, to a Helot, who carried himself insolently 
 toward him : u By the gods," said he, " if I was not 
 angry, I would immediately cause thee to be put to 
 death." 
 
 'Tis a passion that is pleased with and flatters it- 
 self. How often, being moved under a false cause, 
 if the person offending makes a good defence and 
 presents us with a just excuse, are we angry against 
 truth and innocence itself? In proof of which, I 
 remember a marvellous example of antiquity. 
 
 Piso, otherwise a man of very eminent virtue, being 
 moved against a soldier of his, for that returning alone 
 from forage he could give him no account where he 
 had left a companion of his, took it for granted that 
 he had killed him, and presently condemned him to 
 death. He was no sooner mounted upon the gibbet, 
 
272 ESSAYS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 but behold his wandering companion arrives, at which 
 all the army were exceedingly glad, and after many 
 embraces of the two comrades, the hangman carried 
 both the one and the other into Piso's presence, all 
 those present believing it would be a great pleasure 
 even to himself ; but it proved quite contrary ; for 
 through shame and spite, his fury, which was not yet 
 cool, redoubled ; and by a subtlety which his passion 
 suddenly suggested to him, he made three criminal 
 for having found one innocent, and caused them all to 
 be despatched : the first soldier, because sentence had 
 passed upon him ; the second, who had lost his way ? 
 because he was the cause of his companion's death ; 
 and the hangman, for not having obeyed the order 
 which had been given him. 
 
 Such as have had to do with testy and obstinate 
 women, may have experimented into what a rage it 
 puts them, to oppose silence and coldness to their 
 fury, and that a man disdains to nourish their anger. 
 The orator Celius was wonderfully choleric by nature ; 
 and to one who supped in his company, a man of a 
 gentle and sweet conversation, and who, that he might 
 not move him, approved and consented to all he said ; 
 he, impatient that his ill humor should thus spend it- 
 self without ailment : " For the love of the gods deny 
 me something, 1 ' said he, " that we may be two." 
 Women, in like manner, are only angry, that others 
 may be angry again, in imitation of the laws of love. 
 Phocion, to one who interrupted his speaking by in- 
 jurious and very opprobrious words, made no other 
 return than silence, and to give him full liberty and 
 leisure to vent his spleen; which he having accord- 
 
OF ANGER. 273 
 
 ingly done, and the storm blown over without any 
 mention of this disturbance, he proceeded in his dis- 
 course where he had left off before. No answer can 
 nettle a man like such a contempt. 
 
 Of the most choleric man in France (anger is 
 always an imperfection, but more excusable in a 
 soldier, for in that trade it cannot sometimes be 
 avoided) I often say, that he is the most patient man 
 that I know, and the most discreet in bridling his 
 passions ; which rise in him with so great violence 
 and fury, — " When with loud crackling noise, a fire 
 of sticks is applied to the boiling caldron's side, by 
 the heat in frisky bells the liquor dances : but within 
 the water rages and high the smoky fluid in foam 
 overflows. Nor can the wave now contain itself: in 
 pitchy steam it flies all abroad " {JSneid~\ y — that he 
 must of necessity cruelly constrain himself to moder- 
 ate it. And for my part, I know no passion which I 
 could with so much violence to myself attempt to 
 cover and conceal : I would not set wisdom at so 
 high a price ; and do not so much consider what a 
 man does, as how much it costs him to do no worse. 
 
 Another boasted himself to me of the regularity 
 and sweetness of his manners, which are in truth very 
 singular; to whom I replied, that it was indeed 
 something, especially in persons of so eminent a 
 quality as himself, upon whom every one had their 
 eyes, to present himself always well-tempered to the 
 world ; but that the principal thing was to make pro- 
 vision for within and for himself; and that it was not, 
 in my opinion, very well to order his business in- 
 wardly to grate himself, which I was afraid he did in 
 
274 ESSAYS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 putting on and outwardly maintaining this visor and 
 regular appearance. 
 
 A man incorporates anger by concealing it, as 
 Diogenes told Demosthenes, who, for fear of being 
 seen in a tavern, withdrew himself the more retiredly 
 into it : " The more you retire, the farther you enter 
 in." I would rather advise that a man should give 
 his servant a box of the ear a little unseasonably, than 
 rack his fancy to present this grave and composed 
 countenance ; and had rather discover my passions 
 than brood over them at my own expense ; they grow 
 less in venting and manifesting themselves ; and 'tis 
 much better their point should wound others with- 
 out, than be turned toward ourselves within. " All 
 vices are less dangerous when open to be seen, and 
 then most pernicious when they lurk under a dis- 
 sembled good nature," says Seneca. 
 
 I admonish all those who have authority to be 
 angry in my family, in the first place to manage their 
 anger and not to lavish it upon every occasion, for 
 that both lessens the value and hinders the effect : 
 rash and incessant scolding runs into custom, and 
 renders itself despised ; and what you lay out upon a 
 servant for a theft, is not felt, because it is the same 
 he has seen you a hundred times employ against him 
 for having ill washed a glass, or set a stool out of 
 place. Secondly, that they be not angry to no pur- 
 pose, but make sure that their reprehension reach 
 him with whom they are offended ; for, ordinarily, 
 they rail and bawl before he comes into their pres- 
 ence, and continue scolding an age after he is gone ; 
 " Et secum ftetulans amentia certat: " they attack his 
 
OF ANGER. 275 
 
 shadow, and drive the storm in a place where no one 
 is either chastised or concerned, but in the clamor of 
 their voice. I likewise in quarrels condemn those 
 who huff and vapor without an enemy ; those rodo- 
 montades should be reserved to discharge upon the 
 offending party : " As when a bull to usher in the 
 fight makes dreadful bellowings, and whets his horns 
 against the trunk of a tree, with blows he beats the 
 air, and preludes to the fight by spurning the sand " 
 \zEneid\ . 
 
 When I am angry, my anger is very sharp but 
 withal very short, and as private as I can ; I lose my- 
 self indeed in promptness and violence, but not in 
 trouble ; so that I throw out all sorts of injurious 
 words at random, and without choice, and never con- 
 sider pertinently to dart my language where I think it 
 will deepest wound, for I commonly make use of no 
 other weapon in my anger than my tongue. My 
 servants have a better bargain of me in great occa- 
 sions than in little ; the light ones surprise me ; and 
 the mischief on't is, that when you are once upon the 
 precipice, 'tis no matter who gave you the push, for 
 you always go to the bottom ; the fall urges, moves, 
 and makes haste of itself. In great occasions this 
 satisfies me, that they are so just every one expects a 
 reasonable indignation, and then I glorify myself in 
 deceiving their expectation ; against these, I fortify 
 and prepare myself; they disturb my head, and 
 threaten to transport me very far, should I follow 
 them. I can easily contain myself from entering into 
 one of these passions, and am strong enough, when I 
 expect them, to repel their violence, be the cause 
 
276 ESSAYS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 never so great ; but if a passion once prepossess and 
 seize me, it carries me away, be the cause never so 
 small. I bargain thus with those who may contend 
 with me ; when you see me moved first, let me alone, 
 right or wrong ; I'll do the same for you. The storm 
 is only begot by a concurrence of angers, which easily 
 spring from one another, and are not born together. 
 Let every one have his ow T n way, and we shall be 
 always at peace. 
 
 A profitable advice, but hard to execute. Some- 
 times also it falls out that I put on a seeming anger, for 
 the better governing of my house, without any real 
 emotion. As age renders my humors more sharp, I 
 study to oppose them, and will, if I can, order it so, 
 that for the future I may be so much the less peevish 
 and hard to please, as I have more excuse and incli- 
 nation to be so, although I have heretofore been reck- 
 oned among those who have the greatest patience. 
 
 A word more to conclude this chapter. Aristotle 
 says, that anger sometimes serves for arms to virtue 
 and valor. 'Tis likely it may be so, nevertheless, 
 they who contradict him pleasantly answer, that His a 
 weapon of novel use, for we move all other arms, this 
 moves us ; our hands guide it not, 'tis it that guides 
 our hands ; it holds us, we hold not it. 
 
 OF PROFIT AND HONESTY. 
 
 No man is free from speaking foolish things ; but 
 the worst on't is, when a man studies to play the fool. 
 " Truly he, with a great effort, will say some mighty 
 trifle," says Terence. 
 
OF PROFIT AND HONESTY. 277 
 
 This does not concern me ; mine slip from me with 
 as little care as they are of little value, and 'tis the 
 better for them. I would presently part with them 
 for what they are worth, and neither buy nor sell 
 them, but as they weigh. I speak on paper as I do 
 to the first person I meet ; and that this is true, 
 observe what follows. 
 
 To whom ought not treachery to be hateful when 
 Tiberius refused it in a thing of so great importance 
 to him? He had word sent him from Germany that 
 if he thought fit, they would rid him of Arminius by 
 poison : this was the most potent enemy the Romans 
 had, who had defeated them so ignominiously under 
 Varus, and who alone prevented their aggrandizement 
 in those parts. He returned answer, "that the people 
 of Rome were wont to revenge themselves of their 
 enemies by open ways, and with their swords in their 
 hands, and not clandestinely and by fraud : " wherein 
 he quitted the profitable for the honest. You will tell 
 me that he was a braggadocio ; I believe so too : and 
 'tis no great miracle in men of his profession. But 
 the acknowledgment of virtue is not less valid in the 
 mouth of him who hates it, forasmuch as truth forces 
 it from him, and if he will not inwardly receive it, he 
 at least{puts it on for a decoration. 
 
 Our outward and inward structure is full of imper- 
 fection ; but there is nothing useless in nature, not 
 even inutility itself; nothing has insinuated itself into 
 this universe that has not therein some fit and proper 
 place. Our being is cemented with sickly qualities : 
 ambition, jealousy, envy, revenge, superstition, and 
 despair have so natural a possession in us, that its 
 
278 ESSAYS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 image is discerned in beasts ; nay, and cruelty, so 
 unnatural a vice ; for even in the midst of compassion 
 we feel within I know not what tart-sweet titillation 
 of ill-natured pleasure in seeing others suffer ; and 
 the children feel it : " It is sweet, when the winds 
 disturb the waters of the vast sea, to witness from 
 land the peril of other persons " [Lucretius] ; of the 
 seeds of which qualities, whoever should divest men 
 would destroy the fundamental conditions of human 
 life. 
 
 Likewise, in all governments there are necessary 
 offices, not only abject, but vicious also. Vices there 
 help to make up the seam in our piecing, as poisons 
 are useful for the conservation of health. If they 
 become excusable because they are of use to us, and 
 that the common necessity covers their true qualities, 
 we are to resign this part to the strongest and boldest 
 citizens, who sacrifice their honor and conscience as 
 others of old sacrificed their lives, for the good of 
 their country : we who are weaker, take upon us parts 
 both that are more easy and less hazardous. The 
 public weal requires that men should betray, and lie, 
 and massacre ; let us leave this commission to men 
 who are more obedient and more supple. 
 
 In earnest, I have often been troubled to see judges, 
 by fraud and false hopes of favor or pardon, allure a 
 criminal to confess his fact, and therein to make use 
 of cozenage and impudence. It would become justice, 
 and Plato himself, who countenances this manner of 
 proceeding, to furnish me with other means more 
 suitable to my own liking: this is a malicious kind 
 of justice ; and I look upon it as no less wounded by 
 
OF PROFIT AND HONESTY, 279 
 
 itself than by others. I said not long since to some 
 company in discourse, that I should hardly be drawn 
 to betray my prince for a particular man, who should 
 be much ashamed to betray any particular man for 
 my prince ; and I do not only hate deceiving myself, 
 but that any one should deceive through me ; I will 
 neither afford matter nor occasion to any such thing. 
 
 In the little I have had to mediate between our 
 princes 1 in the divisions and subdivisions by which 
 we are at this time torn to pieces, I have been very 
 careful that they should neither be deceived in me, 
 nor deceive others by me. People of that kind of 
 trading are very reserved, and pretend to be the most 
 moderate imaginable and nearest to the opinions of 
 those w 7 ith whom they have to do ; I expose myself 
 in my stiff opinion, and after a method the most my 
 own ; a tender negotiator, a novice, who had rather 
 fail in the affair than be wanting to myself. And yet 
 it has been hitherto with so good luck (for fortune 
 has doubtless the best share in it), that few things 
 have passed from hand to hand with less suspicion 
 or more favor and privacy. I have a free and open 
 way that easily insinuates itself and obtains belief 
 with those with whom I am to deal, at the first 
 meeting. 
 
 Sincerity and pure truth, in w r hat age soever, pass 
 for current : and besides, the liberty and freedom of 
 a man who treats without any interest of his own, is 
 never hateful or suspected, and he may very well make 
 use of the answer of Hyperides to the Athenians, 
 
 1 Between the King of Navarre, afterward Henry IV., and 
 the Duc de Guise. 
 
28o ESSAYS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 who complained of his blunt way of speaking : " My 
 masters, do not consider whether or no I am free, 
 but whether I am so without a bribe, or without any 
 advantage to my own affairs. " My liberty of speaking 
 has also easily cleared me from all suspicion of dis- 
 sembling by its vehemency, leaving nothing unsaid, 
 how harsh and bitter soever (so that I could have 
 said no worse behind their backs), and in that it 
 carried along with it a manifest show of simplicity 
 and indifference. I pretend to no other fruit by act- 
 ing than to act, and add to it no long arguments or 
 propositions ; every action plays its own game, win 
 if it can. 
 
 As to the rest, I am not swayed by any passion, 
 either of love or hatred, toward the great, nor have 
 my will captivated either by particular injury or obli- 
 gation. I look upon our kings with an affection 
 simply loyal and respectful, neither prompted nor 
 restrained by any private interest, and I love myself 
 for it. Nor does the general and just cause attract 
 me otherwise than with moderation, and without heat. 
 I am not subject to those penetrating and close com- 
 pacts and engagements. Anger and hatred are beyond 
 the duty of justice ; and are passions only useful to 
 those who do not keep themselves strictly to their 
 duty by simple reason : " Utattir motu aiiimi, qui 
 itti ratione non potest" All legitimate and equitable 
 intentions are temperate and equable of themselves ; 
 if otherwise, they degenerate into seditious and un- 
 lawful. This is it which makes me walk everywhere 
 with my head erect, my face and my heart open. To 
 confess the truth, and I am not afraid to confess it, I 
 
OF PROFIT AND HONESTY. 281 
 
 should easily, in case of need, hold up one candle to 
 St. Michael and another to his dragon, like the old 
 woman ; I will follow the right side even to the fire, 
 but excluding the fire if I can. Let Montaigne be 
 overwhelmed in the public ruin, if need be ; but if 
 there be no need, I should think myself obliged 
 to fortune to save me, and I will make use of all 
 the length of line my duty allows for his preserva- 
 tion. 
 
 Was it not Atticus, who being of the just but losing 
 side, preserved himself by his moderation in that uni- 
 versal shipwreck of the world, among so many muta- 
 tions and diversities? For private man, as he was, 
 it is more easy ; and in such kind of work, I think 
 a man may justly not be ambitious to offer and 
 insinuate himself. For a man, indeed, to be waver- 
 ing and irresolute, to keep his affection unmoved and 
 without inclination in the troubles of his country and 
 public divisions, I neither think it handsome nor 
 honest : " That is not a middle way, but no way, to 
 await events, by which they refer their resolutions to 
 fortune " [Livy] . This may be allowed in our neigh- 
 boring affairs, and thus Gelo the tyrant of Syracuse 
 suspended his inclination in the war between the 
 Greeks and barbarians, keeping a resident ambassa- 
 dor with presents at Delphos, to watch and see which 
 way fortune would incline, and then take fit occasion 
 to fall in with the victors. 
 
 It would be a kind of treason to proceed after this 
 manner in our own domestic affairs, wherein a man 
 must of necessity be of the one side or the other; 
 though for a man who has no office or express com- 
 
282 ESS A YS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 mand to call him out, to sit still, I hold it more excus- 
 able (and yet I do not excuse myself upon these 
 terms) than in foreign expeditions, to which, however, 
 according to our laws, no man is pressed against his 
 will. And yet even those who wholly engage them- 
 selves in such a war, may behave themselves with 
 such temper and moderation that the storm may fly 
 over their heads without doing them any harm. 
 
 Had we not reason to hope such an issue in the 
 person of the late Sieur de Morvilliers, bishop of 
 Orleans? And I know among those who behave 
 themselves most bravely in the present war, some 
 whose manners are so gentle, obliging, and just, that 
 they will certainly stand firm, whatever event Heaven 
 is preparing for us. I am of opinion that it properly 
 belongs to kings only to quarrel with kings ; and I 
 laugh at those bully-rooks who, out of wantonness of 
 courage, present themselves to so disproportioned 
 disputes ; for a man has never the more particular 
 quarrel with a prince, by marching openly and boldly 
 against him for his own honor and according to his 
 duty ; if he does not love such a person, he does bet- 
 ter, he esteems him. And notably the cause of the 
 laws and of the ancient government of a kingdom has 
 this always annexed to it, that even those, who for 
 their own private interest invade them, excuse, if they 
 do not honor, the defenders. 
 
 But we are not, as we nowadays do, to call pee- 
 vishness and inward discontent, that spring from pri- 
 vate interest and passion, duty : nor a treacherous 
 and malicious conduct, courage. They call their pro- 
 pension to mischief and violence, zeal : 'tis not the 
 
OF PROFIT AND HONESTY. 283 
 
 cause, but their interest, that inflames them ; they 
 kindle and begin a war, not because it is just, but be- 
 cause it is war. 
 
 A man may very well behave himself commodi- 
 ously, and loyally too, among those of the adverse 
 party ; carry yourself if not with the same equal affec- 
 tion (for that is capable of different measure), at least 
 with an aifection moderate, well-tempered, and such 
 as shall not so engage you to one party, that it may 
 demand all you are able to do for that side, content 
 yourself with a moderate proportion of their favor 
 and good-will ; and to swim in troubled waters with- 
 out fishing in them. 
 
 The other way, of offering a man's self and the ut- 
 most service he is able to do, both to one party and the 
 other, has still less of prudence in it than conscience. 
 Does not he to whom you betray another, to whom 
 you were as welcome as to himself, know that you 
 will at another time do as much for him? He holds 
 you for a villain ; and in the meantime hears what 
 you will say, gathers intelligence from you, and works 
 his own ends out of your disloyalty ; double-dealing 
 men are useful for bringing in, but we must have a 
 care they carry out as little as is possible. 
 
 I say nothing to one party, that I may not, upon 
 occasion, say to the other, with a little alteration of 
 accent ; and report nothing but things either indiffer- 
 ent or known, or what is of common consequence. 
 I cannot permit myself, for any consideration, to tell 
 them a lie. What is intrusted to my secrecy, I reli- 
 giously conceal ; but I take as few trusts of that na- 
 ture upon me as I can. The secrets of princes are a 
 
284 ESSAYS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 troublesome burthen to such as are not interested in 
 them. I very willingly bargain that they trust me 
 with little, but confidently rely upon what I tell them. 
 I have ever known more than I desired. One open 
 way of speaking introduces another open way of 
 speaking, and draws out discoveries, like wine and 
 love. Phillipides, in my opinion, answered King 
 Lysimachus very discreetly, who, asking him what of 
 his estate he should bestow upon him? "What you 
 will," said he, "provided it be none of your secrets." 
 I see every one is displeased if the bottom of the 
 affair be concealed from him wherein he is employed, 
 or that there be any reservation in the thing : for my 
 part, I am content to know no more of the business 
 than what they would have me employ myself in, nor 
 desire that my knowledge should exceed or restrict 
 what I have to say. If I must serve for an instrument 
 of deceit, let it be at least with a safe conscience; I 
 will not be reputed a servant either so affectionate, or 
 so loyal, as to be fit to betray any one : he who is un- 
 faithful to himself, is excusably so to his master. 
 
 But they are princes who do not accept men by 
 halves, and despise limited and conditional services ; 
 I cannot help it ; I frankly tell them how far I can 
 go ; for a slave I should not be, but to reason, and I 
 can hardly submit even to that. And they also are 
 to blame to exact from a freeman the same subjection 
 and obligation to their service that they do from him 
 they have made and bought, or whose fortune particu- 
 larly and expressly depends upon theirs. The laws 
 have delivered me from a great anxiety ; they have 
 chosen a side for me, and given me a master ; all other 
 
OF PROFIT AND HONESTY. 285 
 
 superiority and obligation ought to be relative to that, 
 and cut off from all other. Yet this is not to say, 
 that if my affection should otherwise incline me, my 
 hand should presently obey it ; the will and desire are 
 a law to themselves ; but actions must receive com- 
 mission from the public appointment. 
 
 All this proceeding of mine is a little dissonant from 
 the ordinary forms ; it would produce no great effects, 
 nor be of any long duration ; innocence itself could 
 not, in this age of ours, either negotiate without dis- 
 simulation, or traffic without lying ; and, indeed, pub- 
 lic employments are by no means for my palate ; what 
 my profession requires, I perform after the most pri- 
 vate manner that I can. Being young, I was engaged 
 up to the ears in business, and it succeeded well ; but 
 I disengaged myself in good time. I have often since 
 avoided meddling in it, rarely accepted, and never 
 asked it ; keeping my back still turned to ambition ; 
 but, if not like rowers who so advance backward, yet 
 so, at the same time, that I am less obliged to my 
 resolution than to my good fortune, that I was not 
 wholly embarked in it. For there are ways less dis- 
 pleasing to my taste, and more suitable to my ability, 
 by which, if she had formerly called me to the public 
 service, and my own advancement toward the world's 
 opinion, I know I should, in spite of all my own argu- 
 ments to the contrary, have pursued them. Such as 
 commonly say, in opposition to what I profess, that 
 what I call freedom, simplicity, and plainness in my 
 manners, is art and subtlety, and rather prudence than 
 goodness, industry than nature, good sense than good 
 luck, do me more honor than disgrace ; but, certainly, 
 
286 ESSAYS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 they make my subtlety too subtle : and whoever has 
 followed me close, and pried narrowly into me, I will 
 give hirn the victory, if he does not confess that there 
 is no rule in their school that could match this natural 
 motion, and maintain an appearance of liberty and 
 license, so equal and inflexible, through so many vari- 
 ous and crooked paths, and that all their wit and en- 
 deavor could never have led them through. 
 
 The way of truth is one and simple ; that of partic- 
 ular profit, and the commodity of affairs a man is 
 intrusted with, is double, unequal, and casual. I have 
 often seen these counterfeit and artificial liberties prac- 
 tised, but for the most part, without success ; they 
 relish of ^sop's ass who, in emulation of the dog, 
 obligingly clapped his two fore feet upon his master's 
 shoulders ; but as many caresses as the dog had for 
 such an expression of kindness, twice as many blows 
 with a cudgel had the poor ass for his compliment. 
 Says Cicero, u That best becomes every man, that he 
 is best at." I will not deprive deceit of its due ; that 
 were but ill to understand the world ; I know it has 
 often been of great use, and that it maintains and 
 supplies most men's employment. There are vices 
 that are lawful, as there are many actions, either good 
 or excusable, that are not lawful in themselves. 
 
 The justice which in itself is natural and universal, 
 is otherwise and more nobly ordered, than that other 
 justice, which is special, national, and constrained to 
 the ends of government. Cicero says further, "We 
 retain no solid and express effigies of true right and 
 justice ; we have only the shadow and images of it." 
 Insomuch that the sage Dandamis, hearing the lives 
 
OF PROFIT AND HONESTY. 287 
 
 of Socrates, Pythagoras, and Diogenes read, judged 
 them to be great men every way, excepting that they 
 were too much subjected to the reverence of the laws 
 which, to second and authorize, true virtue must abate 
 very much of its original vigor ; many vicious actions 
 are introduced, not only by their permission, but by 
 their advice. " Crimes are committed by the consent 
 of the magistrates and the common laws," says Seneca. 
 I follow the common phrase that distinguishes be- 
 tween profitable and honest things, so as to call some 
 natural actions, that are not only profitable but neces- 
 sary, dishonest, and foul. 
 
 But let us proceed in our examples of treachery : 
 Two pretenders to the kingdom of Thrace were fallen 
 into dispute about their title ; the emperor hindered 
 them from proceeding to blows : but one of them, 
 under color of bringing things to a friendly issue by 
 an interview, having invited his competitor to an, en- 
 tertainment in his own house, imprisoned and killed 
 him. Justice required that the Romans should have 
 satisfaction for this offence ; but there was a difficulty 
 in obtaining it by ordinary ways ; what, therefore, they 
 could not do legitimately, without war and without 
 danger, they resolved to do by treachery ; and what 
 they could not honestly do, they did profitably. For 
 which end, one Pomponius Flaccus was found to be 
 a fit instrument. This man, by dissembled words and 
 assurances, having drawn the other into his toils, in- 
 stead of the honor and favor he had promised him, sent 
 him bound hand and foot to Rome. Here one traitor 
 betrayed another, contrary to common custom : for they 
 are full of mistrust, and 'tis hard to overreach them 
 
288 ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 in their own art : witness the sad experience we have 
 lately had. 1 
 
 Let who will be Pomponius Flaccus, and there are 
 enough who would : for my part, both my word and 
 my faith are, like all the rest, parts of this common 
 body : their best effect is the public service ; this I 
 take for presupposed. But should one command me 
 to take charge of the courts of law and lawsuits, I 
 should make answer, that I understood it not ; or the 
 place of a leader of pioneers, I would say, that I was 
 called to a more honorable employment ; so likewise, 
 he that would employ me to lie, betray, and forswear my- 
 self, though not to assassinate or to poison, for some 
 notable service, I should say, "If I have robbed or 
 stolen anything from any man, send me rather to the 
 galleys." For it is permissible in a man of honor to 
 say, as the Lacedaemonians did, having been defeated 
 by Antipater, when just upon concluding an agreement : 
 " You may impose as heavy and ruinous taxes upon 
 us as you please, but to command us to do shameful 
 and dishonest things, you will lose your time, for it 
 is to no purpose.' 1 
 
 Every one ought to make the same vow to himself, 
 that the kings of Egypt made their judges solemnly 
 swear, that they would not do anything contrary to 
 their consciences, though never so much commanded 
 to it by themselves. In such commissions, there is 
 evident mark of ignominy and condemnation ; and 
 he who gives it, at the same time accuses you, and 
 
 1 Montaigne here probably refers to the feigned reconcilia- 
 tion between Catherine de Medici and Henry, Duc de Guise, 
 in 1588. 
 
OF PROFIT AND HONESTY. 289 
 
 gives it, if you understand it right, for a burden and 
 a punishment. As much as the public affairs are 
 bettered by your exploit, so much are your own the 
 worse, and the better you behave yourself in it, 'tis 
 so much the worse for yourself; and it will be no new 
 thing, nor, peradventure, without some color of justice, 
 if the same person ruin you, who set you on work. 
 
 If treachery can be in any case excusable, it must 
 be only so when it is practised to chastise and betray 
 treachery. There are examples enough of treacheries, 
 not only rejected, but chastised and punished by those 
 in favor of whom they were undertaken. Who is ig- 
 norant of Fabricius 1 sentence against the physician of 
 Pyrrhus ? 
 
 But this we also find recorded, that some persons 
 have commanded a thing, who afterward have severely 
 avenged the execution of it upon him they had em- 
 ployed, rejecting the reputation of so unbridled- an 
 authority, and disowning so abandoned and base a 
 servitude and obedience. Jaropelc, duke of Russia, 
 tampered with a gentleman of Hungary to betray 
 Boleslaus, king of Poland, either by killing him, or 
 by giving the Russians opportunity to do him some 
 notable mischief. This worthy went ably to work ; 
 he was more assiduous than before in the service of 
 that king, so that he obtained the honor to be of his 
 council, and one of the chiefest in his trust. With 
 these advantages, and taking an opportune occasion 
 of his master's absence, he betrayed Vislicza, a great 
 and rich city, to the Russians, which was entirely sacked 
 and burned, and not only all the inhabitants of both 
 sexes, young and old, put to the sword, but moreover 
 
290 ESSAYS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 a great number of neighboring gentry, whom he had 
 drawn thither to that end. Jaropelc, his revenge being 
 thus satisfied and his anger appeased, which was not, 
 indeed, without pretence (for Boleslaus had highly 
 offended him, and after the same manner) and sated 
 with the fruit of this treachery, coming to consider 
 the foulness of it, with a sound judgment and clear 
 from passion, looked upon what had been done with 
 so much horror and remorse, that he caused the eyes 
 to be bored out and the tongue and shameful parts to 
 be cut off of him who had performed it. 
 
 Antigonus persuaded the Argyraspidian soldiers to 
 betray Eumenes, their general, his adversary, into his 
 hands ; but after he had caused him, so delivered, 
 to be slain, he would himself be the commissioner of 
 the divine justice for the punishment of so detestable 
 a crime and committed them into the hands of the 
 governor of the province, with express command, by 
 whatever means, to destroy and bring them all to an 
 evil end, so that of that great number of men, not so 
 much as one ever returned again into Macedonia ; 
 the better he had been served, the more wickedly he 
 judged it to be, and meriting greater punishment. 
 
 The slave who betrayed the place where his master 
 P. Sulpicius lay concealed, was, according to the prom- 
 ise of Sylla's proscription, manumitted for his pains ; 
 but according to the promise of the public justice, 
 which was free from any such engagement, he was 
 thrown headlong from the Tarpeian rock. 
 
 Our King Clovis, instead of the arms of gold he 
 had promised them, caused three of Canacre's ser- 
 vants to be hanged after they had betrayed their 
 
OF PROFIT AND HONESTY. 291 
 
 master to him, though he had debauched them to it ; 
 he hanged them with the purse of their reward about 
 their necks : after having satisfied his second and 
 special faith, he satisfied the general and first. 
 
 Mohammed II. having resolved to rid himself of 
 his brother, out of jealousy of state, according to the 
 practice of the Ottoman family, he employed one of 
 his officers in the execution ; who. pouring a quantity 
 of water too fast into him, choked him. This being 
 done, to expiate the murder, he delivered the mur- 
 derer into the hands of the mother of him he had so 
 caused to be put to death, for they were only brothers 
 by the father's side ; she, in his presence, ripped up 
 the murderers bosom, and with her own hands rifled 
 his breast for his heart, tore it out, and threw it to 
 the dogs. And even to the worst people it is the 
 sweetest thing imaginable, having once gained their 
 end by a vicious action, to foist, in all security, into 
 it some show of virtue and justice, as by way of com- 
 pensation and conscientious correction ; to which may 
 be added, that they look upon the ministers of such 
 horrid crimes as upon men who reproach them with 
 them, and think by their deaths to erase the memory 
 and testimony of such proceedings. 
 
 Or if, perhaps, you are rewarded, not to frustrate 
 the public necessity for that extreme and desperate 
 remedy, he who does it cannot for ail that, if he be 
 not such himself, but look upon you as an accursed 
 and execrable fellow, and conclude you a greater 
 traitor than he does, against whom you are so ; for 
 he tries the malignity of your disposition by your 
 own hands, where he cannot possibly be deceived, 
 
292 ESSAYS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 you having no object of preceding hatred to move 
 you to such an act ; but he employs you as they do 
 condemned malefactors in executions of justice, an 
 office as necessary as dishonorable. Besides the base- 
 ness of such commissions, there is, moreover, a pros- 
 titution of conscience. Seeing that the daughter of 
 Sejanus could not be put to death by the law of Rome 
 because she was a virgin, she was, to make it lawful, 
 first ravished by the hangman and then strangled : 
 not only his hand but his soul is slave to the public 
 convenience. 
 
 When Amurath I., more grievously to punish his 
 subjects who had taken part in the parricide rebellion 
 of his son, ordained that their nearest kindred should 
 assist in the execution, I find it very handsome in 
 some of them to have rather chosen to be unjustly 
 thought guilty of the parricide of another than to 
 serve justice by a parricide of their own. And where 
 I have seen, at the taking of some little fort by 
 assault in my time, some rascals who to save their 
 own lives, would consent to hang their friends and 
 companions, I have looked upon them to be of worse 
 condition than those who were hanged. 'Tis said 
 that Witold, prince of Lithuania, introduced into that 
 nation the practice that the criminal condemned to 
 death should with his own hand execute the sen- 
 tence, thinking it strange that a third person, inno- 
 cent of the fault, should be made guilty of homicide. 
 
 A prince, when by some urgent circumstance or 
 some impetuous and unforeseen accident that very 
 much concerns his state, compelled to forfeit his 
 word and break his faith, or otherwise forced from 
 
OF PROFIT AND HONESTY. 293 
 
 his ordinary duty, ought to attribute this necessity 
 to a lash of the divine rod ; vice it is not, for he has 
 given up his own reason to a more universal and 
 more powerful reason ; but, certainly, 'tis a misfor- 
 tune ; so that if any one should ask me what remedy? 
 " None," say I, " if he were really racked between 
 these two extremes ; sed videat, ne queer atur latebra 
 fterjurio, he must do it ; but if he did it without 
 regret, if it did not grieve him to do it, His a sign 
 his conscience is in a scurvy condition. 1 '' If there be 
 a person to be found of so tender a conscience as to 
 think no cure whatever worth so important a remedy, 
 I shall like him never the worse ; he could not more 
 excusably or more decently perish. We cannot do 
 all we would, so that we must often, as the last 
 anchorage, commit the protection of our vessels to 
 the simple conduct of heaven. To what more just 
 necessity does he reserve himself ? What is less 
 possible for him to do than what he cannot do but 
 at the expense of his faith and honor, things that, 
 perhaps, ought to be dearer to him than his own 
 safety, or even the safety of his people. Though he 
 should, with folded arms, only call God to his assist- 
 ance, has he not reason to hope that the divine good- 
 ness will not refuse the favor of an extraordinary arm 
 to just and pure hands? These are dangerous ex- 
 amples, rare and sickly exceptions to our natural 
 rules ; we must yield to them, but with great mod- 
 eration and circumspection ; no private utility is of 
 such importance that we should upon that account 
 strain our consciences to such a degree : the public 
 may be, when very manifest and of very great concern. 
 
294 ESSAYS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 Timoleon made a timely expiation for his strange 
 exploit by the tears he shed, calling to mind that it was 
 with a fraternal hand that he had slain the tyrant; 
 and it justly pricked his conscience that he had been 
 necessitated to purchase the public utility at so great 
 a price as the violation of his private morality. Even 
 the senate itself, by his means delivered from slavery, 
 dared not positively determine of so high a fact, and 
 divided into two so important and contrary aspects*; 
 but the Syracusans, sending at the same time to the 
 Corinthians to solicit their protection, and to require 
 of them a captain fit to reestablish their city in its 
 former dignity and to clear Sicily of several little 
 tyrants by whom it w r as oppressed, they deputed 
 Timoleon for that service, with this cunning declara- 
 tion ; " that according as he should behave himself 
 well or ill in his employment, their sentence should 
 incline either to favor the deliverer of his country, or 
 to disfavor the murderer of his brother." 
 
 This fantastic conclusion carries along with it some 
 excuse, by reason of the danger of the example, and 
 the importance of so strange an action ; and they did 
 well to discharge their own judgment of it, and to 
 refer it to others who were not so much concerned. 
 But Timoleon's comportment in this expedition soon 
 made his cause more clear, so worthily and virtu- 
 ously he demeaned himself upon all occasions ; and 
 the good fortune that accompanied him in the diffi- 
 culties he had to overcome in this noble employment, 
 seemed to be strewed in his way by the gods, favor- 
 ably conspiring for his justification. 
 
 The end of this matter is excusable, if any can be 
 
OF PROFIT AND HONESTY. 295 
 
 so ; but the profit of the augmentation of the public 
 revenue, that served the Roman senate for a pretence 
 to the foul conclusion I am going to relate, is not 
 sufficient to warrant any such injustice. 
 
 Certain cities had redeemed themselves and their 
 liberty by money, by the order and consent of the 
 senate, out of the hands of L. Sylla : the business 
 coming again in question, the senate condemned 
 them to be taxable as they were before, and that the 
 money they had disbursed for their redemption should 
 be lost to them. Civil war often produces such 
 villanous examples ; that we punish private men for 
 confiding in us when we were public ministers : and 
 the selfsame magistrate makes another man pay the 
 penalty of his change, that has nothing to do with it ; 
 the pedagogue whips his scholar for his docility ; and 
 the guide beats the blind man whom he leads by the 
 hand ; a horrid image of justice. 
 
 There are rules in philosophy that are both false 
 and weak. The example that is proposed to us for 
 preferring private utility before faith given, has not 
 weight enough by the circumstance they put to it ; 
 robbers have seized you, and after having made you 
 swear to pay them a certain sum of money, dismiss 
 you. 'Tis not well done to say, that an honest man 
 can be quit of his oath without payment, being out of 
 their hands. 'Tis no such thing; what fear has once 
 made me willing to do, I am obliged to do it, when I 
 am no longer in fear ; and though that fear only pre- 
 vailed with my tongue without forcing my will, yet am 
 I bound to keep my word. For my part, w T hen my 
 tongue has sometimes inconsiderately said something 
 
2 go ESSAYS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 that I did not think, I have made a conscience of dis- 
 owning it : otherwise, by degrees, we shall abolish all 
 the right another derives from our promises and 
 oaths. " Quasi vero forti viro vis ftossit adhiberi" 
 And 'tis only lawful, upon the account of private 
 interest to excuse breach of promise when we have 
 promised something that is unlawful and wicked in 
 itself; for the right of virtue ought to take place of 
 the right of any obligation of ours. 
 
 I have formerly placed Epaminondas in the first 
 rank of excellent men and do not repent it. How 
 high did he stretch the consideration of his own 
 particular duty? he who never killed a man whom he 
 had overcome ; who, for the inestimable benefit of 
 restoring the liberty of his country, made conscience 
 of killing a tyrant or his accomplices, without due 
 form of justice : and who concluded him to be a 
 wicked man, how good a citizen soever otherwise, 
 who among his enemies in battle spared not his 
 friend and his guest. This was a soul of a rich com- 
 position : he married goodness and humanity, nay, 
 even the tenderest and most delicate in the whole 
 school of philosophy, to the roughest and most 
 violent human actions. Was it nature or art that 
 had intenerated that great courage of his, so full, so 
 obstinate against pain and death and poverty, to such 
 an extreme degree of sweetness and compassion ? 
 Dreadful in arms and blood, he overran and subdued 
 a nation invincible by all others but by him alone ; 
 and yet in the heat of an encounter, could turn aside 
 from his friend and guest. Certainly he was fit to 
 command in war, who could so rein himself with the 
 
OF PROFIT AND HONESTY. 297 
 
 curb of good nature, in the height and heat of his 
 fury, a fury inflamed and foaming with blood and 
 slaughter. 
 
 'Tis a miracle to be able to mix any image of justice 
 with such violent actions : and it was only possible 
 for such a steadfastness of mind as that of Epami- 
 nondas, therein to mix sweetness and the facility of 
 the gentlest manners and purest innocence. And 
 whereas one told the Mamertines, that statutes were 
 of no resistance against armed men ; and another 
 told the tribune of the people, that the time of justice 
 and of war were distinct things ; and a third said 
 that the noise of arms deafened the voice of laws, 
 this man in all such rattle was not deaf to that of 
 civility and pure courtesy. Had he not borrowed 
 from his enemies the custom of sacrificing to the 
 Muses when he went to war, that they might, by their 
 sweetness and gayety, soften his martial and rigorous 
 fury? 
 
 Let us not fear, by the example of so great a master, 
 to believe that there is something unlawful, even 
 against an enemy; and that the common concern 
 ought not to require all things of all men, against 
 private interest. Livy says, " The memory of private 
 right still remains amid public dissensions " ; and 
 Ovid, "No power on earth can sanction treachery 
 against a friend. 1 ' All things are not lawful to an 
 honest man for the service of his prince, the laws, or 
 the general quarrel. " The duty to one's country does 
 not supersede all other duties," says Cicero ; " the coun- 
 try itself requires that its citizens should act piously 
 toward their parents." 'Tis an instruction proper 
 
298 ESSAYS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 for the time wherein we live ; we need not harden our 
 courage with these arms of steel ; His enough that 
 our shoulders are inured to them ; 'tis enough to dip 
 our pens in ink, without dipping them in blood. If it 
 be grandeur of courage, and the effect of a rare and 
 singular virtue, to contemn friendship, private obliga- 
 tions, a man's word and relationship, for the common 
 good and obedience to the magistrate, 'tis certainly 
 sufficient to excuse us, that 'tis a grandeur that could 
 have no place in the grandeur of Epaminondas' 
 courage. 
 
 I abominate those mad exhortations of this other 
 discomposed soul. 1 "When swords are drawn, let 
 no idea of love, nor the face even of a father pre- 
 sented to you, move you : mutilate with your sword 
 those venerable features " [Lucan] . 
 
 Let us deprive wicked, bloody, and treacherous 
 natures of such a pretence of reason ; let us set aside 
 this guilty and extravagant justice, and stick to more 
 human imitations. How great things can time and 
 example do ! In an encounter of the civil war against 
 Cinna, one of Pompey's soldiers having unawares 
 killed his brother, who was of the contrary party, he 
 immediately for shame and sorrow killed himself; 
 and some years after in another civil war of the same 
 people a soldier demanded a reward of his officer for 
 having killed his brother. 
 
 A man but ill proves the honor and beauty of an 
 
 action by its utility ; and very erroneously concludes 
 
 that every one is obliged to it, and that it becomes 
 
 every one to do it, if it be of utility. " All things are 
 
 1 Julius Caesar. 
 
OF REPENTANCE. 299 
 
 not equally fit for all men/' says Propertius. Let us 
 take that which is most necessary and profitable for 
 human society ; it will be marriage ; and yet the 
 council of the saints find the contrary much better, 
 excluding from it the most venerable vocation of 
 man ; as we design those horses for stallions, of which 
 we have the least esteem. 
 
 OF REPENTANCE. 
 
 Others form man ; I only report him : and repre- 
 sent a particular one, ill fashioned enough, and whom, 
 if I had to model him anew, I should certainly make 
 something else than what he is : but that's past re- 
 calling. Now, though the features of my picture 
 alter and change, 'tis not, however, unlike : the world 
 eternally turns round ; all things therein are inces- 
 santly moving, the earth, the rocks of Caucasus, and 
 the pyramids of Egypt, both by the public motion and 
 their own. Even constancy itself is no other but a 
 slower and more languishing motion. I cannot fix 
 my object ; 'tis always tottering and reeling by a 
 natural giddiness : I take it as it is at the instant I 
 consider it ; I do not paint its being, I paint its 
 passage : not a passing from one age to another, or, 
 as the people say, from seven to seven years, but 
 from day to day, from minute to minute. I must 
 accommodate my history to the hour : I may pres- 
 ently change, not only by fortune, but also by inten- 
 tion. "Tis a counterpart of various and changeable 
 accidents, and of irresolute imaginations, and, as it 
 falls out, sometimes contrary : whether it be that I 
 
300 ESS A Y S OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 am then another self, or that I take subjects by other 
 circumstances and considerations : so it is, that I may 
 peradventure contradict myself, but, as Demades said, 
 I never contradict the truth. Could my soul once 
 take footing, I would not essay but resolve : but it is 
 always learning and making trial. 
 
 I propose a life ordinary and without lustre : 'tis all 
 one ; all moral philosophy may as well be applied to 
 a common and private life, as to one of richer compo- 
 sition : every man carries the entire form of human 
 condition. Authors communicate themselves to the 
 people by some especial and extrinsic mark ; I, the 
 first of any, by my universal being ; as Michel de 
 Montaigne, not as a grammarian, a poet, or a lawyer. 
 If the world find fault that I speak too much of my- 
 self, I find fault that they do not so much as think of 
 themselves. But is it reason, that being so particular 
 in my way of living, I should pretend to recommend 
 myself to the public knowledge? And is it also 
 reason that I should produce to the world, where art 
 and handling have so much credit and authority, 
 crude and simple effects of nature, and of a weak 
 nature to boot? Is it not to build a wall without 
 stone or brick, or some such thing, to write books 
 without learning and without art? 
 
 The fancies of music are carried on by art ; mine 
 by chance. I have this, at least, according to disci- 
 pline, that never any man treated of a subject he 
 better understood and knew, than I what I have 
 undertaken, and that in this I am the most under- 
 standing man alive : secondly, that never any man 
 penetrated farther into his matter, nor better and 
 
OF REPENTANCE. 301 
 
 more distinctly sifted the parts and sequences of it, 
 nor ever more exactly and rally arrived at the end he 
 proposed to himself. To perfect it, I need bring 
 nothing but fidelity to the work ; and that is there, 
 and the most pure and sincere that is anywhere to be 
 found. I speak truth, not so much as I would, but as 
 much as I dare ; and I dare a little the more, as I 
 grow older ; for, methinks, custom allows to age more 
 liberty of prating, and more indiscretion of talking of 
 a man's self. That cannot fall out here, which I often 
 see elsewhere, that the work and the artificer contra- 
 dict one another : " Can a man of such sober conver- 
 sation have written so foolish a book ? M Or " Do so 
 learned writings proceed from a man of so weak con- 
 versation?" He who talks at a very ordinary rate, 
 and writes rare matter, 'tis to say that his capacity is 
 borrowed and not his own. 
 
 A learned man is not learned in all things : but a 
 sufficient man is sufficient throughout, even to igno- 
 rance itself; here my book and I go hand in hand 
 together. Elsewhere men may commend or censure 
 the work, without reference to the workman ; here 
 they cannot : who touches the one, touches the other. 
 He who shall judge of it without knowing him, will 
 more wrong himself than me ; he who does know 
 him, gives me all the satisfaction I desire. I shall be 
 happy beyond my desert, if I can obtain only thus 
 much from the public approbation, as to make men 
 of understanding perceive that I was capable of profit- 
 ing by knowledge, had I had it ; and that I deserved 
 to have been assisted by a better memory. 
 
 Be pleased here to excuse what I often repeat, that 
 
302 ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 I very rarely repent, and that my conscience is satis- 
 fled with itself, not as the conscience of an angel, or 
 that of a horse, but as the conscience of a man ; 
 always adding this clause, not one of ceremony, but a 
 true and real submission, that I speak inquiring and 
 doubting, purely and simply referring myself to the 
 common and accepted beliefs for the resolution. I 
 do not teach, I only relate. 
 
 There is no vice that is absolutely a vice which 
 does not offend, and that a sound judgment does not 
 accuse ; for there is in it so manifest a deformity and 
 inconvenience, that, peradventure, they are in the right 
 who say that it is chiefly begotten by stupidity and 
 ignorance : so hard is it to imagine that a man can 
 know without abhorring it. Malice sucks up the 
 greatest part of its own venom, and poisons itself. 
 Vice leaves repentance in the soul, like an ulcer in 
 the flesh, which is always scratching and lacerating 
 itself: for reason effaces all other grief and sorrows, 
 but it begets that of repentance, which is so much the 
 more grievous, by reason it springs within, as the 
 cold and heat of fevers are more sharp than those 
 that only strike upon the outward skin. I hold for 
 vices (but every one according to its proportion), not 
 only those which reason and nature condemn, but 
 those also which the opinion of men, though false 
 and erroneous, have made such, if authorized by law 
 and custom. 
 
 There is likewise no virtue which does not rejoice a 
 well-descended nature ; there is a kind of, I know not 
 what, congratulation in well doing that gives us an 
 inward satisfaction, and a generous boldness that 
 
OF REPENTANCE. 303 
 
 accompanies a good conscience : a soul daringly 
 vicious may, peradventure, arm itself with security, 
 but it cannot supply itself with this complacency and 
 satisfaction. 'Tis no little satisfaction to feel a man's 
 self preserved from the contagion of so depraved an 
 age, and to say to himself: " Whoever could penetrate 
 into my soul would not there find me guilty either of 
 the affliction or ruin of any one, or of revenge or envy, 
 or any offence against the public laws, or of inno- 
 vation or disturbance, or failure of my word; and 
 though the license of the time permits and teaches 
 every one so to do, yet have I not plundered any 
 Frenchman's goods, or taken his money, and have 
 lived upon what is my own, in war as well as in 
 peace ; neither have I set any man to work without 
 paying him his hire." These testimonies of a good 
 conscience please, and this natural rejoicing is very 
 beneficial to us, and the only reward that we can 
 never fail of. 
 
 To ground the recompense of virtuous actions upon 
 the approbation of others is too uncertain and unsafe 
 a foundation, especially in so corrupt and ignorant an 
 age as this, wherein the good opinion of the vulgar is 
 injurious : upon whom do you rely to show you what is 
 recommendable ? God defend me from being an 
 honest man, according to the descriptions of honor I 
 daily see every one make of himself. " Quœ fuerant 
 vitia, mores sunt" Some of my friends have at times 
 schooled and scolded me with great sincerity and 
 plainness, either of their own voluntary motion, or 
 by me entreated to it as to an office, which to a well- 
 composed soul surpasses not only in utility, but in 
 
304 ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE, 
 
 kindness all other offices of friendship : I have always 
 received them with the most open arms, both of cour- 
 tesy and acknowledgment ; but, to say the truth, I 
 have often found so much false measure, both in their 
 reproaches and praises, that I had not done much 
 amiss, rather to have done ill, than to have done well 
 according to their notions. 
 
 We, who live private lives, not exposed to any other 
 view than our own, ought chiefly to have settled a 
 pattern within ourselves by which to try our actions ; 
 and according to that, sometimes to encourage and 
 sometimes to correct ourselves. I have my laws and 
 my judicature to judge of myself, and apply myself more 
 to these than to any other rules : I do, indeed, restrain 
 my actions according to others ; but extend them not 
 by any other rule than my own. You yourself only 
 know if you are cowardly and cruel, loyal and devout : 
 others see you not, and only guess at you by uncertain 
 conjectures, and do not so much see your nature as 
 your art ; rely not therefore upon their opinions, but 
 stick to your own. " Thou must employ thy own judg- 
 ment upon thyself; great is the weight of thy own 
 conscience in the discovery of thy own virtues and 
 vices ; that being taken away, all things are lost, 11 
 says Cicero. 
 
 But the saying that repentance immediately follows 
 the sin seems not to have respect to sin in its high 
 estate, which is lodged in us as in its own proper 
 habitation. One may disown and retract the vices 
 that surprise us, and to which we are hurried by pas- 
 sions ; but those which by a long habit are rooted in 
 a strong and vigorous will are not subject to contra- 
 
OF REPENTANCE. 305 
 
 diction. Repentance is no other but a recanting of 
 the will and an opposition to our fancies, which lead 
 us which way they please. It makes this person dis- 
 own his former virtue and continency, and say with 
 Horace, "Why was I not of the same mind when I 
 was a boy that I am now ? or why do not the ruddy 
 cheeks of my youth return to help me now? " 
 
 'Tis an exact life that maintains itself in due order 
 in private. Every one may juggle his part, and repre- 
 sent an honest man upon the stage : but within, and 
 in his own bosom, where all may do as they list, where 
 all is concealed, to be regular — there's the point. 
 The next degree is to be so in his house, and in 
 his ordinary actions, for which we are accountable 
 to none, and where there is no study nor artifice. 
 And therefore Bias, setting forth the excellent state 
 of a private family, says : " of which the master is 
 the same within, by his own virtue and temper, that 
 he is abroad, for fear of the laws and report of men." 
 And it was a worthy saying of Julius Drusus, to the 
 masons who offered him, for three thousand crowns, 
 to put his house in such a posture that his neighbors 
 should no longer have the same inspection into it as 
 before ; " I will give you, 11 said he. " six thousand to 
 make it so that everybody may see into every room.' 1 
 7 Tis honorably recorded of Agesilaus, that he used in 
 his journeys always to take up his lodgings in temples, 
 to the end that the people and the gods themselves 
 might pry into his most private actions. 
 
 Such a one has been a miracle to the world, in 
 w T hom neither his wife nor servant has ever seen any- 
 thing so much as remarkable ; few men have been 
 
3°6 ESSAYS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 admired by their own domestics ; no one was ever a 
 prophet, not merely in his own house, but in his own 
 country, says the experience of histories : 'tis the same 
 in things of naught, and in this low example the 
 image of a greater is to be seen. In my country of 
 Gascony, they look upon it as a drollery to see me in 
 print ; the further off I am read from my own home, 
 the better I am esteemed. I am fain to purchase 
 printers in Guienne ; elsewhere they purchase me. 
 Upon this it is that they lay their foundation who 
 conceal themselves present and living, to obtain a 
 name when they are absent and dead. 
 
 I had rather have a great deal less in hand, and 
 do not expose myself to the world upon any other 
 account than my present share ; when I leave it I 
 quit the rest. See this functionary whom the people 
 escort in state, with wonder and applause, to his very 
 door ; he puts off the pageant with his robe, and falls 
 so much the lower by how much he was higher 
 exalted : in himself within, all is tumult and degraded. 
 And though all should be regular there, it will require 
 a vivid and well-chosen judgment to perceive it in 
 these low and private actions ; to which may be 
 added, that order is a dull, sombre virtue. To enter 
 a breach, conduct an embassy, govern a people, are 
 actions of renown : to reprehend, laugh, sell, pay, love, 
 hate, and gently and justly converse with a man's own 
 family, and with himself; not to relax, not to give a 
 man's self the lie is more rare and hard, and less 
 remarkable. By which means, retired lives, whatever 
 is said to the contrary, undergo duties of as great or 
 greater difficulty than the others do; and private 
 
OF REPENTANCE. 3° 7 
 
 men, says Aristotle, serve virtue more painfally and 
 highly, than those in authority do : we prepare our- 
 selves for eminent occasions, more out of glory than 
 conscience. 
 
 The shortest way to arrive at glory, would be to do 
 that for conscience which we do for glory : and the 
 virtue of Alexander appears to me of much less vigor 
 in his great theatre, than that of Socrates in his 
 mean and obscure employment. I can easily con- 
 ceive Socrates in the place of Alexander, but Alex- 
 ander in that of Socrates, I cannot. Who shall ask 
 the one what he can do, he will answer, u Subdue the 
 world : " and who shall put the same question to the 
 other, he will say, " Carry on human life conformably 
 with its natural condition ; " a much more general, 
 weighty, and legitimate science than the other. 
 - The virtue of the soul does not consist in flying 
 high, but in walking orderly ; its grandeur does not 
 exercise itself in grandeur, but in mediocrity. As 
 they who judge and try us within make no great 
 account of the lustre of our public actions, and see 
 they are only streaks and rays of clear water spring- 
 ing from a slimy and muddy bottom : so, likewise, 
 they who judge of us by this gallant outward appear- 
 ance in like manner conclude of our internal consti- 
 tution ; and cannot couple common faculties, and like 
 their own, with the other faculties that astonish them, 
 and are so far out of their sight. Therefore it is, that 
 we give such savage forms to demons : and who does 
 not give Tamerlane great eyebrows, wide nostrils, a 
 dreadful visage, and a prodigious stature, according 
 to the imagination he has conceived by the report 
 
308 ESSAYS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 of his name? Had any one formerly brought me to 
 Erasmus, I should hardly have believed but that all 
 was adage and apothegm he spoke to his man or his 
 hostess. As vicious souls are often incited by some 
 foreign impulse to do well, so are virtuous souls to 
 do ill ; they are therefore to be judged by their settled 
 state, when they are at home, whenever that may be ; 
 and, at all events, when they are nearer repose, and 
 in their native station. 
 
 Natural inclinations are much assisted and fortified 
 by education : but they seldom alter and overcome 
 their institution : a thousand natures of my time have 
 escaped toward virtue or vice, through a quite con- 
 trary discipline. " So savage beasts, when shut up in 
 cages, and grown unaccustomed to the woods, become 
 tame, and lay aside their fierce looks, and submit to 
 the rule of man; if again they taste blood, their 
 rage and fury return, their jaws are erected by thirst 
 of blood, and they scarcely forbear to assail their 
 trembling masters," says Lucan. 
 
 These original qualities are not to he rooted out; 
 they may be covered and concealed. The Latin 
 tongue is as it were natural to me ; I understand it 
 better than French ; but I have not been used to 
 speak it, nor hardly to write it these forty years. 
 Yet, upon extreme and sudden emotions which I 
 have fallen into twice or thrice in my life, and once, 
 seeing my father in perfect health fall upon me in a 
 swoon, I have always uttered my first outcries and 
 ejaculations in Latin ; nature starting up, and forcibly 
 expressing itself, in spite of so long a discontinuation ; 
 and this example is said of many others. 
 
OF REPENTANCE. 309 
 
 They who in my time have attempted to correct 
 the manners of the world by new opinions, reform 
 seeming vices, but the essential vices they leave as 
 they were, if indeed they do not augment them ; and 
 augmentation is, therein, to be feared ; we defer all 
 other well doing upon the account of these external 
 reformations of less cost and greater show, and 
 thereby expiate cheaply, for the other natural con- 
 substantial and intestine vices. Look a little into 
 our experience : there is no man, if he listen to him- 
 self, who does not in himself discover a particular 
 and governing form of his own, that jostles his educa- 
 tion, and wrestles with the tempest of passions that 
 are contrary to it. For my part, I seldom find myself 
 agitated with surprises ; I always find myself in my 
 place, as heavy and unwieldy bodies do ; if I am not 
 at home, I am always near at hand : my dissipations 
 do not transport me very far, there is nothing strange 
 nor extreme in the case ; and yet I have sound and 
 vigorous turns. 
 
 The true condemnation, and which touches the 
 common practice of men, is, that their very retire- 
 ment itself is full of filth and corruption; the idea of 
 their reformation composed ; their repentance sick 
 and faulty, very nearly as much as their sin. Some, 
 either from having been linked to vice by a natural 
 propension, or long practice, cannot see its deformity. 
 Others (of which constitution I am) do indeed feel 
 the weight of vice, but they counterbalance it with 
 pleasure, or some other occasion ; and suffer, and 
 lend themselves to it, for a certain price, but viciously 
 and basely. Yet there might, haply, be imagined so 
 
3IO ESSAYS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 vast a disproportion of measure, where with justice 
 the pleasure might excuse the sin, as we say of 
 utility ; not only if accidental, and out of sin, as in 
 thefts, but the very exercise of sin, as in the enjoy- 
 ment of women, wmere the temptation is violent, and 
 'tis said, sometimes not to be overcome. 
 
 Being the other day at Armaignac, on the estate 
 of a kinsman of mine, I there saw a country fellow 
 who was by every one nicknamed the thief. He thus 
 related the story of his life ; that being born a beggar, 
 and finding that he should not be able, so as to be 
 clear of indigence, to get his living by the sweat of 
 his brow, he resolved to turn thief, and by means of 
 his strength of body, had exercised this trade all the 
 time of his youth in great security ; for he ever made 
 his harvest and vintage in other men's grounds, but a 
 great way off, and in so great quantities, that it was 
 not to be imagined one man could have carried away 
 so much in one night upon his shoulders ; and, more- 
 over, was careful equally to divide and distribute the 
 mischief he did, that the loss was of less importance 
 to every particular man. He is now grown old, and 
 rich for a man of his condition, thanks to his trade, 
 which he openly confesses to every one. And to 
 make his peace with God, he says that he is daily 
 ready by good offices to make satisfaction to the suc- 
 cessors of those he has robbed, and if he do not 
 finish (for to do it all at once he is not able) he will 
 then leave it in charge to his heirs to perform the 
 rest, proportionably to the wrong he himself only 
 knows he has done to each. By this description, 
 true or false, this man looks upon theft as a dishonest 
 
OF REPENTANCE. 31 1 
 
 action, and ha/tes it, but less than poverty, and simply 
 repents ; but to the extent he has thus recompensed, 
 he repents not. This is not that habit which incor- 
 porates us into vice, and conforms even our under- 
 standing itself to it ; nor is it that impetuous whirlwind 
 that by gusts troubles and blinds our souls and for the 
 time precipitates us, judgment and all, into the power 
 of vice. 
 
 I customarily do what I do thoroughly and make 
 but one step on't ; I have rarely any movement that 
 hides itself and steals away from my reason, and that 
 does not proceed in the matter by the consent of all 
 my faculties, without division or intestine sedition ; 
 my judgment is to have all the blame or all the praise ; 
 and the blame it once has, it has always ; for almost 
 from my infancy it has ever been one ; the same incli- 
 nation, the same turn, the same force ; and as to uni- 
 versal opinions, I fixed myself from my childhood in 
 the place where I resolved to stick. There are some 
 sins that are impetuous, prompt, and sudden ; let us 
 set them aside ; but in these other sins so often re- 
 peated, deliberated, and contrived, whether sins of 
 complexion or sins of profession and vocation, I can- 
 not conceive that they should have so long been set- 
 tled in the same resolution, unless the reason and 
 conscience of him who has them be constant to have 
 them ; and the repentance he boasts to be inspired 
 with on a sudden is very hard for me to imagine 
 or form. I follow not the opinion of the Pythagorean 
 sect, " that men take up a new soul when they repair to 
 the images of the gods to receive their oracles," unless 
 he mean that it must needs be extrinsic, new, and 
 
312 ESSAYS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 lent for the time ; our own showing so little sign of 
 purification and cleanness, fit for such an office. 
 
 They act quite contrary to the stoical precepts, who 
 do indeed command us to correct the imperfections 
 and vices we know ourselves guilty of, but forbid us 
 therefore to disturb the repose of our souls ; these 
 make us believe that they have great grief and remorse 
 within ; but of amendment, correction, or interruption, 
 they make nothing appear. It cannot be a cure if the 
 malady be not wholly discharged ; if repentance were 
 laid upon the scale of the balance, it would weigh 
 down sin. I find no quality so easy to counterfeit as 
 devotion, if men do not conform their manners and 
 life to the profession ; its essence is abstruse and oc- 
 cult ; the appearances easy and ostentatious. 
 
 For my own part, I may desire in general to be 
 other than I am ; I may condemn and dislike my whole 
 form, and beg of Almighty God for an entire reforma- 
 tion, and that He will please to pardon my natural 
 infirmity : but I ought not to call this repentance, me- 
 thinks, no more, than the being dissatisfied that I am 
 not an angel or Cato. My actions are regular, and 
 conformable with what I am, and to my condition ; I 
 can do no better ; and repentance does not properly 
 touch things that are not in our power ; sorrow does. 
 I imagine an infinite number of natures more elevated 
 and regular than mine ; and yet I do not for all that 
 improve my faculties, no more than my arm or will 
 grows more strong and vigorous for conceiving those of 
 another to be so. If to conceive and wish a nobler 
 way of acting than that we have should produce a 
 repentance of our own, we must then repent us of our 
 
OF REPENTANCE, 313 
 
 most innocent actions, forasmuch as we may well sup- 
 pose that in a more excellent nature they would have 
 been carried on with greater dignity and perfection ; 
 and we would that ours were so. 
 
 When I reflect upon the deportments of my youth, 
 with that of my old age, I find that I have commonly 
 behaved myself with equal order in both, according 
 to what I understand : this is all that my resistance 
 can do. I do not flatter myself; in the same circum- 
 stances I should do the same things. It is not a patch, 
 but rather an universal tincture, with which I am 
 stained. I know no repentance, superficial, halfway 
 and ceremonious ; it must sting me all over before I 
 can call it so, and must prick my bowels as deeply and 
 universally as God sees into me. 
 
 As to business, many excellent opportunities have 
 escaped me for want of good management ; and yet 
 my deliberations were sound enough, according to the 
 occurrences presented to me : 'tis their way to choose 
 always the easiest and safest course. I find that, in 
 my former resolves, I have proceeded with discretion. 
 according to my own rule, and according to the state 
 of the subject proposed, and should do the same a 
 thousand years hence in like occasions : I do not con- 
 sider what it is now, but what it was then, when I 
 deliberated on it : the force of all counsel consists in 
 the time ; occasions and things eternally shift and 
 change. I have in my life committed some important 
 errors, not for want of good understanding, but for 
 want of good luck. There are secret, and not to be 
 foreseen, parts in matters we have in hand, especially 
 in the nature of men ; mute conditions, that make no 
 
314 ESSAYS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 show, unknown sometimes even to the possessors 
 themselves, that spring and start up by incidental oc- 
 casions ; if my prudence could not penetrate into nor 
 foresee them, I blame it not : 'tis commissioned no 
 farther than its own limits ; if the event be too hard 
 for me, and take the side I have refused, there is no 
 remedy ; I do not blame myself, I accuse my fortune, 
 and not my work ; this cannot be called repentance. 
 
 Phocion, having given the Athenians an advice that 
 was not followed, and the affair nevertheless succeed- 
 ing contrary to his opinion, some one said to him ; 
 " Well, Phocion, art thou content that matters go so 
 well ?" "I am very well content," replied he, " that 
 this has happened so well, but I do not repent that I 
 counselled the other." When any of my friends ad- 
 dress themselves to me for advice, I give it candidly 
 and clearly, without sticking, as almost all other men 
 do, at the hazard of the thing's falling out contrary to 
 my opinion, and that I may be reproached for my 
 counsel ; I am very indifferent as to that, for the fault 
 will be theirs for having consulted me, and I could 
 not refuse them that office. 
 
 I, for my own part, can rarely blame any one but 
 myself for my oversights and misfortunes, for indeed I 
 seldom solicit the advice of another, if not by honor 
 of ceremony, or excepting where I stand in need of 
 information, special science, or as to matter of fact. 
 But in things wherein I stand in need of nothing but 
 judgment, other men's reasons may serve to fortify my 
 own, but have little power to dissuade me; I hear 
 them all with civility and patience : but to my recollec- 
 tion, I never made use of any but my own. With me, 
 
OF REPENTANCE. 3*5 
 
 they are but flies and atoms, that confound and distract 
 my will ; I lay no great stress upon my opinions ; but I 
 lay as little upon those of others, and fortune rewards 
 me accordingly : if I receive but little advice, I also 
 give but little. I am seldom consulted, and still more 
 seldom believed, and know no concern, either public 
 or private, that has been mended or bettered by my 
 advice. Even they whom fortune had in some sort 
 tied to my direction, have more willingly suffered them- 
 selves to be governed by any other counsels than mine. 
 And as a man who am as jealous of my repose as of 
 my authority, I am better pleased that it should be 
 so ; in leaving me there, they humor what I profess, 
 which is to settle and wholly contain myself within 
 myself. I take a pleasure in being uninterested in 
 other men's affairs, and disengaged from being their 
 warranty, and responsible for what they do. 
 
 In all affairs that are past, be it how it will, I have 
 very little regret ; for this imagination puts me out of 
 my pain, that they were so to fall out ; they are in the 
 great revolution of the world, and in the chain of stoi- 
 cal causes : your fancy cannot, by wish and imagination, 
 move one tittle, but that the great current of things 
 will not reverse both the past and the future. 
 
 As to the rest, I abominate that incidental repent- 
 ance which old age brings along with it. He, who 
 said of old, 1 that he was obliged to his age for having 
 weaned him from pleasure, was of another opinion 
 than I am ; I can never think myself beholden to im- 
 potency, for any good it can do to me ; " Nor can 
 Providence ever be seen so averse to her own work ? 
 1 Sophocles. Cicero, De Senectute, c. 14. 
 
3i6 ESSAYS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 that debility should be ranked among the best things " 
 [Quintilian] . Our appetites are rare in old age ; a 
 profound satiety seizes us after the act ; in this I see 
 nothing of conscience ; chagrin and weakness imprint 
 in us a drowsy and rheumatic virtue. We must not 
 suffer ourselves to be so wholly carried away by natu- 
 ral alterations, as to suffer our judgments to be im- 
 posed upon by them. Youth and pleasure have not 
 formerly so far prevailed with me, that I did not well 
 enough discern the face of vice in pleasure ; neither 
 does the distaste that years have brought me so far 
 prevail with me now, that I cannot discern pleasure in 
 vice. Now that I am no more in my flourishing age, 
 I judge as well of these things as if I were. I, who 
 narrowly and strictly examine it, find my reason the 
 very same it was in my most licentious age, except, 
 perhaps, that 'tis weaker and more decayed by being 
 grown older ; and I find that the pleasure it refuses me 
 upon the account of my bodily health, it would no 
 more refuse now, in consideration of the health of my 
 soul, than at any time heretofore. I do not repute it 
 the more valiant for not being able to combat ; my 
 temptations are so broken and mortified, that they are 
 not worth its opposition ; holding but out my hands, 
 I repel them. Should one present the old concupis- 
 cence before it, I fear it would have less power to re- 
 sist it than heretofore ; I do not discern that in itself 
 it judges anything otherwise now, than it formerly did, 
 nor that it has acquired any new light : wherefore, if 
 there be convalescence, His an enchanted one. 
 
 Miserable kind of remedy, to owe one's health to 
 one's disease! 'Tis not that our misfortune should 
 
OF REPENTANCE. 317 
 
 perform this office, but the good fortune of our judg- 
 ment. I am not to be made to do anything by perse- 
 cutions and afflictions, but to curse them : that is for 
 people who cannot be roused but by a whip. My 
 reason is much more free in prosperity, and much 
 more distracted, and put to't to digest pains than 
 pleasures : I see best in a clear sky ; health admon- 
 ishes me more cheerfully, and to better purpose, than 
 sickness. I did all that in me lay to reform and regu- 
 late myself from pleasures, at a time when I had health 
 and vigor to enjoy them ; I should be ashamed and 
 envious, that the misery and misfortune of my old 
 age should have credit over my good, healthful, 
 sprightly, and vigorous years ; and that men should 
 estimate me, not by what I have been, but by what I 
 have ceased to be. 
 
 In my opinion, 'tis the happy living, and not (as 
 Anfisthenes said) the happy dying, in which human 
 felicity consists. I have not made it my business to 
 make a monstrous addition of a philosopher's tail to 
 the head and body of a libertine ; nor would I have 
 this wretched remainder give the lie to the pleasant, 
 sound, and long part of my life : I would present my- 
 self uniformly throughout. Were I to live my life 
 over again, I should live it just as I have lived it ; I 
 neither complain of the past, nor do I fear the future ; 
 and if I am not much deceived, I am the same within 
 that I am without. 'Tis one main obligation I have 
 to my fortune, that the succession of my bodily estate 
 has been carried on according to the natural seasons ; 
 I have seen the grass, the blossom, and the fruit ; 
 and now see the withering ; happily, however, because 
 
318 ESSAYS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 naturally. I bear the infirmities I have the better, be- 
 cause they came not till I had reason to expect them, 
 and because also they make me with greater pleasure 
 remember that long felicity of my past life. My wis- 
 dom may have been just the same in both ages ; but 
 it was more active, and of better grace while young 
 and sprightly, than now it is when broken, peevish, 
 and uneasy. I repudiate, then, these casual and pain- 
 ful reformations. God must touch our hearts ; our 
 consciences must amend of themselves, by the aid 
 of our reason, and not by the decay of our appetites ; 
 pleasure is, in itself, neither pale nor discolored, to be 
 discerned by dim and decayed eyes. 
 
 We ought to love temperance for itself, and because 
 God has commanded that and chastity ; but that which 
 we are reduced to by catarrhs, and for which I am in- 
 debted to the stone, is neither chastity nor temperance ; 
 a man cannot boast that he despises and resists pleas- 
 ure, if he cannot see it, if he knows not what it is, and 
 cannot discern its graces, its force, and most alluring 
 beauties ; I know both the one and the other, and 
 may therefore the better say it. But, methinks, our 
 souls, in old age, are subject to more troublesome 
 maladies and imperfections than in youth ; I said the 
 same when young and when I was reproached with 
 the want of a beard ; and I say so now that my gray 
 hairs give me some authority. We call the difficulty 
 of our humors and the disrelish of present things wis- 
 dom ; but, in truth, we do not so much forsake vices 
 as we change them, and, in my opinion, for worse. 
 Besides a foolish and feeble pride, an impertinent 
 prating, froward and insociable humors, superstition, 
 
THE INCONVENIENCE OF GREATNESS. 319 
 
 and a ridiculous desire of riches when we have lost the 
 use of them, I find there more envy, injustice and malice. 
 
 Age imprints more wrinkles in the mind than it 
 does on the face ; and souls are never, or very rarely 
 seen, that in growing old do not smell sour and 
 musty. Man moves all together, both toward his 
 perfection and decay. In observing the wisdom of 
 Socrates, and many circumstances of his condemna- 
 tion, I should dare to believe, that he in some sort 
 himself purposely, by collusion, contributed to it, see- 
 ing that, at the age of seventy years, he might fear to 
 suffer the lofty motions of his mind to be cramped, 
 and his wonted lustre obscured. 
 
 What strange metamorphoses do I see age every 
 day make in many of my acquaintance ! Tis a potent 
 malady, and that naturally and imperceptibly steals 
 into us ; a vast provision of study and great precau- 
 tion are required to evade the imperfections it loads 
 us with, or at least, to weaken their progress. I find 
 that, notwithstanding all my entrenchments, it gets 
 foot by foot upon me ; I make the best resistance I 
 can, but I do not know to what at last it will reduce 
 me. But fall out what will, I am content the world 
 may know, when I am fallen, from what I fell. 
 
 OF THE INCONVENIENCE OF GREATNESS. 
 
 Since we cannot attain unto it, let us revenge our- 
 selves by railing at it ; and yet it is not absolutely 
 railing against anything, to proclaim its defects, be- 
 cause they are in all things to be found, how beautiful 
 or how much to be coveted soever. Greatness has, 
 
320 ESSAYS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 in general, this manifest advantage, that it can lower 
 itself when it pleases, and has, very near, the choice of 
 both the one and the other condition ; for a man does 
 not fall from all heights ; there are several from which 
 one may descend without falling down. 
 
 It does, indeed, appear to me that we value it at 
 too high a rate, and also overvalue the resolution of 
 those whom we have either seen, or heard, have con- 
 temned it, or displaced themselves of their own ac- 
 cord: its essence is not so evidently commodious 
 that a man may not, without a miracle, refuse it. I 
 find it a very hard thing to undergo misfortunes, but 
 to be content with a moderate measure of fortune and 
 to avoid greatness I think a very easy matter. 'Tis, 
 methinks, a virtue to which I, who am no conjurer, 
 could without any great endeavor arrive. What, then, 
 is to be expected from them that would yet put into 
 consideration the glory attending this refusal, wherein 
 there may lurk worse ambition than even in the desire 
 itself, and fruition of greatness ? Forasmuch as am- 
 bition never comports itself better, according to itself, 
 than when it proceeds by obscure and unfrequented 
 ways. 
 
 I incite my courage to patience, but I rein it as 
 much as I can toward desire. I have as much to wish 
 for as another, and allow my wishes as much liberty 
 and indiscretion ; but, yet it never befell me to wish 
 for either empire or royalty, or the eminency of those 
 high and commanding fortunes : I do not aim that 
 way ; I love myself too well. When I think to grow 
 greater 'tis but very moderately, and by a compelled 
 and timorous advancement, such as is proper for me 
 
THE INCONVENIENCE OF GREATNESS. 32 1 
 
 in resolution, in prudence, in health, in beauty, and 
 even in riches too ; but this supreme reputation, this 
 mighty authority, oppress my imagination ; and, quite 
 contrary to that other, 1 I should, peradventure, rather 
 choose to be the second or third in Perigord, than the 
 first at Paris : at least, without lying, rather the third 
 at Paris than the first. I would neither dispute, a mis- 
 erable unknown, with a nobleman's porter, nor make 
 crowds open in adoration as I pass. I am trained up 
 to a moderate condition, as well by my choice as for- 
 tune ; and have made it appear, in the whole conduct 
 of my life and enterprises, that I have rather avoided 
 than otherwise the climbing above the degree of for- 
 tune wherein God has placed me by my birth : all nat- 
 ural constitution is equally just and easy. My soul is 
 so sneaking that I measure not good fortune by the 
 height, but by the facility. 
 
 But if my heart be not great enough, 'tis open enough 
 to make amends, at any one's request, freely to lay 
 open its weakness. Should any one put me upon 
 comparing the life of L. Thorius Balbus, a brave 
 man, handsome, learned, healthful, understanding, and 
 abounding in all sorts of conveniences and pleasures, 
 leading a quiet life, and all his own, his mind well 
 prepared against death, superstition, pain, and other 
 incumbrances of human necessity, dying at last, in 
 battle, with his sword in his hand, for the defence of 
 his country, on the one part ; and on the other part, 
 the life of M. Regulus, so great and high as is known 
 to every one, and his end admirable ; the one without 
 name and without dignity, the other exemplary, and 
 1 Julius Caesar. 
 
322 ESS A Y S OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 glorious to wonder, — I should doubtless say as Cicero 
 did, could I speak as well as he. But if I was to com- 
 pare them with my own, I should then also say that 
 the first is as much according to my capacity, and from 
 desire, which I conform to my capacity, as the second 
 is far beyond it ; that I could not approach the last but 
 with veneration, the other I could readily attain by use. 
 
 But let us return to our temporal greatness, from 
 which we are digressed* I disrelish all dominion, 
 whether active or passive. Otanes, one of the seven 
 who had right to pretend to the kingdom of Persia, 
 did, as I should willingly have done, which was, that 
 he gave up to his concurrents his right of being pro- 
 moted to it, either by election or by lot, provided that 
 he and his might live in the empire out of all authority 
 and subjection, those of the ancient laws excepted, 
 and might enjoy all liberty that was not prejudicial to 
 these, being as impatient of commanding as of being 
 commanded. 
 
 The most painful and difficult employment in the 
 world, in my opinion, is worthily to discharge the 
 office of a king. I excuse more of their mistakes than 
 men commonly do, in consideration of the intolerable 
 weight of their function, which astounds me. 'Tis 
 hard to keep measure in so immeasurable a power ; 
 yet so it is, that it is, even to those who are not of 
 the best nature, a singular incitement to virtue, to be 
 seated in a place where you cannot do the least good 
 that shall not be put upon record ; and where the 
 least benefit redounds to so many men, and where 
 your talent of administration, like that of preachers, 
 principally addresses itself to the people, no very 
 
THE INCONVENIENCE OF GREATNESS. 323 
 
 exact judge, easy to deceive, and easily content. There 
 are few things wherein we can give a sincere judg- 
 ment, by reason that there are few wherein we have 
 not, in some sort a private interest. Superiority and 
 inferiority, dominion and subjection, are bound to a 
 natural envy and contest, and must of necessity, per- 
 petually intrench upon one another. I believe neither 
 the one nor the other touching the rights of the other 
 party ; let reason, therefore, which is inflexible and 
 without passion, determine when we can avail our- 
 selves of it. 1 Tis not above a month ago that I read 
 over two Scotch authors contending upon this subject, 
 of whom he who stands for the people makes kings 
 to be in a worse condition than a carter ; and he who 
 writes for monarchy places them some degrees above 
 God Almighty in power and sovereignty. 
 
 Now, the inconveniency of greatness that I have 
 made choice of to consider in this place, upon some 
 occasion that has lately put it into my head, is this : 
 there is not, peradventure, anything more pleasant in 
 the commerce of men than the trials that we make 
 against one another, out of emulation of honor and 
 worth, whether in the exercises of the body or in 
 those of the mind, wherein sovereign greatness can 
 have no true part. And, in earnest, I have often 
 thought that by force of respect itself men use princes 
 disdainfully and injuriously in that particular : for the 
 thing I was infinitely offended at in my childhood, that 
 they who exercised with me forbore to do their best 
 because they found me unworthy of their utmost en- 
 deavor, is what we see happen to them daily, every 
 one finding himself unworthy to contend with them. 
 
324 ESSAYS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 If we discover that they have the least desire to get 
 the better of us, there is no one who will not make it 
 his business to give it them, and who will not rather 
 betray his own glory than offend theirs ; and will, 
 therein, employ so much force only as is necessary to 
 save their honor. What share have they, then, in 
 the engagement, where every one is on their side? 
 Methinks I see those Paladins of ancient times pre- 
 senting themselves to jousts and battle with enchanted 
 arms and bodies. Brisson, running against Alexander, 
 purposely missed his blow, and made a fault in his 
 career; Alexander chid him for it, but he ought to 
 have had him whipped. Upon this consideration 
 Carneades said, that "the sons of princes learned 
 nothing right but to ride ; by reason that, in all their 
 other exercises, every one bends and yields to them ; 
 but a horse, that is neither a flatterer nor a courtier, 
 throws the son of a king with no more ceremony than 
 he would throw that of a porter." 
 
 Homer was fain to consent that Venus, so sweet and 
 delicate a goddess as she was, should be wounded at 
 the battle of Troy, thereby to ascribe courage and 
 boldness to her ; qualities that cannot possibly be in 
 those who are exempt from danger. The gods are 
 made to be angry, to fear, to run away, to be jealous, 
 to grieve, to be transported with passions, to honor 
 them with the virtues that, among us, are built upon 
 these imperfections. Who does not participate in the 
 hazard and difficulty can claim no interest in the 
 honor and pleasure that are the consequents of haz- 
 ardous actions. Tis pity a man should be so potent 
 that all things must give way to him ; fortune therein 
 
THE INCONVENIENCE OF GREATNESS. 325 
 
 sets you too remote from society, and places you in 
 too great a solitude. This easiness and mean facility 
 of making all things bow under you is an enemy to 
 all sorts of pleasure : 'tis to slide, not to go : 'tis to 
 sleep, and not to live. Conceive man accompanied 
 with omnipotence : you overwhelm him ; he must beg 
 disturbance and opposition as an alms : his being and 
 his good are in indigence. 
 
 Their good qualities are dead and lost ; for they 
 can only be perceived by comparison, and we put 
 them out of this : they have little knowledge of true 
 praise, having their ears deafened with so continual 
 and uniform an approbation. Have they to do with 
 the stupidest of all their subjects ? they have no 
 means to take any advantage of him, if he but say : 
 " 'Tis because he is my king," he thinks he has said 
 enough to express, that he, therefore, suffered him- 
 self to be overcome. This quality stifles and con- 
 sumes the other true and essential qualities : they 
 are sunk in the royalty ; and leave them nothing to 
 recommend themselves with but actions that directly 
 concern and serve the function of their place ; 'tis so 
 much to be a king, that this alone remains to them. 
 The outer glare that environs him conceals and 
 shrouds him; our sight is there repelled and dissi- 
 pated, being filled and stopped by this prevailing light. 
 The senate awarded the prize of eloquence to Tibe- 
 rius ; he refused it, esteeming that though it had been 
 just, he could derive no advantage from a judgment 
 so partial, and so little free to judge. 
 
 As we give them all advantages of honor, so do we 
 soothe and authorize all their vices and defects, not 
 
326 ESSAYS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 only by approbation, but by imitation also. Every 
 one of Alexander's followers carried his head on one 
 side, as he did ; and the flatterers of Dionysius ran 
 against one another in his presence, and stumbled at 
 and overturned whatever was under foot, to show 
 they were as purblind as he. Hernia itself has also 
 served to recommend a man to favor; I have seen 
 deafness affected ; and because the master hated his 
 wife, Plutarch has seen his courtiers repudiate theirs, 
 whom they loved : and, which is yet more, uncleanli- 
 ness and all manner of dissolution have so been in 
 fashion ; as also disloyalty, blasphemy, cruelty, heresy, 
 superstition, irreligion, effeminacy, and worse, if worse 
 there be : and by an example yet more dangerous than 
 that of Mithridates 1 flatterers who, as their master pre- 
 tended to the honor of a good physician, came to 
 him to have incisions and cauteries made in their 
 limbs ; for these others suffered the soul, a more deli- 
 cate and noble part, to be cauterized. 
 
 But to end where I began ; the Emperor Adrian, 
 disputing with the philosopher Favorinus about the 
 interpretation of some word, Favorinus soon yielded 
 him the victory ; for which his friends rebuking him : 
 " You talk simply," said he, " would you not have him 
 wiser than I, who commands thirty legions ? " Augus- 
 tus wrote verses against Asinius Pollio, and " I," said 
 Pollio, " say nothing, for it is not prudence to write in 
 contest with him who has power to prescribe ; " and he 
 had reason ; for Dionysius, because he could not 
 equal Philoxenus in poesy and Plato in discourse, 
 condemned the one to the quarries, and sent the 
 other to be sold for a slave into the island of ALgma. 
 
OF MANAGING THE WILL. 327 
 
 OF MANAGING THE WILL. 
 
 Few things, in comparison of what commonly affect 
 other men, move, or to say better, possess me : for 
 'tis but reason they should concern a man, provided 
 they do not possess him. I am very solicitous, both 
 by study and argument, to enlarge this privilege of 
 insensibility, which is in me naturally raised to a 
 pretty degree, so that consequently \I espouse and am 
 very much moved with very few things?) I have a 
 clear sight enough, but I fix it upon very few objects ; 
 I have a sense delicate and tender enough ; but an 
 apprehension and application hard and negligent. I 
 am very unw:' ling to engage myself; as much as in 
 me lies, I employ myself wholly on myself, and even 
 in that subject should rather choose to curb and re- 
 strain my affection from plunging itself over head and 
 ears into it, it being a subject that I possess at the 
 mercy of others, and over which fortune has more 
 right than I ; so that even as to health, which I so 
 much value, 'tis all the more necessary for me not so 
 passionately to covet and heed it, than to find dis- 
 eases so insupportable. 
 
 A man ought to moderate himself between the 
 hatred of pain and the love of pleasure ; and Plato 
 lets down a middle path of life between the two. 
 But against such affections as wholly carry me away 
 from myself, and fix me elsewhere, against those, I 
 say, I oppose myself with my utmost power. 'Tis my 
 opinion that a man should lend himself to others, and 
 only give himself to himself. Were my will easy to 
 
328 ESS A Y S OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 lend itself out, and to be swayed, I should not stick 
 there ; I am too tender, both by nature and use : 
 " Fugax rerum, securaque in otia natusP Hot and 
 obstinate disputes wherein my adversary would at 
 last have the better, the issue that would render my 
 heat and obstinacy disgraceful, would peradventure 
 vex me to the last degree. Should I set myself to it 
 at the rate that others do, my soul would never have 
 the force to bear the emotion and alarms of those 
 who grasp at so much ; it would immediately be dis- 
 ordered by this inward agitation. If, sometimes, I 
 have been put upon the management of other men's 
 affairs, I have promised to take them in hand, but not 
 into my lungs and liver ; to take them upon me, not 
 to incorporate them : to take pains, yes . to be impas- 
 sioned about it, by no means ; I have a care of them, 
 but I will not sit upon them. I have enough to do to 
 order and govern the domestic throng of those that I 
 have in my own veins and bowels, without introduc- 
 ing a crowd of other men's affairs ; and am sufficiently 
 concerned about my own proper and natural business, 
 without meddling with the concerns of others. 
 
 Such as know how much they owe to themselves, 
 and how many offices they are bound to of their own, 
 find that nature has cut them out work enough of 
 their own to keep them from being idle. " Thou hast 
 business enough at home, look to that." 
 
 Men let themselves out to hire ; their faculties are 
 not for themselves, but for those to whom they have 
 enslaved themselves ; 'tis their tenants occupy them, 
 not themselves. This common humor pleases not 
 me. We must be thrifty of the liberty of our souls, 
 
OF MANAGING THE WILL. 329 
 
 and never let it out but upon just occasions, which 
 are very few, if we judge aright. Do but observe 
 such as have accustomed themselves to be at every 
 one's call ; they do it indifferently upon all, as well 
 little as great occasions ; in that which nothing con- 
 cerns them, as much as in what imports them most. 
 They thrust themselves in indifferently wherever there 
 is work to do and obligation ; and are without life 
 when not in tumultuous bustle : " In negotiis sitiit, 
 îiegotii cmtsa^ It is not so much that they will go, 
 as it is that they cannot stand still ; like a rolling 
 stone that cannot stop till it can go no farther. 
 
 Occupation, with a certain sort of men, is a mark 
 of understanding and dignity ; their souls seek repose 
 in agitation, as children do by being rocked in a 
 cradle ; they may pronounce themselves as service- 
 able to their friends, as they are troublesome to 
 themselves. No one distributes his money to others, 
 but every one distributes his time and his life ; there 
 is nothing of w T hich we are so prodigal as of these two 
 things, of which to be thrifty w 7 ould be both com- 
 mendable and useful. I am of a quite contrary 
 humor ; I look to myself, and commonly covet with 
 no great ardor what I do desire ; and desire little ; 
 and I employ and busy myself at the same rate, 
 rarely and temperately. Whatever they take in hand, 
 they do it with their utmost will and vehemence. 
 There are so many dangerous steps, that, for the 
 more safety, we must a little lightly and superficially 
 glide over the world, and not rush through it. 
 Pleasure itself is painful in profundity : " You tread 
 on fire, hidden under deceitful ashes' 1 [Horace]. 
 
33° ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 The parliament of Bordeaux chose me mayor of 
 their city, at a time when I was at a distance from 
 France, and still more remote from any such thought. 
 I entreated to be excused, but I was told by my 
 friends that I had committed an error in so doing, 
 and the greater because the king had, moreover, 
 interposed his command in that affair. 'Tis an office 
 that ought to be looked upon so much more honor- 
 able, as it has no other salary nor advantage than the 
 bare honor of its execution. It continues two years, 
 but may be extended by a second election, which very 
 rarely happens ; it was to me, and had never been so 
 but twice before; some years ago to Monsieur de 
 Lanssac, and lately to Monsieur de Biron, marshal of 
 France, in whose place I succeeded ; and I left mine 
 to Monsieur de Matignon, marshal of France also ; 
 proud of so noble a fraternity — " Uterque bonus pads 
 bellique îtiinister" Fortune would have a hand in my 
 promotion, by this particular circumstance which she 
 put in of her own, not altogether vain ; for Alexander 
 disdained the ambassadors of Corinth, who came to 
 offer him a burgess-ship of their city ; but when they 
 proceeded to lay before him that Bacchus and Hercules 
 were also in the register, he graciously accepted the 
 offer. 
 
 At my arrival, I faithfully and conscientiously rep- 
 resented myself to them for such as I find myself 
 to be — a man without memory, without vigilance, 
 without experience, and without vigor ; but withal, 
 without hatred, without ambition, without avarice, 
 and without violence ; that they might be informed 
 of my qualities, and know what they were to expect 
 
OF MANAGING THE WILL. 331 
 
 from my service. And the knowlege they had had 
 of my father, and the honor they had for his memory, 
 having been the only motive to confer this favor upon 
 me, I plainly told them that I should be very sorry 
 anything should make so great an impression upon 
 me, as their affairs and the concerns of their city had 
 made upon him, while he held the government to 
 which they had preferred me. I remembered, when a 
 boy, to have seen him in his old age cruelly tor- 
 mented with these public affairs, neglecting the soft 
 repose of his own house, to which the declension of 
 his age had reduced him for several years before, the 
 management of his own affairs, and his health ; and 
 certainly despising his own life, which was in great 
 danger of being lost, by being engaged in long and 
 painful journeys on their behalf. Such was he ; and 
 this humor of his proceeded from a marvellous good 
 nature ; never was there a more charitable and pop- 
 ular soul. Yet this proceeding which I commend in 
 others, I do not love to follow myself, and am not 
 without excuse. 
 
 He had learned that a man must forget himself for 
 his neighbor, and that the particular was of no man- 
 ner of consideration in comparison with the general. 
 Most of the rules and precepts of the world run this 
 way ; to drive us out of ourselves into the street for 
 the benefit of public society : they thought to do a 
 great feat to divert and remove us from ourselves, 
 assuming we were but too much fixed there, and by a 
 too natural inclination ; and have said all they could 
 to that purpose : for 'tis no new thing for the sages to 
 preach things as they serve, not as they are. Truth 
 
33 2 ESSAYS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 has its obstructions, inconveniences, and incompati- 
 bilities with us ; we must often deceive, that we may 
 not deceive ourselves ; and shut our eyes and our 
 understandings, to redress and amend them : " For 
 the ignorant judge, and therefore are oft to be de- 
 ceived lest they should err. 1 ' When they order us to 
 love three, four, or fifty degrees of things above our- 
 selves, they do like archers, who, to hit the white, 
 take their aim a great deal higher than the butt ; to 
 make a crooked stick straight, we bend it the con- 
 trary way. 
 
 I believe that in the Temple of Pallas, as we see in 
 all other religions, there were apparent mysteries to 
 be exposed to the people ; and others, more secret 
 and high, that were only to be shown to such as were 
 professed ; 1 tis likely that in these the true point of 
 friendship that every one owes to himself is to be 
 found ; not a false friendship, that makes us embrace 
 glory, knowledge, riches, and the like, with a prin- 
 cipal and immoderate affection, as members of our 
 being; nor an indiscreet and effeminate friendship, 
 wherein it happens, as with ivy, that it decays and 
 ruins the walls it embraces ; but a sound and regu- 
 lar friendship, equally useful and pleasant. He who 
 knows the duties of this friendship and practises 
 them, is truly of the cabinet council of the Muses, 
 and has attained to the height of human wisdom and 
 of our happiness ; such an one, exactly knowing 
 what he owes to himself, will on his part find that he 
 ought to apply to himself the use of the world and of 
 other men; and to do this, to contribute to public 
 society the duties and offices appertaining to him. 
 
OF MANAGING THE WILL. 333 
 
 He who does not in some sort live for others, does 
 not live much for himself: "He who is his own 
 friend is a friend to everybody else. 1 ' The principal 
 charge we have, is, to every one his own conduct ; 
 and 'tis for this only that we are here. As he who 
 should forget to live a virtuous and holy life, and 
 should think he acquitted himself of his duty in in- 
 structing and training others up to it, would be a fool ; 
 even so he who abandons his own particular health- 
 ful and pleasant living, to serve others therewith, 
 takes, in my opinion, a wrong and unnatural course. 
 I would not that men should refuse, in the employ- 
 ments they take upon them, their attention, pains, 
 eloquence, sweat, and blood if need be : " Not afraid 
 to die for beloved friends, and for his country : n — but 
 'tis only borrowed, and accidentally ; his mind being 
 always in repose and in health ; not without action, 
 but without vexation, without passion. To be simply 
 acting costs him so little, that he acts even sleeping ; 
 but it must be set on going with discretion ; for the 
 body receives the offices imposed upon it, just accord- 
 ing to what they are; the mind often extends and 
 makes them heavier at its own expense, giving them 
 what measure it pleases. Men perforin like things 
 with several sorts of endeavor, and different conten- 
 tion of will ; the one does well enough without the 
 other : for how many people hazard themselves every 
 day in war without any concern which way it goes ; 
 and thrust themselves into the dangers of battles, 
 the loss of which wili not break their next nightls 
 sleep? and such a man may be at home, out of the 
 danger which he dared not have looked upon, who 
 
334 ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 is more passionately concerned for the issue of this 
 war, and whose soul is more anxious about events, 
 than the soldier who therein stakes his blood and 
 his life. I could have engaged myself in public 
 employments without quitting my own matters a nail's 
 breadth, and have given myself to others, without 
 abandoning myself. 
 
 This sharpness and violence of desires more hinder 
 than they advance the execution of what they under- 
 take ; fill us with impatience against slow or contrary 
 events, and with heat and suspicion against those 
 with whom we have to do. We never carry on that 
 thing well by which we are prepossessed and led : 
 " Passionate heat carries on things ill." He who 
 therein employs only his judgment and address 
 proceeds more cheerfully: he counterfeits, he gives 
 way, he defers quite at his ease, according to the ne- 
 cessities of occasions ; he fails in his attempt without 
 trouble and affliction, ready and entire for a new enter- 
 prise ; he always marches with the bridle in his hand. 
 In him who is drunk with this violent and tyrannic 
 intention, we discover, of necessity, much imprudence 
 and injustice ; the impetuosity of his desire carries 
 him away ; these are rash motions, and, if fortune do 
 not very much assist, of very little fruit. 
 
 Philosophy directs that, in the revenge of injuries 
 received, we should strip ourselves of choler; not 
 that the chastisement should be less, but, on the 
 contrary, that the revenge may be the better and more 
 heavily laid on, which, it conceives, will be by this 
 impetuosity hindered. For anger not only disturbs, 
 but, of itself, also wearies the arms of those who 
 
OF MANAGING THE WILL. 335 
 
 chastise ; this fire benumbs and wastes their force ; 
 as in precipitation, "festiuatio tarda est " — " haste 
 trips up its own heels/' fetters, and stops itself; " Ipsa 
 se velocitas iiiiplicat.' 1 ' 1 For example, according to 
 what I commonly see, avarice has no greater impedi- 
 ment than itself ; the more bent and vigorous it is, 
 the less it rakes together, and commonly sooner grows 
 rich when disguised in a visor of liberality. 
 
 A very honest gentleman, and a particular friend of 
 mine, had liked to have cracked his brains by a too 
 passionate attention and affection to the affairs of a 
 certain prince, his master ; which master has thus set 
 himself out to me ; < ; that he foresees the weight of 
 accidents as well as another, but that in those for 
 which there is no remedy, he presently resolves upon 
 suffering ; in others, having taken all the necessary 
 precautions which by the vivacity of his understand- 
 ing he can presently do, he quietly awaits what may 
 follow. " And, in truth, I have accordingly seen him 
 maintain a great indifferency and liberty of actions 
 and serenity of countenance, in very great and diffi- 
 cult affairs : I find him much greater, and of greater 
 capacity in adverse than in prosperous fortune : his 
 defeats are to him more glorious than his victories, 
 and his mourning than his triumph, 
 
 Do but consider, that even in vain and frivolous 
 actions, as at chess, tennis, and the like, this eager 
 and ardent engaging with an impetuous desire, im- 
 mediately throws the mind and members into indis- 
 cretion and disorder : a man astounds and hinders 
 himself; he who carries himself more moderately 
 both toward gain and loss, has always his wits 
 
33 6 ESSAYS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 about him ; the less peevish and passionate he is at 
 play, he plays much more advantageously and surely. 
 
 As to the rest, we hinder the mind's seizure and 
 hold, in giving it so many things to seize upon : 
 some things we should only offer to it ; tie it to 
 others, and with others incorporate it. It can feel 
 and discern all things, but ought to feed upon noth- 
 ing but itself; and should be instructed in what 
 properly concerns itself, and that is properly of its own 
 having and substance. The laws of nature teach us 
 what justly we need. After the sages have told us 
 that no one is indigent according to nature, and that 
 every one is so according to opinion, they very subtly 
 distinguish between the desires that proceed from her, 
 and those that proceed from the disorder of our own 
 fancy : those of which we can see the end are hers ; 
 those that fly before us, and of which we can see no 
 end, are our own : the poverty of goods is easily 
 cured ; the poverty of the soul is irreparable : " For 
 if what is for man enough, could be enough, it were 
 enough ; but since it is not so, how can I believe that 
 any wealth can give my mind content " [Lucilius] . 
 
 Socrates, seeing a great quantity of riches, jewels, 
 and furniture carried in pomp through the city : 
 " How many things are there," said he, " that I do 
 not wanto" Metrodorus lived on twelve ounces a day ; 
 Epicurus upon less : Metrocles slept in winter abroad 
 among sheep ; in summer in the cloisters of churches ; 
 " Sufficit ad id natura, quod ftoscit" Cleanthes lived 
 by the labor of his own hands, and boasted that 
 Cleanthes, if he would, could yet maintain another 
 Cleanthes. 
 
OF MANAGING THE WILL. 337 
 
 If that which nature exactly and originally requires 
 of us for the conservation of our being be too little 
 (as in truth what it is. and how good cheap life may 
 be maintained, cannot be better expressed than by 
 this consideration that it is so little that by its little- 
 ness it escapes the gripe and shock of fortune), let us 
 allow ourselves a little more : let us call every one of 
 our habits and conditions, nature : let us rate and 
 treat ourselves by this measure : let us stretch our 
 appurtenances and accounts so far : for so far, I fancy, 
 we have some excuse. Custom is a second nature, 
 and no less powerful. What is wanting to my cus- 
 tom, I reckon is wanting to me : and I should be 
 almost as well content that they took away my life, as 
 cut me short in the way wherein I have so long lived. 
 I am no longer in condition for any great change, nor 
 to put myself into a new and unwonted course, not 
 even to augmentation. 'Tis past the time for me to 
 become other than what I am : and as I should com- 
 plain of any great good hap that should now befall 
 me. that it came not in time to be enjoyed : u Quo mihi 
 fortunas, si non conceditttr uti?" so should I com- 
 plain of any inward acquisition. It were almost bet- 
 ter never, than so late, to become an honest man. 
 and well fit to live, when one has no longer to live. I, 
 who am about to make my exit out of the world, 
 would easily resign to any newcomer, who should de- 
 sire it. all the prudence I am now acquiring in the 
 world's commerce : after meat, mustard. I have no 
 need of goods, of which I can make no use : of what 
 use is knowledge to him who has lost his head? 
 
 'Tis an injury and unkindness in fortune to tender 
 
33 8 ESSA YS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 us presents that will only inspire us with a just despite 
 that we had them not in their due season. Guide me 
 no more ; I can no longer go. Of so many parts as 
 makeup a sufficiency, patience is the most sufficient. 
 Give the capacity of an excellent treble to a chorister 
 who has rotten lungs, and eloquence to a hermit, 
 exiled into the deserts of Arabia. There needs no 
 art to help a fall ; the end finds itself of itself at the 
 conclusion of every affair. My world is at an end, 
 my form expired ; I am totally of the past, and am 
 bound to authorize it, and to conform my outgoing to it. 
 I will here declare, by way of example, that the 
 pope's late ten days 1 diminution 1 has taken me so 
 aback that I cannot well reconcile myself to it ; I 
 belong to the years wherein we kept another kind of 
 account. So ancient and so long a custom challenges 
 my adherence to it, so that I am constrained to be 
 somewhat heretical on that point : incapable of any, 
 though corrective, innovation. My imagination, in 
 spite of my teeth, always pushes me ten days forward 
 or backward, and is ever murmuring in my ears : 
 "This rule concerns those who are to begin to be." 
 If health itself, sweet as it is, returns to me by fits, 'tis 
 rather to give me cause of regret than possession of 
 it ; I have no place left to keep it in. Time leaves 
 me ; without which nothing can be possessed. Oh, 
 what little account should I make of those great elec- 
 tive dignities that I see in such esteem in the world, 
 that are never conferred but upon men who are taking 
 leave of it ; wherein they do not so much regard how 
 
 1 Gregory XIII., in 1582, reformed the Calendar, passing 
 from the 9th to the 20th of December. 
 
OF MANAGING THE WILL. 339 
 
 well the man will discharge his trust, as how short his 
 administration will be : from the very entry they look 
 at the exit. In short, I am about finishing this man, 
 and not rebuilding another. By long use, this form 
 is in me turned into substance, and fortune into 
 nature. 
 
 I say, therefore, that every one of us feeble creatures 
 is excusable in thinking that to be his own which is 
 comprised under this measure ; but withal, beyond 
 these limits, 'tis nothing but confusion ; 'tis the larg- 
 est extent we can grant to our own claims. The 
 more we amplify our need and our possession, so 
 much the more do we expose ourselves to the blows 
 and adversities of fortune. The career of our desires 
 ought to be circumscribed and restrained to a short 
 limit of near and contiguous commodities ; and their 
 course ought, moreover, to be performed not in a 
 right line that ends elsewhere, but in a circle, of which 
 the two points, by a short wheel, meet and terminate 
 in ourselves. Actions that are carried on without 
 this reflection — a near and essential reflection, I 
 mean — such as those of ambitious and avaricious 
 men, and so many more as run point-blank, and 
 whose career always carries them before themselves, 
 such actions, I say, are erroneous and sickly. 
 
 Most of our business is farce : " Mimdus universus 
 exercet histrionam." We must play our part properly, 
 but withal as the part of a borrowed personage ; we 
 must not make real essence of a mask and outward 
 appearance ; nor of a strange person, our own ; we 
 cannot distinguish the skin from the shirt : 'tis enough 
 to meal the face, without mealing the breast. I see 
 
34° ESSAYS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 some who transform and transubstantiate themselves 
 into as many new shapes and new beings as they 
 undertake new employments ; and who strut and 
 fume even to the heart and liver, and carry their state 
 along with them even to the close-stool : I cannot 
 make them distinguish the salutations made to them- 
 selves from those made to their commission, their 
 train, or their mule. "They forget their very na- 
 ture in playing their parts." They swell and puff 
 up their souls, and their natural way of speaking, 
 according to the height of their magisterial place. 
 The mayor of Bordeaux and Montaigne have ever 
 been two by very manifest separation. Because one is 
 an advocate or a financier, he must not ignore the 
 knavery there is in such callings ; an honest man is 
 not accountable for the vice or absurdity of his 
 employment, and ought not on that account refuse to 
 take the calling upon him : 'tis the usage of his coun- 
 try, and then there is money to be got by it ; a man 
 must live by the world, and make his best of it, such 
 as it is. But the judgment of an emperor ought to 
 be above his empire, and see and consider it as a 
 foreign accident ; and he ought to know how to enjoy 
 himself apart from it, and to communicate himself as 
 James and Peter, to himself, at all events. 
 
 I cannot engage myself so deep and so entire ; 
 when my will gives me to anything, 'tis not with so 
 violent an obligation that my judgment is infected 
 with it. In the present broils of this kingdom, my 
 own interest has not made me blind to the laudable 
 qualities of our adversaries, nor to those that are 
 reproachable in those of men of our party. Others 
 
OF MANAGING THE WILL, 341 
 
 adore all of their own side ; for my part, I do not so 
 much as excuse most things in those of mine : a good 
 work has never the worse grace with me for being 
 made against me. The knot of the controversy ex- 
 cepted, I have always kept myself in equanimity and 
 pure indifference : " And have no express hatred 
 beyond the necessity of war ; " for which I am pleased 
 with myself; and the more, because I see others 
 commonly fail in the contrary direction. Such as 
 extend their anger and hatred beyond the dispute in 
 question, as most men do, show that they spring 
 from some other occasion and private cause ; like 
 one, who, being cured of an ulcer, has yet a fever 
 remaining, by which it appears that the ulcer had 
 another more concealed beginning. The reason is 
 that they are not concerned in the common cause ; 
 because it is wounding to the state and general inter- 
 est ; but are only nettled by reason of their particular 
 concern. 
 
 This is why they are so especially animated, and to 
 a degree so far beyond justice and public reason : 
 " Every one was not so much angry against things in 
 general, as against those that particularly concerned 
 himself " [Livy] . I would have the advantage on our 
 side, but if it be not, I shall not run mad. I am 
 heartily for the right party ; but I do not want to be 
 taken notice of as an especial enemy to others, and 
 beyond the general quarrel. I am a mortal enemy to 
 this vicious form of censure : " He is of the League, 
 because he admires the duke of Guise ; he is aston- 
 ished at the king of Navarre's energy, and therefore 
 he is a Huguenot ; he finds such and such faults in 
 
342 ESSAYS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 the king's conduct, he is therefore seditious in his 
 heart ; " and I would not grant to the magistrate him- 
 self that he did well in condemning a book, because 
 it had placed a heretic among the best poets of the 
 time. Shall we not dare to say of a thief, that he has 
 a handsome leg? If a woman be a strumpet, must it 
 needs follow that she has a stinking breath? Did 
 they in the wisest ages revoke the proud title of Capito- 
 linus they had before conferred on Marcus Manlius, 
 as conservator of religion and the public liberty, and 
 stifle the memory of his liberality, his feats of arms, 
 and military recompenses granted to his valor, because 
 he afterward aspired to the sovereignty, to the prej- 
 udice of the laws of his country? If we take a 
 hatred against an advocate, he will not be allowed, 
 the next day, to be eloquent. 
 
 I have elsewhere spoken of the zeal that pushed on 
 worthy men to the like faults. For my part, I can 
 say, " Such a one does this thing ill, and another 
 thing virtuously and well." So in the prognostics, or 
 sinister events of affairs, they would have every one 
 in his party blind or a blockhead, and that our per- 
 suasion and judgment should subserve not truth, but 
 to the project of our desires. I should rather incline 
 toward the other extreme ; so much I fear being 
 suborned by my desire; to which may be added 
 that I am a little tenderly distrustful of things that 
 I wish. 
 
 I have, in my time, seen wonders in the indiscreet 
 and prodigious facility of people in suffering their hopes 
 and belief to be led and governed, which way has 
 best pleased and served their leaders, despite a hun- 
 
OF MANAGING THE WILL. 343 
 
 dred mistakes one upon another, despite mere dreams 
 and phantasms. I no more wonder at those who have 
 been blinded and seduced by the fooleries of Appollo- 
 nius and Mahomet. Their sense and understanding 
 are absolutely taken away by their passion ; their 
 discretion has no more any other choice than that 
 which smiles upon them, and encourages their cause. 
 I had principally observed this in the beginning of 
 our intestine distempers ; that other, which has sprung 
 up since, in imitating, has surpassed it ; by which Ï 
 am satisfied that it is a quality inseparable from popu- 
 lar errors ; after the first that rolls, opinions drive on 
 one another like waves with the wind : a man is not a 
 member of the body, if it be in his power to forsake 
 it, and if he do not roil the common way. But, doubt- 
 less, they wrong the just side, when they go about to 
 assist it with fraud ; I have ever been against that 
 practice : 'tis only fit to work upon weak heads ; for 
 the sound, there are surer and more honest ways to 
 keep up their courage and to excuse adverse acci- 
 dents. 
 
 Heaven never saw a greater animosity than that 
 between Caesar and Pompey, nor ever shall ; and yet 
 I observe, methinks, in those brave souls, a great 
 moderation toward one another ; it was a jealousy of 
 honor and command which did not transport them to 
 a furious and indiscreet hatred, and was without 
 malignity and detraction ; in their hottest exploits 
 upon one another, I discover some remains of respect 
 and good will ; and am therefore of opinion that, had 
 it been possible, each of them would rather have done 
 his business without the ruin of the other than with 
 
344 ESSAYS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 it. Take notice how much otherwise matters went 
 with Marius and Sylla. 
 
 We must not precipitate ourselves so headlong after 
 our affections and interests. As, when I was young, 
 I opposed myself to the progress of love which I per- 
 ceived to advance too fast upon me, and had a care 
 lest it should at last become so pleasing as to force, 
 captivate, and wholly reduce me to its mercy ; so I 
 do the same upon all other occasions where my will 
 is running on with too warm an appetite. I lean 
 opposite to the side it inclines to, as I find it going to 
 plunge and make itself drunk with its own wine ; I 
 evade nourishing its pleasure so far, that I cannot 
 recover it without infinite loss. Souls that, through 
 their own stupidity, only discern things by halves, 
 have this happiness that they smart less with hurtful 
 things ; 'tis a spiritual leprosy that has some show of 
 health, and such a health as philosophy does not 
 altogether contemn ; but yet we have no reason to 
 call it wisdom, as we often do. And after this 
 manner some one anciently mocked Diogenes, who, 
 in the depth of winter and stark naked, went hugging 
 an image of snow for a trial of his endurance; the 
 other seeing him in this position, u Art thou now very 
 cold?" said he. "Not at all," replied Diogenes. 
 " Why then," said the other, " what difficult and 
 exemplary thing dost thou think thou doest in em- 
 bracing that snow ?" To take a true measure of 
 constancy, one must necessarily know what the suffer- 
 ing is. 
 
 But souls that are to meet with adverse events and 
 the injuries of fortune, in their depth and sharpness, 
 
OF MANAGING THE WILL. 345 
 
 that are to weigh and taste them according to their 
 natural weight and bitterness, let such show their skill 
 in avoiding the causes and diverting the blow. What 
 did King Cotys do ? He paid liberally for the rich 
 and beautiful vessel that had been presented to him, 
 but, seeing it was exceedingly brittle, he immediately 
 broke it, betimes to prevent so easy a matter of dis- 
 pleasure against his servants. In like manner, 1 have 
 willingly avoided all confusion in my affairs, and 
 never coveted to have my estate contiguous to those 
 of my relations, and such with whom I. coveted a strict 
 friendship ; for thence matter of unkindness and fall- 
 ing out often proceeds. I formerly loved the hazard- 
 ous games of cards and dice; but have long since left 
 them off, only for this reason that, with whatever 
 good air I carried my losses, I could not help feeling 
 vexed within. A man of honor, who ought to be 
 touchingly sensible of the lie or of an insult, and who 
 is not to take a scurvy excuse for satisfaction, should 
 avoid occasions of dispute. I shun melancholy? 
 crabbed men, as I would the plague ; and in matters 
 I cannot talk of without emotion and concern, I never 
 meddle, if not compelled by my duty : " Melius non 
 incipient, quam desinent" The surest way, therefore, 
 is to prepare one's self beforehand for occasions. 
 
 I know very well that some wise men have taken 
 another way, and have not feared to grapple and 
 engage to the utmost upon several subjects ; these 
 are confident of their own strength, under which they 
 protect themselves in all ill successes, making their 
 patience wrestle and contend with disaster : u As a 
 rock standing among the vast billows, exposed to the 
 
346 ESSAYS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 furious winds and the raging flood, remains unmoved, 
 and defies all the force of seas and skies " [Virgil] . 
 
 Let us not attempt these examples ; we shall never 
 come up to them. They set themselves resolutely, 
 and without agitation, to behold the ruin of their 
 country, which possessed and commanded all their 
 will ; this is too much and too hard a task for our 
 commoner souls. Cato gave up the noblest life that 
 ever was, upon this account ; we meaner spirits must 
 fly from the storm as far as we can ; we must provide 
 for sentiment, and not for patience, and evade the 
 blows we cannot meet. Zeno, seeing Chremonides, 
 a young man whom he loved, draw near to sit down 
 by him, suddenly started up ; and Cieanthes demand- 
 ing of him the reason why he did so, u I hear," said 
 he, " that physicians especially order repose, and for- 
 bid emotion in all tumors." Socrates does not say, 
 " Do not surrender to the charms of beauty ; stand 
 your ground, and do your utmost to oppose it." 
 " Fly it," says he ; " shun the fight and encounter of 
 it, as of a powerful poison that darts and wounds at a 
 distance." And his good disciple, feigning or recit- 
 ing, but, in my opinion, rather reciting than feigning 
 the rare perfections of the great Cyrus, makes him 
 distrustful of his own strength to resist the charms 
 of the divine beauty of that illustrious Panthea, his 
 captive, and committing the visiting and keeping her 
 to another, who could not have so much liberty as 
 himself. And the Holy Ghost in like manner : " Ne 
 nos inducas in tentationein" We do not pray that 
 our reason may not be combated and overcome by 
 concupiscence, but that it should not be so much as 
 
OF MANAGING THE WILL. 347 
 
 tried by it ; that we should not be brought into a 
 state wherein we are so much as to suffer the ap- 
 proaches, solicitations, and temptations of sin ; and 
 we beg of Almighty God to keep our consciences 
 quiet, fully and perfectly delivered from all commerce 
 of evil. 
 
 Such as say that they have reason for their reveng- 
 ing passion, or any other sort of troublesome agita- 
 tion of mind, often say true, as things now are, but 
 not as they were : they speak to us when the causes 
 of their error are by themselves nourished and ad- 
 vanced ; but look backward — recall these causes to 
 their beginning — and there you will put them to a 
 nonplus. Will they have their faults less, for being 
 of longer continuance ; and that of an unjust begin- 
 ning, the sequel can be just? Whoever shall desire 
 the good of his country, as I do, without fretting or 
 pining himself, will be troubled, but will not swoon 
 to see it threatening either its own ruin, or a no less 
 ruinous continuance ; poor vessel, that the waves, the 
 winds, and the pilot toss and steer to so contrary 
 designs ! 
 
 He who does not gape after the favor of princes, 
 as after a thing he cannot live without, does not much 
 concern himself at the coldness of their reception and 
 countenance, nor at the inconstancy of their wills. He 
 who does not brood over his children or his honors, 
 with a slavish propension, ceases not to live corn- 
 modiously enough after their loss. He who does 
 good principally for his own satisfaction, will not be 
 much troubled to see men judge of his actions con- 
 trary to his merit. A quarter of an ounce of patience 
 
348 ESSAYS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 will provide sufficiently against such inconveniences. 
 I find ease in this receipt, redeeming myself in the 
 beginning as cheap as I can; and find that by this 
 means I have escaped much trouble and many diffi- 
 culties. With very little ado I stop the first sally of 
 my emotions, and leave the subject that begins to be 
 troublesome, before it transports me. He who stops 
 not the start, will never be able to stop the career ; 
 he, who cannot keep them out, will never get them 
 out when they are once got in ; and he who cannot 
 crush them at the beginning, will never do it after ; 
 nor ever keep himself from falling, if he cannot re- 
 cover himself when he first begins to totter : " For 
 they throw themselves headlong when once they 
 loose their reason, and frailty so far indulges itself, 
 that it is unawares carried out into the deep, and can 
 find no port wherein to come to an anchor " [Cicero] . 
 I am betimes sensible of the little breezes that begin 
 to sing and whistle in the shrouds, the fore-runners of 
 the storm : " As when the rising winds, checked by 
 woods, send out dull murmurs, portending a storm 
 to the mariner " \_JEneid~\ . 
 
 How often have I done myself a manifest injustice, 
 to avoid the hazard of having yet a worse done me by 
 the judges, after an age of vexations, dirty and vile 
 practices, more enemies to my nature than fire or the 
 rack ? " A man should be an enemy to all lawsuits 
 as much as he may, and I know not whether not 
 something more ; for 'tis not only liberal, but some- 
 times also advantageous, too, a little to recede from 
 one's right" [Cicero]. Were we wise, we ought to 
 rejoice and boast, as I one day heard a young gentle- 
 
OF MANAGING THE WILL, 349 
 
 man of a good family very innocently do, that his 
 mother had lost her cause, as if it had been a cough, 
 a fever, or something very troublesome to keep. Even 
 the favors that fortune might have given me through 
 relationship or acquaintance with those who have sov- 
 ereign authority in those affairs, I have very conscien- 
 tiously and very carefully avoided employing them to 
 the prejudice of others, and of advancing my preten- 
 sions above their true right. In fine, I have so much 
 prevailed by my endeavors (and happily I may say 
 it), that I am to this day a virgin from all suits in 
 law ; though I have had very fair offers made me, 
 and with very just title would I have hearkened to 
 them; and a virgin from quarrels too. I have al- 
 most passed over a long life without any offence of 
 moment, either active or passive, or without ever 
 hearing a worse word than my own name : a rare 
 favor of heaven. 
 
 Our greatest agitations have ridiculous springs and 
 causes : what ruin did our last duke of Burgundy run 
 into about a cartload of sheepskins? And was not 
 the graving of a seal the first and principal cause 
 of the greatest commotion that this machine of the 
 world ever underwent ? 1 for Pompey and Caesar were 
 but the offsets and continuation of the two others : 
 and I have in my time seen the wisest heads in this 
 kingdom assembled with great ceremony, and at 
 the public expense, about treaties and agreements, of 
 which the true decision, in the meantime, absolutely 
 depended upon the ladies' cabinet council, and the 
 inclination of some foolish woman. 
 
 1 The civil war between Marius and Sylla. 
 
35° ESSAYS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 The poets very well understood this, when they 
 put all Greece and Asia to fire and sword about an 
 apple. Inquire why that man hazards his life and 
 honor upon the fortune of his rapier and dagger; 
 let him acquaint you with the occasion of the quarrel ; 
 he cannot do it without blushing; 'tis so idle and 
 frivolous. 
 
 A little thing will engage you in it ; but being once 
 embarked, all the cords draw ; great provisions are 
 then required, more hard and more important. How 
 much easier is it not to enter in, than it is to get out? 
 Now we should proceed contrary to the reed, which 
 at its first springing produces a long and straight 
 shoot, but afterward, as if tired and out of breath, it 
 runs into thick and frequent joints and knots, as so 
 many pauses which demonstrate that it has no more 
 its first vigor and firmness ; 'twere better to begin 
 gently and coldly, and to keep one's breath and vigor- 
 ous efforts for the height and stress of the business. 
 We guide affairs in their beginnings, and have them 
 in our own power ; but afterward, when they are once 
 at work, 'tis they that guide and govern us, and we 
 are to follow them. 
 
 Yet do I not mean to say that this counsel has dis- 
 charged me of all difficulty, and that I have not often 
 had enough to do to curb and restrain my passions ; 
 they are not always to be governed according to the 
 measure of occasions, and often have their entries 
 very sharp and violent. But still good fruit and profit 
 may thence be reaped ; except for those who in well- 
 doing are not satisfied with any benefit, if reputation 
 be wanting ; for, in truth, such an effect is not valued 
 
OF MANAGING THE WILL. 35 1 
 
 but by every one to himself; you are better contented, 
 but not more esteemed, seeing you reformed yourself 
 before you got into the whirl of the dance, or that 
 the provocative matter was in sight. Yet not in this 
 only, but in all other duties of life also, the way of 
 those who aim at honor is very different from that 
 they proceed by, who propose to themselves order and 
 reason. I find some, who rashly and furiously rush 
 into the lists, and cool in the course. As Plutarch 
 says, that those who, through false shame, are soft 
 and facile to grant whatever is desired of them, are 
 afterward as facile to break their word and to recant ; 
 so he who enters lightly into a quarrel is apt to go as 
 lightly out of it. 
 
 The same difficulty that keeps me from entering 
 into it, would, when once hot and engaged in quarrel, 
 incite me to maintain it with great obstinacy and 
 resolution. Tis the tyranny of custom ; when a man 
 is once engaged, he must go through with it, or die. 
 " Undertake coldly," said Bias, " but pursue with 
 ardor." For want of prudence, men fall into want of 
 courage, which is still more intolerable. 
 
 Most accommodations of the quarrels of these days 
 of ours are shameful and false ; we only seek to save 
 appearances, and in the meantime betray and disavow 
 our true intentions ; we salve over the fact. We know 
 very well how we said the thing, and in what sense 
 we spoke it, and the company know it, and our friends 
 whom we have wished to make sensible of our advan- 
 tage understand it well enough too : 'tis at the ex- 
 pense of our frankness and of the honor of our courage, 
 that we disown our thoughts, and seek refuge in fais- 
 
35 2 ESSAYS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 ities, to make matters up. We give ourselves the lie, 
 to excuse the lie we have given to another. You are 
 not to consider if your word or action may admit of 
 another interpretation ; 'tis your own true and sincere 
 interpretation, your real meaning in what you said or 
 did, that you are thenceforward to maintain, whatever 
 it cost you. Men speak to your virtue and conscience, 
 which are not things to be put under a mask ; let us 
 leave these pitiful ways and expedients to the jugglers 
 of the law. The excuses and reparations that I see 
 every day made and given to repair indiscretion, seem 
 to me more scandalous than the indiscretion itself. 
 
 It were better to affront your adversary a second 
 time, than to offend yourself by giving him so unmanly 
 a satisfaction. You have braved him in your heat and 
 anger, and you would flatter and appease him in your 
 cooler and better sense ; and by that means lay your- 
 self lower and at his feet, whom before you pretended 
 to overtop. I do not find anything a gentleman can 
 say so vicious in him, as unsaying what he has said 
 is infamous, when to unsay it is authoritatively ex- 
 tracted from him; forasmuch as obstinacy is more 
 excusable in a man of honor than pusillanimity. Pas- 
 sions are as easy for me to evade, as they are hard for 
 me to moderate : "Exscinduntur facilius animo, quam 
 temper antur" 
 
 He who cannot attain the noble Stoical impassibil- 
 ity, let him secure himself in the bosom of this popu- 
 lar stolidity of mine ; what they performed by virtue, 
 I inure myself to do by temperament. The middle 
 region harbors storms and tempests ; the two ex- 
 tremes, of philosophers and peasants, concur in tran- 
 
OF MANAGING THE WILL. 353 
 
 quillity and happiness. Says Virgil: " Happy is he 
 who has discovered the causes of things, and tramples 
 under foot all fear, all concern, as to inexorable fate, 
 or as to the roaring of greedy Acheron : he is blest 
 who knows the country gods, Pan, old Sylvanus, and 
 the sister nymphs." 
 
 The births of all things are weak and tender ; and 
 therefore we should have our eyes intent on begin- 
 nings ; for as when, in its infancy, the danger is not 
 perceived, so when it is grown up, the remedy is as 
 little to be found. I had every day encountered a 
 million of crosses, harder to digest in the progress 
 of ambition, than it has been hard for me to curb the 
 natural propension that inclined me to it : "I ever 
 justly feared to raise my head too high " [Horace] . 
 
 All public actions are subject to various and uncer- 
 tain interpretations ; for too many heads judge of 
 them. Some say of this civic employment of mine 
 (and I am willing to say a word or two about It, not 
 that it is worth so much, but to give an account of my 
 manners in such things), that I have behaved myself 
 in it as a man not sufficiently easy to be moved, and 
 with a languishing affection ; and they have some 
 color for what they say. I endeavored to keep my 
 mind and my thoughts in repose, " Cum semper 
 naturel, tiwn etiam œtate jam quietus ; ,1 and if they 
 sometimes lash out upon some rude and sensible im- 
 pression, 'tis in truth without my advice. Yet from 
 this natural heaviness of mine, men ought not to con- 
 clude a total inability in me (for want of care and want 
 of sense are two very different things), and much less 
 any unkindness or ingratitude toward that corporation, 
 
354 ESSAYS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 who employed the utmost means they had in their power 
 to oblige me, both before they knew me and after ; 
 and they did much more for me in choosing me anew, 
 than in conferring that honor upon me at first. I wish 
 them all imaginable good ; and assuredly had occasion 
 been, there is nothing I would have spared for their 
 service ; I did for them, as I would have done for my- 
 self. 'Tis a good, warlike, and generous people, but 
 capable of obedience and discipline, and of whom the 
 best use may be made, if well guided. 
 
 They say also that my administration passed over 
 without leaving any mark or trace. Good ! They 
 moreover accuse my cessation in a time when every- 
 body almost was convicted of doing too much. I am 
 impatient to be doing where my will spurs me on ; but 
 this itself is an enemy to perseverance. Let him who 
 will make use of me according to my own way, employ 
 me in affairs where vigor and liberty are required, where 
 a direct, short, and, moreover, a hazardous conduct are 
 necessary ; I may do something ; but if it must be long, 
 subtle, laborious, artificial, and intricate, he had better 
 call in somebody else. All important offices are not 
 necessarily difficult : I came prepared to do somewhat 
 rougher work, had there been great occasion ; for it is 
 in my power to do something more than I do, or than 
 I love to do. I did not, to my knowledge, omit any- 
 thing that my duty really required. I easily forgot 
 those offices that ambition mixes with duty and pal- 
 liates with its title ; these are they that, for the most 
 part, fill the eyes and ears, and give men the most 
 satisfaction; not the thing but the appearance con- 
 tents them ; if they hear no noise, they think men sleep. 
 
OF MANAGING THE WILL. 355 
 
 My humor is no friend to tumult ; I could appease 
 a commotion without commotion and chastise a dis- 
 order without being myself disorderly ; if I stand in need 
 of anger and inflammation, I borrow it, and put it on. 
 My manners are languid, rather faint than sharp. I 
 do not condemn a magistrate who sleeps, provided 
 the people under his charge sleep as well as he : the 
 laws in that case sleep too. For my part, I commend 
 a gliding, staid, and silent life : " Neque sub mis s am et 
 abjectam, neque se efferentem ; " my fortune will have 
 it so. I am descended from a family that has lived 
 without lustre or tumult, and, time out of mind, par- 
 ticularly ambitious of a character for probity. 
 
 Our people nowadays are so bred up to bustle and 
 ostentation, that good nature, moderation, equability, 
 constancy, and such like quiet and obscure qualities, 
 are no more thought on or regarded. Rough bodies 
 make themselves felt ; the smooth are imperceptibly 
 handled : sickness is felt, health little or not at all ; 
 no more than the oils that foment us, in comparison of 
 the pains for which we are fomented. 'Tis acting for 
 one's particular reputation and profit, not for the public 
 good, to refer that to be done in the public squares 
 which one may do in the council chamber ; and to 
 noonday what might have been done the night before ; 
 and to be jealous to do that himself which his col- 
 league can do as well as he ; so were some surgeons of 
 Greece w T ont to perform their operations upon scaffolds 
 in the sight of the people, to draw more practice and 
 profit. They think that good rules cannot be under- 
 stood, but by the sound of trumpet. 
 
 Ambition is not a vice of little people, nor of such 
 
35 6 ESSAYS OF MONTAIGNE. 
 
 modest means as ours. One said to Alexander: 
 " Your father will leave you a great dominion, easy and 
 pacifie ; " this youth was emulous of his fathers vic- 
 tories, and of the justice of his government ; he would 
 not have enjoyed the empire of the world in ease and 
 peace. Alcibiades, in Plato, had rather die young, 
 beautiful, rich, noble, and learned, and all this in full 
 excellence, than to stop short of such condition ; this 
 disease is, peradventure, excusable in so strong and so 
 full a soul. 
 
 When wretched and dwarfish souls gull and deceive 
 themselves, and think to spread their fame for having 
 given right judgment in an affair, or maintained the 
 discipline of the guard of a gate of their city, the 
 more they think to exalt their heads the more they 
 show their tails. This little well-doing has neither 
 body nor life ; it vanishes in the first mouth, and 
 goes no farther than from one street to another. 
 Talk of it by all means to your son or your servant, 
 like that old fellow who, having no other auditor of 
 his praises, nor approver of his valor, boasted to his 
 chambermaid^ crying, " Oh, Perrette, what a brave, 
 clever man hast thou for thy master! " At the worst, 
 talk of it to yourself, like a councillor of my acquaint- 
 ance, who, having disgorged a whole cartful of law 
 jargon with great heat and as great folly, coming out 
 of the council chamber, was heard very complacently 
 to mutter between his teeth ; " Non nobis, domine, 
 non nobis, sed nomini tuo da gloriam." He who gets 
 it of nobody else, let him pay himself out of his own 
 purse. 
 
 Fame is not prostituted at so cheap a rate; rare 
 
OF MANAGING THE WILL. 35 7 
 
 and exemplary actions, to which it is due, would not 
 endure the company of this prodigious crowd of petty 
 daily performances. Marble may exalt your titles, as 
 much as you please, for having repaired a rod of wall 
 or cleansed a public sewer; but not men of sense. 
 Renown does not follow all good deeds, if novelty 
 and difficulty be not conjoined ; nay, so much as mere 
 esteem, according to the Stoics, is not due to every 
 action that proceeds from virtue ; nor will they allow 
 him bare thanks, who, out of temperance, abstains 
 from an old blear-eyed hag. Those who have known 
 the admirable qualities of Scipio Africanus, deny him 
 the glory that Panaetius attributes to him, of being 
 abstinent from gifts, as a glory not so much his as 
 that of the age he lived in. We have pleasures suit- 
 able to our lot ; let us not usurp those of grandeur ; 
 our own are more natural, and by so much more solid 
 and sure, as they are lower. If not for that of con- 
 science, yet at least for ambition's sake, let us reject 
 ambition ; let us disdain that thirst of honor and 
 renown, so low and mendicant, that it makes us beg 
 it of all sorts of people by abject means, and at what 
 cheap rate soever : 'tis dishonor to be so honored. 
 
 Let us learn to be no more greedy, than we are 
 capable, of glory. To be puffed up with every action 
 that is innocent or of use, is only for those with whom 
 such things are extraordinary and rare ; they will value 
 it as it costs them. The more a good effect makes a 
 noise, the more do I abate of its goodness as I suspect 
 that it was more performed for the noise, than upon 
 account of the goodness ; exposed upon the stall, 'tis 
 half sold. Those actions have much more grace and 
 
35 8 ESSAYS OF MONTAIGNE, 
 
 lustre, that slip from the hand of him that does them, 
 negligently and without noise, and that some honest 
 man thereafter finds out and raises from the shade, to 
 produce it to the light upon its own account. " All 
 things truly seem more laudable to me that are per- 
 formed without ostentation, and without the testi- 
 mony of the people," says the most ostentatious man 1 
 that ever lived. 
 
 I had but to conserve and to continue, which are 
 silent and insensible effects ; innovation is of great 
 lustre ; but 'tis interdicted in this age, when we are 
 pressed upon and have nothing to defend ourselves 
 from but novelties. To forbear doing is often as 
 generous as to do ; but 'tis less in the light, and the 
 little good that I have in me is of this kind. In fine, 
 occasions in this employment of mine have been con- 
 federate with my humor, and I heartily thank them 
 for it. Is there any who desires to be sick, that he 
 may see his physician at work? and would not that 
 physician deserve to be whipped, who should wish 
 the plague among us, that he might put his art in 
 practice ? I have never been of that wicked humor, 
 and common enough, to desire that troubles and dis- 
 orders in this city should elevate and honor my gov- 
 ernment ; I have ever heartily contributed all I could 
 to their tranquillity and ease. He who will not thank 
 me for the order, the sweet and silent calm that has 
 accompanied my administration, cannot, however, de- 
 prive me of the share that belongs to me, by title of 
 my good fortune. 
 
 And I am of such a composition that I would as 
 1 Cicero. 
 
OF MANAGING THE WILL. 359 
 
 willingly be lucky as wise, and had rather owe my 
 successes purely to the favor of Almighty God than 
 to any operation of my own. I had sufficiently pub- 
 lished to the world my unfitness for such public 
 offices ; but I have something in me yet worse than 
 incapacity itself; which is, that I am not much dis- 
 pleased at it, and that I do not much go about to 
 cure it, considering the course of life that I have pro- 
 posed to myself. Neither have I satisfied myself in 
 this employment ; but I have very near arrived at 
 what I expected from my own performance, and have 
 much surpassed what I promised fhem with whom I 
 had to do ; for I am apt to promise something less 
 than what I am able to do and than what I hope to 
 make good. 
 
 I assure myself that I have left no offence or hatred 
 behind me ; to leave regret or desire for me among 
 them, I at least know very well that I never much 
 aimed at it. But, says Virgil : " Should I place con- 
 fidence in this monster? Should I be ignorant of the 
 dangers of that seeming placid sea, those now quiet 
 waves ? " 
 
JUL 9 1903