The Complete Essays (49 page)

[B]
Tun’, vetule, auriculis alienis colligis escas?

[Now then, old chap, are you collecting bait to catch the ears of others?]
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[A] They step back only to make a better jump, and, with greater force, to make a lively charge through the troops of men.

Would you like to see how they fall just a tiny bit short of the target? Let us weigh against them the counsels of two philosophers – and from two different schools at that – one of them writing to his friend Idomeneus and the other to his friend Lucilius, to persuade them to give up the management of affairs of state and their great offices and to withdraw into solitude:
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‘You have (they said) lived up to the present floating and tossing about; come away into the harbour and die. You have devoted your life to the light: devote what remains to obscurity. It is impossible to give up your pursuits if you do not give up their fruits. Renounce all concern for name and glory. There is the risk that the radiance of your former deeds may still cast too much light upon you and pursue you right into your lair. Among other gratifications give up the one which comes from other people’s approval. As for your learned intelligence, do not worry about that: it will not lose its effect if you yourself are improved by it. Remember the man who was asked why he toiled so hard at an art which few could ever know about: “For me a few are enough; one is enough; having none is enough.” He spoke the truth. You and one companion are audience enough for each other; so are you for yourself. For you, let the crowd be one, and one be a crowd. It is a vile ambition in one’s retreat to want to extract glory from one’s idleness. We must do like the beasts and scuff out our tracks at the entrance to our lairs. You should no longer be concerned with what the world says of you but with what you say to yourself. Withdraw into yourself, but first prepare yourself to welcome yourself there. It would be madness to entrust yourself to yourself, if you did not know how to govern yourself. There are ways of failing in solitude as in society. Make
yourself into a man in whose sight you would not care to walk awry; feel shame for yourself and respect for yourself, – [C]
“observentur species honestae animo”
[let your mind dwell on examples of honour];
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until you do, always imagine that you are with Cato, Phocion and Aristides, in whose sight the very madmen would hide their faults; make them recorders of your inmost thoughts, which, going astray, will be set right again out of reverence for them.
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‘The path they will keep you on is that of being contented with yourself, of borrowing all from yourself, of arresting and fixing your soul on thoughts contained within definite limits where she can find pleasure; then, having recognized those true benefits which we enjoy the more the more we know them, content yourself with them, without any desire to extend your life or fame.’

That is the advice of a philosophy which is natural and true, not like that of those other two,
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all verbiage and show.

40. Reflections upon Cicero

[This chapter continues the reflections of the previous one, by further comparisons between ‘those two couples’: that is, between Cicero and Pliny the Younger on the one hand, and Epicurus and Seneca on the other. Montaigne sides with Epicurus and Seneca because like him they give priority to matter over style. Montaigne has a gentleman’s contempt for mere style and formalities. His preference for the ‘comic style’ – that of Terence and of himself – is explained in the later chapter ‘On books’.]

[A] One more point of contrast between those two couples: from the writings of Cicero and of the younger Pliny (who in my judgement is [C] not much
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[A] like his uncle in character) there can be drawn a great many details which witness to an overweeningly ambitious nature: among others that they publicly urged contemporary historians not to forget them in their chronicles; and Fortune – as though moved by pique – has made the vanity behind those requests last to our own day, while the chronicles themselves have long since been lost.
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But what surpasses all vulgarity of mind in people of such rank is to have sought to extract some major glory from chatter and verbiage, using to that end even private letters written to their friends; when some of their letters could not be sent as the occasion for them had lapsed they published them all the same, with the worthy excuse that they did not want to waste their long nights of toil! How becoming in two Roman consuls, sovereign governors of the commonwealth which was mistress of the world, to use their leisure to construct and nicely clap together some fair missive or other, in order to gain from it the reputation of having thoroughly mastered the language of their nanny! What more could some wretched schoolteacher do, who earned his money by it!

If the eloquent language of Xenophon and Caesar had not been far surpassed by their deeds I do not believe they would ever have written about them. They sought to commend their actions not their style. And if
a perfect mastery of language could contribute anything worthy of a great public figure, Scipio and Laelius would certainly not have allowed the credit for their comedies, with all their grace and delightful language, to be attributed to an African slave – for the beauty and excellence of those works are adequate proof that they are really theirs, and Terence himself admits it.
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[B] I would be deeply displeased to have that belief of mine shaken.

[A] It is a kind of mockery and insult to value a man for qualities unbecoming to his rank, even if they are otherwise commendable, or for qualities which should not be his chief ones – as though we were to praise a monarch for being a good painter painter or a good architect, or even for being good with the harquebus or at tilting in the jousting-ring; such praises bring no honour unless they are put forward, among many others, after those which are proper to his rank: after justice, that is, and knowing how to lead his people in peace and war. In this way Cyrus can be honoured by his farming and Charlemagne for his eloquent style and his knowledge of literature. [C] More strangely I have known in my time great men whose professional reputation is indeed based on writing but who disown their indentured skills, corrupt their style and affect an ignorance of so menial a quality, which Frenchmen think is hardly ever found in clever men; they prefer to commend themselves by better qualities.

[B] The comrades of Demosthenes during their embassy to Philip praised that monarch for his beauty, eloquence and his taste in wine: Demosthenes commented that praises such as those belonged rather to a woman, a barrister and a sponge than to a king.
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Imperet bellante prior, jacentem
Lenis in hostem
.

[Let him be first triumphant over the enemy, then generous to the defeated.]
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It is not his profession to know how to hunt well or to dance well.

Orabunt causas alii, cælique meatus
Describent radio, et fulgentia sidera dicent;
Hic regere imperio populos sciat
.

[Others shall make better legal pleas, trace the paths of the heavens with their measuring-rods and tell which stars are rising: you must remember to rule the nations with authority.]
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[A] Plutarch goes further, asserting that to appear to excel in such unnecessary accomplishments is to bear witness against yourself of time ill-spent on leisure and study which ought to be better spent on things more necessary and more useful. So Philip, King of Macedonia, when he heard his son Alexander the Great singing at a feast and rivalling the best musicians, remarked: ‘Are you not ashamed of singing so well?’ And to this same Philip, a musician with whom he was arguing about his art, said, ‘God forbid, Sire, that you should ever have the ill fortune to understand such things better than I do.’ [B] A king should be able to reply like Iphicrates did to the ambassador who was haranguing him with invectives and saying, ‘What have you got to boast about? Are you an infantryman? Are you an archer? Are you a pikesman?’ – ‘None of these,’ he replied. ‘But I am the one who can lead them all.’ [A] Antisthenes took it as evidence of Ismenias’ lack of valour when he was praised for being an outstanding flautist.
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[C] What I do know is that when I hear anyone lingering over the language of these
Essays
I would rather he held his peace: it is not a case of words being extolled but of meaning being devalued; it is all the more irritating for being oblique. I may be wrong but there are not many writers who put more matter in your grasp than I do and who, with such concern for this matter, scatter at least the seeds of it so thickly over their paper. To make room for more, I merely pile up the heads of argument: if I were to develop them as well I would increase the size of this tome several times over. And how many tacit
exempla
have I scattered over my pages which could all give rise to essays without number if anyone were to pluck them apart with a bit of intelligence. Neither they nor my quotations serve always as mere examples, authorities or decorations: I do not only have regard for their usefulness to me: they often bear the seeds of a richer, bolder subject-matter; they often sound a more subtle note on the side,
both for me, who do not wish to press more out of them, and also for those who get my gist.

To return to verbosity: I cannot find much difference between always handling words badly and knowing nothing save how to handle them well:
‘Non est ornamentum virile concinnitas.’
[An elegant garb is no manly adornment.]
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[A] Wise men say that the only qualities which are proper to every rank and class in general are, where knowledge is concerned, a love of wisdom and, where deeds are concerned, virtue.

There is something to the same effect in the other two, Epicurus and Seneca (since they do promise their friends lasting fame from the letters they pen to them). But it is in a different guise, making compromises – for a good end – with the other people’s vanity; for they do urge that if an anxious concern with renown and for making themselves known to future centuries keeps their correspondents still managing the affairs of state and makes them afraid of the solitude and withdrawal to which they would summon them, such things should trouble them no more, since they have sufficient influence over posterity to guarantee that their correspondents’ names will be as well-known and as famous from these very letters as they could ever be from their public duties.
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But even allowing for that difference, their letters are not skinny empty ones, propped up merely by a nice choice of words amassed and arranged with an elegant rhythm, but are fully fleshed out with arguments both beautiful and wise, by which we acquire not eloquence but wisdom, instructing us not how to talk well but how to act well.

Shame on all eloquence which leaves us with a taste for itself not for its substance – unless you could say in Cicero’s case that the ultimate perfection of his style gives it a substance of its own.

I will add a tale which we can read on this topic about Cicero which lets us put our finger on the kind of man he was. He had to deliver a public oration and was a bit short of time to get himself conveniently ready. One of his slaves called Eros came and told him that the case had been put off till the following day: he was so delighted at this good news that he gave him his freedom.
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[B] On the subject of letters, I would like to note that it is a genre in
which my friends say I show some ability. [C] If I had somebody to write to I would readily have chosen it as the means of publishing my chatter. But I would need some definite correspondent, as I used to have,
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who would draw me out, sustain me and keep me going. For to correspond with thin air as others do is something I could only manage in my dreams; nor, being the sworn enemy of all deception, could I treat serious matters under made-up names. I would have been more observant and confident if I were addressing one strong and beloved friend than I am now when I need to have regard for a many-sided public. Unless I deceive myself my achievement then would have been greater.

[B] My natural style is that of comedy, but one whose form is personal to me, a private style unsuited to public business – as is my language in all its aspects, being too compact, ill-disciplined, disjointed and individual;
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and I know nothing about formal letter-writing where the substance consists in merely stringing courtly words together. I have neither the gift nor the taste for all those long drawn-out offers of affection and service. I do not believe in them much and dislike going much beyond what I do believe. That is far removed from present-day practice: there never was so servile and abject a prostitution of formal courtesies: my life, my soul, devotion, adoration, serf, slave – all such words are so current and common that when anyone wishes to convey a more explicit intention, one showing more respect, he has no means left to express it.

I hate unto death to sound like a flatterer; which means that I naturally adopt a dry, blunt, raw kind of language which to anyone who does not otherwise know me may seem somewhat haughty.
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[C] I pay most honour to those to whom I show it least: when my soul is happily cantering along I forget all the conventional paces. [B] I present myself meagrely and proudly to those to whom I am really devoted; [C] and I commend myself least to those to whom I have given myself most; [B] I feel that they ought to be able to read all that in my mind, as well as the fact that my verbal expressions do wrong to my thoughts.

[C] When welcoming people, taking my leave, thanking them, greeting them, expressing my devotion, as well as in all those verbose compliments required by the rules of courtesy in our etiquette, I know no one
who is so stupid and bereft of words as I am. I have never been asked to write letters of support or recommendation without those for whom I was doing it finding them lukewarm and desiccated.

[B] The Italians are great printers of their letters. I believe I have a hundred separate volumes of them; the best seem to me to be those of Annibal Caro. If all the paper were still in existence which I had once scribbled upon for the ladies when my pen was really carried away by my passion, you might have found a page or two there which deserved to be read by idle youth befuddled with such madness.

I always write my letters at the gallop, with so headlong a dash that I prefer to write them by hand than to dictate them (despite my appalling writing) since I can never find anyone who can keep up with me; I never have them copied out neatly. I have accustomed the great men who know me to put up with my scratchings-out and erasings as well as with paper which is not folded double or which has no margins. The most useless of my letters are those which cost me most trouble: as soon as I flag, that is a sign that my heart is not in it. I prefer to begin without a plan, the first phrase leading on to the next. Letters nowadays are more full of lace borders and prefaces than of matter. Just as I would rather write two letters than fold and seal up one and always leave that job to somebody else, so too, when I have said what I have to say, I would like to be able to make someone else responsible for those long formulas, those offers of service and I-beg-you-Sirs which we place at the end; I wish some new custom would liberate us from them, as well as from having to address our letters with a list of qualities and titles. For fear of tripping up over them I have often not written at all, especially to men of law and finance; there are so many changes of function, such difficulty of arrangement and in giving everyone his various honorific titles; and they have cost them so dear that you cannot mix them up or forget them without causing offence.