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LIBRAR Y
Michigan Sm:

Univenity

thesis entitled

METAPHOR OF MOVEMENT IN THE ESSAIS OF MONTAIGNE

 

I

l

l

This is to certify thatthe‘; .. 1
1

presented by I

Paula B . K0ppisch

has been accepted towards fulfillment
of the requirements for

A degree in M

   

Major profe or

Date April 12, 1976

0-7639

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

ABSTRACT
METAPHOR OF MOVEMENT IN THE ESSAIS OF MONTAIGNE
By

Paula B. KOppisch

This study investigates the process of metaphor at work in the
Essais with a view to understanding the value of metaphor for Montaigne
and the nature of the relationships out of which his metaphors are
created. Concentrating upon the metaphor of movement, a motif which
permeates Montaigne's thought throughout the three books, I examine the
way in which Montaigne's conceptions of all things in branle are shaped
in the densely metaphorical language of the Essais.

The unity of Montaigne grows out of his active pursuit of the
integration of contraries. His vision of the world, of man and of him-
self attests to the flux and diversity of all things. No two things
are alike and nothing remains stable and unchanging. But Montaigne
finds ways of making connections between things that are dissimilar,
of perceiving relationships which, though they do not dispel difference,

do enable him to integrate the diverses and ondovantes pieces of

 

existence into a harmonious whole. Although the relationships which
can be drawn from experience are faulty and imperfect, Montaigne holds
that there are always 'corners' by which things can be 'joined.‘ From

his perspective of all things being in perpetual branle, the vision he

 

 

 

Paula B. Koppisch

creates through the making of associations must be continually reshaped.
The harmonious integration of dissimilarities and even contraries into
a unified whole cannot be immobilized into a static representation, for
that would deny the basic premise that nothing is constant, that all
things are subject to continual change.

Movement and stability are polar opposites marking the
continuing spectrum of Montaigne's thought. Throughout the Essais,
there is a dynamic interplay between the forceful impulsion to movement
and the contrasting urge to create and experience a sense of £222§°
Neither pole can be divorced from the other and taken as the exclusive
characteristic or ultimate aspiration of Montaigne, for the two exist
in relationship to each other. In the formulation of his thought,
Montaigne operates, to a large degree, through a progression of anti—
theses. The mobile aspect of things is always juxtaposed to their
contrasting aspect of stability.

Metaphor is a radical component of Montaigne‘s conception of
movement and stability, for it is almost impossible to think in terms
of movement and its opposite without associating them to substantial
properties, without giving them corporeal quantity. Abstract concepts
in Montaigne are constantly associated to concrete bodily experience
through the action of metaphor. The metaphorical process bridges the
separation of body and mind to fuse them into an integral experience.
In the semantic motion of metaphor, interacting between tenor and
vehicle, the movement of Montaigne's mind forges its own stability.

His well-exercised judgment is continually making connections through

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Paula B. Koppisch

the action of language. By means of language, and more specifically
metaphorical language, Montaigne's judgment is able to take possession
of its objects, giving them the 'body' by which they can be grasped.
The polarities of movement and stability are joined in their common
relationship to the creative process of metaphor: Montaigne's dynamic
opposition of movement and stability concurs with the perpetually
renewed interaction of the weight and density of the body and the
lightness and fluidity of the mind or soul.

Stretching and bending language to serve his needs, Montaigne
searches out a closeness between word and thought. His awareness of
the separation between the 'name' and the 'thing' posits an underlying
tension in his use of metaphor, a tension which energizes the interac-
tion of the metaphorical process. As he forges corporeal expression
for abstract ideas, Montaigne bridges the separation between word and
conception and between mind and body. Never losing touch with the
organic relationship of the physical and unphysical aspects of his
being, he engenders thought in a language 'of flesh and of bone.‘

The Essais are a portrait of Montaigne in language, a portrait
of himself conceived in interaction with the multiple aspects of his
experience, a portrait of a consciousness as it is reflected through
the mediation of its objects. Reflecting himself in the 'mirror' of
the world, in the opacity of physical sensation and in the 'inward
folds' of a soul which 'turns in on itself,‘ Montaigne registers the
multifarious images of these separate moments of consciousness into

the duration of the book. The book, too, serves as an object of

 

 

 

 

 

 

—_ .vfi“

Paula B. Koppisch

consciousness, a reflector of the self, and it, too, is made 'to turn
in on itself.' As the portrait of his passage, it is to the book that
Montaigne turns for the image of himself in movement. It is the book

which functions as the ultimate metaphor of self.

 

 

 

 

METAPHOR OF MOVEMENT IN THE ESSAIS OF MONTAIGNE

BY

Paula B. Koppisch

 

A DISSERTATION

Submitted to
Michigan State University
in partial fulfillment of the requirements
for the degree of

DOCTOR OF PHILOSOPHY

Department of Romance Languages

1976

 

 

 

 

 

(:> Copyright by
PAULA B. KOPPISCH

1976

 

 

 

 

 

 

FOIL

Michael

iii

 

 

 

 

 

 

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Many people, some unknowingly, have been of immeasurable
assistance to me in the course of my education and in the preparation
of this study. To all, I express my gratitude. Most especially, I
thank Professor Frieda S. Brown for her attentive, close reading of
my work, for her valuable suggestions for improving the text and,
most importantly, for her warm and continuing encouragement throughout
the duration of this study. My appreciation also goes to Professors
Herbert Josephs, Laurence M. Porter and John F. A. Taylor for their
generous attention to my text and for the stimulating critical

questions which resulted from their readings.

iv

 

 

 

 

 

 

TABLE OF CONTENTS

INTRODUCTORY NOTE . . . . . . . . . . . .

CHAPTER

I. THE POLARITIES OF MOVEMENT AND STABILITY IN

MONTAIGNE . . . . . . . . . . .

II. PERSPECTIVES ON METAPHOR IN THE ESSAIS .

III. METAPHORS OF THE WORLD AND MAN §N_BRANLE .

IV. METAPHORS OF THE SOUL AND MIND EN BRANLE .

V. METAPHORS OF THE SELF AND THE BOOK
CONCLUSION . . . . . . . . .

B IBL IOGRAP HY O O C 0 O O O O O O O O O O O

Page

. . . . . 46

. . 118
163
. . . 215

. . . . . 222

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

INTRODUCTORY NOTE

The Renaissance is characterized by a growing awareness of
expanding perSpectives in man's consciousness of his universe. It
is a world of discoveries, innovations and renewal. Joined to greatly
altered conceptions of the expanse and shape of man's physical world are
pronounced transformations in his assessment of the scope and depth of
his intellectual and cultural heritage. While ties with the ancient
world had never really been severed, the endeavors of the Renaissance
humanists brought much that had been shadowed into the full light of
active investigation. Widely diffused by the new medium of printing,
the humanist movement heightened man's sense of the far-reaching dimen-
sions of history in which he is situated. A realization of the exten-
sive and varied traditions of the past and a confrontation with change
in the present combined to produce a vision of a world ever open to
change. Such a vision is not altogether desirable for what remains
Open to change is in itself unstable. Man, in the midst of an unstable
world, must face the dilemma of his own instability.

To a large degree, the Renaissance resisted the implications of
its own discoveries. Although its political and religious institutions
underwent severe turmoil, they emerged as relatively stable structures
within which man could continue to define himself much as before. In

the domain of scientific inquiry, findings which threatened traditional

 

 

 

modes of thought met with official condemnation. And the expanded
intellectual and cultural heritage fostered by the humanists, while
inspiring some to creative fervor and critical innovation, led others
to the temptations of dogmatism and sterile imitation. The Renaissance
is marked by a tension between the new—found possibilities for expanding
man's consciousness of himself and his world, on the one hand, and the
persistence of limitations impeding the full realization of these pos—
sibilities on the other. Openness to change is partially closed by the
inclination to stability.

Montaigne's Essais are the expression of an individual con-
sciousness at the moment when the Renaissance had reached its maturity.
Nurtured in the humanist tradition, Montaigne‘s mind was attuned to the
metamorphosing nature of his world as well as to the need for a compen-
satory stability. But the focus of Montaigne's investigation is not so
much on the world as on man—~and more pointedly, on himself. Just as
the tension between movement and stability is characteristic of the
Renaissance world—View, so, too, is it deeply rooted in Montaigne's
subjective sense of self. Exploring in the Essais his own experience
of movement, he comes to know a mode of stability in the context of
movement itself.

A genre new to the world of letters, the essay is Montaigne's
creation and uniquely suited to his purpose. For him, the word essai
literally means a test or trial. In writing the essays, he is trying
out his ideas, exercising his mind, continually expanding his conscious-

ness of the world within and without himself. To accommodate his mind

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

in movement, the form of the essays remains open, unbound by dictates
of length, organization or predetermined structure. Montaigne's Essais
are an affirmation of Renaissance openness to change. The stability the
essayist experiences through the successive trials of his mind comes not
from the imposition of any closures or limitations on the activity of
that mind, but from his increasing awareness of his mind's capacity

to act.

Movement, as the exercise of Montaigne's mind and as the
mobility inherent in his perceptions of the world, of man and of himself,
is incorporated into the language of the Essais through the action of
metaphor. The use of metaphor is a creative process, one of drawing
relationships, of making associations between things which may be
similar but nevertheless distinct. Montaigne's rich handling of
metaphor is a function of his judgment, that faculty of the mind which
acts upon the matiére before it, not only receiving, but assimilating
and shaping the objects of perception according to its maniére. The
manner in which Montaigne formulates his ideas through metaphor is
grounded in his realization of the fundamental organic unity of his
being. Body and soul, the tangible and the intangible, represent
separate aspects of the unified self, but their separation is really
a construct of the mind, for they can only be experienced in relation
to each other. Judgment, operating through experience, is constantly
functioning in terms of their interaction. Out of this interaction
comes the incarnation of Montaigne's thought in the densely metaphorical

language of the Essais.

 

 

I ---H I. _ “he V ' ‘ - A Uth‘IC‘AWu.r——u———.
-—_ — ' - -—‘—-_-~_-—'-a. .

It is the aim of my study to investigate the process of metaphor
at work in the Essais, to examine the value of metaphor for Montaigne,
and to clarify the nature of the relationships out of which his meta-
phors are created. My study will concentrate on Montaigne's metaphors
of movement. Since movement is a motif which permeates Montaigne's
thought throughout the three books of the Essais, it serves to limit
the scope of investigation without obscuring the continuity of
Montaigne's development. The first chapter demonstrates the primacy
of movement in the Essais and situates this notion with respect to
Montaigne's contrasting urge for stability. The remaining chapters
explore the nature of metaphor and show how the major conceptions of

the Essais are embodied in the metaphor of movement.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER ONE

THE POLARITIES OF MOVEMENT AND

STABILITY IN MONTAIGNE

Notre vie n'est que mouvement (III:13, 1074b).1
D'autant que nous avons cher, estre; et estre
consiste en mouvement et action. Parquoy
chascun est aucunement en son ouvrage (11:8,
336C).

Montaigne declares in his A2_Lecteur: "je suis moymesmes la
matiere de mon livre" (p. 9). In the three books of essays which
follow, the reader, keeping his comment in mind, makes an ever-deepening
acquaintance with this matiere—~the man, the mind, that is Montaigne.
Yet, treating of a multitude of subjects, the essays frequently explore
matters so removed from the domain of a self—portrait that we might very
well ask in what way these varied discussions related to his avowed
intention to portray himself-—"car c'est moy que je peins" (p. 9).
Much of the sense of acquaintance with Montaigne that we derive from
reading the essays comes not only from the passages where he reflects
directly on his own personality, but also from the experience of
participation in the process of a mind continually making contact
with subjects Outside itself.

Montaigne evidences a critical awareness of his own undertaking,

realizing that "chascun est aucunement en son ouvrage"—-for being

 

 

 

 

 

consists in movement and action. "Notre vie n'est que mouvement."
A man is 'somewhat' in his work in as much as the activity that goes
into the creation of the work is the essence of his being. "Nous
sommes nés pour agir" (1:20, 87a). Inseparable from movement, life
is the period "pendant [laquelle] nous nous remuons" (1:3, 20b). And
Montaigne would have death find him "plantant [ses] chous" (1:20, 87a),
engaged in actiOn, stretching the fiber of life to his very last moment.
For Montaigne, his work is his book; and the book, in a very
real sense, is his life-~"livre consubstantial a son autheur, d'une
occupation propre, membre de ma vie; non d'une occupation et fin tierce
et estrangere comme tous autres livres" (11:18, 648C). The activity of
the book is primarily intellectual, an effort to record, not the facts
of his existence, but the movements of his mind: "Je peins principale—
ment mes cogitations, subject informs . . . Ce ne sont mes gestes que
j‘escris, c'est moy, c'est mon essence" (11:6, 359C). To render a
faithful portrait of so fleeting and shapeless a subject is "une
espineuse entreprinse," for the mind has a vagabond pace and the
path of its movement winds through inward folds of opaque depths (358C).
Montaigne's pursuit in writing is in effect a quest of self—discovery.
The written word gives body to the rush of minute thoughts which pass
through the mind and risk most easily "de se perdre et extravaguer au
vent" (11:18, 648C). Because he wants to keep a register of them,
Montaigne listens more closely, more attentively to his "resveries"
(ibid.); and the book enables him to see himself more solidly, in

sharper form and more vivid color-~"le patron s'en est fermy et

 

 

 

 

aucunement formé soy mesmes. Me peignant pour autruy, je me suis peint
en moy de couleurs plus nettes que n'estoyent les miennes premieres"
(ibid.).

Writing is an exercise in control, a means of imposing stability
on the incessant movement that is the nature of being, and so lends
substance and form to the fleeting, elusive self. Retiring from the
world at the age of thirty—eight, Montaigne maintains that he wished
to leave his mind "en pleine oysiveté, s'entretenir soy mesmes, et
s'arrester et rasseoir en soy" (1:8, 34a). But within this isolated
freedom, he found that his mind took to running, "faisant 1e cheval
eschappé," demonstrating its need for bridling and restraint. Just
as a field needs sowing in order to be productive (33a), the mind
requires definite subjects with which to occupy itself. Recognizing
the need to direct the energies of his mind in order to perceive its
workings, Montaigne's quest for self takes shape through the unending
succession of subjects that make up the body of the Essais. Conscious
of the infinite number of possible subjects ever before the mind,
Montaigne wonders "Et quand seray-je a bout de representer une
continuelle agitation at mutation de mes pensées, en quelque matiere
qu'elles tombent . . ." (111:9, 923b). No matter is too trivial or
irrelevant to his purpose, for every subject reveals the mind in

movement. And "tout mouvement nous descouvre" (1:50, 290C).

 

 

 

 

 

"Qui veut découvrir Montaigne doit écouter son conseil et

1' H2
commencer par considerer son mouvement.

The aim of this chapter
is to demonstrate how the notion of movement permeates Montaigne's
consciousness. At the beginning of chapter two of Book Three, "Du
repentir," Montaigne reflects directly on the elusory nature of his
task, due to the mobility of what he seeks to capture.3 The impli-
cations of the motif of movement‘‘ in this dense passage reverberate
throughout the Essais. R. A. Sayce warns that "it is impossible
(or at least not easy) to make any statement about [Montaigne] without
immediately stating the contrary"5 for the 'thought' of Montaigne is
an ever-active interplay of contraries and ambiguities. In dealing
with the notions of movement and instability we cannot ignore the
corresponding Conceptions of stability and repos. The passage from
"Du repentir" affords a means of entry into both of these seemingly
contradictory aspects of Montaigne's thinking.

Les autres forment l'homme; je le recite et en represents

un particulier bien mal formé, et lequel, si j'avoy a

faconner de nouveau, je ferois vrayement bien autre qu'il

n'est. Mes—buy c'est fait. Or les traits de ma peinture

ne forvoyent point, quoy qu'ils se changent et se

diversifient. Le monde n'est qu'une branloire perenne.

Toutes choses y branlent sans cesse: la terre, les rochers

du Caucase, les pyramides d'AEgypte, et du branle public

et du leur. La constance mesme n'est autre chose qu'un

branle plus languissant (111:2, 782b).

Montaigne's concept of the world in flux determines the way in

which he must deal with his subject. Pointing to the descriptive nature
of his depiction of man as Opposed to works bent on forming or defining

man, Montaigne chooses to show man not as he "ought" or would "ideally"

be, but simply as he is. He recites and represents his model as

   

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

perceived, not as conceived; for a world in constant branle admits of
no definitions. Further in the same essay, Montaigne insists strongly
on the non-didactic nature of his writing. "Je n'enseigne poinct, je
raconte" (784b). As the very title indicates, the Essais are not a
book of lessons, but one of exercises, samplings and trialsG-—"ce sont
icy mes humeurs et opinions; je les donne pour ce qui est en ma creance,
non pour ce qui est a croire" (1:26, 147a).

The particular model for his study, himself, is, admittedly,
"bien mal fgrmé," Though declining to shape man, Montaigne observes
by experience that his subject has already taken on a discernible form.
And though it might be preferable to fashion him "bien autre qu‘il

n'est,"

the object of his observation is not an idealized self but what
"mes—buy . . . est fait." Without betraying his subject, indeed so as
not to betray it, the lines of the portrait vary and change. It must
be flexible and mobile in order to be faithful to his conception of a
world that is "but a perpetual see-saw."7
Even things marked by mass and endurance——the earth, the rocks
of the Caucasus, the pyramids——are subject to perpetual movement.
"Toutes choses y branlent sans cesse . . . et du branle public et du
leur." By "du leur" Montaigne is probably referring to the gradual

process of disintegration in all created matter.8

From the perspective
of his own personal observations, from his acquaintance with history
and his knowledge of the geographical explorations of the Renaissance,

Montaigne is sensitive to the metamorphic processes continually

reshaping his universe. Having witnessed the erosions caused by

 

 

 

 

 

10

the Dordogne in his native region, he had a first-hand experience

of the force of physical change affecting the continents: "je vois

bien que c'est une agitation extraordinaire; car 81 elle fut tousjours

allée ce train, on deut aller a l'advenir, la figure du monde seroit

renversée" (1:31, 201b). And from the ancients' account of the island

of Atlantis "qui tenoit plus de pais que l'Afrique et l'Asie toutes

deux ensemble" (200a) and of which no trace was later to be found, he

concludes: "11 semble qu‘il y aye des mouvemens, (c) naturals les uns,

les autres (b) fievreux, en ces grands corps comme aux nostres" (201b).
At the time Montaigne was writing, man's world view was

undergoing a radical alteration, much like that we experience today

as a result of our investigations of space, technology and, in another

sense, primitive cultures. The discoveries of the ‘new world' demanded

a total reordering of knowledge concerning the dimensions and history

of the world. To the rich lore of historical and geographical materials

treating of the ancient worlds, many of which had only recently become

accessible to sixteenth-century readers, there were added new works

dealing with Asia, Africa and—-America. Montaigne's library and the

Essais, especially the chapters "Des cannibales" and "Des coches,"

evidence the fascination these discoveries held for him.9 His reaction

to the change in the overall conception of the world is one of openness

and readiness to meet with still other changes: "Cette descouverte d'un

pais infini semble estre de consideration. Je ne scay si je me puis

respondre que il ne s'en face a l'advenir quelqufautre, tant de

personnages plus grands que nous ayans esté trompez en cette—cy“

 

 

 

 

11

(1:31, 200a). In much the same spirit does he accept the replacement
of the Ptolemaic conception of the universe by the doctrine of
Copernicus--"Et qui sgait qu'une tierce opinion, d'icy a mille ans,
ne renverse les deux precedentes?" (11:12, 553a).

Knowledge of the world will always be subject to revision, not
only because "Toutes choses y branlent sans cesse," but because man is
never capable of total knowledge. "Et de cette mesme image du monde
qui coule pendant que nous y sommes, combien chetive et racourcie est
la cognoissance des plus curieux!" (111:6, 886b). Even if one man were
to know all that has been written about the past and if everything that
has been written were true, "ce seroit moins que rien au pris de ce qui
est ignore" (ibid.). Montaigne points to the 'inventions' of printing
and artillery which were regarded as miracles in his century, and then
reminds the reader that these mechanisms were enjoyed a thousand years
earlier in another corner of the world by the Chinese. The more man
advances in his knowledge of the world, the deper he penetrates in his
understanding of a world in metamorphosis: "Si nous voyons autant du
monde comme nous n'en voyons pas, nous apercevrions, comme il est a
croire, une perpetuele (c) multiplication at (b) vicissitude de formes"
(ibid.).

The world of Montaigne's immediate experience is one of
constantly changing forms. Institutions—~political, religious,
cultural—-are the structures that give shape to the universal branle.
But these very structures in sixteenth-century France were subject to

upheaval. Threatened from outside by the confrontation with societies

 

 

 

 

 

12

operating on totally different principles10 and from within by the
religious wars that were in essence political, France was tottering

on very shaky foundations. Montaigne recognizes the instability of
political bodies and likens their existence to the vulnerable and mortal
condition of the human body: "Les maladies et conditions de nos corps
se voyent aussi aux estats et polices; les royaumes, les republiques
naissent, fleurissent et fanissent de vieillesse comme nous" (1:23,
662-663a). The laws that hold a society together are but a "cousture
fortuite" (111:9, 934b). And the very foundations of religion are
capable of being esbranlées by the new doctrines of Luther.11 In
response to the prevailing turmoil of his historical moment, Montaigne

takes a firm conservative position.12

His option to maintain the
existing structures might appear contradictory to his awareness of
universal flux and the relativity of human institutions, but this
position is really the result of these testimonies. Seeing a world
in constant movement, he saw the threat of an eventual 'vertigo.‘
Sayce observes that "the finely adjusted sensitivity to all manifes—
tations of flux naturally produces a more than normal desire for
stability, the need for some fixed point or some fixed values."13
Montaigne cautions his reader: "11 vous siera mieux de vous resserrer
dans le train accoustumé, quel qu'il soit, que de jetter vostre vol 5
cette licence effrenée" (11:12, 542a). Rather than witness a total

destruction of the existing order, which is far from satisfactory,

Montaigne would choose to give stability to the status guo:

 

 

 

 

13

de nos loix et usances, 11 y en a plusieurs barbares et

monstrueuses; toutesfois,pourla difficulté de nous mettre

en meilleur estat, et le danger de ce crollement, si je

pouvoy planter une cheville a nostre roue et l'arrester

en ce point, je 1e ferois de bon coeur (11:17, 639a).
The wheel, of course, continues to turn; by taking a conservative
stance, we can give some semblance of constancy to the perpetual flow
of events, but change and movement will continue their way——"La con-
stance mesme n'est autre chose qu'un branle plus languissant."

There is a still larger perspective from which Montaigne views

the world g§_bran1e. All things—~individual men, nations, continents——

are part of a larger movement: the cosmic order or the cycle of nature.

In an effort to humble man and his arrogant reason in the "Apologie,"

 

Montaigne invites him to see that "non un homme seul, non un Roy, mais
les monarchies, les empires et tout ce bas monde se meut au branle des
moindres mouvemens celestes" (11:12, 428a). Nature tells man that his
life and his death are "des pieces de l'ordre de l'univers" (1:20, 91a)
and that if he has lived one day he has seen all. For all of nature
can be seen in each of her phenomena:

au pis aller, la distribution et varieté de tous les actes

de ma comedie se parfournit en un an. Si vous avez pris

garde au branle de mes quatre saisons, elles embrassent

1' enfance, 1' adolescence, la virilité et la vieillesse du

monde. 11 ajouéson jeu. 11 n 'y scait autre finesse que

de recomencer. Ce sera tousjours cela mesme (92a).

Nature, it would seem, is a process of ordered movement. And

yet, it is also the proliferation of diversity and variety. "Le monde
n'est que varieté et dissemblance" (11:2, 321a). Variety, diversity,

dissimilitude are indeed a law of nature: "qui se presente . . . cette

grande image de nostre mere nature . . . qui lit en son visage une si

 

 

 

14

generale g; constante varieté . . . celuy—la seul estime les choses
selon leur juste grandeur" (1:26, 157a); "il n'est aucune qualité

si universelle en cette image des choses que la diversité et la varieté"
(III:13, 1041b); "Nature s'est obligée a ne rien faire autre, qui ne
fust dissemblable" (III:13, 1042c).1“ Within the patterns of nature,
there is continual movement, continual change, so general and constant
that they are part of the order of nature. That this order is not
evident, that we are more conscious of the variety and differences in
nature than we are of its unity is attributable to our own failings.
Montaigne would have nature as his guide but finds her path not easily
discernible: "Je queste par tout sa piste: nous l'avons confondue de
traces artificielles“ (III:13, 1094b). His repeated attestations of
constant and universal diversity provide a kind of 2212£.§2.5222§’ a
fixed point i 1'intérieur d2 branle. Movement in his mind has taken
on a structure, not clearly delineated to be sure, but sufficient to
provide a sense of stability in face of perpetual flux and diversity—~
"La loi du mouvement est pour lui 1e principe unique de l'infinie
variété que crée la nature et, a la fois, source d2 stabilité

intérieure."15

The quest for a form of stability within the context of an
ever—moving world is the arriére—plan of the project of the self-
portrait. Not only the world, but men in general and most particularly
the self oscillate between the impulsion to movement and the inclination

to create and experience a sense of repos. Returning to the passage we

 

 

 

 

 

 

15

began to examine in "Du repentir," we find Montaigne jumping directly
from his statement of universal branle to that of his difficulty in
laying hold of his fluctuating and variable subject:

Je ne puis asseurer mon object. 11 vs trouble at

chancelant, d'une yvresse naturelle. Je le prens

en ce point, comme il est, en l‘instant que je m'amuse

a luy. Je ne peints pas l'estre. Je peints 1e passage:

non un passage d'aage en autre, ou, comme dict 1e peuple,

de sept en sept ans, mais de jour en jour, de minute en

minute. 11 faut accommoder mon histoire a l'heure
(111:2, 782b).

He is unable to keep his subject still. For man, part of a
world §E_branle, participates in the mobility of all created things.
"11 n'y a aucune constante existence, ny de nostre estre, ny de celuy
des objects. Et nous, et nostre jugement, et toutes choses mortelles,
vont coulant et roulant sans cesse" (II:12, 586a). The theme of human
mutability, as R. A. Sayce remarks, is "a commonplace of both ancient
(or Renaissance) and Christian thought,"16 and Montaigne openly makes
reference to writers who have preceded him in this tradition (11:12,

586a).17 In the Essais, this theme makes its entry in the very first

chapter of Book One:18 "Certes, c'est un subject merveilleusement
vain, divers et ondoyant, que l'homme" (1:1, 13a), and is reflected
in numerous chapter headings throughout the three books.19 Montaigne
is an observer of men, and his observations sensitize him to the
nebulousness of any attempt to draw conclusions on men's behavior.
The Essais abound in illustrations of how men's actions fluctuate
under different circumstances and even under quite similar circum—
stances; If any conclusion is to be drawn it is that "il est malaisé

d‘y fonder jugement constant et uniforme" (1:1, 13a).

 

 

 

 

 

 

16

In the "Apologie" Montaigne sets out to humble man by showing
him to be a part of nature, no higher than the creatures of the animal
kingdom, for these creatures evidence the patterns of reasoning that
are supposed to set man apart, to distinguish him as the master of
creation. In fact, the more he sees that animals act in much the same
way as men are credited to do, the more he witnesses the behavior of
man to be unpredictable and unclassifiable: "je maintiens ordinaire-
ment, qu'il se trouve plus de difference de tel homme a tel homme que
de tel animal a tel homme" (11:12, 444a). Most readers of the Essais
will choose to regard his fantastic accounts of reasoning animals as
fables and attribute uniquely to man the capacity for reason and
judgment. But this trait which distinguishes man most from the rest
of creation works at the same time to emphasize his separateness from
his fellow men: "Jamais deux hommes ne jugerent pareillement de mesme
chose, et est impossible de voir deux opinions semblables exactement,
non seulement en divers hommes, mais en mesme homme a diverses heures"
(III:13, 1044b).

Not only is man variable as a species, he is variable with
respect to himself. His movement is a gait "trouble et chancelant."
His thoughts, his desires, his actions are marked by inconsistency.

The animals evidence some patterns in their movement, man, "une yvresse

 

naturelle." In the chapter "De l'inconstance de nos actions," Montaigne

finds irresolution to be "1e plus commun et apparent vice de nostre
nature" (11:1, 315a). Ever restless, ever dissatisfied with the

present, man is in perpetual pursuit of an illusory future promise.

 

 

 

 

 

l7

"Nous ne sommes jamais chez nous, nous sommes tousjours au dela.
La crainte, 1e desir, l'esperance nous eslancent vers l'advenir, et
nous desrobent le sentiment et la consideration de ce qui est, pour
nous amuser a ce qui sera'(1:3, 18b). An insatiable curiosity propels
man relentlessly toward preoccupation with the future. And his present
state remains a matter of bemuddled confusion. Acts prove to be incon—
gruent with motivation for man is not sure of what he wants; his
appetite is "irresolu et incertain" (1:53, 297a). Having pursued
and obtained what he once believed to be his want, he is likely to
discover his achievement only brings unhappiness, but "11 n'y a rien
de changé, . . . nostre ame regarde 1a chose d'un autre oeil, et se la
represents par un autre visage; car chaque chose a plusieurs biais et
plusieurs lustres" (1:38, 231a). Occasionally there are moments when
man experiences genuine pleasure and satisfaction, but he is incapable
of sustaining this state. Imagining man in full enjoyment of the most
desirable of circumstances, supposing that each member of his body were
seized with the acute sensation of sexual pleasure, Montaigne conjec-
tures he would be incapable of enduring "une si pure, si constante
volupté et si universelle. De vray, i1 fuit quand 11 y est, et se
haste naturellement d'en eschapper" (11:20, 656a). What is natural
for man is not to remain static, but to pursue relentless movement.

Some regularity is nevertheless to be observed in the flow
of man's activities. Habit and custom provide structures within which
man manages to achieve some degree of constancy in his conduct. Since

"nous ne dirons jamais assez d'injures au desreglement de nostre esprit"

 

 

18
(1:4, 27b) and since our "interne volonté" is subject to endless
diversity (1:37, 226b), by turning away from our powers of mind and
will, we can more readily structure our lives. Habit functions as
an unreflective mechanism. Movement, since movement there must be,
yields to a certain control. As we have seen earlier, Montaigne takes
a conservative View and chooses to accept existing structures in order
to assure some degree of stability within a world in constant flux.
Yet, he sees "1a naturelle instabilité de nos meurs et opinions"
(11:1, 315a), and he recognizes too the frequently falsifying nature
of customs and habit in men's lives. "Nous ne sommes que ceremonie;
la ceremonie nous emporte, et laissons la substance des choses"
(11:17, 615a). The forms prescribed by culture can be worn as a kind

of mask, a frequent image in the Essaiszz°

"les hommes, se jettans
incontinent en des accoustumances, en des opinions, en des loix, se
changent ou §g_d§guisent facilement" (1:26, 148b). It is at this
interior level, where the stability of custom gives way to fluctuation
and diversity, that Montaigne is most interested in the movement of
men: "ce n'est pas tour de rassis entendement de nous juger simplement
par nos actions de dehors; il faut sonder jusqu'au dedans, et voir par
quels ressors se donne le bransle" (11:1, 321a).

Montaigne is really on the road to a science not yet born in
his day, the discipline of psychology. The study of man had always
been relegated to the domain of philosophy, and Montaigne is well-

21

acquainted with the philosophers. His acquaintance only serves

to reinforce the idea that man escapes definition, "car en l'estude

 

 

 

19

que je fay, duquel le subject c'est l'homme, trouvant une si extreme
varieté de jugemens, un si profond labyrinthe de difficultez les unes
sur les autres, tant de diversité et incertitude en l’eschole mesme de
la sapience" (11:17, 617a), Montaigne finds not answers, but more
questions. No one has satisfactorily explained the union of body and
soul, the mystery of how a solid mass, the human body, can be subject
to the reception of spiritual impressions: "1a nature de la liaison et
cousture de ces admirables ressorts, jamais homme ne 1'a sceu" (11:12,
520a). The categorical explanations of Aristotle, the philosopher
usually credited with 'having the answers' in the scholastic tradition,
do not ring true for Montaigne. He finds there the same artificial
structuring that he criticizes in the ceremonies of culture, forms that
do not penetrate to the substance of things——"Je ne recognois pas chez
Aristote la plus part de mes mouvemens ordinaires; on les a couverts

et revestus d'une autre robbe pour l‘usage de l'eschole" (111:5, 852b).
Montaigne is against all systems, for systems fail to take into account
the endless variety of life. This refusal of systems and insistence on
individuality is one of the characterizing traits of Montaigne's sagesse,
as Hugo Friedrich_so aptly remarks: "La sagesse de Montaigne . . . met
les individualités en lumiére, la sienne surtout, avec toutes leurs
phases. C‘est une sagesse qui a absorbé la fluctuation au lieu de \

"22 I

l'arréter. What Montaigne would offer as the principal concern

of wisdom, the primary subject to be presented to a student of man,

is the matter of quel ressors nous meuvent, et le moyen de tant de

divers bransles en nous" (1:26, 158a). It is a subject that can be

 

 

 

 

20

advanced through the reflections of philosophers, sharpened by the
observation of other men's lives, but most deepened by the experience
of one's self.

But how to experience the self when it, as all things, is in
perpetual movement? Would not any description imply a solidification
that would falsify its fluid nature? Montaigne proposes a method of
approach through which he would not arrest the movement of his subject,
but follow it. His focus will always be on the immediate, the present,
rather than an extended vision which inevitably tends to abstract and
generalize: "Je 1e prens EB gg_pgint, ggmmg_il_g§£, gn_l'instant que
je m'amuse a luy. . . . Il faut accommoder mon histoire a l'heure."
The present moment affords the only solid contact he can make with his
self. For our existence is subject to the incessant flow of time:
"c'est chose mobile que le temps, et qui apparoit comme en ombre, avec
la matiere coulante et fluante tousjours, sans jamais demeurer stable
ny permanente; et a qui appartiennent ces mots: devant et aprés, et
a esté ou sera . . ." (11:12, 588a). Time can only be conceived as
the succession of ever‘fleeting presents. By tracing the various
instants of his subject's existence, Montaigne proposes to give "un
registre de durée" (11:18, 648a). F. Joukovsky, in his study of
Montaigne EE_lg_probléme QE.EEEE§’ defines duration as "1e champ ou
n;23

notre réalité incomplete continue a s'élaborer time is "ce qui

nous sépare de l'etre"; it is "l'existence dans le devenir sensible."2”

L'étre for Montaigne is that which is not subject to the mutations of

time,25 and he concludes that God alone lg; He is l'Etre, "non poinct

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

21

selon aucune mesure du temps, mais selon une eternité immuable et
immobile, non mesurée par temps, ny subjecte a aucune declinaison"
(11:12, 588a). Man, on the contrary, has no communication with being
because "toute humaine nature est tousjours au milieu entre le naistre
et le mourir" (586a). Man's reality is to be ever moving, in his
ultimate dimension-~ever moving toward death.

The portrayal of man, then, must be a portrayal of the process
of becoming, a portrait of man's duration as a succession of instants.
"Je ne peints pas l'estre. Je peints lg_passage." Montaigne wants to
portray movement—~not the movement which can be stored in memory, "un
passage d'aage en autre, ou comme dict le peuple, de sept ans en sept
ans,"26 but the movement of actuality, "de jour en jour, de minute en
minute." Seeking to capture the most intimate possible awareness of
movement, he intends the Essais to be a minute, conscientious history
of his consciousness of the moment. Whatever the particular subject
that comes into discussion in the Essais, the subject is the occasion
for the activity of his mind. The mind is always mobile, in constant
agitation, in need of objects upon which to exercise itself——"Si on ne
les [minds] occupe a certain sujet, qui les bride et contreigne, ils

se jettent desreiglez, par—cy par 15, dans le vague champ des imagina-

tions" (1:8, 33a). Montaigne proposes to his mind an endless succession

of objects which reflect to him the movement of his mind. Poulet has
suggested that the subject of Montaigne‘s thought in the Essais is

"anything and nothing. . . . It is what is present to the mind and

that is all. . . . It is simply occasion for pure thought, pure pretext

 

 

 

 

 

22

"28

for thinking and for watching oneself think. It is in this sense

that the varied discussions and seeming digressions relate to his

intention to portray himself-—"car c'est moy que je peins" (p. 9).28
The self revealed in the essays is mobile, changing and even contra~
dictory. And yet, "in the end there is unity and truth; in the end)

it is his essential being which emerges from his portrayal of the \

changing."29

Je pourray tantost changer, non de fortune seulement,
mais aussi d'intention. C'est un contrerolle de divers
et muables accidens et d'imaginations irresolués et,
quand i1 y eschet, contraires; soit que je sois autre
moymesme, soit que je saisisse les subjects par autres
circonstances et considerations. Tant y a que je me
contredits bien a l'adventure, mais la verité, comme
disoit Demades, je ne la contredy point. Si mon ame
pouvoit prendre pied, je ne m'essaierois pas, je me
resoudrois; elle est tousjours en apprentissage et en
espreuve (111:2, 782b).

 

Watching himself think, watching himself live, Montaigne is
closely in touch with his own personal mobility. He conceives of his
life as a voyage (111:9, 955b), a progression forward in time with the
process of aging moving him steadily forward to his natural end in
death. And he experiences the difficulty or even impossibility of
maintaining a hold on the present: "A chaque minute i1 me semble
que je m‘eschape" (1:20, 86a). His profound understanding that movement
is the essence of life generates within him a love of movement, a love
which finds expression in physical reality. From the time he was a
child, he manifested a restlessness of body, a difficulty in keeping

still: "j'avois de la follie aux pieds, ou de l'argent vif, tant j'y

 

 

 

 

 

23

ay de remuement et d'inconstance en quelque lieu que je les place"
(III:13, 1085c). He is a man who likes and needs to walk, for the
rhythm of his pacing gives momentum to the activities of his mind.
Were it not for the hindrances of trouble and expense, he would have
a gallery added to his tower library: "Tout lieu retiré requiert un
proumenoir. Mes pensées dorment si je les assis. Mon esprit ne va,
si les jambes ne l'agitent" (111:3, 806c). It is on horseback that
he enjoys his most pleasurable and comfortable sense of movement.
"Je ne démonte pas volontiers quand je suis a cheval, car c'est
l'assiette en laquelle je me trouve 1e mieux, et sain et malade"
(1:48, 278a). And it is there that ideas come to him most easily

(111:5, 854b). In contrast, Montai ne tells us in "Des coches" that
8

 

he cannot tolerate for long "ny coche, ny littiere, ny bateau" (111:6,
878b). He prefers an "agitation rude" or an "agitation unie" to the
languid rocking of a boat or carriage. His preferred rhythms are those
which match the éiflfl of his temperament, the sometimes smooth, sometimes,
and most often, staggering gait of his mind. "Mes conceptions et mon
jugement ne marche qu‘a tastons, chancelant, bronchant et chopant"
(1:26, 145a).

Without doubt one of the most satisfying responses to his
compulsion for movement comes to Montaigne through the experience
of travel. He readily admits to a certain unrest and irresolution
which enhance the pleasures of travel for him. Given that these are
"nos maistresses qualitez, et praedominantes" (111:9, 966b), he goes

on to say that "je ne vois rien, seulement en songe et par souhait,

 

 

 

 

24

cu je me puisse tenir; la seule varieté me paye, et la possession de
la diversité, au moins si aucune chose me paye." While "cette humeur
avide de choses nouvelles et inconnues" (111:9, 925b) nourishes his
desire for travel in a positive sense, he also seeks release from the
tedium of domestic affairs. Travel takes him away from the surveillance
of his household, a task he finds "trop uniforme et languissant" (ibid.).
To those who ask his reasons for traveling, he answers: "je scay bien
ce que je fuis, mais non pas ce que je cerche" (949b). There is no need
to establish any particular goals in traveling; travel is a 'profitable
exercise' in its own right:

L'ame y a une continuelle exercitation a remarquer les

choses incogneues et nouvelles; et je ne scache point

meilleure escolle . . . a former la vie que de luy

proposer incessamment 1a diversité de tant d'autres

vies, (c) fantasies et usances, (b) at luy faire >
gouster une si perpetuelle varieté de formes de |

 

nostre nature (111:9, 9Slb).

It is really movement for the sake of movement that most lures Montaigne
to travel. His concern upon setting forth on a trip is neither his
destination nor his return: "j'entreprens seulement de me branler,
pendant que le branle me plaist (c). Et me proumeine pour me >
proumener" (955b).

Whereas travel affords a welcome relief, an exteriorization
of the need for movement and diversity, it does not alter the branle
constantly operating within us. "Si on ne se descharge premierement
et son ame, du fais qui la presse, 1e remuement la fera fouler
davantage" (1:39, 234a). We can remove ourselves from the "vaines

pointures" (111:9, 927b) which trouble our calm, but we cannot so

 

 

25

easily resolve the conflicts of our own inconstancies and susceptibility
to esbranlement. Corresponding to the physical, externalized motions of

walking, riding, traveling, are the incessant comings and goings of

Montaigne's mind and moods. "Je pourray tantost changer. . . ."

The slightest change in circumstances is likely to precipitate
a complete turnabout in his manner of dealing with the world:

J'ay le pied si instable et si mal assis, je le trouve
si aysé a croler et 51 prest au branle, et ma veue si
desreglée, que 5 jun je me sens autre qu'aprés 1e repas;
si ma santé me rid et la clarté d'un beau jour, me voyla
honneste homme; si j'ay un cor qui me presse l'orteil,
me voyla renfroigné, mal plaisant et inaccessible
(II:12, 548-5498).

Conscious of the fluctuating and deceptive relationship between his own

 

acts and motives, he takes self—examination to a deeper level where he

 

uncovers the truth behind surface appearances. "Je trouve que la
meilleure bonté que j'aye a de la teinture vicieuse" (11:20, 656b).
Matters of taste, thought, opinion, none are immune to the vicissitudes
of his mobile self. His inconstancy is not simply a result of a change
in circumstances or an alteration in the perspective from which he
views a particular subject, "mais aussi d‘intention"——"je me remue
et trouble moy mesme par l'instabilité de ma posture" (11:1, 319b).
The experience of movement in himself is not necessarily a
passive one, subject to the 'winds' of circumstance and the play of
mysterious inner 'springs.' Montaigne cultivates consciously and
actively his capacity for movement. He opposes 'nailing' oneself to
a fixed mood and temperament so tightly that one cannot stray from a

path of singlemindedness. "Les plus belles ames sont celles qui ont \
)

 

 

 

 

 

26

plus de varieté et de soupplesse" (111:3, 79Gb). For himself, he
cannot think of any one path to which he would wish to attach himself
so firmly as not to be able to disengage himself, for life is "un
mouvement inegal, irregulier et multiforme" (ibid.). And so he
actually seeks stimuli to movement, occasions upon which to exercise
his mind. His love of books and, even more so, of conversation, grows
out of a thirst for commerce with other minds as a means of exercitation.
Reading serves "to put his judgment to work" (111:3, 797b) and discus—
sion is considered "le plus fructueux et naturel exercice de nostre
esprit" (111:8, 900b).

The deliberate activity of the mind, the operation of judgment,
is the form of movement which dominates the Essais. It works as a
generating principle, that which causes them to come into being.
Starobinski makes the observation that out of Montaigne's sense of
his own instability, his lack of substance, comes a "force compen—
satrice . . . la vigilance du jugement." Judgment is a "pouvoir intact,
non compromis par la débilité interne a laquelle il fait face." It is
constantly exploring and questioning in "un élan qui se reprend \\
1

"3° Montaigne refers to his judgment as a 'tool'

'perpetuellement.
for handling any subject and which meddles everywhere: "aux essais

que j'en fay ici, j'y emploie toute sorte d'occasion. Si c'est un
subject que je n'entende point, a cela mesme je l'essaye" (1:50, 289a).
Judgment is not employed here in the sense of coming to a conclusion,

but as the power of the mind to deal with the objects immediately

before it. By an act of judgment the mind apprehends, lays hold of

 

 

 

—i——r -——~ m» M .1... -11.-- v__
_ - -4~ -'.'_"_'"—.—__. -.~...;—

27

its subject and makes it its own. Knowledge and judgment are not the
same thing for knowledge is the acquisition of information, judgment

the action of the mind upon it. It is the act of integrating the object
of its contemplation into the mind and transforming the object into

one's own experience. Montaigne stresses the necessity of 'forming'

the judgment as the primary goal in education. The exercise of judgment
serves to strengthen and sharpen its powers of apprehension, making it
ever more able to deal with the flow of changing objects before it.

Each new instant provides a fresh occasion for the operation of judgment,
and "this act can happen only in the very moment in which the conscious-

ness operates."31

Taking consciousness of an object, and so of the
instant, Montaigne progressively takes consciousness of himself.

The self-portrait is “un contrerolle de divers et mnables
accidens et d'imaginations irresolueS et, quand il y eschet, contraires."
These are the objects upon which Montaigne eXercises his mind—~the
multifarious happenings of experience and the unresolved products of
the imagination. The imagination too is an active force; it has a
valuable role in that "it provides the material on which the judgment

can work."32 Lmagination, in Montaigne, must not be taken in the modern

sense of 'originality,‘ but in the sixteenth-century understanding of

 

it as an intermediary faculty, passing the sense impressions of expe—

 

rience, past or present, on to the higher faculties of the mind.33
Conjuring up images upon which the judgment takes action, the

imagination is an "essential component of the structure" of movement

31!-

in Montaigne. Of its own, the imagination is not a faculty to be

 

 

 

 

 

28

trusted. Easily subject to error and possessed of powerful forces
of impression, the imagination is capable of effecting actual physical

35 "Chacun en est heurté, mais aucuns

transformations in its possessor.
en sont renversez" (1:21, 95c). To the powerful activity of the
imagination, it is necessary to bring an equally forceful control 1
on the part of the judgment.
The judgments Montaigne makes are changing and "quand il y
eschet, contraires." But what remains constant is the power of the
judgment, its virtual capacity to take possession of the present.
The more Montaigne exercises his judgment, the more he keeps it in
training, the more aware and sure he becomes of its constant potential.
Poulet concludes his article on Montaigne in human time by observing: '
"Out of the flux and duration into which the mind was plunged, thanks

to the exercise the mind performs, there emerges, delineates, forms,

faithful, which . . . no longer flutters between birth and dying, but

1136

Judgment comes to occupy in Montaigne "un siege

I
l
1
and affirms itself in that mind an idea of it, forever free and forever I
l
is and endures. l
magistral" (III:13, 1052b), and Craig Brush observes that "wherever ‘

Montaigne speaks of himself as stable and unchanging, or barely

changing, it is of his judgment that he speaks."37

In a world where everything, "et le jugeant et le jugé," are

—iiln«//

in continual mutation and branle (11:12, 586a), Montaigne's judgments

 

are given to contradicting themselves. Indeed we find contradictions

\
\
\
on the very subject of judgment.36 But Montaigne is not troubled by ‘
these inconsistencies. "Tant y a que je me contredits bien a

\

 

 

 

,Lrvtww-i-fi-‘L—w‘fi‘
~ . w _. - .

 

29

l'adventure, mais la verité . . . je ne 1a contredy point." Truth is
accessible to man in a relative mode, always changing its appearance
in the context of fluctuating reality. Montaigne does not contradict

truth, for he refraingwfggmMmaking dogmatic declarations on it. Rather,

,-

_... , ' ' ' ‘7 . ,- me“:-
h...“ . R'W..y~-.qu MN

 

he exposes the contradictory nature of truth. Merleau-Ponty suggests
that by showing that every truth contradicts itself Montaigne perhaps

ends up realizing that "1a contradiction est vérité."39

Functioning
uniquely in the present, judgment affords him but a possession of the
instant. It is the continuous application of judgment and the relent-
less pursuit of variety which permit him a 'possession of diversity.'“°

This is the activity of the essays. Were he to possess truth he would

no longer need to make these 'trials' of his judgment which constitute *

 

the Essais--"Si mon ame pouvoit prendre pied. . . ."

But he is unable
to come to a resolution, he is "tousjours en apprentissage et en
espreuve." The exercise of judgment is one of continual movement
which finds no stopping place.

The refusal to come to conclusions in favor of suspending
one's judgment in a constant exercise of movement is the mark of the
skeptic. Thibaudet equates Montaigne's sense of universal mobility E
with his skepticismr-"Pyrrhonisme: sentiment de la f1uidité."""1 >

The profession of the Pyrrhonist is "de branler, douter et enquerir,

ne s'asseurer de rien, de rien se respondre" (11:12, 4828). In the

 

skeptics' persistent quest of truth and in their equally persistent
refusal to lay dogmatic claims on it, Montaigne recognizes an inner

stability. Exempt from the turbulence provoked by the knowledge and

 

 

3O

opinions men think they have of things, the skeptics enjoy "une
condition de vie paisible, rassise" (483a). The constant exercise
of judgment for Montaigne is an active skepticism which evolves into
the wisdom of "1'ignorance savante.""2
From the trials of his judgment, Montaigne attains an awareness
of both his judgment—making capacity and of his limitations. It is
necessary to have pursued the truth in order to understand one's limited
grasp of it: "[il] faut pousser a une porte pour scavoir qu'elle
nous est close" (III:13, 1052b). This 'knowledgeable ignorance'
provides Montaigne with a certain sense of rgpggf—not a stopping
place, for man's nature is to branler——but, for the well—exercised
judgment, a restful balancing point within the context of nature's
movement: "O que c'est un doux et mol chevet, et sain, que l'ignorance
et l'incuriosité, a reposer une teste bien faicte!" (III:13, lOSO-Slc).
Skeptical wisdom expediently chooses the adherence to given forms,
political, religious, social——not because these forms derive from
absolute, 'realist' values, but because they give a structure, an
appearance of constancy, to a world of relative values.
In contrast to his preoccupation with movement and flux in

all things, including himself, Montaigne manifests a stability and
desire for stability in his personal life:

Or de la cognoissance de cette mienne volubilité j'ay par

accident engendré en moy quelque constance d'opinions, et

n'ay guiere alteré les miennes premieres et naturelles.

Car, quelque apparence qu‘il y ayt en la nouvelleté, je

ne change pas aiséement, de peur que j'ay de perdre au

change. Et, puis que je ne suis pas capable de choisir,

je pren 1e chois d'autruy et me tien en l'assiette on

Dieu m'a mis. Autrement, je ne me scauroy garder de
rouler sans cesse (11:12, 553a).

 

 

 

 

 

31

The agitation of indecision and the necessity of making choices is
a state he would readily avoid, finding it "la plus penible assiete"
(11:17, 627b). Whereas he is little apt to be markedly disturbed by
passions (1:2, l7—18b), Montaigne feels himself easily vulnerable to
the commotion of deliberation, and so he dodges any unnecessary upsets.
"J'essaie a tenir mon ame et mes pensées en repos" (III:10, 998b). As
mayor of Bordeaux, he was criticized for having passed his terms of
office "sans marque et sans trace" (111:10, 999b), but Montaigne was
free from the political ambitions that incite men to seek action for
the sake of recognition and was content to take credit only for "1a
douce et muette tranquillité qui a accompaigné [sa] conduitte" (1002b).
Again in the matter of travel, the source of so much pleasure to him,
he is careful not to let it produce unnecessary aggravations in his
life and declines to set forth on a voyage when its realization would
present a hardship to the financial management of his affairs or
necessitate his traveling with an "equippage non necessaire, seulement,
mais encores honneste. . . . Je ne veux pas que le plaisir du promener
corrompe 1e plaisir du repos; au rebours, j'entens qu'ils ES

Movement and rgpgg are cultivated simultaneously. Each is a
necessary component of the other. Through diversity and change,
Montaigne intensifies his experience of an inner 'stable self,‘ and
through the careful protection of his rapes, guarding it from the
intrusions of unnecessary and distracting agitation, he is better

able to come closer to his inner movements. Just as the voyage

 

 

 

32

represents the concretization of the movement so necessary to him,
the tower embodies his need for stability, for a sheltered haven--
within which takes place the activity of the Essais. In like manner,
Montaigne's ready acceptance of established structures and customs
provides a solid edifice on the outside-~within which take place the
undisturbed movements of his inner self. Thibaudent speaks directly
to this double-leveled structure in Montaigne: "Le probléme qui se
pose inconsciemment pour Montaigne est celui-ci: armer 1e maximum de
liberté intérieure par le maximum de mécanisme extérieur, 1e second
constituent 1e mur, la défense, l'armature protectrice, l'habillement
de l'autre. La liberté de Montaigne est une liberté habillée."k3 The
freedom afforded by this outer shell permits Montaigne to study and
know himself more fully. At the same time, it liberates him from the
artificial distinctions which divide men and enables him to recognize
the universality that expands the mobile self-portrait to a represen— ,3

tation of the human condition.

Je propose une vie basse et sans lustre, c'est tout
un. On attache aussi bien toute 1a philosophie morale
a une vie p0pulaire et privée que a une vie de plus riche
estoffe; chaque homme porte la forme entiere de l'humaine \§
condition. ’ ‘ i
(c) Les autheurs se communiquent au peuple par quelque
marque particuliere et estrangere; moy, le premier, par
mon estre universel, comme Michel de Montaigne, non comme
grammairien, ou poEte, ou.jurisconsulte. Si le monde se
plaint de quoy je parle trop de moy, je me plains de quoy
il ne pense seulement pas a soy (111:2, 782b-783c).

A comprehensive portrait of Montaigne would embrace numerous

1.,

rolesz“ dutiful son, humanist, military man, magistrate, lord of the

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

33

chateau, mayor of Bordeaux, Gascon, Frenchman. But no one of these
can be singled out as the voice speaking to us through the Essais.
Refusing to fix his identity in any specific role, Montaigne wants

to communicate his "estre universel," the mobileflself that is the

”ff.—

 

potential for any and all of these functions. Behind the multi—faceted

public figure is "une vie populaire et privée,"

the self that enjoys
its likeness with all other selves. He holds himself to be "de la
commune sorte," but exceptional "en ce que je m'en tiens" (11:17, 618C).
From his "arriere boutique" (1:39, 235a), Montaigne reflects on the

inner movements of his being, abstracted from relationships to family,

society and professional responsibilities. These conversations with

 

himself probe questions of pain and pleasure, questions of conscience,
questions of his limitations and of his possibilities. True, the same
matters could be examined in any other life, for "Les ames des Empereurs
et des savetiers sont jettées a mesme moule . . . ils sont menez et
ramenez en leurs mouvemens par les mesmes ressors que nous sommes aux
nostres" (11:12, 454a). But to no other subject could Montaigne make
the audacious claim that never did a man treat a subject more knowledge—
ably than he does this one (111:2, 783b). 0f other lives we observe
only the exterior, what Montaigne calls lia£t3 only the self study
offers an inner perspective, exposing the truths of la nature (785b).
‘Montaigne further declares in 111:2 that never did anyone
penetrate so deeply into his material, "ny en eSplucha plus particu-
lierement les membres et suites" (783C). The act of introspection,

to be faithful to its undulating object, must operate much like a

 

-..- .. A- _._.-__,_
—_—. ' ‘rt‘tizw - “-""" “‘—

 

34

moving camera, constantly changing angle and focus so as not to lose

sight of its subject. Montaigne tells us that he presents himself

standing and lying down, from the front and from the back, the right

and the left--in all of his "naturels plis" (111:8, 922b). Drawing

closer to his subject, he directs his vision inwards and enters the

'folds' of his material: "je replie ma veue au dedans, je la plante,

je l'amuse 15 . . . je me roulle en moy mesme" (11:17, 641a). With

this gesture of rolling into himself, the movement of Montaigne's mind,

as Starobinski shows so well,"5 takes on a corporeal nature. The

experience of the self becomes a physical sensation of motion in a \ Q§VS‘~i

“( '- ', .7
defined space, the self being both the "espace explore" and the Nflgtg‘ *

""6 An inner-directed focus is much more difficult

"énergie explorant.
to maintain than one projected outward. Looking away from the self—-
the way of lg Eflfléfif’is to glide along with the current, whereas the
movement inward necessitates a struggle against the natural flow. The
self is a moving body, much like the sea, "[qui] se brouille et
s'empesche ainsi quand elle est repoussée a soy" (111:9, 979b). But

Montaigne desires to wage this inward struggle in an effort to realize

the aim of the Delphic oracle: "'Regardez dans vous, reconnoissez

\w‘

 

vous, tenez vous a vous; vostre esprit et vostre volonté, qui se
consomme ailleurs, ramenez la en soy; vous vous escoulez, vous vous
respandez; appilez vous, soutenez vous'" (979b). By turning his
energies inward, Montaigne guards against their being consumed and
dissipated in the vastness of the world. Though his self is char-

acterized by its "insuffisance,' and by what Starobinski defines as

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

35

"l'absence d'un soutien inté'rieur,""7 it provides a field of
exploration "mains estendue" (98Gb) in which his energies can 'pile
up' and condense, giving some semblance of solidity. Because of its
mobility, the self can never become an 'object' of knowledge, but
there is possible an experience of the self resulting from the act
of introspection. The self can acquire a "conscience musculaire"
of its own movement of self-inspection-—and nothing more."8
The 'muscular' movement of Montaigne's mind finds expression
in a language which Imbrie Buffum calls "incarnational."u9 Reserving
a more concentrated study of this aspect of Montaigne's language for
later chapters, we can for the moment observe two opposing kinds of
movement expressed in the types of words the author employs to com~

municate the movement of the self. 0n the one hand, there is a decided

frequency of verbs generating active motion-—saisir, prendre, aller,

 

marcher, bander—~which depict the subject as acting of its own powers.
On the other, there is a contrasting prevalence of verbs expressing a
more passive kind of motion, a submission to forces originating outside

the self-~couler, glisser, étre emporté or esbranlé. Starobinski

 

 

analyzes the interplay in Montaigne of the "mouvement—geste" and the
"mouvement-écoulement" as the relationship between the judgment and &
l'etre naturel: "Au jugement appartient 1a tension; 5 l'étre naturel

la fluidité."so .The experience of self for Montaigne derives from the
action of the active judgment upon his passive, 'natural self': "11

faut bien bander l'ame pour luy faire sentir comme elle s'escoule"
(III:13, 1085c). It is only by means of this reflective tension that

he is able to take possession of the self in movement.

 

I. ~._..,-;‘ —-:. 37......

36

The "mouvement écoulement" is presented as both a negative
and positive value. In the essay where Montaigne examines "l'incommodité
de la grandeur," he criticizes the lack of obstacles and tension in the
lives of powerful peOple as the enemy of any kind of pleasure: "c'est
glisser, cela, ce n'est pas 31123; c'est dormir, ce n'est pas vivre"
(111:7, 897b). But elsewhere he praises "une vie glissante, sombre et

muette" (III:10, 999b). In its negative context, glissement is the

 

absence of activity on the part of the judgment; in its positive sense,
a surrender to the movement natural to one's condition. The flow which
he experiences and celebrates is that of the rhythm of nature. Having
recognized man‘s incapacity to grasp truth in abstract principles, he
consents to making nature his guide: "J'ay pris . . . bien simplement
et cruement pour mon regard ce precepte ancien: que nous ne scaurions
faillir a suivre nature, que le souverain precepte c'est de se conformer
a elle" (111:12, 1037b). The instruction of nature is not apprehended\w
through reason, but through experience; it is the non-intellectual
wisdom of 'felt truths'--"je me laisse ignoramment et negligemment
manier a la loy generale du monde. Je 1a scauray assez quand je la
sentiray" (III:13, 1050b).

Without pretending to define nature, Montaigne maintains a
vigilant watch over the natural movements he experiences concretely
in his own existence. The subject of his study is always himself.
This is his metaphysics, indeed his physics (1050b). As he acquires
a fuller understanding of himself, the portrait becomes more and more

a reflection of his corporeal being. Life for him consists in movement

 

 

 

 

37

and, more specifically, physical movement: "La vie est un mouvement
materiel et corporel, action imparfaicte de sa propre essence, at
desreglee; je m'emploie a la servir selon elle" (111:9, 967b). With
the deepening of this estimation of life, Montaigne devotes most of

" to an exploration of the dimensions

his last essay, "De l'experience,
of his physical being. We find there detailed accounts of his personal
habits of sleeping, eating, drinking and elimination, for these are

a part, a most integral part, of his experience of self.

Habit and CHS'ES’HJOM31.923.55.191?" in shapingshe. ewe—meets of

‘s—Wm—fi.r~v-r' ’ “‘"V‘ ‘ ’ " r..—-..w-..

his life—-"C'est a la coustume de donner forme a nostre vie, telle
qu'il luy plaist" (III:13, 1058b). While Montaigne recognizes the
dangers of custom as a source of discord among men and even more as
a betrayal of the rules of nature (1:23, 106a), he also understands
its function as "une secondgwnature, et non moins puissante" (III:10,
987b) in the life of the individual. Even the voice of conscience,

generally considered to be born of nature, can be seen to grow out

of custom, for each man venerates the opinions held in approval by

his fellows (1:23, 114a). ‘

There is, however, in Montaigne, a belief in conscience that

mu-,-_ u_7_

goes beyond the dictates of custom, the voice of an integrity "née

en nous de ses propres racines par la semence de la raison universelle
empreinte en tout homme Egg_desnaturé" (111:12, 1037b). Genuine self—
knowledge, in the spirit of the Delphic counsel, demands that we take
self-study to this most private examination where we make contact with

"un patron au dedans, auquel toucher nos actions, et selon iceluy,

 

 

 

 

 

38

nous caresser tantost, tantost nous chastier" (111:2, 785b). Montaigne
speaks of holding court with himself, where he alone is judge of his
actions according to his laws (ibid.). Here he observes himself in

his estat rassis, his naifve assiette (788b). Here is the central

 

core around which radiate the fluctuating, staggering movements of
the self in constant branle. To know oneself is to maintain a closeness
to this inner 'court,' a position possible only through the continually
renewed exercise of the judgment. Most men escape themselves, seeking
the support for their identity "aux appuis estrangere. . . . Chacun
court ailleurs et a l'advenir, d'autant que nul n'est arrivé a soy"
(111:12, 1022c). Montaigne, on the contrary, has a sensation of
'having arrived at himself.‘ Self-knowledge for him is a 'place,’
a spatialized concept of identity:

De moy, je me me sens guere agiter par secousse, je me
trouve quasi tousjours en ma place, comme font les corps

 

 

lourds et poisans. Si je ne suis chez moy, j'en suis rfai"”V

tousjours bien prés. Mes débauches ne m'emportent pas
loing (111:2, 789b).51

Realizing that the self is ever in movement, for life is only
movement, Montaigne is nevertheless able to achieve a constancy and
stability é l'intérieur d3 branle by gauging his movements according
to the 'space‘ in which he finds an authenticity of self, what he
refers to as his "forme sienne, une forme maistresse" (789b). Instead
of projecting life along the path of a horizontal line whose end is
always elsewhere, Montaigne advises circumscribing the movement of
our desires within a limited area--"en rond, duquel les deux pointes

se tiennent et se terminent en nous par un bref contour" (III:10, 988b).

 

 

’— . fl... \kiii

 

39

Movement is not curtailed, but controlled so as to permit a denser
experience of the self. Out of this experience grows the realization
of the meaning of "l'humaine condition"—-the joyful acceptance of the ii
limitations and depths which constitute man's being in the world: 3
"C'est une absolue perfection, et comme divine, de scavoyr jouyr
loiallement de son estre. Nous cherchons d'autres Conditions, pour
n'entendre l'usage des nostres et sortons hors de nous, pour ne scavoir
quel 11 y fait" (III:13, 1096b). In the understanding that even "an
plus eslevé throne du monde, si me sommes assis que sur nostre cul"
(1096c), Montaigne finds the means to foster a genuine enjoyment of
life. Life is to be loved and cultivated "telle qu'il a pleu a Dieu
nous l'octroier" (1093b). It must be carefully handled in order to
be fully enjoyed, for the measure of enjoyment depends on the measure
of application which we bring to it. Montaigne has learned to cultivate
life within the limited context of his condition. Movement for him is
not the incessant coulement and eschappement of lives that turn away
from themselves, but the perpetually renewed possession of the instant
which gives weight and solidity to his existence:

Principallement a cette heure que j'apergoy la mienne si

briefve en ce temps, je la veux estendre gn_pgi§; je veus

arrester la promptitude de sa fuite par la promptitude de

ma sesie, et par la vigueur d2 l'usage compenser 1a

hastiveté de son escoulement; a mesure que la possession
du vivre est plus courte, il me la faut rendre plus

profonde gt plus pleine (1092b).

The more he experiences the flight of l'etre naturel in conformity

with the rhythm of nature, the greater effort he employs to take hold

 

IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIllllIlll--::e——————————————*—-m»-~—*~~
_,-_~~w~~‘ _.,..

 

40

of the passing instants through the tension of his reflective powers.

Life is always slipping away from him, but it is also eminently

"prisable et commode" (1092b).

Throughout this discussion we have observed Montaigne's
thinking fluctuating between his consciousness of movement, change

and the proliferation of variety and his sense of repos, stability

and the necessity for structure. In a world in constant metamorphosis,

he discerns the underlying order of nature and the need for institu-

tional structures which render the "branle plus languissant." The

vanity and variability of human behavior are offset by the deter—

minative shaping of society and custom. And beneath both the surface

fluctuations and the superimposed order of human conduct, Montaigne
recognizes a more fundamental shaping, "la forme entiere de l'humaine

condition.", His own sense of mobility, his love of diversity and his

subjective experience of inconstance contrast with his growing awareness
of a personal inner stability, "une forme sienne, une forme maistresse."
Structured in part by the forms of culture and habit, in part by the
patterns of nature, but most vigorously by the constant exercise of
his judgment, his experience of self is one of continual movement
directed from and toward the estat rassis of his inner conscience
and consciousness.

Movement and Egppg in Montaigne are not contradictories, but

polarities. "To say that opposites are polar is to say much more than

that they are far apart: it is to say that they are related and

 

41

joined--that they are the terms, ends, or extremities of a single whole.

Polar opposites are therefore inseparable Opposites, like the poles of

the earth or of a magnet."52 Such is indeed the relationship of

movement and repos in Montaigne. Each is necessary to the perception

of the other,53 and each is desired in contrast to the other. Montaigne

would no more wish life to yield to a furious vertigo than he would

have it fixed, plante, in a set, immutable mold. By cultivating the

flexibility of his mind to deal with the branle sans cesse, Montaigne
experiences a sense of his own stable being, a stability which grows

with the continual renewal, the unremitting movement of his essais.

PJ‘- .1.,

Notes

1Michel de Montaigne, OEuvres completes, ed. Albert Thibaudet
and Maurice Rat (Paris: Bibliotheque de la Pleiade, 1967). Henceforth
all references to the text of the Essais will be made to this edition
and will be identified by the book, chapter and page numbers in paren—
theses. The strata indications (a, b, c) show whether the passage
appeared prior to 1588 (a), in 1588 (b), or after 1588 (c).

2Jean Starobinski, "Montaigne en mouvement," NEE, 15 (1960), 11.
Other critics who have dealt with the topic of movement: Alexander
Micha, "Le Mouvement," Le Singulier Montaigne (Paris: Nizet, 1964),
pp. 106-120; P. Michel-Egte, "Le Mobilisme de Montaigne," Mercure d3
France, 252 (1934), 225—241; R. A. Sayce, "Movement and Change,"
Montaigne: A Critical Egploration (London: Weidenfeld and Nicolson,

1972), pp. 99—112; R. A. Sayce, "Montaigne et la peinture du passage,"
Saggi g ricerche di_letteratura francese, 4 (1963), 11-59; Albert

Thibaudet, "Le Mouvement de la vie," Montaigne (Paris: Gallimard,
1963), pp. 163-188; and Nicole Tréves Atlas, "Mobilité et essai de

résolution chez Montaigne,” Diss. Rice University, 1971.

3This same passage is examined by Erich Auerbach, "L'Humaine
condition," in Mimesis, trans. Willard Trask (New York: Doubleday
Anchor Books, 1957), pp. 249—273. Whereas Auerbach concentrates on
the logical progression of ideas and the experimental method of
Montaigne, I shall work with the implications of movement in this
chapter with respect to the whole of the Essais.

”I call the pervading conception of movement a 'motif' rather
than a 'theme.' Theme would better apply to the individual subjects
treated in the Essais (politics, religion, women, the self—portrait,
etc.)——all of which are influenced by the recurring idea of movement.
For Hugo Friedrich, the vocabulary of movement in Montaigne points to
the 'motif of instability': "Un des termes les plus significatifs des
Essais est branle, branler, branloire. Des synonymes ou des mots

approchants comme mutation, passage, ondoyer, etc., qui reviennent
aussi souvent, soulignent ce motif central de sa conception du monde,

1'instabi1ité." Montaigne, trans. R. Rovini (Paris: Gallimard, 1968),
p. 151.

iA Critical Exploration, p. 1.

6See Andreas Blinkenberg, "Quel sens Montaigne a—t-il voulu
donner au mot Essais dans le titre de son oeuvre?" BSAM, 3e sér., 29
(1964), 22-32; and E. V. Telle, "A propos du mot 'essai' chez Montaigne,"

BHR, 30 (1968), 225-247.

42

 

43

7Translation of J. M. Cohen, Essays (Baltimore: Penguin Books,
1963), P- 235.

8Pléiade ed., p. 1620, n. 1 to p. 782.

9See Pierre Villey, Les Sources g5 1'évolution des Essais d2
Montaigne (Paris: Hachette, 1908), I, 260—270, for a list of the works
of history in Montaigne's library and their probable significance to

the Essais.

l°For Montaigne's discussion of the relativity of moral and
cultural values, see 1:23, 1:31, and 111:6.

11See the "Apologie," 11:12, 416a.

12See Frieda s. Brown, Religious and Political Conservatism 32
the Essais pf Montaigne (Genéve: Droz, 1963).

11A Critical Exploration, p. 233.

1“Emphasis in all quotations from Montaigne is added unless
otherwise indicated.

15Michaél Baraz, L'Etre et la connaissance selon Montaigne
(Paris: Librairie José Corti, 1968), p. 11. Emphasis added.

13A Critical Exploration, p. 109.

17While a study of the sources of Montaigne's thought does
provide a valuable historical perspective on the Essais (see Villey,
Sources, 1), it is the intent of this study to accept his sources as
"une piéce a 1'appui de ses propres conceptions" (Friedrich, p. 152).
1 am dealing with the Essais as an independent creation and am concerned
not with the problem of where Montaigne derived his ideas, but of how he

deals with them.

18Villey tells us that "1a place occupée par ce chapitre lui
vient non de sa date de composition, mais de 1'idée qu'il exprime:
Montaigne y montre combien l'homme est ondoyant et divers, c'est
encore l'idée par laquelle il achEVe ses Essais de 1580 (9f. 11:37),
celle aussi par laquelle il ouvre le deuxiéme livre (II:1)." Sources,
1, 337. This same idea finds expression in the final essay of the total
work: "Mais quoy, nous sommes par tout vent" (III:13, 1087c).

191:1, 1:24, 1:38, 1:47, 1:51, 11:1, 11:20, 11:23, 111:9.

20See Keith Cameron, "Montaigne and the Mask," L'Esprit Créateur,
8 (1968), 198—207.

21See Villey, Sources, 1, 246—249.

 

44

22Montaigne, p. 77.
23(Paris: Nizet, 1972), p. 180.

2“11:51:11., p. 200.

25Montaigne is expressly contrasting etre with existence here

to emphasize the mobile, unfinished nature of man's being.

Elsewhere

he uses Etre in a freer less restricted manner, as in "son estre et
9

son bien est en indigence" (111:8, 898b).

26The passage "d'aage en aage, de sept ans en sept ans" might

be viewed as the progress of evolution in Montaigne's thought.

This

evolution has been thoroughly traced by Villey (Sources, 11).

27Studies in Human Time, trans. Elliott Coleman (Baltimore:

 

The Johns Hepkins_Press, 1956), p. 40.

28We shall return to the question of how Montaigne realizes
his portrayal of passage in the last chapter.

29Auerbach, p. 257.

30"Montaigne en mouvement," p. 17.

31Poulet, p. 47.
_pf Judgment ip Montaigne (The Hague:

See also Raymond C. La Charité, The Concept
Martinus Nijhoff, 1968).

32Ian D. McFarlane, "Montaigne and the Concept of the Imaginationj'

in The French Renaissance and Its Heritage:
Boase (London: Methuen, 1968), p. 125.

Essays Presented pg Alan 11.

33See 8. J. Holyoake, "Further Reflections on the Concept of the

Imagination in Montaigne," BHR, 31 (1969), 495-523.
A Study in Sixteenth—Century Thought and

The Univefsity Press, 1964), p. 11.

Castor, Pléiade Poetics:
Terminology (Cambridge:

3"McFarlane, p. 133.

Also: Grahame

35The force of the imagination is due to the "estroite cousture
de l'esprit et du corps s'entre—communiquants leurs fortunes" (1:23,

103a).
the imagination in this essay.

36Studies_i_r_1_Human Time, pp. 48—49.

37"Reflections on Montaigne's Concept of Being,’
Essays on French Renaissance Literature, ed. Raymond C.

£2.Montaigne:

Montaigne relates numerous amusing examples of the effects of

' in From Marot

La Charité, KRQ, 19, 5538. No. 1 (1972), 164.

FA

 

 

45

359;. 11:12, 545a and 1:26, 156a; 1:50, 289a; 111:2, 790b.
39"Lecture de Montaigne," Temps modernes, 3 (1947), 1044.
1”See above, pp. 23-24, the quotation from 111:9, 966b.

ulflggggigpg, p. 165. For a fuller discussion of Montaigne's
skepticism, see Don Cameron Allen, Doubt's Boundless Sea: Skepticism

and Faith 13 the Renaissance (Baltimore: The Johns HOpkins Press,
1964), pp. 75-110. Also: Philip P. Hallie, The Scar of Montaigne:

ép Essay ip_Personal Philosophy (Middletown: Wesleyan— University,
1966), pp. 22—52; and Richard H. Popkin, The History pf Scepticism

from Erasmus Ep_Descartes (New York: Humanities Press, 1964),
pp. 44-66.

 

“ZFriedrich, p. 327.

”3Montaigne, p. 103.

#“For a discussion of roles and role-distancing in Montaigne,
see Frederick Rider, The Dialectic of Selfhood in Montaigne (Stanford:

Stanford University Press, 1973), pp. 5123,
l'5"Montaigne en mouvement," Part I, pp. 11-22 and Part 11,
pp. 254-266.

“51b1d., p. 21.
“71b1d., p. 17.

“81bid., p. 22.

ugStudies in the Baroq_e from Montaigne to Rotrou (New Haven:
Yale University Press, 1957), pp 26- 29.

50"Montaigne en mouvement," p. 264.

51The spatialized concept of self can be seen again in the
following: "Et en matiere d'opinions universelles, dés l'enfance
je me logeay au poinct on j'avois a me tenir" (111:2, 79Gb); "Je
m'atache a ce que je voy et que je tiens, et ne m'eslongne guiere

du port" (11:17, 628a).

52Alan W. watts, The Two Hands pf_God: The Myths pf Polarity
(New York: George Braziller, 1963), p. 49.

53Ibid., p. 21: "According to the Gestalt theory of perception,
we are not aware of any figure-~be it an image, sound, or tactile
impression--except in relation to a background."

 

 

CHAPTER TWO

PERSPECTIVES ON METAPHOR IN THE ESSAIS

. . . Only man can make statements which are,
strictly speaking, not true. Paradoxically, the
ability to make such statements——the ability to
formulate metaphors--is sometimes necessary to
the comprehension of ideas and almost invariably
underlies the perception of beauty, not only in
literature but also in history, philosophy and
the sciences.
The language of the Essais formulates their 'message' through
a remarkably dexterous and dense exercise of metaphor. we reluctantly
speak in the dichotomous terms of 'message' and 'metaphor' with regard
to Montaigne for, as Sainte—Beuve so aptly stated, "pensée, image,
chez lui, c'est tout un."2 Nevertheless, in order to draw closer to
this fundamental unity of Montaigne and his word, we are obliged to
assume a certain critical distance and to adopt some of the vocabulary
of the perspective of criticism. 'Imagery' and 'metaphor' are terms
common to us all, yet, an investigation into some of their definitions
and applications will permit a fuller understanding of how they function
in language.
John Middleton Murry remarks that "metaphor is as ultimate as

speech itself, and speech as ultimate as thought."3 By its very

etymology, metaphor reveals itself ultimately suited to the thought

46

 

47

and language of Montaigne in particular for "the word implies motion

(phora) that is also change (meta)—-the reference being to semantic

motion of course, not physical."“ Traditionally, metaphor has been

regarded as a figure of speech which effects a transference of meaning

through the substitution of one term for another. This is the thrust

of Aristotle's definition in the Poetics—~"metaphor is the application
of an alien name by transference either from genus to species, or from
species to genus, or from species to species, or by analogy, that is

proportion."5 In the first two of his-categories we recognize the

tr0pe that is more precisely designated synecdoche,6 a figure which

effects change in meaning in only a limited way, but which serves to

give concreteness and greater vividness to expression. Synecdoche is

operating in Montaigne's occasional substitutions of parts of the body

for the whole man, as when at the end of 11:12 he criticizes man's

foolish efforts to transcend his human condition: "de faire la poignée

plus grande que le poing, 1a brassée plus grande que le bras, et

d'esperer enjamber plus que de l'estandue de nos jambes, cela est

impossible at monstrueux" (588a). Although Aristotle's third category

of transference, from species to species, has been interpreted as

metonymy,7 it should be argued that the terms need not be necessarily

contiguous and so not always metonymous. In Montaigne's metaphor of

his mind as "1e cheval eschappé" (1:8, 34a) we witness transference

from species to species. Hedwig Konrad and Christine Brooke-Rose both

consider this third category in Aristotle's definition the description

which best applies to all metaphor.8 Transference by analogy or by

 

48

proportion, rather than constituting a legitimate new category, really
serves to describe the way in which the semanticmotion from species

to species operates. "Analogy or proportion is when the second term

is to the first as the fourth to the third. We may then use the fourth
for the second, or the second for the fourth."9 When Montaigne speaks

of "la santé de cet estat" (III:12, 1019b), the peace and well-being of
the nation are analogous to the health of the human body, and the terms
are easily interchanged.

The simile ianristotle's observation belongs to the category
of metaphor, differing only in its lesser degree of impact. Defining
simile as "a metaphor with a preface," he finds it "less pleasing
because it is more lengthy; nor does it affirm thi§_is that; and so

"'0 Montaigne's "[nous]

the mind does not even inquire into the matter.
changeons comme cet animal qui prend la couleur du lieu 0% on 1e couche"
(Ilzl, 316a) would have more metaphorical density were it to state

"nous prenons 1a couleur du lieu ou on nous couche" or "nous sommes des
caméléons." For Aristotle, the superiority of the metaphor lies in its
capacity to stimulate us toward new knowledge and in so doing, to pro—
vide pleasure: "Strange words have no meaning for us; common terms we
know already; it is the metaphor which gives us most . . . pleasure."11
The reader's delight in metaphor contains the surprise element inherent
in the perception of riddles and puns.12 The mind perceives connections

between words and finds gratifications in their aptness. And metaphor

should serve to give Actuality to the thing described by "setting things

"13

before the eyes.

This end is best served when things are described

 

 

 

49

in an active state, and Aristotle specifies: ”an active state is

movement."'”

The Essais, as this study will demonstrate, abound in
metaphors of this type. To say that he has a slow and hesitant mind,
Montaigne portrays its movement as analogous to the physical motion
of walking: "Mes conceptions et mon jugement ne marche qu'a tastons,
chancelant, bronchant et chopant" (1:26, 145a), and so manages 'to set
the thing' before the reader's eyes.

For the writer, Aristotle finds that the greatest gift is
"to have a command of metaphor. This alone cannot be imparted by
another; it is the mark of genius, for to make good metaphors implies

an eye for resemblances."15

Thus the grounds for the "application of
an alien name" to something by a process of transference is rooted in
the notion of similarity. The degree of importance given to the role
of resemblance has been widely discussed from Aristotle's time to the
present. More recent critics have objected to a 'substitution view'
of metaphor, taken from the rhetorical treatises of the successors of
Aristotle who view metaphor as a simple substitution of names--the
figurative (M) is used to denote the literal (L)—-and "it is the
reader's task to invert the substitution, by using the literal meaning
of M as a clue to the intended literal meaning of L."16 Quintilian
explains the function of metaphor in the context of this view: "A
noun or a verb is transferred from the place to which it properly
belongs to another where there is either no literal term or the

transferred is better than the literal. we do this either because

it is necessary or to make our meaning clearer or, . . . to produce

 

 

 

50

"17

a decorative effect. When Montaigne repeatedly speaks of "les

ressors intérieurs" he is filling a gap in his vocabulary, borrowing
a term from the vocabulary of physical motion to find expression for

a ‘ ___.-_.—i_..-

the inner psychological impulses he experiences, but for which there

exists no literal term.18

Using "digerer" in place of "assimiler" in
reference to the learning process gives his idea greater clarity and
more force. (But rarely if ever does Montaigne use a metaphor merely
to produce a decorative effect--the function of metaphor in the Essais
is intimately related to the author's thought process.) Now if we
invert the terms of the substitutions and use the literal meanings of
ressors and digerer to elucidate the intended meanings of the replaced
terms, we discover the transformation is made on the grounds of like—
ness. The inner psychological impulses, like springs, are character-
ized by a quality of sudden bounce, a movement of darting forth, a
rapid movement upward and out; the process of right learning, like
the digestive process, is the taking in of material and treatment of
it so that it can be retained, used for growth, 'incorporated.‘ An
investigation into the grounds for substitution leads us back to
Aristotle's "eye for resemblances" and to what modern critics label
the 'comparison view ofmetaphor.‘19
Although the substitution and comparison views of metaphor will
serve as the foundation for our exploration of the function of metaphor
in Montaigne, we can sharpen our understanding of its operation by

following the development of the theory of metaphor into what is

termed the 'tension' or 'interaction' View. I. A. Richards, finding

 

 

 

 

 

51

the conventional language for treating metaphor a restriction on our
capacity to understand fully the action of metaphorical statement,
introduced the terms tenor (for the literal term) and vehicle (for

the figurative).20

Metaphor refers not just to the figurative term,
but to the interaction between the two terms-—"fundamentally it is a
borrowing between and intercourse of thought, a transaction between

contexts."21

This slight shift in the focus on metaphor places the
emphasis on the semantic motion in process, indeed sending us back to
the etymological roots of the word, meta and phors. The "transaction
between contexts" is explained by Max Black as an extension of meaning
imposed on the focal word (vehicle) by the new context.22 In the state—
ment "c'est un outrageux glaive que l'esprit" (II:12, 54lb), glaive is
taken out of its usual context and given a new, extended meaning.

Hedwig Konrad sees the word used metaphorically as a generalized
abstraction of one or more attributes which make up the network of
interrelated attributes comprising the concept designated by a word

in its literal use.23

The glaive is a sharp blade of metal, made for
cutting, dangerous to handle. Certain of its attributes, notably its
sharpness and its danger, are abstracted and generalized in the trans—
ference from glaive to esprit; and glaive takes on an extended meaning
in its new context, for the mind and a sword are not sharp and dangerous
in at all the same way. By heightening our awareness of the duality in
the metaphor and the tension present between the two terms, we have a

better sense of the process of interaction. The grounds for the meta—

phor, that is the basis for the association of the two terms, is here

 

 

 

52

a readily recognizable resemblance (both terms are alike in their
sharpness and danger). But to focus only on the likeness, only on

the substitution of one term for another, is to weaken Our appreciation
of the metaphorical complex.

Richards observes that the tension in metaphor is greater as the
two terms brought together are more remote,2” and he also maintains that
"the 'grounds' for a metaphor need not always be that of resemblance."25
Some metaphors derive from our perception of one thing in terms of,
another, or our attitudes toward one thing transferred to the other,
rather than from a common attribute shared by both things. We might
say that Montaigne perceives the state in terms of a building and that
his attitude toward sickness is transferred to the religious wars in
France to explain some of his common metaphors; but it would be much
more accurate to recognize that the state and a building have similar

26

qualities, as do war and sickness. Truly remote associations pro-

ducing metaphors of the greatest tensionfland not arising from a
perceptible likeness in the two terms are not characteristic of
Montaigne.27
To determine what constitutes a metaphor in our study, we shall
adopt the general criterion set down by Richards that we begin "by
deciding whether, in the given instance, the word gives us two ideas
or one; whether, . . . it presents both a tenor and a vehicle whiCh

1128

co-operate in an inclusive meaning. Rather than stop at the

"grammarians familiar distinction between metaphor and simile,"29

we shall view the simile as an extended metaphor. Both of course

 

 

53

are included in the more generic term imagery, defined by Sayce as
"any concrete word which evokes a response of the senses, especially
when it is used to enliven or illustrate abstract argument.”0 The
literary image must be carefully distinguished from the visual image,
proper to the genre of painting, as well as from the mental image,
literally a picture of something produced by and within the mind.31

In the literary image we meet with an activity in process, an inter—
action between words that invites the reader to an active participation.
This is the activity which concerns us most in the metaphor of movement
in Montaigne.

Metaphor has its origin in the efforts of the human mind to
find expression for thoughts that go beyond the restriction of the
literal language. Recourse to figurative language is, according to
Bally, the result "de l'infirmité de l'esprit humain, des nécessités
inhérentes a la communication des idées et de l'insuffisance des moyens

"32 Because our knowledge of the world comes to us

d'expression.
directly from the experience of sensation, we seek expression for

that which is not sensation, indirectly, by allying it to our sensual
experience. Through metaphor, we seek "to express insensuous thought

"33 Linguists tell us that "in none of the languages

by sensuous terms.
whose history it is possible for us to study is there an abstract word
which, if its etymology is known, is not resolvable into a concrete
word."3“ 'Apprehend' can be traced back to meaning 'to grasp at';

'comprehend' originally meant 'to grasp together,‘ but now both are

common abstract terms for acts of the mind.35 Once the concrete term

 

 

 

54

gains widespread usage for the expression of an abstract concept and
its users are no longer aware of its figurative nature, it is considered

a 'fossil metaphor' or an image morte. Reading in Montaigne: "Nous

 

courons a peu prés mesme fortune" (111:5, 862b), we understand courir

in the sense of s'exposerg§_without making any associations with the
physical act of running. As foreigners to a language or as readers
coming several hundred years after the time when a work was written,

we must exercise caution not to take a word in its strict etymological
sense when usage had already established a more abstract meaning for it.

For our purpose, Huguet's Dictionnaire dg_la_langue frangaise du_

 

 

seiziéme siecle is a valuable reference.

Bally points to the figurative use of words which are not yet
images mortes, yet no longer genuine images concrétes——metaphors which
are commonly used to express abstract ideas, but which still carry
emotional overtones or some sense of their original concrete meanings.36
With these images affaiblies, the transfer of sense is automatic, the
reader is not called upon to make a 'new meaning,‘ but he nevertheless
experiences the force of the original sense. When Montaigne employs
the word bride to mean constraint in speaking of Alexander's anger——
"si elle eust receu la bride" (1:1, l4c)—-he makes use of an image
affaiblie. Style in literature often works to revivify images common
to ordinary usage by the addition of detail which restores their
original plasticity. Montaigne speaks of the world's tendency to
attach sadness to virtue and goodness in the familiar image of

'clothing': "Ils en [de la tristesse] habillent la sagesse, 1a vertu,

 

 

 

 

55

la conscience: .sgt.§t_monstrueux ornament" (1:2, 15c). The subsequent
comment reflects back on the verb habiller and gives it greater fresh—
ness. Sometimes an image finds its development and renewal after an
interval of several sentences or paragraphs. In "De l'oisiveté,"
Montaigne begins by saying that minds need a definite subject "qui

les bride et contreigne" (1:8, 33a); a little further in the essay,

he describes his own mind "faisant 1e cheval eschappé" (34a) and the

verb brider becomes an image rajeunie. In a later chapter we shall

 

examine more closely Montaigne's handling of developing and meta-
morphosing images and how they provide a ready vehicle for the

progressive movement of his thought.

The preceding discussion of the technique of metaphor might
seem a bit foreign to the domain of Montaigne who evidenced a distinct
wariness and frequent condemnation of the exaggerated attention given
to the forms of language by grammarians and rhetoricians. Primarily
attentive to the substance of expression--in those he reads as well
as in his own communications--Montaigne holds in scornful mockery the
laborious attempts of scholars to call words by other words which do
nothing to advance our understanding of a given utterance. "Oyez dire
metonomie, metaphore, allegorie et autres tels noms de la grammaire,
semble—t—il pas qu'on signifie quelque forme de langage rare et
pellegrin? Ce sont titres qui touchent 1e babil de vostre chambriere"
(1:51, 294b). The proliferation of works on language, from Dindyme's

six thousand volumes on the subject of grammar alone to the

 

 

 

 

56

escrivaillerie of his own time (III:9, 923b), incites Montaigne to
wish more heed had been paid to Pythagoras' counsel to his disciples
to keep silence for two years.37
If treatises on grammar appear futile and superfluous to him,
the business of the rhetoricians provokes an even stronger reaction.
The grammarians at worst waste our time, diverting our attention from
more serious pursuits, but the rhetoricians risk doing us genuine harm.
All too frequently, the 'art of speaking and writing well' can be
translated as the 'art of deception through words.‘ Montaigne recalls
the description of a rhetorician of times past who viewed his trade as
"de choses petites les faire paroistre et trouver grandes" (1:51, 282a).
And he adds—-"Ariston definit sagement la rhetorique: science a
persuader 1e peuple; Socrates, Platon, art de tromper et de flatter;
et ceux qui le nient en la generale description 1e verifient partout
en leurs preceptes" (293c). The application of rhetorical devices to
speech is much like putting make-up on a woman's face, only Montaigne
sees the consequences of the former as much graver for the fgrg_tricks
only our eyes, whereas the wielder of rhetoric seeks to deceive our
judgment--"et d'abastardir et corrompre l'essence des choses" (292a).
Such willful deception in the employment of words runs directly counter
to Montaigne's own preoccupations with truth and its relationship to
language. The right use of words is the unmasking of truth; its
corruption, the lie, is "un maudit vice. Nous ne sommes hommes et

ne nous tenons les uns aux autres que par la parole" (I:9, 37c).38

 

 

 

 

57

When rhetoric is employed, not to deceive, but merely to
add luster to expression, it still foments MOntaigne's disapproval.
"L'éloquence faict injure aux choses, qui nous destourne a soy" (1:26,
l7lc). Words which draw attention to themselves rather than serve the
needs of thought and communication are usually characteristic of a mind
impoverished of actual substance. Just as in affectations of dress or
mannerisms, "c'est pusillanimité de se vouloir marquer par quelque
facon particuliere et inusitée" in matters of language (171C). The
quest for original turns of expression and rare words is the mark
"d'une ambition puerile et pedantesque" (l72c). MOntaigne would much
rather err in the opposite direction and give an impression of non-
chalance, an air of proud neglect, in his use of language. And so the
words he finds most apt for expressing his thoughts are "ceux qui
servent aux hales a Paris" (172C).39

In the essay "Des livres" (11:10), Montaigne discusses his
preferences as a reader. His quest for knowledge of man in general
is nourished by the historians and by the moralists, Plutarch and
Seneca. But Cicero, who would also be likely to feed his interest
in moral philosophy, meets with resistance: "a confesser hardiment
la verité . . . sa facon d'escrire me semble ennuyeuse, . . . ce
qu'il y a de vif et mouelle, est estouffe par ses longueries d'apprets
. . . la plus part du temps je n'y treuve que du vent" (393a). This
rejection of "1e pere de l'eloquence Romaine" (390C) for a style
inappropriate to the matter being treated should not be construed

as a condemnation of style in language or as a plea for an absence

 

 

 

58

of style. Certain writers, especially certain poets, appeal to
Montaigne precisely for their graceful and individualized handling
of language. It is for reasons of style that Montaigne admires the
poetry of Virgil, Lucretius, Catullus and Horace. Prizing style that
is one with the substance of poetry, Montaigne distinguishes the merit
of these poets to lie in having avoided "l'affectation et la recherche,
non seulement des fantastiques elevations Espagnoles et Petrarchistes,
‘mais des pointes mesmes plus douces et plus retenues, qui font
l'ornement de tous les ouvrages Poétiques des siecles suyvans" (391a).
Speaking of Virgil in particular in a later essay (111:5), Montaigne
turns to a positive description of the poet's art. The vividness,
the depth, the vigor of Virgil's expression issue from the quality

i of his mind-~"je ne dicts pas que c'est‘bignndigg, je dicts que c'est

\ bien penser. C'est la gaillardise de l'imagination qui esleve et enfle
les parolles" (850—851b). Style--the figures of speech, the choice of
vocabulary, the shapes of sentences--has its origin in the mind con-
ceiving, not in a superimposed quest for originality. A.mind which
conceives simply will speak simply; another seeing "plus cler et plus
outre dans la chose" will demand an expression "outre l'ordinaireh
(851b). When it is meaning which seeks out and produces expression,
the resultant style is "non plus de vent, ains de chair et d'os" (ibid.).

The word, consubstantial with idea, is the expression Montaigne

 

strives to achieve in his Essais. 1n the sixteenth century the French
language was approaching the maturity and fullness which would permit

the production of a literature in the vernacular worthy of comparison

 

 

 

 

 

59

to the masterpieces of the ancients. Already Montaigne recognizes
that "Ronsard et Du-Bellay ont donne credit 5 nostre poésie Francoise"
(1:26, 170a), and he finds them "guieres esloignez de la perfection
ancienne" (11:17, 645a). Surely his decision to write in French was
made not only because he was writing “a pen d'hommes et a peu d'années"
as he tells us in 111:9 (960b), but also out of desire 'to illustrate'
the French language in the spirit of Du Bellay's Deffence. The gifted
writer, whom Montaigne finds a rarity among "tant d'escrivains francois
de ce siecle" (111:5, 851b), expands and enriches the possibilities of
his idiom:

Le maniement et emploite des beaux espris donne pris
a la langue, non pas l'innovant tant comme la remplissant
de plus vigoreux et divers services, l'estirant et ployant.
Ils n'y aportent point des mots, mais ils enrichissent les
leurs, appesantissent et enfoncent leur signification et
leur usage, luy aprenent des mouvements inaccoustumés,
mais prudemment et ingenieusement (ibid.).

Though not partisan to the Pléiade's theoretical program to enrich the

French language through the introduction of neologisms, archaisms and

#0

the stylistic imitation of Latin and Greek authors, Montaigne does

recognize with them room for development within the domain of terms
already comprising the French language——

En nostre langage je trouve assez d'estoffe, mais un
peu faute de facon; car il n'est rien qu'on ne fit du
jargon de nos chasses et de nostre guerre, qui est un
genereux terrain a emprunter; et les formes de parler,
commes les herbes, s'amendent et fortifient en les
transplantant. Je le trouve suffisamment abondant,
mais non pas (c) maniant et (b) vigoureux suffisamment.
Il succombe ordinairement a une puissante conception
(851—852b).“'

 

 

 

 

§ _—. _— .. *m-fifi—f—l . .. 7 77

60

This very resistance of French in its ordinary usage to a
forcefully conceived idea nurtures the imaginative writer's inclination
toward metaphor. As a reader, Montaigne is sensitive to the beauty and
energy of metaphor, even when frequency and usage have dulled their
original freshness—-"cela n'oste rien du goust a ceux qui ont bon nez"
(852b). As much as he scorns the affected and purely decorative in the
use of metaphor, he has a perspicacious appreciation for metaphor used
well. Not unaware of the density of imagery in his own handling of
language-for he had been told he was "trop espais en figures" (853b)—-
Montaigne finds expression through metaphor natural to his way of
thinking and speaking. "Est-ce pas ainsi que je parle par tout? me
represente—je pas vivement? suffit! J'ai faict ce que j'ay voulu:
tout le monde me reconnoit en mon livre, et mon livre en moy'" (ibid.).

Montaigne's recurrent statement of the naturalness and integrity
of his expression in the Essais has met with varying degrees of accept-

ance among his critics.1+2

We can recognize that the seemingly artless,
conversational tone he achieved in his writing did not come without
some conscious effort. And he too remarks "qu'a force de vouloir
eviter l'art et l'affectation, j'y retombe d'une autre part" (11:17,
621a). Above all Montaigne wants to escape the label of 'professional
writer,‘ so he shuns any resemblance to those with pedantic or literary
pretentious. However, w§£e_he to be of the métier, he would seek to
naturalize art as others have 'artified' nature (111:5, 852c).

Acknowledging that the "fin principale et perfection" to which he

seeks to bring the Essais "c'est d‘estre exactement [sien]" (853b),

 

 

 

61

we can go on to ask how metaphor fits into so deliberately natural

an expression.

 

Floyd Gray has observed that "le vocabulaire de Montaigne est
determine par sa méfiance vis a vis du mot abstrait, du mot vide.
S'il emploie une expression abstraite, i1 juxtapose en meme temps
une expression concréte qui l'explique, qui 1e rend sensible.“3
Montaigne's avoidance of the abstract and cultivation of the sensuous
in expression concur with the way in which he perceives the mind to
operate. Abstract concepts do not exist independently, but have their
origin in concrete experience. In his critique of reason in the
"Apologie," Montaigne begins with the epistemological premise that
"toute cognoissance s'achemine en nous par les sens: ce sont nos
maistres. . . . (a) La science commence par eux et se resout en eux"
(11:12, 572C). As the mind moves in the direction of abstractions,

it distances itself from the source of its conceptions and runs the

risk of erring in the empty structures of its own creation. It is

 

always to experience, to the foundation of the concrete, that Montaigne
looks for a grasp of truth. The mind must not be disassociated from 3
the body, but directed toward maintaining their natural cooperation
and mutual dependency: "A quoy faire desmembrons nous en divorce un

bastiment tissu d'une si joincte et fraternelle correspondance? Au

 

rebours, renouons 1e par mutuels offices. Que l'eSprit esveille et
vivifie la pesanteur du corps, 1e corps arreste la legereté de l'esprit
et la fixe" (III:13, 1094-1095b). For language to express thought

grounded in experience it must constantly have recourse to the concrete,

   

 

 

62

integrating the abstract with its sensual correlative. Montaigne's
use of the metaphor expresses this perpetual interaction of mind and
body experience and his keen awareness that "c'est tousjours a l'homme
que nous avons affaire, duquel la condition est merveilleusement
corporelle" (111:8, 909b).

With the development of Montaigne's arguments against reason
in the "Apologia" however, the senses too are shown to be unreliable
indicators of truth. Sense perceptions are subject to distortion due
to the perspective imposed by distance (11:12, 576a) or to a defect in
the sense organs themselves. And there is also the problem as to
whether the five senses of which man is possessed are adequate to the
perception of phenomena in their completeness. Do not the animals
evidence senses we do not have? (573a). There is really no way of
knowing whether there exist more senses than those we experience for
"c'est 1e privilege des sens d'estre l'extreme borne de nostre
apercevance; il n'y a rien au-dela d'eux qui nous puisse servir a
les descouvrir; voire ny l'un sens n'en peut descouvrir l'autre" (573a).
You cannot speak to a man blind from birth in images of light for
nothing in his experience can utilize such images. Montaigne relates
the example of a blind man who had imitatively adopted the speech
patterns of seeing people, though he had no experience of what he
spoke. The same man even participated in the sports of hunting and
tennis without being able to see the rabbit or the ball at which he
foolishly, though unknowingly so, took aim. From this anecdote,

Montaigne draws an analogy to the way men reason and speak about

 

 

63

matters beyond the domain of their limited possibilities of certitude:
"Que scait-on 31 1e genre humain faict une sottise pareille, a faute
de quelque sens, et que par ce defaut la plus part du visage des choses
nous soit cache?" (574a). The point he is making is that the presump-
tuous claims and debates among philosophers and theologians are ventures
into matters about which we cannot produce positive verification and
that ultimately we must confess to our "necessaire bestise" (576c).
But is there not also a parallel to be made with his own use of
language--with his marked preference for concrete terms in lieu
of abstractions?

Metaphorical statements are "strictly speaking, not true,"”“
for they consist in "the presentation of the facts of one sort as if

"“5 Turbayne finds such confusion in certain

they belonged to another.
models of present-day science just as Montaigne did in the theological
and philosophical models used to explain God, nature or the soul--"Et

certes la philosophie n'est qu'une poésie sophistiquée” (11:12, 518C).
Those lured into believing in the 'myths of metaphor' presume to know

the essence of things, forgetting they are only dealing with images of
essence. The Renaissance, in quest of a unified concept of the world,
was given to holding the conviction that the image was an "instrument

"“7 Avowing that "nous n'avons aucune communication

de connaissance.
a l'estre" (586a), Montaigne reacts against so didactic an intent in
metaphor. His own images are mobile, open, changing--in harmony with

his vision of a world qui branle sans cesse: "chaque chose peut 8tre

 

rapprochée de n'importe quelle autre. . . . Pas de termes de comparison

 

 

 

 

64

privilégiés; ainsi l'ame revet tant8t l'apparence physique d'une
personne . . . tant8t elle apparait comme un objet inanimé . . .
et aucune de ces figures ne prétend nous révéler la nature cachée

"“3 Never mistaking the image for the thing to which it

de l'ame.
relates, Montaigne uses imagery to communicate his vision of the world-—
an organic, harmonious cosmos of which man is a part, but of which man
can possess no comprehensive, fixed and closed knowledge.

While man might not have certain knowledge of the world, he
does have experience of it. The image gives expression to the unknown
in terms of the known, and most eSpecially in terms of what is most
immediate to our experience, the senses. Through the senses, we per—
ceive not only the phenomena proper to the operation of each sense
taken individually, but also the numerous consequences and conclusions
drawn from comparing one sense to another. Lest this comparative per-
ception be confused with direct sensual experience, Montaigne admonishes:
"Nous avons formé une verité par la consultation et concurrence de nos
cinq sens; mais a l'advanture falloit-il 1'accord de huict ou de dix
sens et leur contribution pour l'appercevoir certainement et en son
essence" (575a). Throughout the "Apologie," the emphasis is on the
insufficiency of man's powers of apprehension, for the essay is intended
to combat the arrogance of man's reason. In "De l'experience,"
Montaigne again speaks to the quarrels growing out of the use of words
and the pretentions to fix essence in words. Here he weighs the

comparative process in a more positive, though still cautious, vein:

 

T Nugwlu. F. _.A 4,

 

 

65

Comme nul evenement et nulle forme ressemble entierement

a une autre, aussi ne differe nulle de l'autre entierement.

. . . Toutes choses se tiennent par quelque similitude,

tout exemple cloche, et la relation qui se tire de

l'experience est tousjours defaillante et imparfaicte;

on joinct toutesfois les comparaisons par quelque coin

(III:13, 1047b).
By making analogies, by joining perceptions through metaphor, we arrive
at an approximate understanding of reality; our associations remain
faulty and imperfect, for every example limps. Nevertheless, there
are similarities to be perceived and so our comparisons are not "wholly

"”9 Rather than assume the stance of the extreme

false or misleading.
skeptics who hold that nothing can be known or stated about anything at
all, Montaigne finds a way of dealing with knowledge that is admittedly
relative and of giving expression to his experience.

Language for Montaigne is a tool that can be used badly or well.
The rhetoricians and showy poets use it to deceive or to affect a
studied and empty elegance. The gifted poet, inspired by his 'divine
fury,‘50 can wield language so as to "[nous] transpercer et transporter"
(1:37, 228C), and this, Montaigne tells us, he has experienced since his
early youth. The aim of poetry is not to persuade our judgment; "elle
1e ravit et ravage" (ibid.). As such, the inspired and deeply impres—
sive handling of language in poetry stands in contrast to what Hallie

1 In the latter, "old

labels the language of the Assertive imagination.5
words are radically altered in their usage, and new words are introduced
to which no clear meaning can be attached without intricate study. And

paradoxically, the use of the Assertive imagination does not often

involve metaphor. . . . [Rather, it] involves us in inferences from

 

 

66

our images to facts or statements beyond those images."52 Hallie
attributes to Montaigne "a milder kind of poetic function of the
imagination: the use of metaphor to illumine or vivify ordinary

"53

language. He goes on to ally Montaigne with the contemporary

"ordinary language philosophers."5“

Like the logical positivists,
they assign metaphysical, non—verifiable statements to the category

of "nonsense"; but unlike them, they manifest a faith in the power of
ordinary language to achieve effective communication. Content with
the words "qui servent aux hales a Paris," Mentaigne bends, transplants

and stretches his vocabulary to meet the needs of his conceptions.

Metaphor serves to render his fantaisies, the objects of his imag-

 

ination, "intellectuellement sensibles, sensiblement intellectuals"

(III:13, 1087b). And from his words, "non de vent ains de chair et

I n55

d'os,‘ comes into being the "livre consubstantiel a son autheur.
To realize.the weighty significance of imagery, and more
specifically metaphor, in the writing of Montaigne, one only has to
consider the results of several counts which have been done on the
Essais. Thibaudet numbers the images at "prés de cinq, cents,"$6
walter Schnabel at 1263.57 In 1:26, Gilbert Mayer finds seventy-seven

5° Baraz counts one hundred

images, all but four of which are metaphors.
eleven images in 111:10 (with only six similes).59 Mayer and Baraz are
in agreement with Gray who finds that "la métaphore chez Montaigne est

une fleur d'une vigueur et d'une abondance tropicales, mais les Essais

offrent un terrain maigre a la culture de la comparaison. Si on voulait

 

 

 

 

 

 

67

les compter, on en trouverait pent-etre une centaine dont la plupart
seraient dans les essais de l'édition de 1580."60 But Yves Delégue,
focusing on the simile, arrives at a quite different result, finding
some one hundred seventy similes in three essays alone.61 Quite
clearly he is working from a broader interpretation of simile than
the other critics, including in his count expressions which others

62 Probably the most meaningful use to which

would list as metaphdrs.
a count may be put is to translate it into proportional terms as Colin
Dickson has done. Working with the images in three essays of the Third
Book he finds "342 images or an average of four per page. . . . This is
double the density of imagery in Rabelais . . . and four times the

"63

density in Proust. And Dickson affirms that 90 percent of the

images in his count are metaphors.a'
The use to which these lists have been put provides greater

interest for our purpose. Schnabel goes no further than to compile

a list of images according to technical categories of vocabulary "with

meager commentary,"65 but his statistics serve to show the increasing

density of metaphor with the successive additions to the Essais.66

Thibaudet has catalogued his findings under four descriptive headings:

"Dedans et dehors-—Sensations organiques-eMouvement et changement--

Images visuelles."57 Within these groups he observes that the smallest

number fall into the category of visual images, contrary to the tendency ‘\\
of most "faiseurs d'images," and that by far the largest group, }
virtually half of his listing, belongs to the heading of Mouvement //

‘gt changement. From this he concludes that "sur deux images, 11 y a /’

 

 

 

 

chez Montaigne une image motrice, et que la plupart des images qui
ne sont pas a proprement parler motrices correspondent a un sentiment
et a une batisse de la vie intérieure, 05 1e corps devient l'expression
physique de l'ame, et, dans son detail meme, 1a métaphore de l'é‘me.”68
Unfortunately time did not permit Thibaudet to develop his work on
imagery much beyond the catalogue.69

Both Floyd Gray and Glyn P. Norton base their imagery studies
on the catalogue of Thibaudet, each treating three of his four groupings,
including the category of movement and change. Part of a comprehensive
study of style in Montaigne, Gray's pages on this particular aspect of
imagery are in the main quite general.7° He best shows how imagery
expresses Montaigne's mobility of mind in his analysis of 1:26 where
he analyzes the antithetical interplay of images at work.71 For
Norton, the function of the metaphor in Montaigne is "to crystallize
the major introspective themes of the work."72 Writing in the confines
of a brief article, Norton selects representative 'metaphorical clusters'
to examine the organic operation of metaphor and theme. He looks at two
passages from "De l'experience" which illustrate the metaphor of move-
ment giving expression to the mind's activity. Both studies point the
way to a more intensive treatment of this category of imagery.

The image in the form of simile is the focus of the Delegue

article. Gray too isolates the simile in his discussion, viewing it

as a continuation of Montaigne's thought while the metaphor "est la

 

pensée; elle ne s'attache pas a l'idée, elle nait en meme temps

qu'elle."73 Delégue goes on to make a distinction between Montaigne's

 

 

 

)"comparaisons poétiques"—-usually introduced by connecting words,
iserving style more than thought, and largely borrowed from ancient
\

sources--and his "comparaisons de correspondence et de similitude"--

intimately related to Montaigne's inclination to think by analogies.7”

hoes—i e ,_.., 7.“. - a. uc-‘M‘. ,. q. . T
- e-s...,l..,l._.... ~-.,—~efl-r\..;..~-w mu... “ 3" A r J”-

The latter type of image gives to the thought and expression of the
Essais "1e solide, le stable, meme au niveau des réalités les plus
banales et infimes;" the metaphor, on the other hand, expresses "1e

"75 Since the metaphor for Delégue is charac-

mouvant, l'indéterminé.
terized by the absence of the tenor, its role is "d'en donner non pas'
l'idée, mais l'équivalent sensible pour l'imagination."76 While we
are working from a broader understanding of metaphor (including simile
as a kind of metaphor), we shall take into consideration Delégue's
observation that movement and stability find expression differently,
in one and the other of these forms of imagery.

The chapter on imagery in Baraz's book contributes to his
overall exploration of Montaigne's concept of being and knowledge.
Since "l'etre de l'homme est une unité organique, fait de sentir et
de savoir, de concret et d'abstrait," the language giving expression
to man's being must reflect this organic unity: "il faut allier les
moyens du langage intellectuel et ceux du langage figure."77
Montaigne's imagery bridges the gap between "les pensées immatérielles"

and "des choses étendues et pesantes,‘ and corresponds to what Baraz

finds to be "l'idée maitresse de sa philosophie-—celle de la consonance

"78

de l'homme et de la nature. Knowing that man cannot reach absolute

knowledge either by pure speculation or by purely factual means,

 

 

7O

Montaigne pursues not knowledge, but "l'Etre reiglé du sage."79

Based on the notion of inscience, Montaigne's philosophy is opposed
to traditional, Platonic, hierarchical concepts of the universe, and
his images frequently illustrate this opposition. Through "des images
matérialisantes et dévalorisantes," "l'image des bas lieux" and the
image of horizontal (as opposed to transcendental) movement, Montaigne's
language reveals a liberation from traditional modes of thinking.80
The organic nature of his images, their frequent prolongation gg_devenir
and the concentration of dynamic verbal images express not the ultimate
unity of being, but "l'aspiration a l'unité de l'étre."81
Several critics have looked at Montaigne's use of imagery in
the context of particular essays. Gilbert Mayer studies the images in
1:26, identifying them first according to vehicle and then according
to form—~simple, parallel to a literal expression, developed in the
same sentence, and developed later in the essay.82 In her study of
111:10, Marcelle Hamel examines images borrowed from ancient sources
and the way Montaigne integrates them into his text.83 By far the
most thorough examination of the function of Montaigne's images in

an He does a

context is the doctoral dissertation of Colin Dickson.
long, detailed study of three chapters, discussing formal, thematic
and dynamic aspects of the imagery.

Two excellent articles by Carol Clark85 treat of the historical
context and literary sources of Montaigne's imagery. Professor Clark

objects to the classification of imagery by subject matter (according

to vehicle) and the tendency to deduce all sorts of biographical and

 

 

 

71

66 Whereas this

psychological insights from such classifications.
approach has its place with a nineteenth— or twentieth—century author

who is indeed in search of "striking, personal imagery,"87 it is likely
to be crudely misleading when applied to an author like Shakespeare or

Montaigne.88

1n the domain of political discourse, Clark points to the
strong tradition of conventional imagery used to effect political argu-
ments. ‘Montaigne draws heavily on these stock images; however it is to
be noted that his use of these images is much more complex and original,
much less schematized than that of other sixteenth-century political

writers.89

Examining certain predominating images of Montaigne in
conjunction with Seneca's use of imagery in the Letters to Lucilius,
Clark shows the extent to which Montaigne was indebted to the Latin
writer for much of his metaphorical expression. Putting aside the
stock classical images which both authors share with many writers of
their periods, Clark finds Montaigne's most frequent borrowings from
Seneca to lie in "the field of images attempting to differentiate
between the real and the spurious"——images of masks and the stage,
images of the solid and massive as opposed to the hollow and empty,
and images of outer crusts as contrasted with deep, hidden mines.90
Though the source of these images can be clearly located in Seneca,
Montaigne's handling of a given image is frequently independent and
sometimes contradictory to Seneca's own usage. By the Third Book,
Clark finds that Montaigne has transformed the Senecan imagery into

an "extremely concise and personal language."91

 

 

 

 

.________‘.- -...-._.__e

72

Quite clearly, Montaigne's imagery offers a rich domain of
exploration for the literary critic. From the work already done we
can gauge the directions in which there remains room for further study.
Hugo Friedrich has drawn our attention to the need for a study which
will demonstrate the actual creative process involved in Montaigne's
use of metaphor. Friedrich suggests that one proceed not from the
families of vehicles, but from the perspective of ideas taking shape

"tant8t de telle facon, tant6t de telle autre."92

Any work attempting
to show how all the ideas in the Essais find expression in imagery
would be a vast and unwieldy undertaking. Limiting our focus to the
metaphor of movement, we shall pursue the development of this motif in

the language of images. Frequently our treatment will deal with images

from Thibaudet's category of Mouvement gt changement; but from the

 

family of vehicles denoting movement, we shall carry our investigation
into the more intimate and elusive question of the process of metaphor

at work.

 

 

 

Notes

1Owen Thomas, Metaphor and Related Subjects (New York: Random

2Port Royal, III, 3 (Paris: Bibliotheque de la Pléiade, 1953),

 

864 0

3Countries of the Mind. Essays_ in Literary Criticism (London:

Oxford University Press, #1931), p. 1.

1'Phillip Ellis Wheelwright, Metgphor and Reality (Bloomington:
Indiana University Press, 1967), p. 69.

5On the Art of Poetry with a Supplement on Music, trans.
S. H. Butcher, —The Library of Liberal Arts (New York: The Bobbs-Merrill

Company, Inc., 1956), XXI, p. 28.

6Synecdoche is "that figure of speech in which a part or
individual is used for a whole or class, or the reverse of this."
Webster's New World Dictionary of the American Language, College Edition
(New York: The World Publishing Company, 1960), p. 1479.

7This is the explanation offered by the editor of the edition
of The Rhetoric used for this study, The Rhetoric 2f_Aristotle, trans.
Sir Richard Claverhouse Jobb, ed. John Edwin Sandys (Cambridge: The
University Press, 1909), P. 156, n. l. Metonymy is defined as the
"use of the name of one thing for that of another associated with it

or suggested by it." webster's, p. 927.

 

eHedwig Konrad, Etude sur la metaphore, 2e éd. (Paris: Vrin,
1958), ch. 111. Christine Brooke-Rose, A Grammar 9f_Metaphor (London:

Secker & Warburg, 1958), p. 208.
1°The Rhetoric, 111, x, 3, pp. 166—167.
11Ibid., 111, x, 2, p. 167.
12Ibid., 111, xi, 6, p. 173.
13Ibid., 111, xi, 2, p. 171.
l‘*Ibid., pp. 171-172.

15The Art g£_Poetry, XXII, p. 31.

73

 

74

16Max Black, Models 32d Metaphors: Studies ip_Language 32d
Philosophy (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1962), p. 31. Also
discussed by Paul Ricoeur in his talk, "The Function of Similarity
in Metaphorical Statements," delivered at Michigan State University

on May 11, 1973.

17The Institutio Oratoria, trans. H. E. Butler (Cambridge:
Harvard University Press, 1973), VIII, vi, p. 303.

18Huguet defines ressort: "Fait de pousser, de croitre."
He gives "Rebondissement" as a figurative usage. Dictionnaire
dg_lg langue frangaise QB seiziéme siécle (Paris: Didier, 1965),
6, 549.

19Max Black, p. 34.

20The Philosophy gthhetoric (New York: Oxford University Press,
1965), p. 96.

21Ibid., p. 94.

22"Metaphor" in Aristotelian Society Proceedings, 55
(1954-55), 286.

23Konrad, ch. III.
2“Richards, p. 125.
25Ibid., p. 106.

26We recognize too that these are conventional metaphors in
sixteenth—century prose. See Carol E. Clark, "Montaigne and the
Imagery of Political Discourse in Sixteenth—Century France," French
Studies, 24 (1970), 337—354.

27The metaphors best served by this perspective of the inter—
action theory are to be found in the literature, especially poetry, of
the nineteenth and twentieth centuries where the destruction of logical
barriers leads to greater audacity and the prizing of unwonted associa-
tions in the creation of metaphor. However, even here it has been
suggested that similarity has a function. When the poet brings
together two completely unrelated things having no grounds in resem-
blance, does not his metaphor, by bringing them together, create a
resemblance where none existed previously? We find no shared attributes
between the sun and melancholy or between the sun's rays and blackness
until the poet creates a new relationship: "1e soleil noir de la
Mélancolie" (Gerard de Nerval, "El Desdichado," OEuvres, ed. H. Lemaitre
(Paris: Editions Garnier Fréres, 1958), I, 693). Within this

 

75

metaphorical complex we can perceive likenesses resultant of the
interaction of terms. Paul Henle calls this an "induced similarity"

as opposed to an "antecedent similarity," "Metaphor," in Language,
Thought 23d Culture, ed. Paul Henle (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan
Press, 1958), p. 191.

28Richards, p. 119.

29Wheelwright, p. 71. He finds the distinction one to be
"largely ignored," (ibid.). The view that simile should not be
separated from metaphor is shared by R. A. Sayce, Style lg French Prose:
_A Method pé Analysis (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1953); Murry, Countries
2:.EEE Mind; Stephen Ullmann, "The Nature of Imagery," in Language Egg
Style (New York: Barnes and Noble, 1964), pp. 174—201; and Colin
Dickson, "Imagery in Book III of Montaigne's Essais: A Study of
Three Chapters," Diss. University of Pennsylvania, 1972. Brooke-Rose
and Henle take the opposite view.

 

30Style 33 French Prose, p. 57.

31See P. N. Furbank, "Do We Need the Terms 'Image' and
'Imagery'?" Critical Quarterly, 9 (1967), 335—345.

32Traité fig stylistigue frangaise, 3e éd. (Genéve: Klincksieck,
1951), I, 184.

338. J. Brown, The World of Imagery (New York: Haskell House,
1927), p. 33.

341bid., p. 30, quoting from M. Arséne Darmester's La Vie des
mots.

35Ibid., p. 35. He provides numerous examples of familiar
abstract words and their concrete origins, pp. 33—41.

36Traité, p. 195.
37Pléiade ed., p. 1646, n. 2 to p. 923.

38For a more developed investigation into the relationship of
truth and language in Montaigne, see Dilys Veronica Winegrad,
"Expression and Being and the Essais of Montaigne," Diss. University
of Pennsylvania, 1970. Especially her section on LANGUAGE, pp. 14—65.

39"Montaigne, qui condamne 1e vocabulaire pédantesque de la
Pleiade, devance ici Malherbe disant 'que les crocheteurs du port—
au—foin étaient ses maitres pour 1e langage,'" Pléiade ed.,
pp. 1473-74, n. 1 to p. 172.

 

76

“°See Joachim Du Bellay, LE_Deffence EB Illustration dgnla
langue francoyse (Paris: Librairie Marcel Didier, 1966), Livre I,
ch. VIII and Livre II, ch. VI.

 

l’1"On lit dans l'Abréqé d'Art Poétigue de Ronsard: 'Tu
practiqueras bien souvent les artisans de tous métiers, comme de marine,
verrerie, fauconnerie, et principalement les artisans de fer, orfévres,
tondeurs, maréchaux, minérailliers, et de 15 tu tireras maintes belles
et vives comparaisons.'" Pléiade ed., p. 1633, n. 4 to p. 851.

“ZWith respect to Montaigne's various references to the naiveté
and lack of artfulness in his style, Barbara Bowen comments: "of these
and other similar statements there are three possible interpretations.
(1) Montaigne believes exactly what he says, and it‘s true (Friedrich);
(2) Montaigne believes exactly what he says because he is not aware
that his style is very different from this (Thibaudent, Gray); and
(3) Montaigne is perfectly well aware that his style is not like this,
and he is indulging in deliberate self-deprecation (Baraz, Parslow,
Traeger). The last interpretation seems to me the only possible one;
Montaigne's style is much too well-balanced, too intellectual, and too
metaphorical to be unconscious. . . ." Ihg_§gg pf Bluff: Paradox and
Ambiguity 13 Rabelais and Montaigne (Urbana: The University of Illinois
Press, 1972), p. 114.

“32§_§£y1gndg_Montaigne (Paris: Nizet, 1958), p. 41.
1"'Owen Thomas, Metaphor, p. 3.

usColin Murray Turbayne, Myth 2£_Metaphor (Columbia: University
of South Carolina Press, 1970), p. 22.

l'6Ibid., emphasis added.

l”Baraz, p. 61. And he explains: "De 15 1e caractére
intellectuel trés prononcé de l'imagisme de ce temps. Les
néoplatoniciens pensent que l'image symbolique peut révéler les secrets
du monde supra—sensible. . . . Les néopétrarquistes puisent abondamment
dans la repertoire des images métaphysiques (notamment celles de la
lumiere) et dans une mythologie interprétée spéculativement. Les
auteurs d'emblémes sont d'accord pour attribuer a leur art une
fonction didactique . . . ," pp. 61-62.

”°Ibid., p. 63.

”QSayce, A_Critical Exploration, p. 179.

 

5°"At the heart of Montaigne's conception of poetry is the
Platonic notion of the poet's fury or madness, which was already
familiar from its adoption by Ronsard and the Pléiade. Montaigne
perhaps carries it further and certainly understands it better."
Ibid., p. 44. See I:37, 227—228c.

SlThe Scar pf Montaigne, p. 77.

52Ibid.

5316id., emphasis added.

5“Ibid., p. 89.

55Barbara Bowen sees this expression as "a boutade, and a rather
daring one in view of the theological controversies of the times," not
as a "serious statement." The Age pf Bluff, p. 117. While I agree

that the phrase should not be interpreted literally, I feel she too
readily dismisses the metaphorical truth involved.

 

56"Le Quadricentenaire d'un philosophe," Revue g§_Paris,
janv.—fév. 1933, p. 767.

57Gray, p. 153, n. 7. The extraordinary discrepancy in the
figures of the two counts is due to the fact that Schnabel includes
expressions which are hardly metaphorical and lists recurring images
which appear only once in Thibaudet's list. Gray discovers still other
images which are not in the list of either Thibaudet or Schnabel. For
his own purposes, Gray finds it would be "impossible de donner une liste
ou m§me de parler de toutes les images de Montaigne" and restricts his
discussion to the images he finds most striking, ibid.

58"Des images dans Montaigne d'aprés 1e chapitre 'De
l'institution des enfants,'" in Melanges Edmond Huguet (Paris:
Boivin, 1940), pp. 110 and 118.

sgL'Etre‘g£.1a connaissance, p. 54, n. 5.

SOLE Style gg_Montaigne, p. 139.

61"Les comparaisons dans les 'Essais' de Montaigne," RHLF, 66
(1966), 596. He counts 32 similes in 1:26, 97 in 11:12 and 41 in
111210.

 

62Delégue considers metaphors introduced by the verb Etre as
similes, believing Montaigne's omission of the 'like' or 'as' to be
a means of avoiding needless repetition, ibid., p. 595.

 

63"Imagery in Book III of Montaigne's Essais, p. 32, n. 1.

 

78

6"Ibid., p. 21.

551bid., pp. 5-6.

66"D'aprés 1a statisque effectuée par Walter Schnabel, i1 y
aurait 454 métaphores dans le texte de 1580, 1582 et 1587; 450 dans
celui de 1588 bien que sa longueur ne dépasse pas un tiers du texte
initial; 359 dans les additions ultérieures, dont le volume représente
pourtant a peine un cinquiéme de celui des Essais de 1588," Baraz,
p. 56.

67"Le Quadricentenaire," p. 767.
68Ibid., pp. 767—768.

69The catalogue with some commentary is reproduced at the end
of Thibaudet's Montaigne in the text established by Floyd Gray from
Thibaudet's notes, pp. 505-566.

70Gray, pp. 166-173.
711bid., pp. 210—222.

72"Image and Introspective Imagination in Montaigne's Essais,"
PMLA, 88 (1973), 282.

73Gray, p. 155. Whenever Gray speaks of 'image' in this chapter,
he is referring to metaphor. See p. 137, n. 10.

71’"Les comparaisons," pp. 598-601.
7SIbid., p. 606.

761bid.

77L'Etre_g£_la connaissance, p. 60.
781bid.

79Ib1d.

8°Ibid., pp. 68-85.

81Ibid., pp. 83—85.

82"Des images dans Montaigne." Gray's analysis of the same
essay gives a more coherent and complete result.

83"Les images dans l'essai 'De mesnager sa volonté' (III:10):
Quelques emprunts de Montaigne," Memorial d2 Ier Congrés des Etudes
Montaignistes (Bordeaux: Tafford, 1964), pp. 101-107.

 

 

79

8“"lmagery in Book III." Dickson examines III:3, III:lO
and III:l3.

85"Montaigne and the Imagery of Political Discourse," and
"Seneca's Letters to Lucilius as a Source of Montaigne's Imagery,"
BHR, 30 (1968), 249-266.

86"Imagery of Political Discourse," p. 337.
871bid., p. 338.

88See Caroline Spurgeon, Shakespeare's Imagery and What It
Tells y§_(New York: The Macmillan Company, 1935). Lillian Herlands
Hornstein shows the inaccuracy and inadequacy of Spurgeon's method in
"Analysis of Imagery: A Critique of Literary Method," PMLA, 57 (1942),
638—653.

 

 

89Clark, "Imagery of Political Discourse," pp. 348-349.
90"Seneca's Letters to Lucilius," pp. 233—266.
911bid., pp. 262 and 265.

92Montaigne, p. 422, n. 327.

 

I: gr-r’

 

CHAPTER THREE

METAPHORS OF THE WORLD AND MAN pg BRANLE

Drawing from experience of the concrete to give expression to
the abstract inclinations of his thought, the metaphors of Montaigne
serve to give body to his writing. His use of figures works to stabil—
ize that which is mobile. The world "en branle," the fluctuating nature
of man and his own elusive self become fixed and palpable through the
verbal creation of the Essais without ever relinquishing their mobile
aspect. Words are skillfully chosen to seize things in their active
state—-in movement, as Aristotle specifiesl--so that which is fixed is

fixed in its mobility. In this dual capacity, we can see in Montaigne

a veritable language of paradox.2

"Ce grand monde . . . c'est 1e mirofier ofi il nous faut regarder
pour nous connaistre de bon biais" (1:26, 1573). The world for
Montaigne serves as a reflector, sending back to us images of ourselves
which we cannot perceive without mediating our focus. Looking to the
world we find "tant d'humeurs, de sectes, de jugemens, d'opinions, de
loix et de coustumes. . . . Tant de remuements d'estat et changements
de fortune publique. . . . Tant de noms, tant de victoires et conquestes
ensevelies sous l'oubliance. . . . Tant de milliasses d'hommes enterrez
avant nous . . ." (ibid.), and we situate ourselves in "cette mesme

image du monde qui coule pendant que nous y sommes" (111:6, 886b).

80

 

 

 

81

The verb metaphor couler, attributing to the world the fluid properties
of water, conveys Montaigne's experience of "un mouvement sans logique
et une succession sans lien."3 The kind of motion Montaigne ascribes
to the branloire perenne is emphasized in similar images from the
"Apologia": "avec la matiere coulante et fluante tousjours" (11:12,
588a); "et toutes choses mortelles vont coulant et roulant sans cesse"
(586a); "c'est une mesme nature qui roule son cours" (445a). Akin to
the flow of water is the roll of waves or of a cylindrical body-—
movements propelled forward by their own perpetual momentum.

But other images of nature and the world point to a sense of
order implicit in the cosmic movement. Montaigne refers to the earth
as a machine (II:12, 424a and III:lO, 995b), a metaphor suggesting a
systematic whole of parts functioning together. On one level, the
world serves as a mirofier providing us images of ourselves in the
progressive flow of unstable events; but on another level, it reflects
an intelligent order, the image of a creator, seen as architect and
builder:

Aussi n'est-11 pas croyable que cette machine n'ait

quelques marques empreinctes de la main de ce grand

architecte, et qu'il n'y ait quelque image és choses

du monde raportant aucunement a l'ouvrier qui les a

basties et formées (424a).
As a creation, the world 23 branle is a unified whole, an object of
contemplation, though always beyond man's powers of comprehension:
"ce monde est un temple tressainct, dedans lequel l'homme est introduict
pour y contempler des statues" (424b), "une poésie oenigmatique“ . .

une peinture voilée et tenebreuse, entreluisant d'une infinie varieté

 

82

de faux jours a exercer nos conjectures" (II212, 518c). Serving man

as an instructive force, nature is frequently personified5 in the Essais
as "nostre mere nature" (1:26, 157a) or "un doux guide" (III:13, 1094b),
a voice which can reveal the unity of the cosmic order, "31 nous sommes
capables d'entendre" (424b). But nature's poetry is "oenigmatique,"

the painting is "voilée," and while Montaigne "queste partout sa piste,"
he finds that "nous l'avons confondue de traces artificielles" (III:13,
1094b).

That the paths of nature are never completely decipherable is
due not only to man's inadequacies, but also to the play of the unpre—
dictable force of chance, the role of fortune personified throughout
the Essais.6 "L'inconstance du bransle divers de la fortune fait
qu'elle nous doive presenter toute espece de visages" (1:34, 217a).

The intervening hand of fortune (1:24, 126a) and her various faces

are the manifestations of an invisible power which Montaigne transfers
into the image of wind: "selon que le vent des occasions nous emporte"
(IIzl, 316a), "Non seulement 1e vent des accidens me remue" (318b). In
the interaction of wind and fortune, movement is experienced as a
tangible force, not seen but felt. We witness not the actual branle

of wind/fortune, but its varying effects. Wind, like fortune, can be
gentle and beneficial or violent and harmful. Montaigne likens the
havoc wreaked by fortune to the destructive force of storms: "comme
les orages et tempestes se piquent contre l'orgueil et hautaineté de
nos bastimens, 11 y ait aussi 15 haut des esprits envieux des grandeurs

de 9a bas" (1:19, 78a). Here the comparison to the action of storms

 

 

and tempests qualifies the personification of fortune as "des esprits

envieux"——both images implying the extra—terrestial source of this
unwarranted force. Another metaphorical personification, "Les dieux
s'esbattent de nous a la pelote, et nous agitent a toutes mains"
(III:9, 937b), conveys the capricious turns of fortune as a game of
pelota in which the events of men and the world serve as balls tossed
among the gods for their amusement. Recognizing the unavoidability
of this force which moves us, beyond our volition and understanding,
Montaigne consents to be its "serviteur" (III:lZ, 1024b) and recognizes
its benevolent disposition to him: "Et suis homme, en outre, qui me
commets volontiers a la fortune at me laisse aller a corps perdu entre
ses bras. De quoy, jusques a cette heure, j'ay eu plus d'occasion de
me louEr que de me plaindre" (1038b). Montaigne's use of the word
fortune seems at times synonymous with his concept of nature as the
principle governing the movement and organization of the world. For
its suggestion that this order is random and irrational, an un—Christian
and Machiavellian concept, the word provoked objections from the Roman
censors.7 But ultimately, nature, for Montaigne, is the superior uni—
fying principle in the flow of movement which characterizes the world,
and fortune, the 'wind' of incalculable change impeding our perception
of an overriding unity.8

Montaigne's conception of life, "un mouvement inegal,
irregulier et multiforme" (III:3, 796b), grows out of his vision of

the world's harmonious diversity. Both find expression in a musical

image:

 

84

Nostre vie est composée, comme l'armonie du monde, de
choses contraires, aussi de divers tons, douz et aspres,
aigus et plats, mols et graves. Le musician qui n'en
aymeroit que les uns, que voudroit il dire? Il faut qu'il
s'en scache servir en commun et les mesler. Et nous aussi,
les biens et les maux, qui sont consubstantiels a nostre

vie (III:13, 1068b).
The analogy to the harmony of the world (what might be termed EBEHEEESS.
affaiblie) is developed into a more vivid metaphor through the-succes-
sion of antithetical qualities——"sweet and harsh, sharp and flat, soft
and loud"9--parallel to "les biens et les maux" of the tenor. Life
and music, "nous" and "1e musician," interact in the contrasting qual-
ities "consubstantiels" to each. Though not a frequent image in the
Essais,'° music is ideally suited to expressing Montaigne's concept of
life, for its essence derives from sounds in progressive movement.

Just as the musician introduces order and harmony into the
progression of "divers tons" to render them musical, we are charged with
ordering the events of our lives into a harmonious whole. "Mon mestier
et mon art, c'est vivre" (II:6, 359C). . . . "J'ay mis tous mes efforts
a former ma vie. Voyla mon mestier et mon ouvrage" (11:37, 764a). The

image of life as an art, a trade, is developed more concretely in the

following metaphorical sequence:11

[A] A qui n'a dressé en gros sa vie a une certaine fin, il
est impossible de disposer les actions particulieres. Il
est impossible de renger les pieces, a qui n'a une forme
du total en sa teste. [B] A quoy faire la provision des
couleurs, a qui ne scait ce qu'il a a peindre? [A] Aucun
ne fait certain dessain de sa vie, et n'en deliberons qu'a
parcelles. [C] L'archier doit premierement scavoir 08 11
vise, et puis y accommoder la main, l'arc, la corde, la
flesche et les mouvemens. [A] Nos conseils fourvoyent, par
ce qu'ils n'ont pas d'adresse et de but. [D] Nul vent fait
pour celuy qui n'a point de port destiné (11:1, 3203).

 

85

The passage illustrates well the progression by analogy which
characterizes the branle of Montaigne's thought and writing. The

tenor (A) interacts first with (B), then (C), then (D), three distinct
vehicles all contributing to the same metaphorical complex. The painter
and his colors, the archer and his bow, the sailor and wind, each
requires an object, a goal, in order to direct his movements. And

so we with the separate 'pieces' of our lives. The last image, "Nul
vent . . . port destiné," emphasizes life as movement in need of
purpose, life conceived as a voyage, an image densely incorporated

into the language of the Essais.12

Montaigne refers to life as "cet humain voyage" (III:3, 806b)
and to "1e voyage de ma vie" (III:9, 955b), looking upon life as a
passage, a movement in time through the physical life cycle. "Tous
les jours yon; a la mort" (1:20, 94c); "L'homme marche entier vers son
croist et vers son décroist" (III:2, 795b). The voyage image is one
which expresses man's submission to a movement over which he has no
control as well as his potential capacity to determine the directions
in which he_'travels.' 0n the larger plan it is nature who leads us
"d'une douce pente et comme insensible, pen a peu, de degré en degré,
elle nous roule dans ce miserable estat et nous y apprivoise" (1:20,
89b). Within nature's plan man can undertake a "certaine voie"
(11:1, 316a) if only he would set his mind to it, "mais nul n'y a
pensé. . . . Nostre facon ordinaire, c'est d'aller d'aprés les
inclinations de nostre apetit, a gauche, a dextre, contre-mont,

contra-bas" (ibid.). Man's voyage through life is characterized

 

as a walk, "trouble at chancelant, d'une yvresse naturelle" (111:2,

782b). And his staggering gait is not improved with his advance
through nature's cycle, for the aging process works to exaggerate

his unsteadiness: "Il feroit beau estre vieil si nous ne marchions

que vers l'amendement. C'est un mouvement d'yvroigne titubant,
vertigineux, informe, ou des jonchets que l'air manie casuellement
selon soy" (III:9, 94l~942c). The image of the drunken walk is allied
to the sway of reeds in the wind, a movement subject to exterior forces.
Lacking firmness of will and mind, man's gait fluctuates with the
designs of fortune and nature as well as with the inner branle of

"les inclinations de [son] apetit."

But there are possibilities for choice. Man may resist or
yield to the exterior and interior branles, quicken or slacken his
pace, and to some degree control his experience of life as movement.
Montaigne maintains that "11 faut courir 1e mauvais et ES rassoir au
bon" (III:13, 1091b), and he criticizes those "qui ne pensent point
avoir meilleur compte de leur vie que de la couler gt eschapper, de
la passer, gauchir, et, autant qu'il est en eux, ignorer et fgigfl
(1092b). The gestures of letting flow, escape, pass by, sidestep
and flee all contrast with the verb §e_rassoir. Rather than being
rushed along in the flow of universal movement, man can himself impose
stability, taking hold of the good, for life for Montaigne proves to be
"prisable et commode" as well as "perdable de sa condition" (ibid.).
Since the stability Montaigne experiences is an interior one, we shall
examine the form it takes in a later section dealing with the images

of the self.

 

87

The quality of life finds expression in images alternating
between an opposition and a concession to the movement of flow.
Consistent submission to the inner branle results in too unidirectional
a path, for life is "un mouvement inegal, irregulier et multiforme. Ce
n'est pas estre amy de soy et moins encore maistre, c'est en estre
esclave, de §e_suivre incessamment et estre si pris a ses inclinations
qu'on n'en puisse fourvoyer, qu'on ne les puisse tordre" (III:3, 796b).
And too masterful a control of exterior events (as in the case of power-
ful rulers) produces a flaccid facility devoid of any pleasure: "c'est
glisser, cela, ce n'est pas aller; c'est dormir, ce n'est pas vivre"
(111:7, 897b). The passive actions of sliding and sleeping emphasize
the active nature of aller and yiyre. To live, in the fullest sense,
is to pursue active, volitional movement. Yet, Montaigne praises "une
vie glissante, sombre et muette. . . . Je suis nay d'une famille qui
§_gggl§ sans esclat et sans tumulte" (III:10, 999b). He counsels those
caught between the warring parties of his time "de couler en eau trouble
sans y vouloir pescher" (111:1, 77lb), and again, "11 y a tant de
mauvais pas que pour le plus seur, il faut un peu legierement et
superficiallement couler ge_mgnde. (c) ll.l£.£§2£ glisser, non pas
S'y enfoncer" (III:9, 982b). The images of flowing and gliding take
on a positive, active force as a way of responding to the surface
fluctuation and turmoil of the world. Starobinski observes:

L'imagination dynamique de Montaigne ne connait pas seulement
1e mouvement—écoulement et le mouvement—geste: elle invente
leur résultante, un composé mixte ofi les deux experiences

contraires se melent et se confondent. . . . Le glissement

flexible est la forme achevée et heureuse du mouvement
composé. . . Ce n'est pfesque plus un acte: c'est un

glissement guidé. . . .

 

 

 

88

Whereas Montaigne would have us "se rassoir au bon," he advocates
gliding over troubled waters "sans y vouloir pescher," "non pas s'y
enfoncer." In contrast to the pejorative value of glisser in "c'est

" the metaphor becomes a meliorative

glisser, cela, ce n'est pas aller,
one in a different context, depending on the degree to which glisser
suggests a volitional movement.

The images of life as movement, life as a voyage, find their
completion in the corresponding images of death as "un port tresasseuré
. . . le bout de la fusée" (11:3, 331a). The maladies of old age are
"symptomes des longues années, £2EEE.§E§.12§$§ voyages 1a chaleur, les
pluyes et les vents" (III:13, 1067c). Indeed all maladies, even those
which doctors say "n'aller poinct dg_droict fil_a la mort" are fatal:
"Qu'importe s'i;§_y_y92£_p§£_accident, et s'ils glissent et gauchissent
ayséement yg£§_l§_y9yg qui nous y meine" (III:13, 1070b). Death is the
ultimate voyage, the one to which the "long chemin" (11:37, 737a) of
life leads; and we prepare Ourselves for death as for a journey:
"plions bagage; prenons de bonne heure congé de la compaignie" (1:39,
236a).

Montaigne conceives of death as "une profondeur muette et
obscure, qui [1'] engloutit d'un saut et accable en un instant d'un
puissant sommeil" (III:9, 949b). The approximation of death to sleep
as a passage into a state of unconsciousness, "une profondeur muette
et obscure," is more than a literary metaphor for Montaigne. It

represents his personal experience on the occasion of the fall from

his horse, described in "De l'exercitation:"

 

 

89

11 me sembloit que ma vie ne me tenoit plus qu'au bout des
lévres; je fermois les yeux pour ayder, ce me sembloit, a
la pousser hors, et prenois plaisir a m'alanguir et 5:23
laisser aller. C'estoit une imagination qui ne faisoit
que nager superficiellement en mon ame, aussi tendre et
aussi foible que tout le reste, mais a la verité non
seulement exempte de desplaisir, ains meslée a cette
douceur que sentent ceux qui §g_laissent glisser au
sommeil (II:6, 354a). . . .

Je mg_laissgy couler si doucement et d'une fagon si
douce et si aisée que je ne sens guiere autre action moins
poisante que celle-la estoit (357a).

 

 

 

 

We are struck by the recurring verbs conveying the composite motion of

a "glissement guide." The action of allowing oneself to aller, glisser,

 

couler into unconsciousness is experienced as a pleasurable sensation,
and Montaigne states "C'eust esté sans mentir une mort bien heureuse"
(357a). Though his perception of his slipping into unconsciousness is

"une imagination qui ne faisoit que nager superficiellement en mon ame,"

 

his grasp of the situation permits him a sense of participation in the

élan which carries him toward the sleeplike state. The ideal death for

n14

Montaigne would be "une mort agie, one permitting "a voir escouler

 

la vie pen a pen" (11:13, 591a). The mastery of consciousness over
its own descent into oblivion appears to be the final victory in the
struggle to take possession of one's elusive and fluid life.

The experience of movement in Montaigne is both an internal and

 

external one. To the inner branle of life's flow toward death is joined
the impetus of human institutions determined by custom and usage, taking
shape in the Essais in images of flow and metamorphosis. The laws of
the country are "cette mer flotante des opinions d'un peuple ou d'un

Prince, qui me peindront 1a justice d'autant de couleurs et la

 

 

90

reformeront en autant de visages qu'il y aura en eux de changemens
de passion" (11:12, 563a). The image of an 'undulating sea' conveys
an impression of a precarious mobility, reinforced in the ensuing image
of vacillation—-the portrait of justice painted in as many colors and
redone with as many faces as there are whims in the lawmakers. Custom
is also the arbiter in matters of philosophy and les sciences humaines
which metamorphose according to usage:

on ne regarde plus ce que les monnoyes poisent et valent,

mais chacun a son tour les recoit selon 1e pris que

1'approbation commune et le cours leur donne. 0n ne'

plaide pas de l'alloy, mais de l'usage: ainsi se mettent

égallement toutes choses (11:12, 542a).
From the context the reader understands the monetary image to correspond
to the value of doctrines in all fields of learning. The image is
first developed in some detail: weight and quality of metal are
ignored in determining the value of coins, common approbation and
currency decide the rate of exchange; the last phrase, "ainsi se
mettent, . . ." relates the vehicle back to the tenor, concluding
the analogy as an express simile.15

Man's relationship to custom is a passive one: "1a coustume et

l'usage de la vie commune nous emporte. La plus part de nos actions se
conduisent par exemple, non par chois" (111:5, 830b). This idea is
further concretized in images of custom as a river:

[A] Aprés la premiere qui part, les opinions s'entrepoussent

suivant lg vent [B] comme les flotz (III:10, 99lc). [A] Les

loix prennent leur authorité de la possession et de l'usage;

il est dangereux de les ramener a leur naissance; elles

grossissent g; s'ennoblissent en roulant, [B] comme nos

rivieres; [C] suyvez les contremont jusques a leur source,

ce n'est qu'un petit surjon d'eau a peine reconnoissable,

qui s'enorgueillit ainsi et se fortifie en vieillissant.

Voyez les anciennes considerations qui ont donne le premier
branle 5 cc fameux torrent . . . (II:12, 567a).

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

91

In both instances, what begins as a verb metaphor (A) is given precise
expression in the simile (B). The second passage continues the image
still further with a metaphorical development (C) which pursues the
movement to its source. Montaigne's ideas on law and custom expand

and take shape in terms of his developing image. Beginning as 'un

' a simple dictum "s'enorgueillit . . . et se

petit surjon d'eau,'
fortifie" with usage, growing into "ce fameux torrent" which carries
everything in its wake.

Man's own freedom of movement is hampered by the force of
custom. Montaigne speaks of "la barriere de la coustume, [qui] a
soigneusement bgidé toutes nos avenues" (1:36, 221a). In this context,
custom is viewed in its fixity yig é yig individual endeavor. Elsewhere
it is seen as a "masque" (1:23, 116a) "[qui] nous desrobbe le vrai
visage des choses" (115a), for the true face of things is mobile,
changing, incompatible with the rigidity of custom. But in its manner
of operation, custom is an active and aggressive power: "1e principal
effect de sa puissance, c'est de nous saisir et empieter de telle sorte,
qu'a peine soit-i1 en nous de nous r'avoir de sa prinse" (ll4a)--a
personified force which takes us unaware in its fixed and determined
hold.

The state and society are embodied in the Essais in images of
a whole of parts fortuitously joined and constituting a precariously
stable entity: "la société des hommes se tient et se coust, a quelque
pris que ce soit" (III:9, 933b); "La necessité compose les hommes et

les assemble. Cette cousture fortuite se forme aprés en loix" (934b);

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

92

"une police, c'est comme un bastiment de diverses pieces joinctes
ensemble, d'une telle liaison, qu'il est impossible d'en esbranler
une que tout le corps ne s'en sente" (1:23, 118a). The traditional
analogy of the state to a building16 provides Montaigne with a vivid
means of expressing the danger of corruption he witnesses in his times:
"Ce sont erreurs superficielles, mais pourtant de mauvais prognostique;
et sommes advertis que le massif se desment, quand nous voyons fendiller
l'enduict et la crouste de nos parois" (1:43, 26lb). What might appear
to be but a 'crack in the wall' is indicative of a weakness in the
solid masonry structure. Viewing the structure of the state with the
eye of a cautious architect, Montaigne expresses his political con-
servatism.as a policy of preventive maintenance:
Rien ne presse un estat que l'innovation: . . . Quand

quelque piece se démanche, on peut l'estayer. . . . Mais

d'entreprendre a refondre une si grande masse et a changer

les fondements d'un si grand bastiment, c'est a faire a

ceux (c) qui pour descrasser effacent, (b) qui veulent

amender les deffauts particuliers par une confusion

universelle (III:9, 935b).
A sagging edifice can be supported much more readily than it can be
rebuilt. There is progress in remedying "les deffauts particuliers"
of society but none in demolishing the whole and attempting to lay
a totally new foundation. This is true for Montaigne because he
maintains a belief in the basic stability of the state. Though
it is subject to branle,

Tout ce qui branle ne tombe pas. La contexture d'un 31

grand corps tient a plus d'un clou. Il tient mesme par son

antiquité; comme les vieux bastimens, ausquels l'aage a

desrobé 1e pied, sans crouste et sans cyment, qui pourtant
vivent et se soustiennent en leur propre poix (III:9, 938b).

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

93

What has weight and solidity offers resistance to movement and change,
and it is to these qualities in the state that Montaigne looks for an
equilibrium in the external branle of his world.

A frequent metaphor of the state in the Essais is that of the
human body. The image of a living organism brings into play the active
functioning of parts within the vital whole and the polarities of
sickness and health. Witness to the social, political and religious
upheavals of sixteenth—century France, Montaigne portrays her as a sick
body replete with "mauvaises humeurs" (11:23, 663a), "ces humeurs
peccantes" (664a), which maintain her in a state of fiebvre so grave
as to threaten her ruin. Left unchecked, the infectious disease spreads
to contaminate the entire body: "En ces maladies populaires, on peut
distinguer sur le commencement les sains des malades; mais quand elles
viennent a durer, comme la nostre, tout le corps s'en sent, et la teste
et les talons" (111:12, 1018b). The ensuing wars intended to purge
France of her corruption prove to aggravate the illness rather than
alleviate it, for they work as a dangerously poisonous medicine:

les humgurs qu'elle’vouloit purger en nous, elle les a
eschaufees, exasperees et aigries par le conflict, et 31
nous est demeuree dans la corps. Elle n'a sceu nous purger
par sa foiblesse, et nous a cependant affoiblis, en maniere
que nous ne la pouvons vuider non plus, et ne recevons de
iggbgperation que des douleurs longues et intestines (1:23,

Opposed to the wars, Montaigne objects to "une drogue si mortelle"

(111:12, 1019b); his conservative political stance questions the

 

 

 

 

94

revolutionaries who seek to "guarir les maladies par la mort"
(III:9, 935b). The richly developed medical images interlock with
the architectural metaphors in shaping Montaigne's political vision.
Just as he expressed confidence in the capacity of a sturdy building
to withstand deterioration, he recognizes the potential of a living
organism to survive the ravages of disease:

Nostre police se porte mal; i1 en a esté pourtant de

plus malades sans mourir" (III:9, 937b). . . .

Qui scait si Dieu voudra qu'il en advienne comme des

corps qui se purgent et remettent en meilleur estat par

longues et griefves maladies, lesquelles leur rendent

une santé plus entiere et plus nette que celle qu'elles

leur avoient osté? (939b).
While the building image conveys the sense of weight and stability
Montaigne attributes to political and social institutions, the body
image allows for the tumultuous branle at work within the structure
and for the hope of progress in the organic healing process.

Still another image of the state and social institutions, that
of a moving vehicle, enters into Montaigne's political conceptions.
Confronted with the dangers of radical social change, he would like to
"planter une cheville a nostre roué et l'arrester en ce point" (11:17,
639a) for fear of where the rolling wheel will take him. Recalling the
image of the world where "toutes choses vont coulant et roulant sans

cesse,"

the wheel metaphor stresses the forceful momentum of social
movements. In this perspective, the nation itself is conceived as a
"Pauvre vaisseau, que les flots, les vents et le pilote tirassent a si

contraires desseins!" (III:10, 994b). The forces assailing the ship

come not only from within: "Peu de vaisseaux fondent de leur propre

 

 

 

95

poix et sans violence estrangere" (III:9, 938b). But again, as with
the building and body metaphors, the image functions to express
Montaigne's confidence in the strength of the state to survive its
tempestuous passage. To both the Prince piloting the ship and the
people carried along by it, Mentaigne urges faith in the designs of
Providence: "Ainsi comme ainsi, nous faut il souvent, comme a la
derniere ancre, remettre 1a protection de nostre vaisseau a la pure
conduitte du ciel" (111:1, 778b); "Heureux peuple . . . qui se
laisse mollement rouler aprés le roulement celeste" (11:17, 639-640c).
The ship image situates the branle of the state in the larger context

of the roulement universel, and man takes his post as a voyager on the

 

vessel, carried along by the roll of historic events.

Man himself is viewed in the Essais as "un subject merveilleuse-
ment vain, divers et ondoyant" (1:1, 133). His unstable and fluctuating
nature takes shape in images of a piecemeal assembly, lacking solidity
and unification. "L'homme, en tout et par tout, n'est que rapiessement
et bigarrure" (11:20, 656b). "Nous sommes tous des lopins et d'une
contexture si informe et diverse, que chaque piece, chaque momant,
faict son jeu" (11:1, 321a). "Nostre faict, ce ne sont que pieces
rapportées" (320a). As in a mosaic, each piece contributes to the
vision of the whole, and the more pieces brought together, the more
complete the total image. Knowledge of an individual and knowledge
of man in general ("la forme entiere de l'humaine condition") is built

upon the accumulation of particular observations and experiences.

 

 

 

96

Montaigne's frequent inclusion of historical and personal anecdotes

in the Essais functions to actualize this patchwork conception. The
essayist decries the tendency in many good writers "de s'opiniastrer

a former de nous une constante et solide contexture" (11:1, 315b), for
"Qui en jugeroit en destail (c) et distinctement piece a piece, (b)
rencontreroit plus souvent a dire vray" (316b). Nevertheless, certain
images of man in Montaigne disclose the possibility of a harmonious
whole, of parts functioning in well-tuned unison. Such is the descrip—
tion of the younger Cato, whom Montaigne singles out as a man of
extraordinary virtue: "qui en a touché une marche, a tout touché;
c'est une harmonie de sons trés—accordans, qui ne se peut démentir"
(317C). And such is the image of the truly educated man who has
successfully integrated learning and experience: "Comme en un concert
d'instruments, on n'oit pas un lut, une espinette et la flutte, on oyt
une harmonie en globe, l'assemblage et le fruict de tout cet amas"
(111:8, 909C). The analogy to music which had expressed the harmonious
movement of life and the world17 again suggests a unifying principle in
the piecemeal assembly which is man.

Unlike Cato and the sage, most men fail to achieve the
integration of exterior and interior being which constitutes a
harmonious life. They present to the world a fixed surface appearance
which is an unfaithful representation of their real selves. Montaigne
shows this dichotomy in man's public and private identity through his

18

various images of dedans g5 dehors. Seeing men in their social roles

as "joueurs de comedie" (1:42, 252a), Montaigne requires us to penetrate

 

 

 

 

 

97

"derriere 1e rideau" (2533). The idea in the theatrical metaphor finds
numerous forms of expression:

ce ne sont pourtant que peintures (252C).

c'est le pris de l'espée que vous cherchez, non de le-

guaine. . . . L§_b§§g_n'est pas de l§_statue. Mesurez

1e sans eschaces; . . . qu‘il se presente gg_chemise
(1:42, 251a).

 

[Nous] lofions un cheval de ce qu'il est vigoureux e;
adroit, . . . non de son harnois (ibid.).

 

 

nous nous tenons aux branches et abandonnons lg tronc
et le_corps (11:17, 615a).

leur devoir est le marc, leur honneur n'est que l'escorce
(11:16, 614a).

chacun peut faire bonne mine par lg_dehors, plein £3
dedans de fiebvre_g£ d'effroy (11:16, 609a).

 

 

11 y en a de qui l'or coulle §_gros bouillons par des lieux
sousterreins, imperceptiblement; d'autres l'estandent tout
en lames et en feuilles (III:9, 932-933b).

 

 

 

Each of the images provides the reader with an implied or explicit
contrast, juxtaposing the superficial with what is the true measure of
a man's worth. The range of vehicles in cooperation with the same
tenor illustrates Montaigne's dexterous imagination in operation.
"Tant8t de telle facon, tant8t de telle autre,"19 his idea seeks out
new metaphors in a continual process of concretization. A given con-
cept, the relationship of surface to substantial content, is not fixed
in a specific image (which through repetition would become a symbol),
nor is a given image restricted solely to one idea. Interacting in

a multiplicity of combinations, idea and image demonstrate the mobile

process of Montaigne's 'incarnational' thinking.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

98

Looking beyond the roles and exterior coverings which man dons,
Montaigne evaluates man by his conduct. Beneath the pretensions and
ostentation, he finds that "les hommes ne s'enflent que de vent, et se
manient 5 bonds, comme les balons" (111:12, 1014b).. The wind image
communicates the idea of empty and weightless content; to it is joined
the image of a bouncing, erratic movement, finally concretized in the
analogy to "balons." As so frequently in Montaigne, the initial image
suggests a further development which serves to expand the abstract
concept as well as the image itself. Another wind-image passage shows
this same tendency in a more extensive development:

[A] Moy qui me vante d'embrasser si curieusement les

commoditez de la vie, et si particulierement, n'y trouve

quand j'y regarde ainsi finement, a peu pres que du yggg.

[B] Mais quoy, nous sommes par tout vent. [C] Et le vent

encore, plus sagement que nous, s'ayme a bruire, a s'agiter,

et se contente en ses propres offices, [D] sans desirer la

stabilité, 1a solidité, qualitez non siennes (III:13, 1087b).
From the first image of the pleasures of life being no more than wind
or emptiness (A), Montaigne applies the metaphor to man in all his
undertakings (B), then elaborates on the vehicle, wind, in its pro-
pensity to agitating movement (C), and finally contrasts man and wind
by pointing to their marked difference (D). Man is like the wind in
his emptiness and agitation, but distinct from it in his desire not to
be so. His very presumption to be other than what he is reverts to the
same image of weightless unsubstantiality: "11 semble . . . que nature,
pour la consolation de nostre estat miserable et chetif, ne nous ait

donné en partage que la presomption. . . . Nous n'avons que du vent et

de la fumée en partage" (11:12, 468a). Closely allied to the metaphor

 

 

99

of presumption as wind, or smoke, is the image of gloire as a shadow:
"Elle va aussi quelque fois daVant son corps, et quelque fois l'excede
de beaucoup en longueur" (11:16, 605C). Wind, smoke and the shadow
all point to the lack of stability and solidity in man's projected
images of himself, for these remain "qualitez non siennes."

Man's inclinations to shape himself in multifarious ways are
conceived in images of metamorphosis. He adapts to his environment
"comme une herbe transplantée en solage fort divers a la condition, se
conforme bien plustost a iceluy qu'elle ne 1e reforme a soy" (III:9,
970c). The plant image echoes the analogy "[Nous] changeons comme cet
animal qui prend 1a couleur du lieu ofi on 1e couche" (11:1, 316a),
illustrating the concept of a tendency to accommodation taking prece-
dence over any fixed identity. A still more serious metamorphic process
threatens man's being from within. His mind is subject to deterioration
with the advent of age or through the stultification of rigorous
routine. This interior metamorphosis is expressed in images of
molding and fermentation: "at ne se void poinct d'ames, ou fort rares,
qui en vieillissant ne sentent a l'aigre at an moisi" (111:2, 795b);
"Un jeune homme doit troubler ses regles pour esveiller sa vigueur,
1a garder de moisir et s'apoltronir" (III:13, 1061b). Drawing upon
the metamorphic processes in nature, Montaigne gives physical density
to the interior and exterior changes in man's undulatory existence.

The metamorphic images of man's nature connect with the
portrayal of life as a voyage on which man advances with a staggering

gait.20 Our indecisiveness renders our travels erratic and wayward.

 

 

 

100

"Nous flottons entre divers advis" (11:1, 317c). The image of 'floating'
implies movement lacking direction, subject to the climate of external
circumstances: "Nous n'allons pas; on nous emporte, comme les choses
qui flottent, ores doucement, ores avecques violence, selon que l'eau
est ireuse ou bonasse" (316a). Montaigne contrasts the movement of
yielding to the current of exterior forces with the action of resisting
the flow and directing one's energies inward: "Nous allons en avant a
vau l'eau, mais de rebrousser vers nous nostre course, c'est un mouve-
ment penible: la mer se brouille et s'empesche ainsi quand elle est
repoussée a soy" (III:9, 979b). Running counter to man's propensity
toward fluid movement, the act of introspection demands a conscious and
vigorous effort, vividly plasticized in the metaphor of water's forceful
resistance to being held back.

The impulse of the branle to which man is subject is always
ailleurs, away from himself. "En toutes choses les hommes se jettent
aux appuis estrangers pour espargner les propres, seuls certains et
seuls puissans, qui scait s‘en armer. Chacun court ailleurs et a
l'advenir, d'autant que nul n'est arrive a soy" (111:12, 1022c).

In a passage from "De mesnager sa volonté," Montaigne develops this
idea through a succession of interlocking metaphors:
[A] Les hommes se donnent a louage. Leurs facultez ne sont
pas pour eux, elles sont pour ceux a qui ils s'asservissent;
leurs locataires sont chez eux, ce ne sont pas eux. Cette
humeur commune ne me plaict pas: i1 faut mesnager 1a
liberté de nostre ame et ne l'hypothequer qu'aux occasions
justes; lesquelles sont en bien petit nombre, si nous
jugeons sainement (III:10, 981b). . . .

[B] 113 ne cherchent la besongne que pour embesongnement.
Ce n'est pas qu'ils vueillent aller tant comme c'est qu'ils

 

 

 

101

ne se peuvent tenir, ne plus ne moins qu'une pierre

esbranlée en sa cheute, qui ne s'arreste jusqu'a tant

qu'elle se couche (981c). . . .

[C] Leur esprit cerche son repos au branle, comme

les enfans au berceau. . . . [D] Personne ne distribue

son argent a autruy, chacun y distribue son temps et sa

vie (981b).
First viewing man‘s pursuit of involvement outside himself in terms
of a commercial enterprise (A), Montaigne likens man‘s occupations to
'giving oneself for hire,‘ selling oneself to slavery. The other, in
such relationships, becomes one's 'tenant' and takes possession of him,
dislodging the true self. Man's inner freedom is conceived spatially
as a place to be carefully managed and 'mortgaged' only on rare,
deserving occasions. Several lines down, (B) Montaigne compares the

pursuit of "business only for busyness"21

to the impetus of a falling
stone, a movement propelled forward by its own weight and momentum,
much like the rush of water in images discussed earlier. The inherent
attraction in the branle to which men give themselves is subsequently
seen as the pacifying effect of a cradle's rocking (C) and then again
put to question in the monetary image at the end of the passage (D).

Taking the passage as a whole, we see that Montaigne begins and ends

with commercial images exposing the waste of man's embesongnement,

 

while the middle images exhibit man's urgent drive to s'embesongger.

 

The progression of thought, making its way through the successive
analogies, oscillates between judgment (A and D) and observation
(B and C).

Part of man's impulsion to branle is imposed on him from

without by the pressures of society: "La plus part des reigles et

 

 

102

preceptes du monde prennent ce train de nous pousser hors d§_nous

 

et chasser 2g 13 plegg, a l'usage de la societé publique" (III:10,
983b). Montaigne interprets-this coercion as a means of preventing

an exaggerated self-centeredness, and he illustrates this 'corrective'
pressure with gestures of physical rectification: "ils representent
l'art des archiers qui, pour arriver au point, vont prenant leur visée
grande espace au-dessus de la bute. Pour dresser un bois courbe on 1e
recourbe au rebours"22 (983b). But rather than overshooting one's mark,
or bending in the opposite direction-~movements directed away from the
central self—-Montaigne advises that we project our gaze directly
inward and search out the inner forces of motivation pressing upon

us: "il faut sonder jusqu'au dedans, et voir par quels ressors se
donne le branle" (11:1, 321a). The 'springs' for Montaigne "figurent

"23

l'image du mouvement allant du dedans au dehors. They represent the

passions and desires determining man's irregular and multi-dimensional
movement in life.

Montaigne describes the operation of the passions in terms of
the sixteenth- and seventeenth-century "medicine of humors."2“ While
the scientists seemed to take the theory quite literally, Montaigne
manipulates it as a metaphoric model:

11 faut considerer comme nos ames se trouvent souvent
agitées de diverses passions. Et tout ainsi qu'en nos

corps ils disent qu'il y a une assemblée de diverses humeurs,
desquelles celle 15 est maistresse qui commande le plus
ordinairement en nous, selon nos complexions: aussi, en

nos ames, bien qu‘il y ait divers mouvemens qui l'agitent,
si faut-il qu'il y en ait un a qui 1e champ demeure. Mais
ce n'est pas avec si entier avantage que, pour la volubilité
et soupplesse de nostre ame, les plus foibles par occasion
ne regaignent encor 1a place et ne facent une courte charge
a leur tour (1:38, 229-230a).

 

 

103

Comparing, not identifying, the movement of humors in the body and

the agitation of passions in the soul, Montaigne depicts the soul as

a spatial entity to which various passions lay siege. The strongest
maintains domination, though lesser passions too take possession-~"pour
la volubilité et soupplesse de.nostre ame." The image posits a separa—
tion between man and his passions, making them easier to identify and
hence easier to control. Self—study seeks out the advent of these
movements: "Si chacun espioit de prés les effects et circonstances

des passions qui 1e regentent . . . il les verroit venir, et ralantiroit
un peu leur impetuosité et leur course. Elles ne nous sautent pas
tousjours au colet d'un prinsaut; i1 y a de la menasse et des degretz"
(III:13, 1051—1052b). Control ofpassions demands early perception of
the initial branle so we can avert their entry and possession: "Qui
n'arreste 1e partir n'a garde d'arrester la course. Qui ne scait leur
fermer la porte ne les chassera pas entrées" (III:10, 994b).

The movement of the passions is experienced as a force
dominating our higher faculties. Fear and anger especially work to
upset the performance of judgment--"et disent les medecins qu'il n'en
est aucune [passion other than fear] qui emporte plustost nostre

jugement hors g§_§§_deue assiette" (1:18, 74a); "11 n'est passion

 

qui esbranle tant la sincerité des jugemens que la colere" (11:31,
692a). The effect of the passions on us is seen to precipitate or
inhibit our actions. Fear is figured in familiar images of speed and

fixation: "Tantost elle nous donne des aisles aux talons . . . tantost

 

elle nous clone les pieds et les entrave" (1:18, 75a). The effect of

 

 

 

 

104

sadness is "de nous sentir saisis, transis, et comme perclus de tous
mouvemens" (1:2, 16a). Anger, called an arm to virtue and bravery by
Aristotle, is regarded as "un arme de nouvel usage: car nous remuons
les autres armes, cette £y_222§_remue; nostre main ne 1a guide pas,

c'est elle qgi guide nostre main" (11:31, 698a).25 Jealousy and

 

ambition, too, are personified as forces dominating our movements:
"Lorsque 1a jalousie saisit ces pauvres ames foibles et sans resistance,
c'est pitié comme elle les tirasse et tyrannise cruellement" (111:5,
842b); of Caesar's ambition Montaigne concludes that "elle tenoit lg

timon_g£ lg gouvernail de toutes ses actions" (11:33, 7113). Not a

 

physiologist, Montaigne is not in a position to demonstrate scientifi-
cally the operation of the passions; but through the repetition of

images showing man as the object of passion's manipulation-~"un arme

[qui . . .] nous remue, elle nous clofie les pieds, elle tenoit 1e
timon"--he manages to illustrate the power of the ressors playing so
central a role in the shaping of our lives.

The image most commonly associated with passion is that of the
flame or fire for it communicates the sensation of heat and burning we
experience inwardly. Something felt, passion is best expressed through
the sense of touch. Montaigne uses the fire image to_show passion's
destructive force: "Ce feu [anger] estourdit et consomme leur force"
(III:10, 985a), and to illustrate how desire feeds on the challenge of
obstacles, "Car 11 se sent evidemment, comme 1e feu se picque a

l'assistance du froid, que nostre volonté s'esguise aussi par le

contraste" (11:15, 596a). Joined to the fire images are other

 

105

sensations of touch in images of sharpness, tickling and pricking.
Montaigne speaks of "des pointures de la peur" (1:18, 76c) and the
"poincte" of passions which is better directed outwards, released,
than turned inward against oneself (11:31, 697b). A pleasurable
passion, however, in particular that of impassioned love, is to be
savoured in its qualities of sharpness and burning. In contrast to
marital love, "un plaisir plat," Montaigne speaks of passionate love
as a pleasure "plus chatouillant, plus vif et plus aigu; un plaisir
attize par la difficulté. 11 y faut de la piqueure et de la cuison.
Ce n'est plus l'amour s'il est sans fleches et sans feu" (111:5, 831b).
Love is a sensation experienced in its movement, in the consuming flame
of desire and the cutting point of desire's unappeased appetite. The
satisfaction of desire, which man knows in marriage, "esmousse lg.
poincte de l'affection et du desir" (ibid.). Once the point of the
blade is dulled, it loses its sharpness and no longer produces the
same cutting sensation. The passion of love for Montaigne moves
toward its own extinction in its quest to satisfy desire:

Car ce mesme chatouillement §£.esguisement qui se rencontre

en certains plaisirs . . . cette volupte active, mouvante,

et, je ne scay comment, cuisante g£_mordante, celle 15 mesme

ne vise qu'a l'indolence comme a son but. L'appetit qui nous

ravit a l'accointance des femmes, i1 ne cherche qu'a chasser

la peine que nous apporte le desir ardent et furieux (11:12,
473a).

 

Pleasure is paradoxically experienced in terms of pain—-"cuisante et
mordante," and finds its existence in the active movement toward its

own cancellation.

 

 

 

106

If it is from within that man experiences the commanding branle
of the passions, their piqueure and bruleure, it is most often through
external phenomena that these inner sensations are provoked. For
Thibaudet, "la piqfire exprime toujours chez Montaigne 1e contact

inattendu et vif avec le dehors."26

When the essayist refers to the
annoyances of petty household worries, he calls them "vaines pointures"
and "ces espines domestiques" (111:9, 927b). But while these sensations
may be stimulated from without, they are experienced internally and
sharpened by our own awareness: "11 est aisé a voir ce qui aiguise

en nous 1a douleur et la volupté, c'est la pointe de nostre esprit"

(1:14, 57c). Mediated by l'imagination and.l§_fantaisie, external

 

phenomena will affect us more or less according to the way in which

we perceive them. The imagination is a force which moves us much as
do the passions; indeed, it stirs up the passions themselves and can
even produce actual physical effects: "Nous tressuons, nous tremblons,
nous pallissons et rougissons aux secousses de nos imaginations, et

renversez dans la plume sentons nostre corps agité filleur bransle,

 

quelques—fois jusques 5 en expirer" (1:21, 95-96a).~ As with the
passions, we find ourselves manipulated by the force of the imagination:
"Chacun en est heurté, mais aucuns en sont renversez" (95c). And the
immediate experience of imagination's assault is expressed in images

of pricking and stabbing: "Son impression me pgggg? (ibid.); "11 est
impossible que d'arrivée nous ne sentions des pigueures de telles

imaginations" (1:20, 86a).

 

 

 

 

107

Throughout our discussion of the images of man gg_branle, the
passages cited show a density of verb metaphors. Man is heurté and
renverse by his imagination, emporte, esbranlé, remue by his passions.

The passions are seen to venir, ralentir, sauter d'un prinsaut and

 

social constraints to "nous pousser hors de nous et chasser en la

 

place." The living of our lives is expressed in verb images of running,
floating, being carried along, and throwing ourselves forward. A verb
metaphor functions in a special manner, to be distinguished from images
created through nouns. Brooke-Rose explains that "the chief difference
between the noun metaphor and the verb metaphor is one of explicitness.
With the noun, A is called B, more or less clearly according to the
link. But the verb changes one noun into another by implication. And

it does not explicitly 'replace' another action.27

She goes on to show
that the four—termed relationship in Aristotle's 'A is to B as C is to
D,’ understood to be the structure underlying all metaphors, expands
into a six—termed relationship when the metaphor is created through a
verb. In Montaigne's "Nous flottons entre divers advis," the verb

8 The structure

flotter, by implication, changes nous into a ship.2
resulting from the implied metaphor is that we (A) are to a ship (B)

as divers advis (C) are to the sea (D). But it also compares the action

 

of making judgments (E) to the action of sailing or floating (F). While
the noun metaphor men/ship is an implied one, the interaction between
tenor and vehicle is actually more explicit, for the metaphor is
expressed in terms of the interaction, the verb flotter. As such,

the metaphor is more immediate, more direct. The noun metaphor links

 

 

108

two terms through certain shared qualities or attributes, or even
modes of action, by a process of abstracting a particular quality,
attribute or action from the complex network comprising a specific
noun.29 We and the ship are alike in one respect, but distinct in
many others. But a verb, as Brooke—Rose points out, does not lend
itself to the same sort of abstraction of components: "Its full meaning
depends on the noun with which it is used, and can only be decomposed
into a species of itself, according to the noun with which it is asso—
ciated."30 The full meaning of flotter applies to both the ship and
men, altering slightly and extending its meaning so as to seem natural
with each noun. A ship floats, that is floats on water; men float,

that is float among divers advis. The verb's "adaptability to the noun

 

is so great that its relationship to it is direct, and much stronger

":31

than its relationship to the action it is 'replacing. In "nous

" the reader is less likely to contrast

flottons entre divers advis,
the action of making judgments with the action of floating than to
attribute directly the action of flotter to BEBE: And the implied
comparison of men to a ship or to anybody floating on the surface of
water is less weighty than the relationship of the concept 'flotter'

to the subject, nous. The verb metaphors in Montaigne can be duly

regarded as the metaphors of movement par excellence, for they strongly

 

and directly shape the movements in which man §g_branle engages and to
which he is subject. Couler, glisser, rouler, chanceler, choper all
contribute to concretize and hence sensualize the realization that

"Nostre vie n'est que mouvement."

 

 

 

 

109

The metaphors of movement, be they noun or verb metaphors,
frequently suggest a spatial conception of man's spiritual life in
that movement is conceived to occur within a spatial context. The
onset of the passions is expressed as their entry into the spatial
domain of the self: "Qui ne scait leur fermer la porte ne les chassera
pas entrées" (III:10, 994c).7 Vice, toward which the passions may very

well push us, is seen as logé, enraciné and ancré gg_nous (111:2, 785b)

 

when it becomes habitual. Beyond the image of the self as a spatial
recipient, there develops the iconography of a course of life pursued

in figurative terms of linear spatiality. The irresoluteness of most
lives zigzags along a path "a gauche, a dextre, contre—mont, contra-bas"
(11:1, 316a), while the opposite, too resolute a life, proceeds "de se

" so controlled by a fixed temperament "qu'on n'en

suivre incessamment,
puisse fourvoyer" (III:3, 796C). Calculating and measuring movement
with respect to the central self, Montaigne traces the path of virtue
and sagesse in terms of a circular movement. "La grandeur de l'ame
n'est pas tant tirer a mont et tirer avant comme sgavoir §g_ranger g£_
circonscrire" (III:13, 1090c); "La carriere de nos desirs doit estre
circonscripte et restraincte a un court limite des commoditez les plus
proches et contigfies; et doit en outre leur course se manier, 222.22.
pliggg droite qui face bout ailleurs, mais eg_£ggd, duquel les deux
pointes se tiennent et terminent en nous par un bref contour" (III:10,
988b). Through images of the 'lines' traced by movement, Montaigne

illustrates the values he ascribes to the diversified patterns of

behavior observed in human existence. Lines directed upward and

 

 

 

110

outward, like the gesture of the archer overshooting his mark,32
express the erroneous impulsion of the branle away from the self.
But the path of a circle traces a line on which each point is
equidistant from a fixed center, a movement gauged in relationship
to the central self.

A network of images of heights and depths33 introduces vertical
dimension into the figurative space in which Montaigne conceives the
movement of life. The attainment of exceptional virtue takes the
direction of an ascent to rarefied heights--"Je veux prendre l'homme

'ggngg plus haute assiete. Considerons 1e en ce petit nombre d'hommes

 

excellens et triez qui, ayant esté douez d'une belle et particuliere

force naturelle, . . . l'ont montée 33 plus haut pginct (c) de sagesse

 

(a) 05 elle puisse atteindre" (11:12, 4813). What is viewed to be
'high' must be seen in relationship to something 'lower.' Montaigne
measures height with respect to his own 'earthbound' position: "Rampant
au limon de la terre, je ne laisse pas de remerquer, jusques dans les
nués, la hauteur inimitable d'aucunes ames heroiques" (1:37, 2253).

The ordinary man might occasionally attain exceptional heights, but

he does so with a staccato gesture which interrupts the rhythm and
level of his natural movement: "Quand nous arrivons 3 ces saillies
Stoiques . . . qui ne juge que ce sont boutées d'un courage eslancé
hors de son giste? Nostre ame pg sgauroit g§_son siege atteindre g}.
hgggf (11:12, 329-3303); "11 nous eschoit 3 nous mesmes . . . d'eslancer
par fois nostre ame, esveillée par les discours ou exemples d'autruy,

bien loing au—de13 gg_son ordinaire" (11:29, 6833). Such saillies

 

 

 

 

 

111

break through the circumscribed movement in harmony with oneself and
are not to be confused with "une resolue et constante habitude" (ibid.).

Since most men are capable of ascending to the 'heights' of
extraordinary virtue on only very rare occasions, a virtuous life, for
the ordinary man, must be conceived at a level more naturally accessible
to him. Montaigne proposes the life of Socrates "[qui] faict mouvoir

son ame d'gg mouvement naturel §£_commun" (111:12, 1013b) as an example

 

of virtue to which we might realistically aspire: "11 fut aussi tous-
jours 23L§£_pareil{gghgg-monta, non par saillies mais par complexion,
au dernier poinct de vigueur. Ou, pour mieux dire, il Eg_monta rien,

mais ravala plustost et ramena a son point originel et naturel et lui

 

soubmit la vigueur, les aspretez et les difficultez" (1014b). Rather
than darting forth to encounter obstacles beyond his natural reach,
Socrates lowered them to the range of movement circumscribed around
his "point originel et naturel." The virtue of Socrates stands in
sharp contrast to that of the younger Cato, who maintained a consistent
elevation in the conduct of his extraordinary life: "Car en Caton, on
void bien 3 clair que c'est une alleure tenduE bien loing §E_dessus des
communes; . . . on le sent tousjours monté sur ses grands chevaux"
(ibid.). For Montaigne, it is not Cato, but Socrates whom he declares
"le plus digne homme d'estre conneu et d'estre presenté au monde pour
exemple" (ibid.).

The image of virtue as an elevated height undergoes a sig—
nificant change in its geographical contours with the maturation of

Montaigne's thought in the Essais. In "De la cruauté," Montaigne

 

 

112

insists on the difficulty of the ascent to virtue: "Elle demande

23 chemin aspre 23 espineux; elle veut avoir . . . des difficultez

estrangeres 3 luicter” (11:11, 4023). But in a (c) addition to 1:26,

the essayist describes virtue in a sustained metaphor of marked

contrast:

. . . la vertu . . . n'est pas . . . plantée 3 la teste
d'un mont coupé, rabotteux et inaccessible. Ceux qui l'ont
approchée, la tiennent, au rebours, logée dans BEE belle
pleine fertile g£_f1eurissante, d'ofi elle voit bien souz
soy toutes choses; mais si peut on y arriver, qui en scait
l'addresse, par des routes ombrageuses, gazonnées_g£ doux
fleurantes, plaisamment g; d'une pente facile_e£ polie,
comme est celle des voutes celestes (l60—161c).

 

 

Still at 3 height "d'ofi elle voit bien souz soy toutes choses," virtue
is here seen to dwell in an accessible and, more importantly, inviting

plain—~3n extension of level surface permitting free and easy movement

within its boundaries, once it has been reached. Both the movement

toward virtue and its actual location are portrayed as fertile and

pleasurable through the metaphorical details of shade, grass and

flowers. From his landscape metaphor, Montaigne shifts to an archi-

tectural one in the analogy to "des voutes celestes," capturing the
feel of a graceful, arching, strong movement. Montaigne, in this
passage, gives lyrical expression to the vigorous pleasure of virtue

itself and the movement toward its attainment.

Metaphors of elevation and lowness are indeed usual ways of

expressing grandeur and commonplaceness. Montaigne's handling of the

metaphor, however, frequently works to enhance our perception of the

vehicle and to revitalize the image affaiblie. The public official's

113

superficial grandeur is deflated when the trappings of his office are

removed: "il laisse avec sa robbe ce rolle; 11 EB retombe d'autant

 

plus bas qu'il s'estoit plus haut monté" (111:2, 786-787b). The image

 

focuses our attention on the vertical dimension of grandeur and the
movement involved in its attainment and loss. The following passage
uses the same image to illustrate the Option of the grands to relinquish
their privileged position: "En general, [13 grandeur] a cet evident
avantage qu'elle §e_ravalle quand il luy plaist, et qu'3 peu prés elle
A a le chois de l'une et l'autre condition; car 22;EE.£29EE REE QE.E22£E
hauteur; i1 en est desquelles 22_peut descendre sans tomber" (111:7,
894b). The flexibility 'to step down,‘ to be able to adjust oneself
to the various 'heights' to which fortune may move us is an important
value in Montaigne. He praises "un'ame §_divers estages, qui scache
porte" (III:3, 799b). Marking the vertical dimensions of character,

the "ame a divers estages" lends spatial substance to the digponibilité

 

which permits a man to enjoy his potential for mobility. "Les plus
belles ames sont celles qui ont plus de varieté et de soupplesse"
(796b)--"qui scache[nt] et se tendre et se desmonter." With the verb
metaphors of stretching and relaxing Montaigne illustrates the muscular
flexibility Of the supple and multi—leveled soul.

The "ame 3 divers estages" poses a more modest ideal than "13
hauteur inimitable d'aucunes ames heroiques." While Montaigne harbors
a certain admiration for these heroic figures, he puts a pejorative

value on the images of unrealistic, exalted expectations for the rest

 

 

 

 

114

of mankind. "A quoy faire ces pointes eslevées de 13 philosophie sur

 

lesquelles aucun estre humain ggH§§_peut rassoir . . ?" (11139, 967b);

 

 

"Ces humeurs transcendantes m'effrayent, comme les lieux hautains §£_

 

inaccessibles" (III:13, 1096c). In his compulsion to move away from

 

himself, man strives towards unattainable goals, the "pointes eslevées"
and "lieux hautains" of Montaigne's spatial imagination. Always stress-
ing the necessity that man recognize the realistic limits of his
mobility, Montaigne shows the foolishness of attempts to assume
unnatural postures of elevation with the gently chiding images at

the end of the Essais: "Si, avons nous beau monter sur des eschasses,
car sur des eschasses encores faut-il marcher de nos jambes. Et en
plus esleve throne du monde, si ne sommes assis que sus nostre cul"
(III:13, 1096c). Juxtaposed to the illusory elevation of walking on
stilts and sitting on a high throne is the earthbound realism of our
own legs and bottom. Reducing the illusions of loftiness to the humble
members of the human body, Montaigne circumscribes man's movements and

spatial domain to the modest dimensions of 13 condition humaine.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Notes

1See above, ch. 11, p. 49.

2The role of paradox in Montaigne is lucidly investigated by
Margaret M. McGowan, Montaigne's Deceits: The Art _o_f_ Persuasion _i_r_1_
the Essais (Philadelphia: Temple University Press, 1974), pp. 65-83.

3Thibaudet,‘Montaigne, p. 548.

I'A phrase Montaigne acknowledges borrowing from Plato. See
p. 518 in the text and p. 1566, n. 1.

5We shall not pursue the role of personification in the Essais
in this study. A thorough treatment of this figure has recently been
completed by Naomi Luba Holoch, "Personification in the Essais of
Montaigne," Diss. Columbia University, 1972.

6Montaigne's numerous references to fortune are listed in Eva
Marcu's Repertoire des idées'g§_MontaigEe (Genéve: Droz, 1965),

 

7Sayce, A Critical Exploration, pp. 206-207 and 254-255. See
also Montaigne's Journal d§_Voyage‘gg_Italie, pp. 1228-29.

 

aBaraz comments upon the dual movement of nature in Montaigne
in.L'Etre SE 13 connaissance, p. 12: "On peut distinguer chez lui deux
niveaux de l'existence, dont chacun implique une vision différente de 13
nature en mouvement. Au niveau inférieur, opposé 3 13 sagesse, la
nature apparait comme un enchainement materiel de mouvements, dont
l'homme est un jouet. Au niveau supérieur, c'est l'unité du mouvement
qui s'impose avec le plus de force 3 la conscience, et l'on entrevoit
que l'infinie diversité mouvante découle de cette unité, qu'on ne
saurait concevoir comme purement matérielle."

 

9Translation of Donald M. Frame: The Complete Essays gf
Montaigne (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1965), p. 835. The
source of Montaigne's comparison is Plutarch. Pléiade ed., p. 1672,
n. 2 to p. 1068.

 

1°See Thibaudet, pp. 554—555.

11The use of capital letters to mark sections of a quotation is
my own insertion and will be employed throughout the remaining chapters.

12Thibaudet, pp. 549—553.

13"Montaigne en mouvement," pp. 261-262.

115

 

 

 

 

116

1"1bid., p. 266.

15While Yves Delégue finds the simile in Montaigne an expression
of "le solide, 1e stable" (see above, ch. 11, p. 69), we recognize
instances of it expressing "1e mouvant, l'indéterminé," in the same way
as the metaphor. In addition to the metamorphic content of the image
under discussion here, the pattern of development (tenor/vehicle/tenor)
traces the simple but nonetheless mobile interaction in Montaigne's
handling of the simile.

16See Carol Clark, "Montaigne and the Imagery of Political
Discourse."

17See above, pp. 83-85.

18See Thibaudet, pp. 507-514.
19Friedrich, p. 422.

2°See above, pp. 85-86.
21Frame translation, p. 767.

22The second image is taken from Seneca. Pléiade ed., p. 1658,
n. 2 to p. 983.

23Thibaudet, p. 517. Other ressors images in the text: 1:18,
743; 11:12, 4543; 11:17, 6173; and III:lO, 995b.

2"Michel Foucault discusses this theory in Madness and
Civilization: ‘A_History gf Insanity $2 the Age gf_Reason, trans.
Richard Howard (New York: The New American Library, 1967), pp. 77-100.

 

25Montaigne borrows this image from Seneca. Pléiade ed.,
p. 1606, n. 2 to p. 698.

26Thibaudet, p. 520.

275: Grammar 93: Metaphor, p. 206.

28This specific implication is given for the sake of illustrating
the structure of the metaphor. We realize that any object which floats,

including the human body, could be the implied noun metaphor.

29See above, ch. 11, p. 51.

30A Grammar, p. 209.

 

 

 

 

 

 

117

alIbid.
32
See above, p. 102.

33Thibaudet lists "Le mouvement de bas en haut" and "Le mouvement
de haut en bas," pp. 540—542. Some discussion of vertical images may be
found in the dissertations of Colin Dickson, p. 101ff., and Dilys
Winegrad, p. l48ff.

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER FOUR

METAPHORS OF THE SOUL AND MIND pg BRANLE

A mesure que la composition des Essais devient plus
intérieure, les images deviennent plus fréquentes.

Montaigne's metaphors shaping his conceptions of the world and
men are the creation of a consciousness in confrontation with that which
is exterior to itself. This world is perceived and expressed, and to a
large degree created, in terms of the subjective spectator. Looking
into the 'mirror'2 of the world, his perception of its reflection is
determined by his own powers of scrutiny and the language of his per-
sonal vision. The skepticism of Montaigne with regard to objective

' is inseparable from his sense of

truth, so evident in the "Apologie,'
an essentially self-based relativism: "0r nostre estat accommodant les
choses 3 soy at les transformant selon soy, nous ne scavons plus quelles
sont les choses en verité" (11:13, 5843). Exterior reality passes first
through the filter of the senses where it is already subject to altera-'
tion and falsification (ibid.). But beyond that, and even more impor-
tantly, it undergoes another kind of modification in what Montaigne
terms the 'soul' of the perceiving subject. As,a man's experience of
the outer world is not strictly phenomenological (at least not in

sixteenth-century thinking), acts of conceptualization and valuation

enter into the determination of an individual's perception of the world

118

 

 

119

external to himself. And these processes, much more than the
incertitude of sense perceptions, produce images of a world that is

ever variable, ever in flux, coulant g£_roulant sans cesse: "La santé,

 

la conscience, l'authorité, la science, 13 richesse, la beauté et leurs
contraires se despouillent 3 leur entrée, et recoivent de l'ame nouvelle
vesture, et de la teinture qu'il lui plaist: brune, verte, claire,
obscure, aigre, douce, profonde, superficielle" (1:50, 290C). The soul
'clothes' and 'colors' the ideas we have of the world and, in so doing,
influences the language we use to articulate these ideas.3 The soul is
the dynamic force propelling the artist in his creative process, which
is essentially one of making images, of forging "the metaphoric bond
that joins known being to the unknown phenomena. . . . [The artist‘s]
metaphor is a bridge . . . that bears his own form and image, a thrust
of the subjective self into external reality."“

Given Montaigne's perspective on the soul as central to the
production of ideas and their expression in metaphor, we would do well
to elucidate what he understands by ‘soul.' He of course will not
supply us with a fixed definition. The soul is something he experiences,
something he observes in movement, but something about which he and all
the philosophers he has read cannot make certain, verifiable statements.
Too many before Montaigne have made assertions about the origin,
nature, immortality and even location of the soul, but Montaigne
finds in all this philosophy only a "poésie sophistiquée" (11:12,
518c).5 The soul, an intangible essence, can only be discussed

metaphorically, and too often the philosophers lose awareness of

 

 

 

120

6

their own use of images. Montaigne is careful to label 'opinion'

the description of the soul he finds most plausible:

Et la plus vraysemblable de leurs opinions est que c'est
tousjours une ame qui, par 93 faculté, ratiocine, se souvient,
comprend, juge, desire at exerce toutes ses autres operations
par divers instrumens du corps (comme 1e nocher gouverne son
navire selon l'experience qu'il en a, ores tendant ou 13chant
une corde, ores haussant 1'antenne ou remuant l'aviron, par
une seule puissance conduisent divers effets); et qu'elle
loge au cerveau: . . . de 13, il n'est pas inconvenient
qu'elle s'escoule par la reste du corps: . . . comme 1e
soleil espand du ciel en hors sa lumiere et ses puissances,
et en remplit le monde (11:12, 528-5293).

Here, the soul is viewed as capable of a variety of activities which
operate through the body. Various functions of the soul are specified,
but the soul itself is only indirectly expressed through the images

which follow. The two similes, "comme 1e nocher" and "comme 1e soleil,"

 

do not effect a genuine interaction with the noun 'soul.‘ Their focus
is rather on the interaction of the movement or action of the soul with
those of the sun and of the ship's pilot. It is primarily through the
verbs that the images make their impression: in various gestures of the
pilot, the controlling power of the soul is emphasized; the metaphor
"elle s'escoule" then focuses on the way in which this force permeates
the body over which it exercises its power; and the ensuing simile goes
on to expand the notion of flow into the diffusion of the light of the
sun filling the world. Collectively, the images create a tangible
notion of the soul without ever saying exactly what it is.

While Montaigne discusses the soul as something distinct from
the body, he repeatedly insists on the inseverability of the two. "Nous

sommes bastis de deux pieces principales essentielles, desquelles la

 

 

 

121

separation c'est la mort et ruyne de nostre estre" (11:12, 5003).
Again we have the image of man as an assemblage of pieces,7 but here
we are dealing with the "deux pieces essentielles" whose separation
effects the destruction of man's being. The flow of life is experienced
through the two working together, "1e sentiment du corps se meslant 3
celuy de l'ame" (11:13, 5913). Montaigne does not specify exactly what
constitutes the nature of the relationship of the soul and body; the
notion alters as it is shaped first by one image, then by another. We
see the body serving as a receptacle for the soul, "son estuy" (11:12,
5433), an image which communicates something of the spatiality of the
body to the soul, making its presence more readily palpable. But what
seems to concern Montaigne most in the joining of the soul and body is
that the two be envisioned as functioning harmoniously together: "comme
une couple de chevaux attelez 3 mesme timon" (1:26, 164-1653); the soul
must not separate itself from the body, but "l'espouser en somme et luy
servir de mary" (11:17, 6233).8 Both of these last images express an
idea of partnership, but in the latter, there is an implication that
one, the soul, is in a position to rule over the other. The husband

(in the traditional concept of marriage) is the one who makes decisions,
manages and guides the operation of the household. And so the soul is
assigned not only to cherish the body, but "luy assister, 1e contre-

roller, 1e conseiller, 1e redresser et ramener quand il fourvoye"

(622-6233).

 

 

 

 

 

 

122

Montaigne's formulation of the nature of the body and soul
relationship is consistent with Church and Aristotelian doctrines9
which posit the idea of the duality of man's nature and then stress
the necessity of the mutual cooperation of the two parts in view of
working out Christian salvation or Aristotelian well-being. For man
to achieve and maintain the ideal balance, he must take care not to be
overly partial to one or the other side of his nature. A man inclined
toward introspection and speculation in the manner of Montaigne could
easily be given to emphasizing the spiritual side over the physical,
and Montaigne in the Essais is frequently struggling against this
tendency. Montaigne insists that "1e corps a une grand' part 3 nostre
estre" (6223) and pays increasing attention to drawing a physical
portrait of himself, culminating in a veritable celebration of his
own corporeal existence in the last of the Essais. The same struggle
against the separation of body and soul can be related to the generation
of the Essais themselves as Montaigne's conscious effort to give 'body'
to the wanderings of his mind. And in returning to his images of the
soul, we find numerous passages which "treat the soul as if it were
corporeal,"lo where language serves to bridge the gap between the
opposing sides of man's nature and to fuse them into a harmonious unity.

Images of the soul are almost exclusively images dealing with
movement. The soul is subject to movements exterior to itself, an agent
acting upon things outside itself of its own force, and, in its most
essential sense, movement pure and simple. Thibaudet refers to the

soul in Montaigne as the principle of mobility constituting man's being:

 

 

 

 

123

"cc mouvement qui vient de l'intérieur, que fait l'homme,

all

[autokinEtos]. The "bransles de l'ame" (6163) are more precisely

 

those ressors which Montaigne urges men to examine: "il faut sander
jusqu'au dedans, et voir par quels ressors se donne 1e bransle" (II:1,
3213). Probing to reach the inner springs is the search for an under—
standing of that which makes sortir the movements which characterize
man's existence. This inner mechamism is not peculiar to each man but
common to 311: "Les ames des Empereurs et des savatiers sont jettées

3 mesme moule . . . [les princes] sont menez et ramenez en leurs
mouvemens par les mesmes ressors que nous sommes aux nostres. . . .
Pareils appetits agitent un ciron et un elephant" (11:12, 4543). Here,
the image of springs combines with that of the "mesme moule" to indicate
that the notion of soul is something which takes on a form. The soul is
not the ressors themselves so much as the principle ordering the

12

ressors. Montaigne illustrates this principle by an abrupt juxta-

position with a similar operation in the order of animal life—-"Pareils
appetits agitent. . . ." Reducing the complex motivation of lives at
all levels of society to a single 'mold' and then allying it to the
workings of nature, Montaigne's images simultaneously concretize and
demystify the unsubstantial essence of man.

The movements to which the soul is most subject are those
passions which stir it from within, the "souffle de ses vents" (5503).
Montaigne pursues his familiar wind metaphor in this instance to suggest

that without the impulsion of the passions, the soul would lose its

characteristic mobility: "sans leur agitation, elle resteroit sans

 

 

 

124

actions, comme un navire en pleine mer que les vents abandonnent de
leurs secours" (ibid.).13 The comparison to a ship reawakens the image
of life as a voyage, life conceived as movement, and the idea of a
motionless soul, unmoved by its own forces, appears all the more un-
likely. As the passions are viewed in their relationship to the soul,
the latter takes on an increasingly substantial aspect. Montaigne
describes someone having "toute l'ame teinte et abreuvée de colere"
(547a), treating the soul as a material capable of absorbing and

4 Elsewhere he speaks of seeing

assuming the color of the passion.1
"ces ames assaillies et essayées par [deux passions differentes], en
soutenir l'un[e] sans s'esbranler, et courber sous l'autre" (1:1, 123).
The verb metaphors here attribute to the soul the quality of a solid
body, at times resilient, but at other times bending under the forceful
weight of the passions.

What we begin to notice is that it is in its movement that the

soul assumes the firmness and texture by which it becomes perceptible.

Characteristically, its action is expressed in terms such as roidir,

 

15--—verbs emphasizing the rigidity, the tautness, of

dresser, eslever
a 'muscle' poised for action. Montaigne affirms that "il faut bien

bander l'ame pour luy faire sentir comme elle s'escoule" (III:13,

 

1085c). But the fluidity which Montaigne assigns to the natural move-
ment of the soul does not easily lend itself to this tightening neces-
sary to render it tactile. If we set our minds to taking hold of this
essence, "ce sera ne plus ne moins que qui voudroit empoigner l'eau:

car tant plus 11 serrera et pressera ce qui de sa nature coule par tout,

 

 

 

 

125

tant plus 11 perdra ce qu'il vouloit tenir et empoigner" (11:12, 5863).
As the object to be grasped, the soul, like water, is continually
escaping; and as the subject, straining to take possession of its
object, the very same liquid pr0perty hinders its operation: "cette
contention de l'ame trop bandée et trOp tendué 3 son entreprise, 13
met au rouet, la rompt et l'empesche, ainsi qu'il advient 3 l'eau qui,
par force de se presser de sa violence et abondance, ne peut trouver
issué en un goulet ouvert" (1:18, 413). Too much concentration produces
a tautness that is tortuous and blocking, one that arrests the soul's
movement. When Montaigne says "il faut bi§g_bander l'ame," he does not
propose an intensification of effort so powerful as to stop its flow.
For the soul to perceive and be perceived, it must not be forced into
an unnatural fixity. "L'agitation est sa vie et sa grace" (ibid.).
Where the movement of the soul is most readily apprehended is
in its operation on something exterior to itself, where its energies
exercise their potential and become manifest. "L'ame esbranlée et
esmeue se perde en soy~mesme, si on ne luy donne prinse; i1 faut
tousjours luy fournir d'object 03 elle s'abutte et agisse" (1:4, 253).
Activity, any activity, offers us an opportunity to experience the
action of the soul. Montaigne suggests that a game of checkers would
be just as apt as a field of battle for understanding the soul in
operation. "Voyez combien nostre ame grossit et espessit cet amusement
ridicule; si tous ces nerfs ne bandent; combien amplement elle donne 3
chacun loy, an cela, de se connoistre . . ." (1:50, 290-29lc). In the

images communicating the soul in operation, the soul is frequently

 

 

 

126

personified, but always in terms of the physical manifestations Of the
personification: "elle s'abutte et agisse," "ces nerfs ne bandent" as
it "swells and magnifies"16 its object. Montaigne continually varies
the verbs he uses to express "la prise et la serre de l'ame" (III:10,
986b) for no single metaphor is meant to be taken as final. A constant
reworking of the expression he gives to the activity of the soul per-
petually renews our perception of its essential characteristic, its
power to take and to experience action:

Entre les functions de l'ame il en est de basses; qui me
13 void encor par 13, n'acheve pas da 13 connoistre. Et
3 l'adventure la remarque lon mieux 03 elle y§_§gg BEE
simple. Les vents des passions 1§_prennent plus en ces
hautes assiettes. Joint qu'elle §g_couche entiere sur
chasque matiere, et gLy exerce entiere, et n'en traitte
jamais plus d'une 3 la fois. Et la traitte non selon elle,
mais selon soy. Les choses, 3 part elles, ont peut estre
leurs poids et mesures at conditions; mais au dedans, en
nous, elle les leur taille comme elle l'entend (1:50,
290C).

Nous empeschons au demeurant la prise et 13 serre de l'ame

3 luy donner tant de choses 3 saisir. Les unes, il les luy

faut seulement presenter, les autree attacher, les autres

incorporer. Elle peut voir et sentir toutes choses, mais

elle ne §§_doibt paistre que de soy, et doibt estre

instruicte de ce qui la touche proprement, et qui

proprement est de sOn avoir et de sa substance (III:10,

986b).
The first passage treats the action of the soul on different types of
materials in spatial images: the soul operates on varying levels, from
low to high. It is on the lower levels that we most easily observe it
in its natural "gait" for the winds of passions "take hold" of it in
the higher altitudes. From this general metaphor of the soul moving

in a multileveled construct, Montaigne narrows his focus to the

 

 

 

127

particular action of the soul on each object of its attention. The
soul's gestures--"se couche," "s'y exerce," "les leur taille"-—3re
personifications which give it the capacities of a conscious body
controlling its actions. In the second passage the images contrast

' with the soul's more active

purely perceptive acts, "voir et sentir,’
involvement in "incorporer" and "se paistre." When the soul is dealing
with that which ”proprement est de son avoir et de sa substance," things

of a spiritual nature like the soul itself, its action is experienced in

images which not only land it qualities of a body, but images which

 

directly point to the process of incarnation. The soul feeds itself

and incorporates into itself certain experiences. In so doing, it takes

on more body itself. The images here serve to articulate the metaphor-

ical process as it operates in all the images of the soul in movement.
Montaigne's repeated creation of an image of the soul in terms

of weight, tension and other corporeal properties counterpoises his

perception of the emptiness 3nd lightness of the soul. Its weight-

lessness, its softness, render it easily vulnerable to the branle of

the passions from within and the shock of forces from without. He

criticizes "13 volubilité et souplesse de nostre ame" (1:38, 2303)

and a "creance contournable comme une girouette" where the soul,

 

"estant molle et sans resistance, seroit forcée de recevoir sans cesse
autres et autres impressions, 13 derniere effacant tousjours la trace
de la precedente" (11:12, 5543). The soul in these images is not
without substance, but it is lacking the weight and firmness necessary

to assert its own shape. Fluctuations in the beliefs which are able

   

 

 

128

to make their own impression on the soul relate to the "mesure qu'elle
se trouvoit plus molle et de moindre resistance. . . . (c) D'autant
que l'ame est plus vuide et sans contrepoids, elle se baisse plus
facilement soubs la charge de la premiere persuasion" (1:27, 1773).
What are quite clearly pejorative images of the soul are inevitably
applied to those occasions where the soul is not a free agent, but
subject to the determination of other forces. The same tenor finds
expression in yet another vehicle, this time one of a movement con-
strained by physical bondage: "Nostre ame ne branle qu'3 credit, liée
et contrainte 3 l'appetit des fantasies d'autruy, serve et captivée
soubs l'authorité de leur lecon. 0n nous a tent assubjectis aux cordes
que nous n'avons plus de franches allures” (1:26, lSOb).

The "franches allures" are precisely what Montaigne would
prescribe as the ideal movement of the soul. In its very pliability,
its variability, when not "assubjecti[e] aux cordes" or "forcée de
recevoir sans cesse autres impressions," the soul exercises its most
felicitous movement. "Les moins tandues et plus naturelles alleures
de nostre ame sont les plus belles" (III:3, 798b)—-"Les plus belles
ames sont celles qui ont plus de varieté et de soupplesse" (796b).
Montaigne shows the movement of the soul in its continual diversity

1' "On dict que

by comparing it to the action of the rays of the sun:
13 lumiere du Soleil n'est pas d'une piece continué, mais qu'il nous
elance si dru sans cesse nouveaux rayons les uns sur les autres, que
nous n'en pouvons appercevoir l'entre deux:18 . . . ainsin eslance

nostre ame ses pointes diversement et imperceptiblement" (1:38, 2313).

 

 

 

129

Focusing our attention first on the vehicle and then introducing the
tenor, Montaigne's metaphor heightens our perception of the interaction
at work. What appears to be anunbroken emanation from the sun is
really composed of numerous, diverse shafts of light. But elsewhere,
it has been observed that in the manifestations of the soul, we begin
with quite the contrary impression: most evident to our eyes are the
incessant inconsistencies of our existence. The simile in this passage
invites an understanding of likeness. Although we perceive them dif-
ferently, the soul and the sun operate in much the same way, for in
both there is a single source generating diversity. The thrust of the
image is to communicate the unity in the force of the soul, permeating
the fluctuations of our lives with the onset of its diverse and
imperceptible "pointes."

If in the movements of the soul there is a fundamental unity,
then it is through an understanding of this principle that we can derive
some sense of stability within the branle propelling us from within.
Given that "les ames des Empereurs et des savatiers sont jetées a mesme
moule" (11:12, 4543), there is a degree to which all our movements
correspond to our participation in "l'humaine condition." But, as
Friedrich emphatically points out, Montaigne will always resist the
temptation to make general, abstract formulations on the nature of
man.19 The way of Montaigne is to proceed from the individual toward
an understanding of the general. And so, rather than dealing in terms

of 3 forme generale, Montaigne proposes something much more limited,

 

much more precise: "11 n'est personne, s'il s'escoute, qui ne descouvre

 

 

 

130

en soy une forme sienne, une forme maistresse, qui luicte contre
l'institution, et contre la tempeste des passions qui luy sont
contraires" (111:2, 789b). Reaching for an understanding of the
"forme sienne," that which gives 3 coherent shape to all our movements,
demands the attentive introspection Montaigne reserves for the domain
of the "arriere boutique" (1:39, 2353). Divorced from all involvements
with the external world, one can turn his attention to "[l']ame
contournable en soy mesme" (ibid.). But this turning of the soul
back upon itself involves the difficult flexing of the "il faut bien
bander l'ame . . ." which we noted above.2° Too great a tension arrests
the movement that shapes the "forme maistresse" we are trying toiobserve.
Montaigne nevertheless does treat the soul as knowable, or at

least possibly knowable. He does so in images which again spatialize
the movement of the soul and which suggest a state of rest that would
seem to contradict its mobility:

Comme les ames vicieuses sont‘incitées souvent 3 bien faire

par quelque impulsion estrangere, aussi sont les vertueuses

3 faire mal. 11 les faut doncq juger par leur estat rassis,

quand elles sont chez elles, si quelque fois elles y sont;

ou au moins quand elles sont plus voisines d3 £31393 2'}. £13

leur naifve assiette (111:2, 788b).
The image of an "estat rassis," immediately thrown into question by the
"si quelque fois elles y sont" must not be isolated from its context.
The "settled state"22 is meant to contrast with these saillies of the
soul moved by "quelque impulsion estrangere," movements which take

exception to its natural rhythm. While it is not possible, or even

desirable, to take hold of the Soul in an absolutely fixed position,

 

 

 

131

one can hOpe to study it "plus voisine [. . .] du repos et de [sa]
naifve assiette." "Closest to repose" and in its "natural position,"21
the soul will still exercise its movement, but the movement natural to
itself, not one forced upon it by extraneous circumstances. Montaigne's
comment on the branle dphmgpdg, "La constance mesme n'est autre chose
qu'un branle plus languissant" (782b), would seem equally applicable

to the branle dg_l:§pg, This is precisely his analysis of the Stoics'
assumed pose of fixity in their celebrated Ataraxie: "mais 1e mesme
bransle de leur ame qui leur fait fuir les precipices et se mettre 3
couvert du serein, celuy l3 mesme leur presente cette fantasie et leur
en faict refuser une autre" (11:12, 5623). If even the effort to

suspend movement is in itself a "bransle de [l']ame, then what
Montaigne calls the "estat rassis" cannot be conceived as devoid of

movement, but rather as "les moins tandues et plus naturelles alleures

 

de nostre ame" (III:3, 798b). The 'form' of the soul, that which lends

 

stability to what is ever pp branle, is the soul in its ideal movement,
the movement most natural to it. "Le pris de l'ame ne consiste pas 3
aller haut, mais ordonnéement" (111:2, 787b).' It is in this regular
movement that the 'shape' of the soul becomes discernible, but no single
image defines its contours. Like the flow of a liquid or the diffusion

of light, the movement of the soul escapes confinement.

Frequently in Montaigne, the distinction between ame and esprit

is barely perceptible, and there are passages in which the two become

22

virtually synonymous. On the whole we can regard his use of 3me as

 

 

 

 

132

pertaining to the general flow of life, a spiritual force animating our
physical existence and comprising our various mental faculties as well
as more elusive components of the human personality-~instinct, volition,
emotions and temperament. Esprit may be taken to apply generally to
the faculties of the mind-~re3son, memory and judgment23-—those powers
distinguishing man from the animals by virtue of his intelligence. In
turning our investigation to Montaigne's use of metaphor in this more
limited sector of man's functions, we encounter an increased richness
in figurative language. As his focus becomes more particular, his
language takes on greater precision.

Mindful of Montaigne's insistence on the 'marriage' of body
and soul, we find the same bond reiterated in terms of the mind. But
here, the nature of the joining is more explicit: "A quoi faire
desmembrons nous en divorce un bastiment tissu d'une si joincte et
fraternelle correspondance? Au rebours renouons 1e par mutuels offices.
Que l'esprit esveille et vivifie la pesanteur du corps, 1e corps arreste
13 legerté de l'esprit et la fixe" (III:13, lO94-95b). Montaigne first
opposes the divisive terms "desmembrons" and "divorce" with a mixed
metaphor referring to the union he envisions. A building is not Eiggp,
nor are its parts to be renoués, but this progression in vehicles serves
to strengthen the tenor, the "si joincte et fraternelle correspondence,"
by insisting in more than one way on a 'bringing together of parts.‘
Then Montaigne examines the way in which these parts interrelate. Body
and mind 'interwine' in 3 play of weight and lightness, of fixity and

movement. Each communicates to the other something of the quality it

 

 

 

 

133

has in excess so that "par mutuels offices" they can effect a

 

harmonious balance.

At the same time, Montaigne would not have the mind relinquish
its own vivacity in its association with the body. "Je hay qu'on nous
ordonne d'avoir l'esprit aux nues, pendant que nous avons 1e corps 3
table. Je ne veux pas que l'esprit s'y cloue ny qu'il s'y veautre,
mais je veux qu'il s'y applique, (c) qu'il s'y sée, non qu'il s'y
couche" (1087b). Though he objects to their divorce, emphatically
illustrated in the images of their separate pursuits-~"3ux nues" and
"3 table," he carefully qualifies the way in which the mind is to
engage in the life of the body. By his antitheses of verb metaphors,

he shapes and reshapes (in the 9 addition) the distinction he makes

between the way he would and would not have the mind proceed.2“ The

 

actions of nailing and wallowing involve a fixedness and a slackness
incompatible with the mind's movement. The action of the mind is one

of application. It may permit itself interims of rest as it focuses

on physical rather than mental phenomena. But even in its repose, it
must remain poised for action, "qu'il s'y sée, non pas qu'il s'y couche."

Maintaining a working balance between mind and body results in

 

a continuous struggle of polarities. The mind pulls in the direction
of its flight “aux nues" against the weighted fixedness of physical
existence, anchored to the exigent demands of bodily needs. Despite
his desire that the mind not surrender to the dictates of the body,
Montaigne sees that in "cette colligeance" (111:5, 821b) the body will

inevitably have a powerful effect on the life of the mind. Old age and

 

 

 

134

youth, sickness and health determine, despite all our protests, the
vigor or lack of vigor in our mental state. An image of the mind in
'blossom' while the body advances in age is projected as an expression
of wishful thinking: "qu'il verdisse, qu'il fleurisse ce pendant, s'il
peut, comme 1e guy sur un arbre mort" (ibid.). The verb metaphors of
the mind's youthful productivity, accented by the simile, "comme 1e

guy,‘ meets with a harsh contrast in the image of the aged body as "un
arbre mort." Experience, ever the most reliable indicator for Montaigne
of the way things are, impugns the likelihood of realizing such a wish.
"Il n'y a poinct d'allegresse en ses productions [de l'esprit], s'il
n'en y a quand et quand au corps" (ibid.). In his experience, the
ebullient health of "la verdeur des ans" accounts for those rare
moments of "des eslancements extraordinaires de l'esprit. . . . Ce

feu de gayeté suscite en l'esprit des eloises vives et claires, outre
nostre portée naturelle. . . . 0r bien ce n'est pas merveille si un
contraire estat affesse mon esprit, 1e cloué et faict un effect
contraire" (821c). The polarized movements of the mind are embodied
in the contrastive images of "des eloises vives et claires" and the
familiar state of being weighted or nailed down. What is common to
both these extremes of the mind is their shared origin. Inseparable
from the body, the mind, in all its movements, is influenced by the
movements of the body. This association is the bond between extrem-

ities, for as Alan Watts has noted, "to say that opposites are polar

is to say . . . that they are related and joined—~that they are the

1125

terms . . . of a single whole.

In its most disparate images, the

 

 

 

 

 

135

mind, "affreré an corps" (821b), manifests the reaches of its
continuous extension.
Glimpsing the mind in its extremes, either cloué §p_corps or

eslance dans une eloise vive, is not yet to see it in its characteristic

 

mobility, its "volubilité" (111:11, 1009b). Montaigne finds the effort
to follow the operation of the mind a difficult undertaking: ["[A] C'est
une espineuse entreprinse, et plus qu'il ne semble, de suyvre une
alleure si vagabonde que celle de nostre esprit; [B] de penetrer les
profondeurs Opaques de ses replis internes; [C] de choisir et arrester
tant de menus airs de ses agitations" (II:6, 358C). In the repeated
ngormations so frequent in Montaigne (A, B, C), the passage exemplifies
the kind of movement it is meant to describe. Montaigne works out his
idea first in terms of a loose voyage metaphor: following the vagabond
gait is a thorny enterprise; then, in a more sensuous metaphor, he
refers to the operation of the mind as 'inward folds,‘ the difficulty
of the enterprise becomes "les profondeurs Opaques," and the effort to
follow sharpens into "penetrer." The concluding phrase (C) states more
precisely what is contained in the metaphors. Following and penetrating
lead to selecting and stopping the minute variations of the mind's
"agitations." The very effort to 'follow the mind's movement' must

be taken metaphorically. It can only be accomplished intermittently,
through a constantly renewed perception of particular movements. This
is, of course, the method of the Essais. Montaigne, nevertheless, can

still speak, always metaphorically, of the general élan of the mind.

 

 

 

 

 

136

In the following passage, he employs a richly varied array of verbs
to communicate the vitality of "l'esprit genereux":

i1 pretend tousjours et y§_outre ses forces; 11 a des eslans

au del3 de ses effects; s'il ne gfavance et ne §g_presse et

ne_§fa§cu1e at us §g_chogue, il n'est vif qu'3 demy; (b) ses

poursuites sont sans terme, et sans forme; son aliment c'est

(c) admiration, chasse, (b) ambiguité. . . . C'est un mouve—

ment irregulier, perpetuel, sans patron, et sans but. 835

inventions s'eschauffent, se suyvent, et s'entreproduisent

l'une l'autre (III:13, 1045c).
Joined to the rush of verbs insisting on the dynamic impulsion of the
"spirited mind"26 are epithets qualifying its movement as "sans terme
et sans forme," "irregulier, perpetuel, sans patron et sans but." The
impression that has built up in Montaigne's relentless accumulation of
predicates and attributes finally crystallizes in the verses from La
Boétie which Montaigne inserts immediately after this passage:27 "Ainsi
voit l'on, en un ruisseau coulant . . ." (ibid.). Taking the entire
passage with the citation as a single metaphorical complex, we see that
Montaigne progresses steadily toward a heightened concretization of his
unsubstantial subject. The verse simile comes as a natural completion
to his preceding exploration of the grounds of the comparison. As with
the soul, the movement of the mind is experienced as the movement of
water, which, in its notable recurrence, emerges almost as a symbol of
the ebb and flow of the uncontainable inner life.28

Unlike the soul, however, the mind, in its capacity for movement,

takes on more sharply delineated contours in a 'set' of substantive

metaphors:29

 

 

 

 

 

137

Nostre esprit est un util vagabond et temeraire
(11:12, 5413).

C'est un outrageux glaive que l'esprit (54lb).

La raison humaine est un glaive double et dangereux
(11:17, 638c).

J'appelle tousjours raison cette apparence de discours

que chacun forge en soy . . . c'est pp_instrument‘dg_plomb
.g£.dg cire, alongeable, ployable et accommodable 3 tous
biais et 3 toutes mesures (11:12, 548C).

 

. . . de tout ce que peut sa raison qui est un util

soupple, contournable g£_accommodable a toute figure
(520—5213).

 

 

The use of the image of an instrument or tool, and more specifically,

a sword, deals with the mind in its active involvement with things
exterior to itself. It is only in its relationship to something upon
which it can act that the mind itself is envisioned in terms of concrete
objects. The action of the mind is to 'cut through' reality, to manipu—
late and perform operations on that which is presented to it--"Laissons
3 notre pensée tailler et coudre 3 son plaisir" (5603). Viewed in terms
of its Operations, the mind manifests distinct attributes shared with
the instruments to which it is likened. As a sword it possesses not
only sharpness, but the concomitant potential for danger and offense
("outrageux"). As an "instrument de plomb et de cire," it takes on
weight and pliability. Its action is one of accommodation, 3 plastic
stretching and winding to meet the measures and forms of its proposed
objects. 0f its own, the mind is "un corps vain, qui n'a par 03 estre
83131 et assené; un corps divers et difforme" (5413). But in its

application, in its performance as an instrument, the mind acquires

 

 

 

 

138

qualities which contrast markedly with its existence as l'esprit pur.

 

For Montaigne, the mind must reliquish some of the properties of its
spirituality in order to function in the more weighted context of
concrete reality. "En l'usage de nostre esprit nous avons, pour la
plus part, plus besoing de plomb que d'ailes" (III:3, 799b). In view
of its Operations in the context of everyday living, "il y peut avoir
de l'excez en la pureté et perspicacité de nos esprits; . . . Il les
faut appesantir et esmousser . . . et les espessir et obscurcir pour
les proportionner 3 cette vie tenebreuse et terrestre" (11:20, 657b).
The mind is a tool to be used in facilitating ordinary life. The
effective operation of this instrument strikes a balance between
extremes: its lightness is weighted down, its dangerous sharpness

is blunted, its illuminating flash is shadowed. Neither slppé pp ESEEE

nor envoilé aux nues, the movement of the mind, in its more usual con-

 

texts, demands the conscious restraint and measured control one employs
in the use of a potentially dangerous, but equally useful tool.

The mind/tool image is given greatest amplification in the
opening passage from 1:50 where Montaigne describes the operation of
the faculty of judgment. L3 Charité remarks that Montaigne thinks "in
terms of a hierarchy among the faculties of the soul" and that in the
scheme of this hierarchy, "judgment occupies 'un siege magistral' and
it has its own private 'court' where it may judge itself" (III:13,
1052b and 111:2, 785b).30 Judgment holds this privileged position

because it is at once the most integrated and the most personal of

the faculties of the mind. Reason and memory as well as the perception

 

 

 

 

139

 

of experience submit their finds to the power of judgment for a final

The exercise of this power is the end toward which

processing.
He vividly depicts

Montaigne directs his entire program of education.

the integrating process of the judgment through a comparison to the
activity of bees, transforming their gleanings into something uniquely

of their own making: "Les abeilles pillotent dec3 del3 les fleurs, mais

elles en font aprés 1e miel, qui est tout leur; ce n'est plus thin ny

marjolaine: ainsi les pieces empruntées d'autruy, il [l'éléve] les

transformera et confondera, pour en faire un ouvrage tout sien, a

scavoir son jugement" (1:26, 150-1513).31 The making of jugements is

an activity which is best witnessed and consequently described from

within "puis que le jugement vient de l'operation de celuy qui juge

 

par ses moiens et volonté, non par la contrainte d'autruy"

(11:12, 571—5723). For this reason, we find the most concrete

exploration of the activity in process in the passage from 1:50 where

Montaigne is describing his own experience of his judgment at work:

[A] Le jugement est un util 3 tous subjects, et se mesle par
tout. [B] A cette cause, aux essais que j'en fay ici, j'y
employe toute sorte d'occasion. Si c'est un subject que je
n'entende point [1], 3 cela mesme je l'essaye, [C] sondant

le gué de bien loing; et puis, 1e trouvant trop profond'pour
ma taille, je me tiens 3 la rive; et cette reconnaissance de
ne pouvoir passer outre, c'est un traict de son effect, voire
de ceux dequoy il se vante le plus. Tantost, 3 un subject
vain et de neant [2], j'essaye voir s'il trouvera dequoy lui
donner corps et dequoy 1'3ppuyer et estanconner. Tantost je
le promene3 un subject noble et tracassé [3], auquel il n'a

rien 3 trouver de soy, le chemin en estant si frayé qu'il ne
L3 11 fait son jeu

peut marcher que sur la piste d'autruy.
3 eslire la route qui luy semble la meilleure, et, de mille

sentiers, il dict que cettuy-cy, ou celuy 13, a esté 1e mieux

choisi (289a).

 

 

140

What begins as a simple metaphor of judgment as a tool expands into a
complex network of several tenors and vehicles interacting in various
directions, mutually enriching each other. The initial tool image (A)
is carefully related back to the tenor (judgment) as a tool to be

applied "3 tous subjects.‘ (In pursuing the way in which the tool/
judgment operates (B), Montaigne refers to it as something he is 'trying
out'--"aux essais que j'en fay ici"--a phrase immediately alerting the
reader to a further connection: to the tenor judgment interacting with
the vehicle 2511 is joined the tenor 'Operation of judgment' interacting
with the vehicle essais, or indeed Essais. And now a new image (C) is
introduced, that of the voyage of geographical exploration. This
becomes the vehicle for both the Operation of the judgment and the
essais. The tool judgment is henceforth employed in terms of the new

H "-

metaphor: "sondant 1e gué, 33 1e promene," "

il ne peut marcher,"
"fait son jeu 3 eslire la route." As the movement of judgment takes

on the physicality of these gestures, the subjects on which it operates
are figured spatially in images conveying depth, extension and geograph—

ical properties: "1e gué," "

trop profond pour ma taille," "3 la rive,"
"le chemin estant si frayé," "13 piste d'autruy," "13 route," "mille
sentiers." 0f the three kinds of subjects on which Montaigne 'tries'
his judgment (1, 2, 3), it is only the second, "un subject vain et de
neant" which does not take on the geographical contours of the prolonged
metaphor. Too unsubstantial to provide the judgment 3 'field' of

Operation, this kind of subject requires that his judgment "lui donner

corps . . . l'appuyer et estanconner" rather than sound its depths or

 

 

 

141

move along the lines of a well—worn path ("tracassé"). It is the very
act of the judgment 'judging itself' that has taken on 'body,' been
'supported' and 'propped up' in the course of the metaphorical devel-
opment of this passage. For Montaigne, "judgment does not exist in

and of itself, [but] brings itself into being, creates itself."32 The
subjects on which it operates are secondary to the action of judgment
upon them: "je voy assez ce peu que tout cecy vaut et poise, et 13
folie de mon dessein. C'est prou que mon jugement ne se deferre poinct,
duquel ce sont icy les essais" (11:17, 636-6373). It is enough that his
judgment not be undone, for it is through the action of this 'tool' that
weight and body come into being, the weight and body of the image of its
movement in 3 geographical landscape, and more pointedly, of the Essais
with which this image connects.

Montaigne discerns 3 difference in the movement of judgment from
that of l'esprit:33 "Il semble que ce soit le plus propre de l'esprit
d'avoir son operation prompte g£_soudaine, et le plus propre du jugement
de l'avoir 1§E£§_§£“22§§§P (1:10, 413). This slower, more measured pace
is necessary to the nature of judgment's operation, one of trial and
error, of testing and sometimes tripping in its own steps: "mes con-
ceptions et mon jugement ne marche qu'3 tastons, chancelant et chopant"
(1:26, 1453).» The characteristic exploration of judgment is condensed
here into three strikingly tactile movements. In its faltering and
hesitant gait lies the source of its potency. If it is truly to
exercise its power, judgment must assert itself against the driving

impulses of passion or the fixed design of preconceived notions.

 

 

 

 

142

Because its movement is one of testing for itself ("ne marche qu'3
tastons"), it seeks to operate freely and confidently, not afraid to
reserve judgment where it does not find 'solid ground,‘ nor to retrace
its steps where it recognizes its own error. As a tool, it affords to
its user the means by which he can guide and control experience: "Nous
'ne conduisons jamais bien la chose de laquelle nous sommes possedez et
conduicts. : . . Celuy qui n'y employe que son jugement et son adresse,
11 y procede plus gayement: il feinct, il ploye, il differe tout 3 son
aise, selon 1e besoing des occasions; i1 faut d'atainte, sans tourment
et sans affliction, prest et entier pour une nouvelle entreprise; il
marche tousjours 13 bride 3 la main" (III:10, 985b). The verbs demon-
strating how one uses judgment lend added vigor to the gestures of its
trials. Its movement is not only that Of travel and of exploration,
but of attempts at hitting 3 target and bending to the needs of the
occasion. The concluding image of walking with the bridle always in
hand lauds the masterful control judgment exercises over its own
progression.

True, judgment is vulnerable to the esbranlement of the

 

passions and the imponderable elements of man's inner psyche. Montaigne
recognizes the power of an emotion such as fear "qui emporte . . .

nostre jugement hors de sa deué assiette" (1:18, 743) and the suscepti—

 

bility of judgment to be moved by something as inconsequential as the
tone of an orator's voice: "cette belle piece, qui se laisse manier
et changer au branle et accidens d'un si leger vent" (111:12, 5803).

But these movements to which judgment is subject impeded the operation

 

 

 

 

 

143~

by which it creates itself. When the source of movement stems from
outside the judgment, it is no longer truly judgment in operation.
"Ou nous pouvons juger tout 3 fait, ou tout 3 fait nous ne 1e pouvons
pas" (11:12, 5453). Keenly aware of "l'incertitude de nostre jugement"
(1:47, 2703), Montaigne does not exclude judgment from the critical
appraisal of man's ability to know in the "Apologie": "et le jugeant
et le jugé estans en continuelle mutation at branle" (5863). But the
judgment is a faculty to be trained, to be 'formed' through education
and experience, and Opposed to Montaigne's acknowledgment of "son
imperfection et sa naturelle foiblesse" (1:26, 1573) is his confidence
in the creation of "un jugement roide et hautain et qui juge sainement
et seurement" (111:8, 921b). Through its exercise, through its repeated
testing of "cette continuelle variation des choses humaines, nous en
ayons 1e jugement plus esclaircy et plus ferme“ (1:49, 2853). The
roideur and fermeté of the well-exercised judgment contrast with the
liquid flow and volubility by which Montaigne characterizes l'esprit.
Judgment is the faculty which not only gives body to "un subject vain
et neant," but which assumes body, weight and solidity of its own. By
virtue of the tension through which it exercises its operations, judg-
ment, "lente et posée" in its action, providesthe complement Montaigne
sees as necessary to the formless energy of l'esprit: "en l'usage de
nostre-esprit nous avons . .'. plus besoing de plomb que d'ailes, plus

de froideur et de repos que d'ardeur et d'agitation" (111:3, 799b).

 

 

 

 

The firmness and solidity of judgment are not to be misconstrued
’into an image of it as fixed and immobile. Since judgment exists only
in its activity, it is the process of making judgments that creates the
roideur which 'gives it body.' There can be no stopping place for the
movement of judgment, for its being derives from its continual ggggf
citation. "Far from being an adhesion of the mind to things, judgment
is an integration of things within the mind by the mind."3“ "Nous autres
qui privons nostre jugement du droict de faire des arrests" (111:8,
901b) are continually engaging the judgment in the process by which it
creates itself. The flux of human opinions finds in such a judgment
"1e terrein mal propre 3 y penetrer at y pousser de hautes racines"
(ibid.). There are, however, moments when Montaigne attributes a
constancy, an unwavering regularity to the movement of his judgment:
"mesme incliniation, mesme route, mesme force" (111:2, 79Gb). This
image applies to the operation Of the judgment withregard to the self,
and the stability it implies derives from the strong sense Montaigne
has of his inner being. La Charité suggests that "in time, enlightened
judgment becomes one with its object; judgment becomes the innermost
self."35

\

The activity of the mind is directed toward the attainment of
truth.‘ Were it possible to realize this aim, it would follow that
movement would find its fulfillment in a state of rest, the result of
having taken possession of that which dOes not alter. Montaigne.

describes the hypothetical satisfaction of the mind's esbranlement

 

 

 

145

in images of a rigid and fixed stability: "et 13 plus seure assiete

de nostre entendement, et la plus heureuse, ce seroit celle 13 03 11

se maintiendroit rassis, droit, inflexible, sans bransle et sans
agitation" (11:12, 545a). But this mode of stability, "poised, upright,
inflexible"36 in its hold of that which was pursued, is not accessible
to the mind, given the limitations of the human condition. "11 n‘est
rien si soupple et erratique que nostre entendement; c'est 1e soulier
de Theramenez, bon 3 tous pieds. Et il est double et divers et les
matieres doubles et diverses" (III:ll, 1012b). The metaphor of
Theramenes' supple shoe37 contrasts sharply with the image of the mind
in its "plus seure assiete." This facile adaptability of human intel-
ligence to "divers effects" is supported by the various images of the
"matieres doubles et diverses" to which the mind adjusts itself: "C'est
un pot 3 deux ances, qu'on peut saisir 3 gauche ou 3 dextre" (11:12,
5663); "c‘est prendre d'un sac deux mouldures et de mesme bouche
souffler 1e chaud et le froid" (1:32, 2143). Repeatedly Montaigne
stresses the multiple aspect of the truth the mind would saisir or
assess. And where there is more than one approach, movement can

never yield to the restful inertia of certitude.

Deprived of the "heureuse assiete" of fixed knowledge, the
mind is figured throughout the Essais in images insisting upon the
wanton and voluble character of its incessant activity——"[Des espris]
se jettent desreiglez, par-cy par 13" (I:8, 33a); "[l'humaine raison]
ne fait que fourvoyer par tout" (11:12, 5003); "tournoyant et flotant

dans cette mer vaste, trouble et ondoyante des opinions humaines, sans

 

 

 

 

 

 

146

bride et sans but . . . elle v3 se divisant et dissipant en mille
routes diverses" (5013); "on 1e [l'esprit] bride et le garrotte . .
il eschappe 3 toutes ces liaisons" (5413); "[nos facultez intellect-
uelles et sensibles] ne font que floter et vanter" (5453). Through
Montaigne's forceful verb metaphors, the movement of the mind is

envisioned in a spatial context--'traveling' along des routes, des

 

sentiers, des voyes--but most often in the sense of an aimless wandering,
all too frequently straying from its designated 'path.‘ In its dynamic
and reckless impulsion, this movement demands restraint-egg lg bride,
or "des orbieres pour tenir sa veué subjecte et contrainte devant ses
'pas" (5413). Montaigne follows the rash and fruitless chasse of the
mind in an extended, metamorphosing metaphor which playfully imitates
the feverish pursuit of its subject:

[A] Les hommes mescognoissent la maladie naturelle de leur

esprit: [B] i1 ne faict que fureter et quester, et va sans

cesse tournoiant, bastissant et s'empestrant en 33 besongne,

comme nos vers de soye, et s'y estouffe. [C] "Mus _i_r_1_pice."3e

Il pense remarquer de loing je ne scay quelle apparence de

clarté et verité imaginaire; mais, pendant qu'il y court,

tant de difficultez luy traversent la voye, d'empeschemens

et de nouvelles questes, qu'elles l'esgarent et l'enyvrent.

[D] Non guiere autrement qu'il advint aux chiens d'Esope,.

lesquels, descouvrant quelque apparence de corps mort floter

en mer, et ne 1e pouvant approcher, entreprindrent de boire

cette eau, d'assecher le passage, et s'y estouffarent (III:13,

lO44—4Sb).39 A . '
In the four successive phases of the metaphorical complex, Montaigne
progressively concretizes his idea. One sense that the series of
vehicles interacting with l'esprit are suggested less by the tenor

than by each other. The first image (A) is a simple metaphor of the

mind as 3 physical body, subject to a maladie naturelle.“° 1n.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

147

describing the movements of the infirm body/mind (B), he makes a
comparison to the whirling, entangling and finally self-suffocating
course of the silkworm. Immediately juxtaposed to this is a new image
(C), the mouse in a pitch barrel, blindly chasing illusory lights and
losing itself in bewilderment. Finally, the anecdote of AEsop's dogs
(D) stages even more dramatically the senseless, self—destructive chase
of the mind. The passage illustrates Montaigne's own manner of working
out an idea--most unlike the course of a mouse in a pitch barrel. His

1:41

use of "serial or consecutive imagery functions, in the same manner

as his frequent doubling or tripling of synonymous or near—synonymous

words"2

to pursue his thought to a satisfactory completion. Whereas
his abstract subject, the mind in its compulsive meanderings, finds no
certain resting place, Montaigne's own thought, in a very real sense,
does. It is not in terms of a fixed, immutable truth that Montaigne
seeks his repose, for that he has understood to be a certitude inaces—
sible to his condition. But he is able to actualize the movement of
his mind, lay hold of it and possess it in the fixity of verbal expres-
sion. Through his unfolding metaphors, he gives substance and stability
to what he has called "un corps vain, qui n'a par 03 estre 33131 et
assené" (11:12, 5413). Metaphor is the means by which he manages to
'weight down' the "legerté de l'esprit et 13 fixe" (III:13, 1094b).

The images treating the mind's action upon subjects external
to itself reveal two basically distinct modes of procedure, the super—

ficial and the more penetrating. Philosophical arguments "vont 3 tOus

coups costoians et gauchissans 13 matiere, et 3 peine essuians sa

 

 

 

 

148

crouste" (111:4, 812C). Akin to this intellectual 'sidestepping' is

the dexterous manipulation of ideas which Montaigne figures in images

of 3 game of ball: "quoy que la varieté et discordance continuelle

des evenemens les rejette de coin en coin, et d'orient en occident,

ils ne lassent de poursuivre leur esteuf" (1:32, 2143); "Voyez l'hor-
rible impudence dequoy nous pelotons les raisons divines, et combien
irreligieusement nous les avons rejettées et reprinses selon que la
fortune nous 3 changé de place . . ." (11:12, 420c). In such instances,
the movement of the mind is not one of processing the phenomena on which
it acts, but rather of maneuvering them according to its own designs.

Montaigne casts the same idea into images of the mind operating as an

artisan drawing and shaping his proposed subject as he sees fit: "et,

de mesme creon, peindre 1e blanc et le noir" (1:32, 2143): "nous la
[la justice] menons, 3 tirer comme de cire tant de figures contraires
d'une regle si droitte et si ferme" (11:12, 420c). The image of super-

ficial manipulation par excellence is perhaps that of money: "signe

‘ ) I o 15.3
rond et substitut mobile de toute realite humaine." For Montaigne

the circulation of coins and their arbitrary value can serve to illus-
trate the fluctuating and fabricated pursuits of the would-be intel—

lectual life.““ Knowledge is handled in the same manner 33 coins of

no value: "La science passe de main en main . . comme une vaine

monnoye, inutile 3 tout autre usage et emploicte qu'3 compter et
jetter" (1:25, 1363). And pedants bestow 3 false value on their own

futile endeavors: "La difficulté est une monnoye (c) que les scavens

employent, comme les joueurs de passe-passe, pour ne descouvrir 13

 

 

149

vanité de leur art" (11:12, 488b). In typical fashion, Montaigne
glides from one image into another; the currency metaphor in the last
example is completed by a comparison to the art of conjurors“5--another
vehicle for the sham manipulation of surface appearance.

These examples all show the mind "3 peine essuians [la] crouste"
of the subjects it handles. Opposed to this kind of action is the
movement of a much more penetrating and active participation on the
part of the mind: "Autre chose est un dogme serieusement digeré,"
(11:12, 4233). Through the metaphor of the digestive process, Montaigne
explores the operation of the mind as that of an organic being, capable
of transforming external matter into itself and capable of substantial
growth. This is of course the integrating work of judgment which we

_have already seen in the image of bees“6

and which Montaigne clearly
opposes to a superficial, detached handling of phenomena: "Ce n'est pas
assez de compter les experiences, i1 les faut poiser et assortir et les
faut avoir digerées et alambiquées, pour en tirer les raisons et con-
clusions qu'elles portent" (111:8, 909c). Throughout the essays on
education (1:25 and 26), Montaigne develops the rich implications of
this metaphor. His celebrated insistence on "plustost la teste bien
faicte que bien pleine" (1:26, 1493) stems from the distinction between
manger and digérer. A mere accumulation of knowledge and experience is
worthless; they must be asSimilated, "illles faut poiser et assortir"--
"Que nous sert-il d'avOir la panse pleine de viande, si elle ne se

digere? si elle ne se trans—forme en nous? si elle ne nous augmente

et fortifie?" (1:25, 1363). The terms of the metaphor expand with

 

 

150

vivid concreteness as Montaigne works out his thoughts on the learning
process. The pupil is called the tutor's "nourrisson" (1:26, 1593);
his studies are "les viandes salubres" (165c) or "ce fruit" (1593);
certain materials must be offered to him with "13 moelle et la substance
toute maschée"; but eventually, "ayant des-j3 1e jugement formé," he
will require the challenge of subjects in which "l'ame trouve ofi mordre
et 03 se paistre" (1593). The aim of the program is the training not of
a savant but of a gggg, and its success will be measured by the degree
to which the pupil has 'incorporated' his learning into his being.
"C'est tesmoignage de crudité et indigestion que de regorger la viande
comme on 1'a avallé. L'estomac n'a pas faict son Operation, s'il n'a
faict changer la facon et la forme 3 ce qu'on luy avoit donné 3 cuire"
(lSOc). The alimentary image concentrates on the notion of education

as a process of change--change involving both the matiere crue and the

 

'digesting"mind. Learning is essentially the mind in movement, not
the aimless branle of the.§2§“ifl;21229 but movement positively oriented
toward a greater substantialization of self.

Montaigne employs a variety of antithetical images to contrast
the mind's passive and active relationship to knowledge, embodied in

the manger/digérer metaphor. "11 ne faut pas attacher 1e scavoir 3

 

l'ame, il l'y faut incorporer;"7 il ne l'en faut pas arrouser, il l'en
faut teindre" (1:25, 1393). With eachpair, he opposes a surface con-
tact to a penetrating, integrating movement. Thibaudet analyzes
Montaigne's use of 12 teinture as being allied with "13 solidité,

l'acte de donner un corps, une attitude ferme et qui dure.

 

 

151

L'image n'est par conséquent qu'une forme de celles qui expriment
l'assimilation par l'intérieur, la nourriture de l’a‘me.“8 It is
through a process of absorption that the human mind assumes 3 bodily
texture, but the image is not always employed in a meliorative sense.
It may equally apply to the passive receptivity of the mind, partic-
ularly in its penchant for becoming imbued with habit: "La raison
humaine est une teinture infuse environ de pareil pois 3 toutes nos
opinions et moeurs, de quelque forme qu'elles soient: infinie en
matiere, infinie en diversité" (1:23, llOc). The assimilation of
teindre must not be divorced from the activity of judgment, all too
often put to sleep by the stultifying effect of habituation (ibid.).
What is to be absorbed, incorporated, in the positive sense, must
always first be processed: "Qu'il luy face tout passer par l'estamine
et ne loge rien en 33 teste par simple authorité et 3 credit" (1:26,
1503)--"the estamine or Sifter being . . . the image_of judgment."“9
£2525, indicating the mere occupation of space, is set against yet
another image of a more integrally joined relationship: "i1 ne faut

pas seulement loger [la science] chez soy, il 13 faut espouser" (1773).
In his frequent contrasting pairs of verbs, Montaigne assesses the two
directions in which the movement of the mind tends to proceed. For
Thibaudet this becomes the contrast "entre deux mani3res d'étre,
recevoir passivement par 1e dehors ou assimiler activement du dedans."5°

And it is the latter which affords the possibility for growth, the

movement toward the solidity which Montaigne desires.

 

152

The exercise of the mind engaged in the process of learning
finds its stimulus in two activities carefully cultivated by Montaigne——

lg lecture and 13 conférence. Glauser suggests that "une des intentions

sans doute inavouées de Montaigne a été de remettre dans le mouvement de
la vie ce qui serait sinon inerte dans sa bibliothéque. . . . Son vrai
"51 Reading, Montaigne maintains, "est la

meilleure munition que j'aye trouvé 3 cet humain voyage" (III:3, 806b);

voyage est littéraire.

and the abundance of quotations and discussions of writings throughout
the Essais demonstrates the extent to which reading 'equips' his mind

in its 'travels.' The mind is subject to being frapé, chatouillé or

poigné (III:9, 967-968b) by a text; in the case of poetry, the judgment
may be £221 and ravagé (1:37, 227c). In addition to these very
sensuous impressions of the action of a text upon the mind, there
are Vivid concretizations of the gesture of the mind in the act of
reading. Montaigne uses an extended travel metaphor (reminiscent of
his passage on the operation of judgment)52 to describe an experience

of reading a mediocre text in which he encounters a passage clearly not

of the author's making:

au bout d' un long et ennuyeux chemin, je vins 3 rencontrer
une piece haute, riche et eslevée jusques aux nues. Si

j 'eusse trouve 1a pente douce et la montée un peu alongée,
cela eust esté excusable; c 'estoit un precipice si droit et
si coupé que, des six premieres paroles, je conneuz que je
m 'envolais en 1' autre monde. De 13 je descouvris la
fondriere d'ofi je venois, si basse et 51 profonde, que

je n'eus onques plus 1e coeur de m'y ravaler (1:26, 1463).

Envisioning the quality of the text as a spatial landscape of sharp

physical contrasts, Montaigne conveys the reading process in terms of

 

 

153

linear and vertical movement. From the horizontal progression along
"un long at ennuyeux chemin" he suddently ascends ("je m'envolais") to
"une piece haute, riche et eslevée jusques aux nués" and then finds
himself indisposed to E2 ravaler to the lower level of his initial
reading venture. Elsewhere the activity of reading is portrayed as
a movement of reaching down into and drawing forth from the depths of
a text: "Je n'ay dressé commerce avec aucun livre solide, sinon
Plutarque et Seneque, ofi je pgysg comme les Danaides, remplissant
et versant sans cesse" (1443). The mythological simile completing the
verb metaphor emphasizes the physicality of the gesture and its contin-
ual renewal. Reading is not a passive, receptive relationship to a
text, but a commerce that one 'erects' (dresser) with it. In the
spatial context of reading material the mind meets with a concrete
occasion for its own movement, and in this context, its movement takes
on the solidity of well-defined concrete gestures.

Montaigne refers to his approach to the difficulties of a text

'as a movement of attack, une charge (11:10, 389a and b). But he is

 

quick to point out that where the obstacles of a passage do not easily
yield to his thrust, he is disinclined to pursue that particular course,
for it is contrary to the way in which his mind most readily moves:

"Si je m'y plantois, je m'y perdrois, et le temps: car j'ay un esprit
primesautier. Ce que je me voy de la premiere charge, je le voy moins
en m'y obstinant" (389b). Reading must not weigh down and arrest
(planter) the movement of the mind, but foster its continuous, fluid

peregrinations, for "la contention trap ferme (b) esblouit [son]

 

 

 

154

jugement. l'attriste et le lasse" (ibid., c). When dealing with a
problematic text, Montaigne avoids the rigid tension of "l'ame trop

bandée at trop tendun"53

and favors the more flexible, plastic firmness
characteristic of the resilient essais of the judgment. ”ll faut que
je 1e [l'esprit] retire et que je l'y [aux difficultez] remette 3
secousses: tout ainsi que, pour juger du lustre de l'escarlatte,51+
on nous ordonne de passer les yeux pardessus, en la parcourant 3
diverses veuES, soudaines reprinses at reiterées" (389b). The com—
parison to the method of assessing the redness of a cloth provides

yet another physical context in which to envision the operation of

the mind upon a given text. It is important that the focus not be

fixed on a particular point, but be successively applied and reapplied
to the extension of points comprising the texture of the whole. Reading,
like the perception of color, sustains itself and accomplishes its aim
through movement.

However, Montaigne regards reading as a far less invigorating

mode of exercise for the mind than the esbranlement occasioned by a good

 

discussion: "L'estude des livres, c'est un mouvement languissant et
foible qui n'eschauffe poinct; 13 03 la conference apprend et exerce
en un coup" (III:8, 900b). Valued as "le plus fructueux et naturel
exercice de nostre esprit" (ibid.), la conference is described in
metaphors insisting upon its intensely arousing impact:

81 je confere avec une ame forte et un roide jousteur, 11

me presse les flancs, me pique 3 gauche et 3 dextre; ses

imaginations eslancent les miennes. La jalousie, la gloire,

la contention me poussent et rehaussent au dessus de moy—

mesmes. Et l'unisson est qualité du tout ennuyeuse en
13 conference (ibid.).

 

155

A lively and challenging discussion activates not only the mind but
one's entire being; it is movement experienced in an acutely physical
capacity. Montaigne's vigorous metaphor creates the sensation of move-
ments inflicted and borne from without—~"me presse les flancs, me pique
3 gauche et 3 dextre"—-and the concomitant stimulation of movements
propelled from within-—"ses imaginations eslancent les miennes,"

". . . me poussent et rehaussent." In the clash of strong and differing
opinions, the inner 'springs' of "1a jalousie, la gloire, la contention"
reverberate to the 'blows' of the challenger, precipitating the branle
that would never be set in motion were the two discussants to find
themselves in accord. Responding to the stimulus of the other, one
experiences a movement of self-transcendence ("me poussent et rehaussent
fig dessus g§_moy—mesmes"), for discussion in its most engaging realiza-
tion is more than a mere exchange of ideas. (It is not only the mind

set in motion, but the mind intimately fused with the physical

components of the self--"1'esprit affreré au corps" (111:5, 821b).

The pleasure Montaigne takes in 1§_conférence is the pleasure

 

of movement experienced as physically tangible. Because it is a move—
ment incited in response to another's movement, discussion does not
allow for the slackening of pace and even momentary stops which the
mind may incur in the "mouvement languissant et foible" of la_lecture.
In'contrast to the inertia of a text, the mobile agility of one‘s '
partner in discussion~~in the best of circumstances "une ame forte et
un roide jousteur"——urgently calls for a reaction, "la conference . . .

exerce en un coup." Certain qualities in the discussants foster the

 

 

 

156

ease with which the exchange is activated. Montaigne praises an open
forthrightness in speech for this acts much as a physical stimulant,
to release the movement of response: "Un parler ouvert ggzrg un autre
parler et le_£i£e hogs, comme faict 1e Vin et l'amour" (III:1, 771C).
There is also the need for a strategic concentration which Montaigne
likens to the attention required to the moves of one's opponent in a
game of tennis: "La parole est moitié 3 celuy qui parle, moitié 3 celuy
qui l'escoute. Cettuy-cy se doibt preparer 3 1a recevoir selon 1e
branle qu'elle prend. Comme entre ceux qui jouent 3 la paume, celuy
qui soustient se desmarche et s'apreste selon qu'il voit remuer celuy
qui luy jette le coup et selon la forme du coup" (III:13, 1066b).
Implicit in the tennis image is the assumption that the 'players'
possess the agility and quickness to return the volleys, to maintain

the branle on which the game depends. La_conférence, for Montaigne,

 

is a virile contact, an exercise demanding a 'well—muscled' mind. In
his social relationships he looks for the strength and vigor that are
suited to engage in so palpably jarring an encounter: "J'ayme une
societé et familiarité forte et virile, une amitié qui se flatte en
l'asPreté et vigueur de son commerce, comme l'amour, és morsures et
eSgratigneures sanglantes. (c) Elle n'est pas assez vigoureuse et
genereuse, . . . si.elle craint 1e hurt et a ses allures contreintes"

(111:8, 902b). The pleasure of l§_conférence in its physical acuteness

 

manifests itself in terms of pain, much as we witnessed earlier in our
observations on the metaphors of desire and physical fulfillment.55

Desirous of grasping the solidity of his being, Montaigne cherishes

 

 

 

157

those moments in which movement incorporates itself into a sentient

experience.

Both lléme_and l'esprit are components of our being which of
themselves have no substance, but are nonetheless experienced. They
are perceived through their participation in the branle which is the
very essence of life-—"Notre vie n'est que mouvement" (III:13, 1074b).
As Montaigne works out his thoughts on the operations of the mind and
soul, he handles them in terms of the physical properties through which
life itself is experienced. Physical gestures, impressions and percep-
tions, spatiality, and corporeal qualities of firmness and softness,
fullness and emptiness, serve to concretize the abstract energies and
movements of the soul and mind. On the level of language, this is the
process of metaphor, "a transference of meaning through the substitution

n 56

of one term for another. But for Montaigne, the metaphorical process

functions at the deeper level of forging "bonds that join known being

"57 Metaphor, giving 'body‘ to his ideas, is

to the unknown phenomena.
forging the bond between the movements of the soul and mind and those

of the physical body. Understanding lL§m2_and llg§p£i£_in their inti~
mate relationship to the body and expressing them in corporeal terms,
Montaigne effects the harmonious integration of the dual aspects of
man's nature: "le sentiment du corps se meslant 3 celuy de l'ame. . . .
Que l'esprit esveille et vivifie la pesanteur du corps, le corps arreste
1a legerte de l'exprit et la fixe." The unity and solidity of being

Which Montaigne so ardently espouses is realized in the bonds of his

metaphor.

 

 

 

Notes

1Gray, p. 153.
2Montaigne's own image. See above, ch. III, p. 80.

3The question of the anteriority of thought to language in

Montaigne is discussed by Héléne-Hedy Ehrlich, Montaigne: ‘13 critique
.gtfllg_langage (Paris: Editions Klincksieck, 1972), pp. 70-90; and by
Dilys Winegrad, "Language as Theme and Image in the Essais of Montaigne,"
Symposium, 28, 3 (1974), 274-283. Montaigne does recognize a frequent
separation between thought and language and sees language used to clothe
or even mask thought, but it is important to observe with Dr. Winegrad
that the ideal language for Montaigne is one that is "an extension of
what he understands himself to be" (p. 279). In reply to Ehrlich's
insistence that Montaigne held "que la pensee s'exerce en dehors de
la parole" (p. 73), we draw attention to a passage in 1:26 which she
seems to overlook:

"J'en oy qui s'excusent de ne se pouvoir exprimer, et font

contenance d'avoir la teste pleine de plusieurs belles choses,

mais, 3 faute d'eloquence, ne les pouvoir mettre en evidence.

c’est une baye. Scavez-vous, 3 mon advis, que c'est que cela?

Ce sont des ombrages qui leur viennent de quelques conceptions

informes, qu'ils ne peuvent desmeler et esclaircir au dedans,

ny par consequent produire au dehors . . ." (168a).
Thought for Montaigne is quite clearly inextricable from language,
although the contrary-~language inextricable from thought-—is not
always the case. For Montaigne's attitude toward language which is
divorced from substance, see above, ch. II, pp. 63ff.

 

”James Olney, Metaphors gf_8elf: The Meaning 2; Autobiography
(Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1972), p. 47.

 

sMontaigne reviews various philosophies of the soul in 11:12,
520-532.

6We have already dealt with this problem of the 'Assertive
Imagination.‘ See above ch. II, pp. 63-66.

7See above, ch. III, p. 95.

8These images are drawn from his readings, the first from Plato,
the second from Sebond, Pleiade ed., p. 1471, n. l to p. 165 and
P. 1590, n. 1 to p. 623.

9Montaigne makes mention of both on p. 623.

 

 

 

 

 

159

10Zoe Samaras, The Comic Element gf_Montaigne's Style (Paris:
Nizet, 1970), p. 22.

 

 

11Montaigne, p. 534. According to wm. Blake Tyrrell, Professor
of Classics at Michigan State University, Thibaudet's Greek letters
transliterate autochinetos, an evident misprint for the Greek word for
'auto-kinetic' or 'self—moved.’

 

12In Chapter III we saw how the image of the ressors translated
Montaigne's conception of the passions. See above, ch. III, p. 102.

13The simile is taken from Plutarch. Pleiade ed., p. 1573,
n. l to p. 550.

1t“Thibaudet provides a list of MOntaigne's uses of the image of
1§_teinture (Montaigne, pp. 515-516). He comments: "Dans presque
toutes ces images la teinture s'allie avec la fermeté, la solidité,
l'acte de donner un corps, une attitude ferme et qui dure."

15For examples of these verbs in context, see 1:14, 38c; I:20,
89a; I:26, 152c; 11:2, 328a.

16Frame translation, p. 220.

17We have already seen the soul compared to the light of the sun
in the context of Montaigne' s conception of the relationship of the soul
and body. See above, p. 120.

18"Montaigne se souvient ici d' un passage de la Théologie
naturelle de Raymond Sebond (folio 24 verso de sa traduction)," Pleiade
ed., p. 1500, n. 2 to p. 231.

19This is one of the central themes of his chapter "L' Affirmation
de 1' homme, " pp. 156—219.

20See above, pp. 124-125.
21Frame translation, p. 615.

22Samaras makes a similar observation (p. 24). we see Montaignek:
easy passage from one to the.other in such passages as "I1 a‘un corps,
il a une ame; les sens le poussent, l'esprit l'agite" (11:12, 486C) and
again in I:4, when after a long consideration of ”l'ame esbranlée et
esmeuE" (25a), he concludes: "Mais nous ne dirons jamais assez
d'injures au desreglement de nostre esprit" (27a).

 

 

 

 

 

160

23We are aware that Montaigne does at times make a distinction
between l'esprit and 1e jggement in passages where l'esprit becomes
synonymous with 1§_raison: "11 semble que ce soit plus 1e propre de
l'esprit d'avoir son operation prompte et soudaine, et plus 1e propre
du jugement de l'avoir lente et posée" (1:10, 41a). For an analysis
of this distinction, see La Charité, pp. 34-35.

 

21' See R, A, Sayce, "The Style of Montaigne: Word—Pairs and
Word-Groups," in Literary Sgyle, ed. and (in part) trans. by Seymour
Chatman (London and New York: Oxford University Press, 1971),
pp. 383-402.

 

25See above, ch. I, p. 40.
26Frame translation, p. 818.
27Pléiade ed., p. 1669, n. 4 to p. 1045.

28Since, as we noted in ch. II, pp. 63-64, it is characteristic
_ of Montaigne pg£_to restrict a given image to a specific concept, but
rather to demonstrate a marked mobility in his associations, we do not
want to overemphasize the role of water images as a symbol of the inner
life. In Thibaudet's list of water images (pp. 547—548), we see it
employed in a variety of ways, functioning as a general image of "la
reélité méme en son essence mobile" (Montaigne, p. 547).

29Both the mind and the soul are shaped in noun metaphors in
terms of their passive roles as the recipients of various forces.
Memory is "1e receptacle et l'estuy de la science" (11:17, 634a).
Knowledge is "logée" and "empreincte" in the memory (1:9, 36a)--as
in a dwelling or on a material. That faculty of mind or soul which
assents to religious tenets without submitting them to the scrutiny of
reason and judgment is "une carte blanche preparée 3 prendre du doigt
de Dieu telles formes qu'il luy plaira" (11:12, 486a), and divine grace
works to "loger en nous" the conviction of faith (417a).

3°La Charité, p. 8.

31For several possible sources of the bee image, see the Pleiade
ed., p. 1467, n. 5 to p. 150.

32La Charité, p. 18.

33Esprit in this context‘is equated with reason rather than
comprising all the mental faculties of which judgment is one. La
Charité remarks that "confusion of the terms esprit and jugement is
unavoidable" (p. 55) and that "in the study of the concept of judgment
in Montaigne, one encounters an exciting but disconcerting problem of
related vocabulary" (p. 100). His last chapter (pp. 110—143 investi-
gates the problem of the interrelationship of the various faculties of
the mind.

 

 

 

 

161

3"Poulet, p. 48.

35La Charité, p. 68.

36Frame translation, p. 422.

37"Ce disciple de Prodicus est cité par Erasme, Adgggg, I, 1’
94. Son surnom vient de ce qu‘il s'adaptait 3 n'importe quel parti,"

Pléiade ed., p. 1663, n. 4 to p. 1012.

38The image of "a mouse in a pitch barrel" is taken from Erasmus,
Pléiade ed., p. 1669, n. 6 to p. 1044.

39The source of this image is Plutarch, Pléiade ed., p. 1669,
n. l to p. 1045.

I"’Montaigne frequently uses the metaphor of a sick body to
express the weakness and imperfections of the soul or mind. See 1:39,
234a; 11:12, 548a; II:17, 634a; 111:4, 8lOb; 111:5, 823c; 111:9, 924b;
111:13, 1034b.

”ISayce, A Critical Exploration, p. 299.

l'ZSee Sayce's "The Style of Montaigne," pp. 383-402.

“3Thibaudet, p. 588. He lists here Montaigne's various uses of
the vehicle "money."

1"‘See above, ch. 111, p. 90.
“SFrame's translation of "les joueurs de passe-passe," p. 376.
46

See above, p. 139.

“7Images borrowed from Seneca, Pleiade ed., p. 1464, n. 5 to
P. 139.

“Brhlbaudet, pp. 515-516.
“’La Charité, p. 6.
50Thibaudet, p. 514.

51Montaigne paradoxal (Paris: Nizet, 1972), p. 52.

 

52See above, p. 139.

53See the discussion of the soul in movement, above, pp. 124-125.

 

 

 

 

162

s""Ce mot désigne ici une étoffe d'un rouge vif et non pas
une couleur," Pléiade ed., p. 1536, n. 2 to p. 389.

55See above, ch. 111, pp. 105-106.
56See above, ch. 11, p. 47.

57See above, p. 119.

 

 

CHAPTER FIVE

METAPHORS OF THE SELF AND THE BOOK

Il n'est description pareille en difficulté
3 la description de soy—mesmes (II:6,,358c).

Clearly aware of the complexities inherent in his desire to
portray himself, Montaigne confronts them directly in his frequent
reflections on the nature of self-analysis and the self—portrait.
These discussions are in part a response to the prevailing attitude
of his day which regarded so deliberate an attention to oneself as a
kind of social indelicacy, a disturbing violation of the code of the
gentleman-courtier whose identity was to be realized in the attainment
of a generally accepted ideal of behavior, not in the assertion of one's
'individuality.’1 And yet, Montaigne was personally witness to the
presentation of a gift to Francis 11 by King René of Sicily consisting
of a sketch of René, which he himself had penciled. The incident

affords the essayist an opportune moment to question the inconsistency

of the Renaissance prejudice: "Pourquoy n'est-i1 loisible de mesme 3

un chacun de se peindre de la plume, comme 11 se peignoit d'un creon?"
(II:17, 637a).
Much more problematic to Montaigne is the question of how to

achieve both the faithful observation of himself and the faithful

rendering of himself as observed. Central to this difficulty is his

163

 

 

164

awareness of his own mobility: "Je ne puis asseurer mon object. 11
~va trouble et chancelant, d'une yvresse naturelle" and his assertion
that "Je ne peints pas l'estre. Je peints 1e passage" (111:2, 782b).
What is meant by the "portrayal of passage" is intimately related to
the essais taken in their dual sense of form and activity, and we shall
return to the implications of this statement in the concluding sections
of this chapter. For the moment, let us st0p at the comparison which
Montaigne himself makes of his undertaking to a painting.2 When a
painter sets out to capture not a fixed, but a moving subject on canvas,
he employs a variety of techniques to create the sensation of movement
and depth on his stationary, flat surface. Working in the medium of
words, Montaigne effects the sensation of movement in the fixed text

of the printed word. It is of course the reader, like the viewer of

the painting, who finally actualizes the movement of the text3 as he
participates in the thought process of the writer. But the writer,

in his handling of his material, can create a text in which the reader
experiences more than the usual exercitation afforded by the act of
reading. He can involve his reader in the experience of movement at

a much more direct level by supplying him with metaphors evoking a
concrete impression of the branle of his subject. It is through such
metaphors that Montaigne effectively transmits his perception of flux

in the world, the divers §£_ondozant character of man, and the movements
pertaining to the human soul and mind. These subjects, however, are not
in themselves what Montaigne has declared to be the Central focus of his

portrait, though all are intimately related to it. "Je ne vise icy qu'3

 

 

 

165

decouvrir may-mesmes" (I:26, 147a); "Je suis may-mesmes 1a matiere de
mon livre" ("Au lecteur," p. 9). We have yet to examine the way in
which metaphor applies to the branle of the principal figure in the
portrait.
P. Mansell Jones raises an important question regarding the use
of figurative language by the introspective writer.“ Looking at the
proportion of writing directly devoted to self-analysis in Montaigne
and two later writers, Amiel and Proust, he finds:
that while the amount of writing which is introspective in
intention increases as one passes from the first to the later
two, the tendency also increases to leave the narrow path of
self—investigation . . . and to run after images, under the
impulse, perhaps, to resort to intuitive language where the
rational fails. . . . Lured away from the self under the
microscope, they lose themselves in vague ruminations or
vaporous poetisings.5

Montaigne, while devoting less space to what Jones regards as conscious

6 achieves a greater degree of directness in that his

self-examination,
observations are less inclined to "lose themselves in vague ruminations
or vaporous poetisings." Too unbridled a use of metaphor, it would
seem, imposes a distance between the self observed and the self as
portrayed, and the faithfulness of the portrait depends on maintaining
.a close and direct representation of the subject.
Montaigne unabashedly lays claim to the fidelité of his

Portrait: "celle-13 y est, la plus sincere et pure qui se trouve"
(111:2, 783b). Although, as Jones indicates, his self-examination

does not wander into vague images, metaphor does play a role, and a

very important one, in the realization of his portrait. Here, as with

 

 

 

166

any of the subjects which Montaigne treats metaphorically, his
faithfulness to his subject finds expression in the use of metaphor

with awareness.7 Words are not to be mistaken for the thing they

 

represent, for "11 y a le nom et la chose; 1e nom, c'est une voix qui
remerque et signifie la chose; le nom, ce n'est pas une partie de la
chose ny de la substance, c'est une piece estrangere joincte 3 1a chose,
et hors d'elle" (11:16, 601a). And comparisons must not be construed
into identities: "toutes choses se tiennent par quelque similitude,
tout exemple cloche, et la relation qui se tire de l'experience est
tousjours defaillante et imparfaicte" (III:13, 1047b). Nonetheless,
recognizing the resemblances on which metaphors are based-—"on joinct
toutesfois les comparaisons par quelque coin" (ibid.)--Montaigne does
not hesitate to make the comparison through which his ideas take on
form. His concern for a style that is one with thoughts-fhigphdizg

meaning bien penser-—demands that the joining in metaphor be as closely

 

conceived as possible. Insisting on the one hand on the separation of
"le nom et la chose“ and the imperfection of any comparison, and on the
other, on the unity of idea and expression and the fidelité he brings
to his subject, Montaigne presents us with one of his celebrated con-
tradictions.9 To attempt to resolve or dispel this or any of the
contradictions in Montaigne risks a dangerous simplification or even
betrayal of his thought. Instead, keeping both sides of the question
in mind, we can draw closer to the role of metaphor in Montaigne's
language. In the distance between "le nom et la chose" and the close-

ness demanded between penser and dire, there is set up a tension which

 

 

 

167

is at the core of the metaphorical process. This tension energizes
the interaction at work in metaphor, the operation of semantic motion
giving us two ideas which "co-operate in an inclusive meaning."10 The

successful metaphor is one emanating from bien penser where the "inclu-

 

sive meaning" is a faithful expression of the subject as observed. It
is with this heightened sense of metaphor that we proceed to an

examination of Montaigne's metaphors of self.

Je ne me soucie pas tant quel je sois chez autruy, comme

je me soucie quel je sois en moy mesme. . . . Les estrangers
ne voyent que les evenements et apparences externes. . . .
Ils ne voyent pas mon coeur, ils ne voyent que mes
contenances (II:16, 608—609a).

Montaigne frequently refers to the distinction between the
inner and the outer man, the self as experienced by the subject and
as projected into the world of others. The opposition of coeur and
contenances embodies what elsewhere is specified as 1§_nature and
l'art (111:2, 785b).11 His portrait, Montaigne makes clear to the
reader, is primarily concerned with the inner self, focusing on the
"essential qualities . . . equated with the heart" rather than on the
"inconstant external elements represented . . . [by] the face or

"12 In no way is this 'inner self' to be conceived

countenance.
abstractly, divorced from a corporeal reality.. Consistent with his
tendency to think concretely and his strong sense of the essential union
of mind and body, Montaigne does not neglect to give physical contours

to the self he is portraying. At one point in "De la praesumption,"

in the midst of his discussion of the opinion he has of himself,

 

 

 

168

Montaigne offers us a quite thorough pictorial representation of his
physical person (11:17, 6243).13 And throughout "De l'experience,"
we encounter numerous direct observations on his bodily inclinations
and habits, for these constitute an important aspect of "quel [il soit]
en [luy] mesme."

Very often the purely physical features in Montaigne's
description of himself bear a strong resemblance to the qualities
by which he characterizes the unphysical aspects of his being.
Montaigne at times points directly to this close association: "Mon
marcher est prompt et ferme; at us scay lequel des deux, ou l'esprit
ou le corps, ay arreste plus malaiséement en mesme point" (III:13,
1085b). In other instances, observations he makes separately invite
a comparison in the mind of the reader. Montaigne describes his body
as "capable d'une agitation ferme, mais non vehemente et soudaine"
(1075b), a disposition readily allied to certain inclinations of his
mind: "Quant aux facultés naturelles qui sont en moy, dequoy c'est icy
l'essay, je les sens flechir sous la charge" (I:26, 145a); "Le deliberer,
voire 33 choses plus legieres, m‘importune; et sens mon esprit plus
empesché 3 souffrir le branle et les secousses diverses du doute et
de la consultation, qu'3 se rassoir et resoudre 3 quelque party que
ce soit, aprés que la chance est livrée" (II:17, 627b). While Montaigne

does not examine in particular all of the ‘corners' by which the

 

 

 

 

 

169

physical and nonphysical traits of his portrait may be 'joined,‘ he

is aware of their harmonious colligeance: "Mes conditions corporelles

 

sont en somme trésbien accordantes a celles de l'ame" (625a). This
sense of the organic unity of his being underlies many of his metaphors
of self.

Health and sickness for the aging Montaigne are means by which
he experiences a sense of his own stability and a contrasting sense of

his susceptibility to esbranlement. "Ma santé, c'est maintenir sans

 

destourbier mon estat accoustumé" (III:13, 1057b). Sickness and its
remedies intervene to 'move him away' from his habitual state, to
'dislodge him} from the seat of his stable physical self: "Je voy que
la maladie m'en desloge d'un costé; si je crois les medecins, ils m'en
destourneront de l'autre; et par_fortune at par art, me voyl3 hors de
ma route" (ibid.). From his mature perspective, well~acquainted with
sickness, he recalls the health of his youth in terms of dynamic vigor
and elation: "allegre et bouillante . . . plein[e] de verdeur et de
feste" (II:6, 352a). Once he is no longer party to what had been a
"parfaite et entiere santé" (ibid.), but subject instead to frequent
attacks of the stone, health is no longer something to be taken for

"estat accoustumé" to which

granted. For having been interrupted, the
he returns is savored.consciously: "est-11 rien si doux au pris de cette
soudaine mutation, quand d'une douleur extreme je viens, . . . 3
recouvrer comme d'un esclair la belle lumiere de la santé, si libre

et si pleine" (III:13, 1071b). Through the light image, Montaigne

expresses his experience of health as a positive presence, permeating

 

 

 

170

his being with a sensation of freedom and fullness. The pleasure of
health is sensed in a flash, its perception made possible by the sudden
absence of pain. Health and sickness, like stability and movement, are
Opposites perceived in contrast to each other. "De combien la santé me
semble plus belle aprés 1a maladie, si voisine et 31 contigué que je
puis les recognoistre en presence l'une de l‘autre en leur plus haut
appareil, 03 elles se mettent 3 l'envy comme pour se faire teste et
contrecarre!" (1071-72b). Each is sharply set off in their contiguity
"when they vie with each other, as if to oppose each other squarely."1“
The tension arising from this association of opposites, vigorously
rendered in terms of combat, is appreciated for its power as a stimulus
to perception. Montaigne recognizes the importance of relating oppo-
sites, of seeing their necessary joining, as a means of achieving the
fullest experience of self.15

In his direct confrontations with the pointures and

pincements16 of pain, Montaigne assumes an attitude of combined

 

attentiveness and patience. He chooses not to ignore pain, any more
than he would pleasure; to both he brings the firmness of concentration
engaged in self-examination: "J'ordonne 3 mon ame de regarder et la
douleur et la volupté‘gg_veu3 pareillement (c) reglée . . . gp_pareil-
lement (b) ferme, mais gayement l'une, l'autre severement" (1091b).
His severe perusal of pain is not an obstinate resistance to it, nor
is it a flaccid submission: "il ne faut obstinéement s'opposer aux
maux, et 3 l'estourdi, ny leur succomber de mollesse, mais . . . il

leur faut ceder naturellement, selon leur condition et la nostre.

 

 

 

 

171

(b) On doit donner passage aux maladies, et je trouve qu'elles
arrestent moins chez moy, qui les laisse faire" (1066c). Montaigne's
studied observation of his physical condition, "d'une veué . . . reglée
. et . . . ferme," permits him to consider his malady at a distance,
as something distinct from the observing self. Sickness is viewed in
its passage, as a movement less likely to take hold in a subject "qui
[1e] laisse faire." The conscious assent Montaigne joins to his aware-
ness of the branle of pain transforms the experience of illness from
one of passive submission into one of active participation. Yielding

"naturellement" but also consciemment to the passage of a malady,

 

Montaigne exercises a gesture of reflective tension on the movements
to which he is unavoidably subject. Bringing together a mouvement-

écoulement and a mouvement-geste in what Starobinski describes as "un

 

composé mixte 03 les deux expériences contraires se malent et se con-

fondent,"17

Montaigne affirms his own sense of self in coordination
with the flux of his physical conditions.

We have seen how Montaigne regards sickness as something which
works to 'dislodge' him from his accustomed state, and also as a passage
which he is able to view objectively. But the closer Montaigne focuses
his observation on his physical self, the more he understands it as a
branle in which the observing self is inextricably engaged. Simple
constatations on the decline of his physical being immediately point
to the sense he has of the passing of life itself. A fallen tooth is

an indicator of the natural process of disintegration involving the

whole man: "c'estoit 1e terme naturel de sa durée . . . c'est ainsi

 

 

 

 

 

172

3253:9335 eschappe 311391" (III:13, 1081b). More forcefully, the
passing of a kidney stone becomes a metaphor for the passing of his
life: "[A] C'est quelque grosse pierre qui foule et consomme 1a
substance de mes roignons, [B] __e_t_ 33173.3 qge jg 3.939.232 3 pep, non
sans quelque naturelle douceur, [C] comme un excrement hormais superflu
et empeschant" (1074c). Statements such as these are really more than
the use of mere physical fact as metaphor, for as Sayce remarks, "the

line between external and internal has become increasingly hard to

"18

draw. Metaphor invokes the interaction of two separate concepts,

and here, the two terms come very close to being the same. The life
that Montaigne feels slipping away is comprised of the interaction of
body and spirit. But in the gaze of the observing self on its own
movement, a distance is imposed between what for Montaigne are insep-
arable elements. This distance is again closed by forging metaphors
which give expression to their unity. In the last example, Montaigne's
developing metaphor, progressing from a concrete physical movement (A)
to the passage of life (B) and then back to the physical (C), tightens

the joining of vehicle and tenor.19

Their inclusive meaning gives body
to Montaigne's awareness that his life is in a continual process of
change, that his being is engaged in constant movement: "Ce que je
seray doresnavant, ce ne sera plus qu'un demy estre, ce ne sera plus
moy. .Jg_m'eschape tous les jours et pg desrobe 3 moy . . . "

(II:17, 6253).

Montaigne's studied awareness of his physical self extends to

the domain of pleasure as well as to pain and the evidencescHFthe aging

 

 

 

 

 

173

process. Pleasure, like pain, is experienced as a sharp, pricking
sensation, one which Montaigne cultivates in its very sharpness:

"j'ay voulu esguiser ce plaisir [l'amour] par la difficulté, par 1e
desir et par quelque gloire" (III:3, 804b). But upon closer scrutiny,
pleasure resists sustained apprehension. It is perceived only in
movement, a branle of which we cannot take hold. Montaigne expresses
the ephemeral nature of this sensation in an image of wind: "Moy qui
me vante d'embrasser si curieusement les commoditez de la vie, et si
particulierement, n'y trouve, quand je regarde ainsi finement, 3 peu
prés que du vent" (III:13, 1087c). Wind emerges as a prominent image
of the turbulent, fleeting inner life2°-—the elusive domain of passion
or emotion: "Je sens 3 temps les petits vents qui viennent me taster
et bruire au dedans, avantcoureus de la tempeste" (III:10, 994—995b).21
For Montaigne, the unleashed inner energies incorporated in the wind
image and the verbs "taster" and "bruire" are a force to be opposed in
the interest of preserving the inner tranquillity and stability he
prizes: "J'essaie 3 tenir mon ame et pensées en repos" (998b). The
observing self, witness to the advent of strong feelings which threaten
to 'carry him off,‘ attempts to arrest such movements in their early
stages: "Avec bien peu d'effort j'arreste ce premier branle de mes
esmotions, et abandonne 1e subject qui me commence 3 poiser, et avant
Qu'il m'emporte" (994b). 'To the weight and force of passion Montaigne
Opposes-the hardened, thickened surface of his conscious resistance:
"Je suis peu en prise de ces violentes passions. J'ay l'apprehension
naturellement dure; et l'encrouste et espessis tous les jours par

discours" (1:2, 17-18b)-

 

 

 

Not given to being overwhelmed by violent passion, Montaigne
finds his natural (i.e., God—given) temperament generally well-adapted
to dealing with the emotions he does encounter: "Dieu donne 1e froid
selon 1a robe, et me donne les passions selon 1e moien que j'ay de les
soustenir" (111:6, 878b). The comparison to a garment affording shelter
from the cold portrays his emotional disposition as a protective cover-
ing, a shield preserving the security of his inner EEEQE: Though his
susceptibility to passions is "naturellement dure" and though he
"l'encrouste et espessis tous les jours par discours," Montaigne
nevertheless experiences the discomfort of inner turmoil. His resistant
surface, well—suited to soustenir against forceful emotions, proves most
vulnerable in the face of small worries and annoyances. Just as "La
goutte d'eau perce 1a pierre,"22 Montaigne asserts that "Ces ordinaires
goutieres [1e] mangent" (III:9, 928b). Not only does the constancy of

these annoyances eat away at his protective envelope, but their very

smallness renders them more apt to penetrate his composure and to

prick his ire:

Vaines pointures, (c) vaines par fois, (b) mais toujours
pointures. Les plus menus et graisles empeschemens sont

les plus persans; et comme les petites lettres offencent et
lassent plus les yeux,23 aussi nous piquent plus les petits
affaires. . . . A mesure que ces espines domestiques sont drues
et desliées, elles nous mmrdent plus aigu et sans menace, nous

surprenant facilement 3 1' impourveu (927b).

In-this prolonged, developing metaphor, Montaigne insists on the sharp
and pointed nature of small worries (pointures, espines).and the
resultant sensation which he experiences (persans, piquant, mordent).

The painful 'pricking' and 'scratching' of these 'pinpricks' and

175

' taking him by surprise, are likely to precipitate Montaigne

'thorns,
into the branle of a much more forceful emotion, quite out of keeping
with the smallness of the occasion. Confronted with great concerns,

he manages to stiffen his resistance to an emotional outbreak, "je pg_

bande et prepare contre celles—cy.' But caught unaware, he is quite

susceptible to esbranlement: "les petites [occasions] me surprennent;

 

et le mal'heur veut que, dépuis que vous estes dans le precipice, i1
n'importe qui vous ayt donné le branle, vous allez tousjours jusques

au fons; la cheute se presse, s'esmeut et se haste d'elle-mesme"
[(11:31, 698b). Once the surface of composure has been penetrated,
Montaigne knows he can be emporté in the branle of such an emotion
as_1§ colere, which he expresses in terms of a falling movement, where
the subject is propelled downward in a rushing momentum. Quite con-
scious of his inclination to be caught in such an impulsion, Montaigne
takes precautions to guard against its instigation. The pointures which

can so dangerously l'esbranler must not be allowed to act inwardly.

 

Rather, Montaigne sees the benefit of giving vent to the anger prodded
by small annoyances, so that the 'stab' of their poinctes may be
directed away from the self: "at aymerois mieux produire mes passions
que de les couver 3 mes despens; elles s'alanguissent en s'esvantant et
en s'exprimant; i1 vaut mieux que leur poincte agisse au dehors que de

la plier contre nous" (697b).

 

From his sense that "c'est chose tendre que la vie et aysée 3
troubler" (III:9, 927b), Montaigne takes guard against the movements

which menace life's precarious stability. His images repeatedly stress

 

 

 

 

 

176

the compelling forces of passion and his own efforts to protect himself
from.them. An extended metaphor describing his sense of the effects of
fear exemplifies the way in which he concretizes the struggle he wages
against any vehement passion:

[A] Je ne me sens pas assez fort pour soustenir 1e coup et
l'impetuosité de cette passion de la peur, ny d'autre vehe-
mente. Si j'en estois un coup vaincu et atterré, je ne m'en
releverois jamais bien entier. [B] Qui auroit fait perdre
pied 3 mon ame, B£.lé remettroit jamais droicte gpfl§§_place;
[C] elle se retaste et recherche trop vifvement et profondement,
et pourtant, ne lairroit jamais ressouder et consolider la plaie
qui 1' auroit percee. 11 m' a bien pris qu' aucune maladie— ne me
1'ayt encore desmise. [D] A chaque charge qui me vient, je me
presente et oppose 23 mon haut appareil; ainsi, 1a premiere qui
m 'emporteroit me mettroit sans resource. [E] Je n' en faicts
oinct a fideux; par quelquen endroict que le ravage —faucast ma
levee, me voyl3 ouvert et my sans remede (III: 6, 877-878b).

 

 

 

 

 

Progressing through a series of mutually reinforcing vehicles, Montaigne
intensifies the physical translation of his tenor: his own vulnerabil-
ity and the brutal onslaught of passion. From his first image of being
conquered and thrown to the ground, unable to raise himself (A), he
proceeds to specify (B) that it is his ggpl_which would lose its footing

"2“ The soul, after being

and never be set "back upright in its place.
given spatial situation, is then examined in its movements--"se retaste
et recherche" (C)-for it is due to these movements of the soul that

the effects of passion are regarded as irremediable. The impact of

passion is envisioned as anwound which would pierce the soul and which

 

 

 

could never heal--"ressoudre et consolider." All of this action is
indeed hypothetical, for Montaigne allows that his soul has not yet been
"laid low" by any "maladie." To state how he maintains his resistance

against any menacing siege, Montaigne moves away from the malady

 

 

 

 

 

 

177

imagery and into the terminology of battle (D)--"in full armor" he

opposes each "charge,"

aware that he risks being emporte, for he has
"no secondary defense." A final image (E), that of a 'dike' holding
back the 'torrents' of passions which threaten his 'drowning,’
concludes the serial development of his idea.

The images of the firm defense Montaigne opposes to the threat

of violent passions denote a rigid tension, straining against the

impulsion to esbranlement. Montaigne recognizes that he functions much

 

more readily under favorable conditions than under disagreeable ones.

"La priere me gaigne, 1a menace me rebute, (c) la faveur me ploye, 1a
crainte me ro dit" (III:9, 924-925b). The contrast in these verb images
of bending rather than stiffening to the exigencies of life indicates
Montaigne's preference for a pliable, flexible movement. While a
certain rigidity may be necessitated to guard against an excess of
movement, such a stance is artificial, a contradiction to the very
nature of life conceived as movement. And so Montaigne advocates and
cultivates a fluid cooperation with movement. He desires mollement what
he would attain so as to permit himself to "couler ce monde5. . . (c) 1e
. . . glisser . . . non pas s'y enfoncer" (III:10, 982b). In this
phrase, Starobinski posits the fusion of the mouvement—geste and

25

,mouvement-écoulement mentioned earlier. "Couler le monde" preposes

an alternative to the extremes of turbulent esbranlement and rigid

 

immobility. It is an alternative not easily realized, sometimes not

Possible, but nonetheless desirable.26

 

 

 

 

178

Ambition and gloire are passions of a more subtle working for
Montaigne, their movements less easily perceived than the forceful
tumults of fear or anger. Ambition is figured in an image of smoke,
conveying its tangible, yet elusive presence within him: "Je me sens
fumer en l'ame par fois aucunes tentations vers l'ambition; mais je me
bande et obstine au contraire" (III:9, 97Gb). If he is able to firm
himself against the lures of ambition, his conscious and willful
rejection of gloire is perhaps not quite so impenetrable a defense:

"Je me tiens de la commune sorte. . . . S'il y a de la gloire, elle

est infuse en moy superficiellement par la trahison de ma complexion,
at.ELE“22$E£.§E“£2£B§.q“i comparoisse a la veue de mon jugement. J'en
suis arrosé, mais non pas £2222727 (II:17, 618C). In the antithesis
established between arrosé and Egigtg Montaigne distinguishes between
an action of superficial application (arrosé) and one of interior
assimilation (£gint).28 Gloire might be 'infused' in him, but it never
takes on body visible to the inspection of his judgment. La_teinture,
as we observed in the preceding chapter,29 is an image denoting solidity,
"l'acte de donner un corps, une attitude ferme et qui dure."30 While
gloire is a passion which has not been so incorporated, Montaigne
employs the teinture image in the reverse sense to admit to certain
undesirable traits which hay; been taken into the 'fabric' of his inner
life: "Quand je me confesse 5 moy religieusement, je trouve que la
meilleure bonté que j'aye a de la teinture vicieuse" (11:20, 656b).
In"Du repentir," where he points to certain faults and weaknesses

which he accepts as part of himself, and therefore not to be repented,

 

 

179

Montaigne affirms: "Ce n'est pas macheure, c'est plustost une teinture
universelle qui me tache" (III:2, 791b). Montaigne recognizes a number
of fixed, abiding inclinations in himself which are unlike the passions
against which he wages a struggle to prevent their taking a constant
hold of himm These more firmly implanted elements of his character are
worked into the portrait with images in contrast to the images of branle
which for the most part predominate in his portrayal of self.

Most directly opposed to the image of constancy in la teinture
are the images of the changing, unstable self. "Je donne 5 mon ame
tantost 22 visage, tantost unnautrg, selon 1e costé ou je la couche"
(11:1, 319b). "J'ay lgpigdgi instable gtgimglggig, je 1e trouve
flgfiéé croler et _s_i_p_r_e§_t__a_t_1_ branle . . ." (11:12, 548a). "Je me
(c) desadvoue sans cesse; et me (a) sens par tout flotter et fleschir
de foiblesse" (II:17, 618a). The images capture the exterior manifes—
tations of his inconstancy--a changing 'countenance,' his unsure
'footing,‘ so readily given to vacillation--and the sense he has of
yielding unsteadily to movement--"et me sens par tout flotter et
fleschir de foiblesse." There is a sense in which the flux of incon-
stancy can be seen as one of the constants in the "teinture universelle
qui [1e] tache." Viewed as a weakness or flaw, this easy disposition
to branle renders Montaigne susceptible to external forces determining
the course of his life. Such a force is custom: "je ne suis propre
qu'a suyvre, et mg_laisse aysément emporter a la foule" (II:17, 638a);

or, in a more specific reference, the social pressure to marry: "je ne

m'y conviay pas proprement, gn_m'y mena, et 1 fus porté par des

 

 

180

occasions estrangeres" (111:5, 83Gb). But there is also a way of
viewing this same inclination as an asset, providing the flexibility
to adapt to the changing circumstances of life. In terms of physical
habits, Montaigne claims a capacity to adjust readily to variation:
"La meilleure de mes complexions corporelles, c'est d'estre flexible
et peu opiniastre; j'ay des inclinations plus prOpres et ordinaires et
plus agreables que d‘autres; mais avec bien peu d'effort je m'en

destourne, et.mg_coule aiséement a la fagon contraire" (III:13, 1061b)31

 

A like pliability is to be cultivated with regard to the inner life:
''Les plus belles ames sont celles qui ont plus de varieté et de
soupplesse . . . il n'est aucune si bonne facon ofi je vouleusse estre
fiché pour ne m'en scavoir desprendre" (III:3, 796b).

But these images of the self in flux in both a pejorative and
a meliorative connotation must be juxtaposed to Montaigne's equally
vivid assertion of his natural resistance to branle. He is somewhat
sluggishly indisposed to any sort of vigorous physical routine: "Je
m'esbranle difficilement, et suis tardif par tout: a me lever, a me
coucher, et a mes repas" (III:13, 1074b). In much the same way, he
does not easily change position on basic moral questions. He opposes
those who would "r'aviser les meurs . . . de l'apparence" (III:2, 788b),
leaving the essence of vice untouched, or even augmenting it, and uses

the example of his own experience of resistance to essential change:

 

"Je ne me sens guere agiter par secousses, je me trouve quasi tousjours
en ma place, comme font les corps lourds et poisans" (789b). Counter-

balancing the impulsion toward movement and the suppleness to adapt to

 

 

 

 

181

change are these images of a weighted body, slow to s'esbranler and

 

firmly fixed in its stance. These opposing characteristics, recognized
in both Montaigne's physical and inner disposition, incorporate,

physically and metaphorically, the polarized tendencies of the self.

H

Joined in the accordance of his "conditions corporelles" and celles

 

de l'ame,"32

the polarities indicate the extremes of the extension of
self in movement.

The struggle between polarities takes on its most poignant
metaphorical expression in Montaigne's portrayal of the movements of
his inner faculties. Among these faculties, the imagination, an aspect
of the mind, plays a special role. It is introduced in terms much like
those used to describe the passions: "Je suis de ceux, qui sentent
trés-grand effort de l'imagination. (c) Chacun en est heurté, mais
aucuns en sont renversez. Son impression me EEEEE° Et mon art est
Qg_luy eschapper, non pas de luy resister" (1:21, 95a). Imagination's
powerful impact is experienced by Montaigne as a 'piercing'; the self
is penetrated by impressions projected by the faculty. The sensation
of piercing may have veritable physical manifestations—-"Un tousseur
continuel irrite mon poulmon et mon gosier" (ibid., c)--arising from
the "estroite cousture de l'esprit et du corps s'entre-communiquants
leurs fortunes" (1033). While Montaigne prefers to avoid the effects
of the imagination, he occasionally finds himself 'wounded' by it, and
then.must adjust his strategy ("mon art") accordingly: "Par tels
argumens . . . j'essaye d'endormir et amuser mon imagination, et

_g£esser ses playes" (III:13, 1073b). But the imagination is not

 

 

 

 

 

 

182

always experienced as an overpowering force, for as a component of the
conscious self it can be controlled (endormie and amusée) and even
manipulated into service. Not only are external impressions imposed on
the self by the imagination; the faculty can also be used to project
the self outward. Speaking of the necessity of understanding others

on their own terms, not on his own, Montaigne declares: "je m'insinue,

par imagination, fort bien §g_1eur place" (I:37, 225a). The kinetic

 

force of the imagination in this instance becomes a vehicle for the
volitional movements of the self.

In Montaigne's self-study, the movements of his mind prove
the most difficult for him to seize, for here the 'observer' is bent
on the observation of its own workings. "Je peins principalement mes
cogitations, subject informe. . . . A toute peine 1e puis je coucher
en ce corps aérée de la voix" (II:6, 359a). Nevertheless, it is through

“33 that Montaigne gives shape to his formless

the "airy medium of words
subject. Metaphors, invoking interaction with things outside the mind,
give its movements the 'body' by which they become palpable. The reck-

less agitation of the mind left to its own impulsions is memorably

captured in the images "1e cheval eschappé" and the enfantement of

 

"tant de chimeres et monstres fantasques les uns sur les autres, sans
ordre et sans propos" (I:8, 34a). What Montaigne provides here is an
image of movement which defies capture and a production which escapes
comprehension. In order to follow the movements of his mind, Montaigne
finds it necessary to apply it to a subject which will 'bridle' and

'constrain' it in its movements. Through his observation of the mind

 

 

 

183

operating on a "but estably" (ibid.), Montaigne can give definite
contours to his mind in movement. His thinking takes on the spatiality,
gesture and gait of a promenade, whether envisioned on foot or on horse-
back, the modes of travel Montaigne most favored: "Mes conceptions at
man jugement ne marche qu'a tastons, chancelant, bronchant et chopant;
et quand je suis allé le plus avant que je puis, si ne me suis-je
aucunement satisfaict; je voy encore du pais au dela, mais d'une veue
trouble et en nuage . . ." (I:26, 145a); "Je bronche plus volontiers

en pays plat, comme certains chevaux que je connois, qui chopent plus
souvent en chemin uny" (III:13, 1044b). The question or text before

him provides a "pais" for his mind to explore, thus enabling him to
trace its steps, a course of testing, tripping, and faltering.3“ The
energies of his mind, so dynamic in their impulsion when allowed to
wander aimlessly, are decelerated and blunted by the slightest obstacle:
"J'ay l‘esprit tardif et mousse, le moindre nuage arreste sa pointe"
(II:17, 635a). Operating through trials of judgment rather than the
incisive thrusts of a quick and sharp esprit, Montaigne's mind is
characterized by its slow and unsteady gait.

Closely allied to the mode in which his mind Operates is what
Montaigne labels his "cicatrice" (637a)——his irresolution--most pro-
nounced when he is called updn to make judgments under pressure.

"Quand aux facultez naturelles qui sont en moy . . . je les sens
flechir sous l§_charge" (I:26, 145a). "Le deliberer . . . m'importune,
et sens mon esprit plus empesché a souffrir 1e branle et les secousses

diverses du doute et de la consultation, qu'a se rassoir et resoudre a

 

 

 

184

quelque party que ce soit, apres que la chance est livrée" (II:17, 627b).
His avoidance of situations calling for making decisions is explored
through an image of the kind of roads he consciously eschews: "Tout
ainsi que des chemins, j'en evite volontiers les costez pandans et
glissans, at me jette dans le battu le plus boueux et enfondrant, d'ofi
‘je ne puisse aller plus bas" (627-628b). The metaphor juxtaposes the
sloping, slippery sides of a road with the well-trodden side, muddy
and boggy as that might be, for there, his footing is sure--"d'ou je
ne puisse aller plus bas." Inextricable from his quest for surety
is the abiding presence of the cicatrice. Pressed by the urgency of
a situation, his mind is not able to proceed according to its charac-
teristic gait, testing each step of the way, faltering and retracing
its steps when necessary. Continuing his metaphor, Montaigne acknowl—
edges the fear he has of taking charge in a dilemma: "L'horreur de la
cheute me donne plus de fiebvre que le coup. . . . La plus basse marche
est la plus ferme. C'est 1e siege de la constance. Vous n'y avez
besoing que de vous" (628b). Montaigne gauges the movement of making
choices (e.g., the assumption of a position of importance) in dimensions
of verticality.35 The stability he seeks-~"le siege de la constance"——
is most assured at the lowest levels from which there is no danger of
falling.

The caution Montaigne exercises to ascertain his 'footing' and
to avoid the 'heights' or 'terrains' which would menace it, results
from the sense he has of his own instability, in particular, "l'incer-

-titude de [son] jugement . . . si également balancée en la pluspart des

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

185

occurrences" (638a). He would rather rely on the decisions of someone
more sure of his opinions than Montaigne is of his own, "ausquelles

[i1] trouve le fondement et le plant glissant" (ibid., b), for from

this 'slippery ground,‘ he is all too susceptible to being carried off:
"une bien legere inclination et circonstance m'emporte" (ibid., a).
Citing himself as an example of man's inconstancy in the "Apologie,"
Montaigne indicates that this can be seen "en [ses] escris mesmes":

"Je ne fay quiallg£“§£_ggpi£: mon jugement ne tire pas tousjours avant;
il flotte, illzgggg, 'comme un fréle navire/Que surprend sur la mer la

6

tempéte en furie.‘3 . . Je m'entraine quasi ou je penche, comment que

 

ce soit, et m'emporte de mon pois" (II:12, 549b). The irresolution of
his mind, wavering in its course, becomes, through the series of verb
metaphors, the floating motion of a ship, vividly reinforced in the
lines quoted from Catullus. Emphasizing a movement "qui ne tire pas
tousjours avant," but which fluctuates according to circumstances,
>Montaigne finds his mind supporting first one, then the other side

of a given question, depending on which he focuses his attention.

With a slight shift in the nature of the vehicle of his metaphor,
Montaigne explains this inclination of his mind in terms of a weight
(his own) impelling him in the direction toward which he leans. While
yielding to the fluctuations and impulsions of his mindin the context
of the Essais, Montaigne determines the necessity for more stability in
the context of his external life. Out of the sense of his own volubil-
igé, Montaigne asserts his conservatism in political and religious

matters: "puis que je ne suis pas capable de choisir, je pren 1e

 

 

 

 

186

chois d'autruy at me tien en l'assiette ofi Dieu m'a mis. Autrement,

jg pg mg_sgaurqy garder dg_rouler sans cesse" (553a).

 

 

It is within the stability of this outer constance that the
inner mobility of Montaigne's mind can freely develop. Never really
withdrawn from the affairs of the world, he purposefully maintains a
distance from them, always separating his inner self from external
involvements: "Si quelquefois on m’a poussé au maniement d‘affaires

estrangieres, j‘ay promis de les prendre pp main, non pas ap_pou1mon

 

Ig£.§p,foye; de mien.charger ouy, non gg_les incorporer" (III:10, 981b).

 

 

Opposing the operation of the hand to that of the vital organs and the
gesture of taking on a burden to the interiorizing process of incorpo—
ration, Montaigne's images of dedans g£_dehors mark the boundaries

of that "arriere boutique" reserved exclusively for his "vraye liberté"
(1:39, 235a). There, in a spatially conceived domain all its own,
where "nulle acointance ou communication estrangiere y trouve place"
(ibid.), the self is free to examine its own workings. Montaigne's
investigation of this innermost self—-"quel je sois en moy mesme"
(11:16, 608b), "dans mes entrailles et dans mes veines" (III:10, 981b)-—
narrows the focus of his self—study into the concentrated gesture of
introspection.

Introspection, the act of looking inward, is repeatedly
presented as a physical gesture assuming a spatial context: ”sonder
jusqu'au dedans" (II:1, 321a), "replier . . . nostre consideration"
(11:8, 375a), pg taster (III:3, 797C), §g_retaster (1:50, 29lc).

What distinguishes this gesture from outer-directed movements of

 

 

 

187

the self is that here the self is both the "énergie explorant" and

"37

the "espace exploré. The following metaphor of introspection as

spatial exploration provides one of the most intense descriptions of
MOntaigne's experience of his innermost self:

[A] Or mes opinions, je les trouve infiniement hardies et
constantes a condamner mon insuffisance. [B] De vray, c'est
aussi un subject auquel j'exerce mon jugement autant qu'a
nul autre. [C] Le monde regarde tousjours vis a vis; moy,
je replie ma_veue ap_dedans, je la plante, je l'amuse lg,
Chacun regarde devant soy; moy, jg_regarde dedans mgy: je
n'ay affaire qu'a moy, 13 mg considere sans cesse, jg E2
contrerolle, jg me; gouste. Les autres vont tousjours
ailleurs, s'ils y pensent bien; ils vont tousjours avant

. . . moy, jg m§_roulle gp_moy mesme (II:17, 641a).38

 

 

Beginning with a statement of his insuffisance (A) which he paradoxi-

 

cally condemns with opinions "hardies et constantes," Montaigne marks
out the domain of his exploration--the unstable, irresolute, voluble

self of which he cannot take hold, for what is insuffisant is charac-

 

terized by a "manque d'appui."39 Yet, he immediately asserts that this
very insuffisance is a subject on which he exercises his judgment (B),
the agent of the exploration. Then, in a series of contrasts (C) with

the way the world (or chacun or les autres) directs its attention out-

 

ward, away from the self, Montaigne shows, through a corresponding
series of concrete gestures, the way in which he turns his attention
inward. With verb following upon verb, Montaigne shapes over and over
the movement in question ("une activité joyeuse . . . un élan qui se

Il).‘f0

reprend perpetuellement The initial accumulation of transitive

verbs--replier, planter, amuser (sa veue)--gives way to a succession

 

of reflexive verbs, stressing the thrust of the action directed back

 

 

 

188

on the exploring subject. The final gesture, "me roulle en moy mesme,"
almost as if catapulted forward by the preceding accumulation, empha-
sizes the circular path of a movement stemming from and directed toward

the self-same subject. It is the insuffisant self which provides the

 

concentrated space in which the gesture of introspection can continually
unfold. Through this gesture, through its continual renewal, the self
acquires a corporeality by which it can be perceived. Starobinski
points out that Montaigne never tells us yhap_he discovers in his
inner—directed explorations; the only description of the self as object

is Montaigne's initial constatation of his insuffisance, a negative term

 

denoting "un vide et un manque."kl

But what i§_given positive expres-
sion is the experience Montaigne has of his inner self as a moving
force, energy taking form through the tension of gesture.

Whether directing his energies outward, toward the world, or
inward, toward himself, Montaigne experiences a like impulsion to con-

tinual movement. His 'irresolution' in matters exterior to himself is

'resolved' by his option to maintain the status quo: "Autrement je ne

 

me scauroy garder de rouler sans cesse." The inward turning of his
energies, while preventing the dissipation risked in projecting them

outward,"2 brings no halt to his incessant esbranlement. "Si mon ame

 

pouvoit prendre pied, je ne m'essaierois pas, je me resoudrois; elle
est tousjours en apprentissage et en espreuve" (III:2, 782b). Unable
toi§g resoudre, Montaigne §§_roulleflgp;§gyhmg§mg, concentrating his
energies into an ever denser experience of self. In this introspective

movement, Montaigne experiences the most vigorous exercise of his forces.

 

 

 

 

189

His soul, he tells us, "me scait . . . s'employer que bandée pp
entiere" (III:3, 796C), and unlike other minds which require a "matiere
estrangere" to stimulate them, his is in need of the same "pour pg

rassoir plustost g£_sejourner . . . car son plus laborieux et principal

 

estude, c'est s'estudier a soy" (796-797c).l’3 It may at first seem that
Montaigne is contradicting here the statements he makes in so many other
contexts of his mind's inability to arrest itself and "se rassoir," but
what becomes readily manifest is that this apparent inconsistency is
offered to set off all the more vividly the strenuous nature of the
mind's activity in self—examination. In contrast to the laborious
action of introspection, the mind's action on things outside itself
seems restful. For this reason, the straining exercise of self-study,

where the soul works most "bandée et entiere,‘ affords Montaigne the

greatest "conscience musculaire du mouvement meme de 1'inspection."““
In the preceding chapter, we analyzed a prolonged metaphor of

the operation of Montaigne's judgment (1:50, 289a)"5

and saw the way

in which the faculty of judgment took on weight and body through the
tension of the gestures by which it took or attempted to take possession
of its proposed subjects. It was also seen that regarding "un subject
vain et de neant" the action of the mind was to try to "luy donner corps
. . . l'appuyer et estanconner." This operation is manifest in the
metaphors produced by the reflective action of the mind on its own
workings, as we have just witnessed. It is articulated more directly

and with greater force and consciousness in a passage from III:l3

Where Montaigne reflects on how he pursues his experience of self.

 

 

 

190

Unlike those "prudentes gens" who let life "couler et eschapper" as
they think of nothing than to "passer le temps," Montaigne renders life

"prisable et commode" by actively cultivating the possession of each

passing moment:

[A] Principallement a cette heure que j'apercoy la mienne

[vie] si briefve gp_temps, je la veux estendre pp pois; [B]

je veus arrester la promptitude g§“§§_fuite par la promptitude
gg_m§;sesie, et par vigueur de l'usage compenser la hastiveté
de son escoulement; [C] a mesure que l§_possession d2 vivre est

plus courte, i1 me la faut rendre plus profonde pp plus pleine
(1092b).

 

 

 

 

The development of the sentence in three successive 'waves' imitates

the movement of Montaigne's mind as an "élan qui se reprend perpetuel-

lement."“6 Each of the phrases formulates the opposition between the

awareness of life as an escoulement in time and his effort to take hold

of it in the dimension of his immediate experience. Perceiving the

shortness of his life in the linear flow of time (A), he proposes to

increase it, not in length, but in weight. He then explains (B) his

desire to oppose the swift movement of time with the force of an

equally swift movement on his part——a gesture of grasping, "la promp-

titude de ma sesie." Through the "vigueur" of this gesture, his

consciousness takes on the muscular tension by which it acquires the

weight to slow down his experience of the rush of time. The sentence

concludes (C) with a more forceful restatement of his first phrase.
Falloir replaces vouloir and the linear shortening of life is now

opposed with an image of more developed dimensions: "plus profonde

et plus pleine." Adding the qualities of depth and plenitude to the

weight_first indicated, Montaigne completes the impression of solidity

 

 

 

 

191

embodying the self's immediate experience of passing existence. He

goes on, in the same passage, to examine more precisely the gestures

by which he gains this sense of solidity:

[A] Je consulte d' un contentement avec moy, je 32.1' escume
p___; j__le sonde et lie ma raison a le recueillir, devenue
chagreigne et desgoutee. [B] Me trouve-je en quelque assiete
tranquille? y a 11 quelque volupte qui me chatouille? je pg
l§_laisse pas friponer aux sens, j'y associe mon ame, non pas

pour s' y engager, mais pour s 'y agreer, non pas pour s 'y perdre,

‘mais pour s',y trouver; et 1' employe de sa part a se mirer dans ce

prospere estat, a en poiser et estimer le bon heur et amplifier
(ibid. ).

A moment of satisfaction invites Montaigne's active contemplation, for

although "il faut courir 1e mauvais," one must "se rassoir au bon"

(1091b). Proceeding (A), as he so often does, by way of antithesis,

Montaigne contrasts the superficial movement of 'skimming' with the

more penetrating movement of 'sounding' or 'probing.' His gesture

reaches not only outward, but inward, 'bending' his reason ("now grown

peevish and hard to please"“7) to receive the impression he is explor—

ing. (The work of probing and exploring is the exercise of the firm,

but pliable judgment, and the less flexible reason must be 'bent' into

cooperation.) Awakened to some pleasant situation or sensation (B),

Montaigne will not let the senses 'pilfer' it, but rather brings his

inner self ("mon ame") into association with it. Again a series of

contrasts is used for emphasis, this time to insist on the relationship

of the inner self to the act of self-contemplation. It is "non pas

pour s'y engager . . non pas pour s'y perdre," but to find enjoyment

and to find itself--to mirror itself "dans ce prospere estat"-~that the

soul is brought to reflect on the sensations of experience. The action

   

 

 

192

the soul takes is to ppiser, estimer and amplifier the pleasurable

feeling-~to give it greater body and weight. In so doing, the soul

amplifies its own perception of itself, for given the close association

of body and soul,1+8 the letter is reflected in what it perceives.

Through this act of self-perusal, Montaigne enjoys a momentary

sense of his own 'solidity,‘ experiencing his soul in close association

with the body to which it is joined. Wherever the act of self-inspection

is directed toward Montaigne's bodily experience, the metaphors through

which the self takes on corporeality present a particular problem. As

noted earlier, "the line between external and internal [becomes]

increasingly hard to draw.“9 Language imposes a separation of body

and soul and then works, through metaphor, to bring together again the

elements it has parted. Here, when Montaigne speaks of the soul

'reflecting‘ itself in a physical sensation, the verbal metaphor

invokes an actual unity, and the resulting 'solidity' is one concretely

experienced by the integral self.

 

"Mais quoy, nous sommes par tout vent" (1087c). "Nous sommes

tous creux et vuides" (II:16, 601a). But man, Montaigne recognizes,

unlike the wind, will always desire "la stabilité, la solidité, qualitez

non siennes" (1087c). And man is capable, Montaigne has realized, of

generating the sense of stabilité and solidité he desires. [In the most
concrete sense, he can cultivate the conscious possession of immediate

experience wherein the self knows the solidity of physical sensation

experienced concomitantly by body and soul. This sensation can only

be maintained by continually renewing the act of taking possession,

   

 

 

 

 

 

 

193

by continually exerting the force of his judgment in self-experience.
The tension of this exercise gives Montaigne another sense of solidity.
The vigorous gestures of the active judgment——in whatever direction
they are employed—-create in the self a sense of its own 'muscularity.‘
Through its continual exercise, Montaigne heightens his awareness of

this faculty in himself, "cette capacité de trier le vray" (II:17,

641a). Judgment comes to occupy "un siege magistral" in Montaigne's

spatial conception of himself, operating to a large degree independently

of other forces--his appetites, his loves, his hates--"il faict son jeu

a part . . au moins i1 s'en efforce soingneusement" (III:13, 1052b).

Although he has characterized his judgment by its staggering,
unsteady gait and by its instability ("il flotte, il vague"), Montaigne

posits his greatest experience of sureness and constancy in the workings

of this same faculty. Turning his judgment to the study of its own

movements, Montaigne realizes the existence of a stable, unchanging

moy: his innermost self, "1e siege de la constance" (II:17, 628b).

 

Judgment employed in self-examination operates in a mode of 'felt'

experience, dispelling incertitude and irresolution: "Je ne me juge

que par vray sentiment, non par discours"(III:13, 1074b). Within this

mode of surety, Montaigne discerns that certain of his judgments remain

fixed and unchanging: "Cette capacité . . je la dois principalement
a moy: car les plus fermes imaginations que j'ay, et generalles, sont

celles qui, par maniere de dire, nasquirent avec moy. Elles sont

naturelles g£_toutes miennes" (II:17, 641a). Out of Montaigne's

continual self—inspection emerges a strong sense of self—integrity.

 

 

 

194

Constantly judging himself as he lives, he comes to assert the
integration of practically all his movements (diverse and contradictory
as they may be) through their conformity to the conduct of his judgment:

[A] Je fay coustumierement entier ce que je fay et marche
tout dippg_piece; je n'ay guere de mouvement qui se cache
et desrobe a ma raison, et qui ne se conduise a peu prés
par le consentement de toutes mes parties, sans division,
sans sedition intestine; [B] mon jugement en a la coulpe
ou la louange entiere; et la coulpe qu'il a une fois, il
1'a tousjours, car quasi dés sa naissance _i_l__e_st_£1_:
mesme inclination, mesme route, mesme force. [C] Et en
matiere d'opinions universelles, géghlfenfance 19 mg
logeay_§p poinct pfizjfavois a me tenir (III:2, 79Gb).

The image "marche tout d'une piece" captures Montaigne's experience of
a wholeness of self in movement. After developing the implications of
his initial image (A), he relates it to the controlling force of judg—
ment (B). Judgment too is viewed in images of movement—-"mesme
inclination, mesme route, mesme force"--stressing its unflagging
regularity, "car quasi dés sa naissance il est un." Acting in accord

with judgment, which manifests a constancy of its own regarding basic

questions of human conduct, Montaigne knows a fundamental stabilite

within the innermost reaches of himself (C). This stability is con-

ceived of spatially, as a 'point' at which he 'took up residence' in

childhood and was henceforth to remain-~the point where judgment fuses

with the innermost self.so

Through the vigilance of his judgment, Montaigne maintains a

closeness to the 'domain' of his essential self: "Si je ne suis chez

. et ne mfeslon ne

.322, j'en suis tousjours bien prés" (789b); ".

guiere d2 port" (II:17, 628a). The controlling force of judgment which

 

 

 

 

 

 

195

keeps him in his "estat rassis," his "naifve assiette" (III:2, 788b)
functions as a judicial process in the space of an inner 'court':
"J'ay mes loix et ma court pour juger de moy, et m'y adresse plus
qu'ailleurs. Je restrains bien selon autruy mes actions, mais 19_

.32 les estends gpg_§§lpp_mpyr (785b). The extension of himself in
movement is regulated by the jurisdiction of this central control.

His actions are modeled after "un patron au dedans" (ibid.), shaping
his life in accordance with the 'pattern' that has been established,
what Montaigne calls his "forme essentielle" (III:3, 801b), his "forme
naturelle" (II:17, 621a), his "maistresse forme" (1:50, 290C). But
since "estre consiste en mouvement et en action" (III:13, 1074b), this
form is to be discerned only through the intense and incessant applica-
tion of Montaigne's judgment to all his movements, and most especially,
to the movement of judgment itself. This is the action which he calls
the essais of his judgment, the movement which takes shape in the form

of his book.

Comme a faire, a dire aussi je suy tout
simplement ma forme naturelle (II:17, 621a).

Language, for Montaigne, functions as action:51

lgiparole,

like_l§ geste, embodies the movements of the innermost self. "Mon

 

stile et mon esprit vont vagabondant gg_mesmes" (III:9, 973C). The
movement of his mind and the movement of his words join in the verbal
metaphor of an irregular, directionless pursuit. Paradoxically,

Montaigne fixes the verbal manifestations of his forme naturelle in

 

 

 

 

196

seemingly pejorative images of their shapelessness, or at best, of a
very confused, haphazard shaping: "toute cette fricassée que je
barbouille icy" (III:13, 1056b), "ce fagotage de tant de diverses
pieces" (11:37, 736a), "une marqueterie mal jointe" (III:9, 94lc),52
"une fantastique bigarrure" (973c).53 This 'set' of noun metaphors
casts the form of the Essais as a loosely-joined, conglomerate struc-
ture. The striking variety of vehicles (a 'bundle of sticks,‘ a 'badly—
joined piece of inlaid-work,‘ a 'hash,' and a 'patchwork' or 'medley')
work together to reinforce their mutual tenor: Montaigne's conception
of his writing as an assemblage of diversified pieces. While these
images may at first appear derogatory, they are not really so, for they

correspond precisely to Montaigne's conception of man as a piecemeal

n u "51+

assembly: "rapiessement et bigarrure, nous sommes tous des lopins.

Montaigne's understanding that the best way to judge a man is "en
destail, (c) et distinctement piece a piece" (11:1, 316b) determines
the method, and consequently the form of his essais.

The most familiar image of the Essais is the metaphor of the
portrait. Montaigne tells us, "c'est moy que jg_p§ip§? (p. 9), and

that the "traits dg_[§gj peinture ne forvoyent pas,’ although they are
always changing (III:2, 782b). By developing the vehicle of the painted
portrait as a form taking shape on a flat, empty surface, Montaigne
illustrates through comparison and contrast the formation of his tenor:
the essay portrait. Having observed a painter at work on some wall

Paintings, Montaigne saw that "de toute sa suffisance" the painter

concentrated on the central image and then filled the surrounding void

 

 

 

 

 

197

"de crotesques, qui sont peintures fantasques, n'ayant grace qu'en la
varieté et estrangeté" (1:28, 181a). Montaigne compares his essays,
not to the "tableau riche, poly et formé selon art" (182a), but to the
whimsical and varied border: "Que sont-ce icy aussi, a la verité, que
crotesques et corps monstrueux, rappiecez de divers membres, sans
certaine figure, n'ayants ordre, suite ny proportion que fortuite?"
9(l8la). Again, Montaigne stresses the piecemeal nature and fortuitous
shaping of the essay form. He explains that he does not undertake the
polished and artfully conceived portrait of his painter, for his own

"suffisance ne va pas si avant” (182a). Suffisance may be read here

 

in two ways--as 'talent,' meaning he acknowledges his shortcomings as
an artist capable of executing a skillful representation, and also, in
view of the fact that he is speaking in terms of a gglffportrait, as
'self—sufficiency' or soutient-intérieur. The self—portrait stems from

self-knowledge, and Montaigne recognizes his insuffisance regarding the

 

way in which he can know himself or anything else. Man has "aucune
communication a l'estre" (II:12, 586a), and this has definite implica-
tions for the subject and realization of the portrait. "Je ne peints
pas l'estre. Je peints lg_passage"(III:2, 782b). The portrayal of
passage, "une continuelle agitation at mutation de [ses] pensées"
(III:9, 923b) produces the strange and varying forms of "crotesques
et corps monstrueux."

Unwilling to falsify his portrait "selon art," Montaigne

creates a book lacking the well—defined contours of planned artistic

conception. As such, it invites the question of whether it can hold

 

 

 

 

198

together as a unified whole. "Est—ce pas faire une muraille sans
pierre, ou chose semblable, que de bastir des livres sans science
et sans art?" (III:2, 782b). The ordering principle in his book defies
the usual dictates of the closed art form. "Les fantasies de la musique
sont conduictes par art, les miennes par sort" (ibid.). Despite his
digressions, extensions, interpolated quotations and additions,
Montaigne asserts: "Mon livre est tousjours un" (III:9, 94lc).
Its unity derives not from the principle guiding his "fantasies";
that is open to chance. Rather, it takes on form in Montaigne's
conviction that 'every movement reveals us.‘ His sense of the wholeness
of his book is rendered in a vivid image of a cadaver, where the entire
human anatomy is penetrated by a kind of x—ray vision: "Je m'estalle
entier: c'est un skeletos ou, d'une veue, les veines, les muscles, les
tendons paroissent, chaque piece en son siege. L'effect de la toux en
produisoit une partie; l'effect de la palleur ou battement de coeur,
un'autre" (II:6, 359C). The book is the exposed 'anatomy’ of
Montaigne's £2523 naturelle, registering the metamorphosing effects
of continual passage. "Je ne vise icy qu'a découvrir moy mesmes, qui
seray par adventure autre demain, si nouveau apprentissage me change"
(I:26, 147a). The Essais are a form continually open to change.

Montaigne calls his book "un registre de durée" (II:18, 648a),

what Thibaudet describes as "une sorte de present perpétuel."55

It is
only by rendering account of himself "continuellement et curieusement"

(ibid.) that Montaigne can register duration and perpetuate the present.

The activity of his mind through which he takes possession of himself

 

 

 

 

199

in the instant fuses with the action of language incorporating movement
into the 'form' of his text. Just as Montaigne never defines Eh E'he
discovers in the act of introspection, but rather how he experiences
himself in the gesture of looking inward, the Essais are recommended
not for their content, but for the manner in which they take shape:
"Qu'on ne s'attende pas aux matieres, mais a la facon que j'y donne"

(II:10, 387a).56 The Essais, Montaigne affirms, are moulés sur luy-

 

p§§p3_(ll:18, 647C). Molding the movements of his mind-~"tant de
menues pensées" (648c)--into the fixed medium of written language,

they trace the metaphorical ‘course‘ and 'gait' of his mind's activity:
"A mesme que mes resveries se presentent, je les entasse; tantost elles
se pressent en foule, tantost elles se trainent a la file. Je veux

qu'on voye mon pas naturel pp ordinaire, ainsin detraqué qu‘il est.

 

 

 

gg¢m§_laisse aller comme jg_mg_trouve" (II:10, 3883). Significantly,

 

Montaigne first describes his writing as the "piling up" of ideas as
they come to him, whether "pressing in a crowd" or "dragging in single
file."57 But since the resulting accumulation can only be perceived
and expressed in linear progression, the order of a literary context,
Montaigne reintroduces the metaphor of travel to accommodate his
'register of duration,‘ his 'portrayal of passage.‘ The travel
metaphor, simultaneously conveying the movement of his mind and the
movement of his text, is ideally suited to the open—ended form and
endeavor of the essays: "Qui ne voit que j'ay pris une route par
laquelle, sans cesse et sans travail, j‘iray autant qu'il y aura

d'ancre et de papier au monde?" (III:9, 922b).

 

 

 

 

 

—— --__.——.- fl.-. -1.... ., —:

 

 

200

The 'road' of the Essais is most often not readily discernible,
for Montaigne consciously eschews the usual "parolles de liaison et de
cousture" (III:9, 974b) which would indicate the directions of the
'route' he is taking. While acknowledging the difficulties inherent
in his "embrouilleure" (ibid.), the essayist maintains that "ciest
l'indiligent lecteur qui pert mon subject, non pas moy" and that there
is always "en un coing quelque mot" (973C), however hidden it may be,
which will suffice to point out where he is going. Numerous critics
already have and will undoubtedly continue to 'chart the course' of
the ‘travels' of Montaigne's mind.58 Their divergent opinions as to
how movement is structured in the composition of the Essais59 lead
into the difficult and complex problem of the text‘s existence as
communication. The movement of the Essais does not exist in isolation,
"the text must be read."60 Each reader will participate in the thought
process of Montaigne according to his own categories of response, be
they those of free association, rhetorical logic or some form of
Structuralism.51

Ever bent on observing himself, Montaigne describes the way
in which hg_perceives the essays to amble. He can begin anywhere, for

"tout argument [lui] est égallement fertille,"

and from almost any
subject, he is likely to digress into something completely different,
"car les matieres se tiennent toutes enchesnées les unes aux autres"
(111:5, 854b). His varied and metamorphosing matieres connect through

the exercise they afford his mind. It is this movement, the continually

renewed gesture of assaying, which determines the course that could go

 

 

 

201

on 'as long as there remain ink and paper in the world.’ Montaigne's
itinerary is the maniere by which he manages the trials of his judgment:

[A] Je prends de la fortune le premier argument. Ils me
sont également bons. Et ne desseigne jamais de les produire
entiers. (c) Car je ne voy 1e tout de rien. Ne font pas,
ceux qui promettent de nous 1e faire veoir. [B] Qg_cent
membres g£_visages qu'a chaque chose, j'en prends un tantost
a lecher seulement, tantost a l'effleurer, at par £015 a
pincer jusqu'a l'os. J'y donne une poincte, non pas le plus
largement, mais le plus profondement que je scay. Et aime
plus souvent a les saisir par quelque lustre inusité. . . .
[C] Semant icy un mot, icy un autre, eschantillons despris
de leur piece, escartez, sans dessein et sans promesse,

[D] je ne suis pas tenu d'en faire bon, ny de m’y tenir

moy mesme, sans varier quand 11 me plaist; et me rendre

au doubte et incertitude, et a ma maistresse forme, qui

est l'ignorance (1:50, 289a-290c).

 

 

This maniere relates directly to Montaigne's assessment of his own--
and man's-~limited capacity to know. The five terse statements at
the opening of our quotation (A) make it quite clear why he does not
presume to give a comprehensive treatment of anything. In marked
contrast to the flat declaration of what he does not do, Montaigne
explores the methodology of his essais through metaphor (B). Faced
with the multiple and changing aspects of any object of knowledge
("de cents membres et visages . . ."), Montaigne's primary interest
is not his subject, for that can only be handled relatively, but the

" "effleurer,"

movement he experiences in dealing with it: "lecher,
"pincer jusqu'a l'os." He is interested in the variation of his
gestures, and also, when the occasion presents itself, in their
poignancy. When he makes a 'stab' at something, he aims his thrust

"non le plus largement, mais le plus profondement." All subjects are

"également lxuufl' to his purpose, but he has a decided preference for

 

 

202

the way in which he takes hold of them, "par quelque lustre inusité."
The approach from an unusual aspect affords Montaigne a keener awareness
of his own exercise of judgment than would the well-traveled paths of
"les arguments battus" (III:5, 854b). From the metaphors of physical
gestures embodying the movements of his mind, Montaigne turns to the
verbal context of the written essays (C). His variegated mental ges-
tures coordinate with the piecemeal assembly of his verbal production,
"samples separated from their context, dispersed, without a plan and
without a promise."62 No closures are imposed on the essais (D); they
remain open to Montaigne's love of variety and to his "maistresse

forme," his profound understanding of his own ignorance. Therein

lie the freedom and mobility of his mind and of the essay form.

Montaigne insists very strongly that the identity of the

movement of his mind and the movement of the essais, of the book
and himself, be recognized. "Icy, nous allons conformement et tout

d'un trein, mon livre et moy. Ailleurs, on peut recommander et accuser

l'ouvrage a part de l'ouvrier; icy, non: qui touche l'un, touche
l'autre" (III:2, 783b). The image of himself portrayed in his book

is not meant to be taken as a 'public image' in the manner of an artful
portrait which shows the subject as he is viewed (and usually admired)
by the world (II:18, 646a). Montaigne seeks to present a much more
personal image of himself, "pour en amuser un parent, un amy" (ibid.).

Although by publishing his book Montaigne reveals an intention that his

. ' . I! ll
portrait actually have a wider reception than just un parent, un amy,

 

 

203

   

this does not alter his desire that the image be an intimate one, a
portrait of Montaigne as he would be known by only the closest of
friends. It has frequently been pointed out that Montaigne turns to
composing this portrait precisely because, after the death of La Boétie
and then that of his father, there was no such close friend to fulfill
the desire to know oneself through the mediation of another.63 The
Essais can be seen to replace the absent friend.6“ The self—image
Montaigne aspires to project and perceive in the Essais is the dupli-
cation of that total identification he had once experienced in that

'miraculous' relationship with his friend. For the perfect friend in

 

"celuy gui n'est pas autre: c'est moy. C'est un assez grand miracle

 

de_§g doubler" (1:28, 190c).

To what degree is Montaigne able to §§_doubler in his literary
portrait? Certain of the images through which he refers to the Essais
imply as much a sense of differentiation between the essayist and his
creation as of identification. In a mockingly pejorative vein,
Montaigne compares his endeavors to that of "un Gentilhomme qui ne
communiquoit sa vie que par les operations de son ventre" (by collecting

and displaying his prized excrements). Montaigne entertains the analogy

 

to his own efforts to communicate his life through the movements and

 

productions of his mind: "Ce sont icy, un peu plus civilement, des
excremens d'un vieil esprit, dur tantost, tantost lache, et tousjours
indigeste" (III:9, 923b). The image, an obvious boutade,65 preserves

the continuity between the writer and his writings and is certainly a

successful 'incorporation' of the process of his mental activity. But

 

 

 

204

   

it also imposes a certain distance between the writer and his work,

if only the distance of irony.66 In another metaphor, the same tenor
is rendered through a decidedly meliorative vehicle. The essay "De
l'affection des peres aux enfans" makes an extended analogy between
one's relationship to a child ("nous les appellons autres nous mesmes")
and to the productions of one's mind which are "produicts par une plus
noble partie que la corporelle, et sont plus nostres" (11:8, 380a).
Again the interaction of tenor and vehicle stresses the metaphorically

organic relationship between the writer and his work, but the further

 

Montaigne carries his investigation of this relationship, the more he
arrives at seeing the work as having an existence quite independent of
his own, as every father must eventually recognize regarding the life
of his child:

A cettuy cy, tel qu'il est, ce que je donne, je 1e

donne purement et irrevocablement, comme on donne aux enfans
corporels; ce peu de bien que je luy ay faict, il n'est plus
en ma disposition; il peut scavoir assez de choses que je ne
scay plus, et tenir de moy ce que je n'ay point retenu et
qu'il faudroit que, tout ainsi qu'un estranger, j'empruntasse
de luy, si besoin m'en venoit. Il est plus riche que moy, si
je suis plus sage que luy (383C).

A decided experience of differentiation is explicit in Montaigne's
turning to his book "tout ainsi qu'un estranger." As the register

of the duration of his life, the book retains "ce que [Montaigne n'a]
point retenu," for he can only experience himself in the present instant.

The book, "plus riche que moy,’ can do much more. The writer, "plus

 

sage que luy," acknowledges a separateness from the book.

 

 

 

 

 

 

205

 

Style is another indicator of the fidelité of the portrait of
the self-portraying subject. Montaigne espouses a natural, spontaneous
form of expression: "Je parle en papier comme je parle au premier que
je rencontre" (111:1, 767b); "Au demeurant, mon langage n'a rien de
facile et poly: il est aspre (c) at desdaigneux, (a) ayant ses dis-
positions libres et desreglées; at me plaist ainsi" (II:17, 621a).
Nevertheless, he himself allows that he is not entirely free of artful
considerations: "Mais je sens bien que par fois je m'y laisse tr0p
aller, et qu'a force de vouloir eviter l'art et l'affectation, j'y
tombe d'une autre part" (ibid.). He sometimes slips into "certaines
finesses verbales, dequoy [il] secoue les oreilles" (111:8, 922C).

But these stylistic sallies, along with the "boutades de [son] eSprit,
desquelles [il]_§g deffie" (ibid., b) are not to be removed from the
portrait. Montaigne lets them "courir a l'avanture" (ibid., b) on the
chance that they too reveal a side of his mobile metamorphosing self.
A faithful portrait must show him in all his postures: "Ce n'est pas
a moy seul d‘en juger. Je me presente debout et couché, 1e devant et
le derriere, a droite et a gauche, et en tous mes naturals plis" (ibid.
c). Paradoxically, the artful inclinations of his style are enveloped
in the contours of his "naturels plis."67

How often, Montaigne ponders, "ay—je estandu mon livre a parler
de soy?" (III:13, 1046b). He believes he has more reason to do so than
most writers because his book cannot be separated from his aim in
writing it, his quest for self—revelation, "d'autant qu'a poinct nommé

j'escry de moy et de mes escrits comme de mes autres actions, que mon

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

206

 

£2222 ES renverse gpL§gyy (ibid.). The book, a portrait of Montaigne,
includes in its focus a portrait of Montaigne writing the book--his
theme "turns in upon itself."68 Montaigne's observations on his book
are another dimension of his action of introspection, another way in
which Montaigne.§g_roulle §p_lpy_gg§mg, Looking into and at himself
through the book, Montaigne the observer scrutinizes what Sayce calls
"the Observer Observed."69 In the regard of the observing-self on the
self-observed, a distance is necessarily interposed, the distance of
objectivity, to which Montaigne openly lays claim: "Je ne m'ayme pas
si indiscretement et ne suis si attache et meslé a moy que je ne me
puisse distinguer et considerer a quartier, gpmmgflpp_voisin, comme 33
arbre" (111:8, 921C).

Certainly the objective distance opened by the act of self-
observation throws into question Montaigne's fervent insistence on his
identification with his book: "Ce ne sont pas mes gestes que j'escris,

c'est moy, c'est mon essence" (11:6, 3590). But this distance between

 

 

the observing-self and the self—observed, between the essayist and his
Essais, is effectively bridged by an ongoing, active relationship

between Montaigne and his work:

[A] Moulant sur moy cette figure, il m'a fallu si souvent
dresser et composer pour m'extraire que le patron s'en est
fermy et aucunement formé soyemesmes. [B] Me peignant pour
autruy, je me suis peint en moy de couleurs plus nettes que
n'estoyent les miennes premieres. [C] gg_n'ay.p§§ plus faict
mon livre Que mon livre m'a faict, livre consubstantiel §_son
autheur, d'une occupation propre, membre de ma vie; non d'une
occupation et fin tierce et estrangere comme tous autres livres

(II:18, 647-648c).

 

 

 

 

 

207

In order to shape the book after himself, he, the model, has become
firmer and to a certain degree has taken on form (A). The 'colors'
with which he 'paints' himself are more distinct than those with which
he began (B), for in his role of 'painter,' he has had to bring all the
nuances of his subject into sharper focus. A veritable process of
interaction is at work between the book and the author (C). The
exercise of judgment through which the book comes into being is the
very process of self-actualization by which Montaigne fashions his
life.70 His book, unlike all others, does not have a third intention,
a purpose removed from its relationship to the author. The life of the
book and of its author are integrally related in their reciprocal
action: "Je n'ay pas plus faict mon livre que mon livre m'a faict,

livre consubstantiel §_son autheur."

 

Opinions of critics regarding the "livre consubstantiel" vary.71
And surely Montaigne's affirmation of his oneness with his book does not
coincide with his own sense of differentiation and separateness. A
decided tension exists between Montaigne and his book, between the word
and the man.72 Earlier, we took into account Montaigne's sensitivity
to the distance between "le nom et la chose" and his awareness that

. . 3
comparisons are not identities.7

While asserting that "on joinct
toutesfois les comparaisons par quelque coin" (III:13, 1047b),
Montaigne knows that these joinings do not dispel difference:

"La dissimilitude s'ingere d'elle mesme en nos ouvrages; nul art

peut arriver a la similitude" (1042b). The paradox of Montaigne and

his book, in the words of Sayce: "They are the same, they are not the

 

 

 

 

 

208

same,"7” fully activates the tension of the metaphorical process.
The "livre consubstantiel a son autheur" energizes an interaction
between all the complexities of the book and all the complexities

of the man, fusing them into an "inclusive meaning."7s Paralleling
the metaphorical interaction of the word 'taking on body' and [giving
body' to the movements of Montaigne's being throughout the course of
the book is the £g§l_interaction of Montaigne's two-way relationship
to his work: "Je n'ay pas plus faict mon livre que mon livre m'a
faict." The joining in the metaphor "livre consubstantiel a son
autheur" is that tightly conceived bond that Montaigne sets as his
criteria in language-jpigpngipg issues from bienpenser.76 In this
single metaphor, all the movements of the self and all the movements
of the book come to rest. It is the point at which Montaigne's

polarities of movement and stability meet.

 

 

 

 

 

Notes

1Friedrich discusses the objections of some of Montaigne's
contemporaries and certain of MOntaigne's 'answers' to this attitude,
Montaigne, pp. 237—240. See also 11:6, 357-358c.

2Statements of the analogy to painting are found in the "Au
Lecteur," p. 9, and in the opening passage of "De 1' amitié" (1:28,
181a).

3See above ch. IV, pp. 152-154, for a discussion of Montaigne's
perspective on reading as movement.

l'French Introspectives from Montaigne £2_André Gide (Cambridge:
The University Press, 1937). Jones defines introspection as "the
conscious examination of a mind by itself," p. 2.

 

 

5Ibid., pp. 12-13.

6What Jones does not consider is the way in which Montaigne‘s
observations on things external to himself are part of the essayist's
very method of introspection, his premise that "tout mouvement nous
descouvre" (1:50, 290C).

7See above, ch. 11, p. 63, for my discussion of Turbayne's
objection to the use of metaphor without awareness in his Myth pf_

Metaphor.

8See above, ch. 11, pp. 55—59.

 

9We have already noted Sayce's warning regarding contradiction
in Montaigne (see above, ch. 1, p. 8) and Marleau—Ponty's observation
that in Montaigne "la contradiction est vérité" (ch. 1, p. 29).

101. A. Richards, cited above, ch. 11, p. 52.

11Thibaudet surveys the numerous images used to convey lg_dedans
and Le dehors, Montaigne, pp. 507- 514, and Dilys Winegrad entertains
the significance of this imagery in her article, "Language as Theme
and Image," p. 277.

 

”Winegrad, p. 277.

13See also Donald M.. Frame, Montaig_e: A Biography (New York:
Harcourt, Brace & World, Inc., 1965), pp. 63— 65.

 

1"Frame translation, p. 838.

209

 

 

210

15A little further in the same passage he recalls the joy of
Socrates "a considerer l'estroitte alliance de la douleur a la volupté,
comme elles sont associées d'une liaison necessaire, si qu'a tours
elles se suyvent et s'entr'engendrent" (1072b).

 

16:: 6, 352a and 111:13, 1073b.

17"Montaigne en mouvement," part II, p. 261. See also above,
ch. III, pp. 87—88.

18A_Critical Egploration, p. 63.

19For Thibaudet, "On se rend compte . . . que lorsque Montaigne
compare les operations, les complexions, les habitudes de son ame a
celles de son corps, ce ne soit pas une metaphore, a peine une image,
mais une maniére de penser immediate et spontanée," Montaigne, p. 522.
But by analyzing this "maniére de penser" in terms of metaphorical
action, we believe we approach more closely the mechanism of Montaigne's

thought process.

20This quotation has been discussed at some length in ch. III,
p. 98.

21The image is further concretized by the quotation from Virgil
with which Montaigne completes his thought: "As when / The rising winds
murmur, caught in some wooded glen, / Then roll roaring along, fore-
casting gales for sailors," Frame translation, p. 778.

22Montaigne quotes Lucretius, Pleiade ed., p. 1647, n. l to
p. 928.

23An image borrowed from Plutarch. Pleiade ed., p. 1646, no. 3
to p. 927.

2”Frame translation, p. 686.

25See above, p. 171 and note 18.

26Montaigne recognizes that "fortune" has enabled him to

cultivate this preference and capacity for a smooth, fluid adaptation
to life's rhythms: "Je suis nay d'une famille qui a coule sans esclat

et sans tumulte" (III:10, 999b).

27"L'antithése procéde de Seneque," Pléiade ed., p. 1588, n. 2
to p. 618.

28See Thibaudet, Montaigne, p. 515.

29See above, ch. IV, pp. 150—151.

 

211

3°Thibaudet, Montaigne, p. 515.

31At the same time, a little further on the same page (1061b),
Montaigne admits to the strong impression which a habit of long
standing makes on him, so much so that any departure from his
established ways seems an excess.

32See above, p. 169.
33Frame translation, p. 274.

31‘An extended metaphor of geographical exploration has been
examined in our discussion of judgment. See above, ch. IV, pp. 140-141.

35It has already been seen that images of verticality constitute
a coherent network. See above, ch. III, pp. 110—114.

36The quotation from Catullus is translated by the Pléiade
editors, p. 1573, n. 3 to p. 549.

37Starobinski, "Montaigne en mouvement,” part I, p. 21.

38This is the passage on which Starobinski bases the first part
of his article. My reading of the passage has been very much directed
by his explication, with one significant difference, namely, that I
view the expression of introspection in terms of bodily gesture as
metaphor, and Starobinski treats it in terms of an actual physical
experience, a "sensation proprioceptive," p. 22.

39Ibid., p. 17.
“°Ibid.

“libid., p. 21.

. I a ’ o ’ a ’ .
”ZStarobinski comments: "Dirigee vers l'interieur, son energie

ne se dissipera pas: 11 en gardera constamment la maitrise," p. 18.

See also Montaigne, III:12, 1022c.

”3We witness here Montaigne's tendency, noted earlier, to use

ame and esprit synonymously. See above, ch. IV, p. 131.

““Starobinski, p. 22.
“SSee above, ch. IV, pp. l40ff.

”SSee above, p. 187 and note 40.

“7Frame translation, p. 854.

 

212

“8See above, ch. IV, pp. 120-121.
49
See above, p. 172.

50Here we are referring back to the statement of La Charité
quoted earlier: "in time enlightened judgment becomes one with its
object: judgment becomes the innermost self." See above, ch. IV,
p. 144.

51Richard Regosin examines Montaigne's notions of escrire and
faire in his article, "Montaigne's Essais: The Book of the Self,"
L'Esprit Créateur, 15, 1-2 (1975), 39-48, esp. 40-42.

 

52For an investigation into what this image could have consti-
tuted for Montaigne, see Barbara Bowen's article, "What does Montaigne
mean by 'marqueterie'?" Studies in_Philology, 67 (1970), 147-155-

53This image is used to describe a passage in Plato in which
Montaigne finds a style exactly suited to his own tastes. The analogy
to his own style is evident from the context. See 111:9, 973.

51’See above, ch. III, p. 95.

55Montaigne, p. 75.

56The emphasis placed here on maniere over matiere must not be
taken as a devaluation or negation of meaning in the essays. Montaigne
warns: "quand j'oy quelqu'un qui s'arreste au langage des Essais,
. . . j'aymeroy mieux qu'il s'en teust. Ce n'est pas tant eslever les

mots, comme c'est deprimer 1e sens" (1:40, 245C).

57Frame translation, p. 297.

58Studies of this type are too numerous to list here. We shall
indicate some of the more significant ones; others will be found in the
bibliography at the end of this work. Michaél Baraz, :Sur la strufiture
d'un essai de Montaigne," BHR, 23 (1961), 265-281; Rene Etiemble, Sens
et structure dans un essai—d; Montaigne," CAIEF, 14 (1962), 263—274;
Robert Griffin,"Tit1e, Structure and Theme of Montaigne's 'Des Coches,'"
MLN, 82 (1967), 285-290; René Jasinski, "Sur la composition chez
‘Montaigne," in Mélanges Henri Chamard (Paris: Nizet, 1951); pp. 257—
267; and R. A. Sayce, "Montaigne et la peinture du passage, pp. 11—59,

59Most notable is the opposition between Etiemble's and
Jasinski's demonstrations of an inherent and conscious logic and Sayce's
emphasis on a process of free association. See Etiemble, pp. 266-267
and Sayce, "Baroque Elements in Montaigne," French Studies, 8 (1954),

1-16.

213

60Anthony Wilden, "Montaigne's Essays in the Context of
Communication," MLN, 85 (1970), 460.

61Tom Conley, "The Page's Hidden Dimension: Surface and Emblem
in Montaigne's Essais," Bulletin gf the Midwest Modern Language
Association, 7, 1 (1974), 13-25. See also Marcel Gutwirth, "Des Coches,
ou la structuration d'une absence," L'Esprit Créateur, 15, 1-2 (1975),
8-20.

 

 

62Frame translation, p. 219.

63The importance of Montaigne's relationship with La Boétie to
the composition of the Essais is treated by Donald M. Frame in his
Montaigne: A Biography, pp. 73—74; by Richard Regosin in his article,
"Montaigne's Essais: The Book of the Self," p. 46; and is the central
focus of Michel Butor's hypothesis in his Essai sur les 'Essais'

(Paris: Gallimard, 1968).

6“Anthony Wilden does a complex analysis of the implications of
this relationship in his probing article, "'Par divers moyens on arrive
a pareille fin': A Reading of Montaigne," 111.11, 83 (1968), 577-597.
Wilden points to the importance of reading the essays as a form of
discourse, embodying the existential quest for an experience of self
in relationship to the Other. His dialectical reading regards
Montaigne's desire for the lost image of himself (in identity with
his friend) as a process of continuing metaphorical transference in
the Essais--"La Boétie becomes 'La Boétie,‘ which is in its turn
metaphorically replaced by all that it stands for in Montaigne's

personal lexicon: stability, being, judgment, plenitude. At the
same time, the real absence of its referent calls into the discourse
all the things this absence stands for: flux, becoming, vanity, void.
The goal of the Essays is both metonymically and metaphorically.
expressed in the words by which Montaigne characterizes La Boetie:

'un'ame pleine,'" (p. 588).

65"Je hasarde souvent des boutades de mon esprit, desquelles
je me deffie" (111:8, 922b).

66The "tousjours indigeste," recalling Montaigne's criticisms

of the all too often misguided procedures in education, hardly seems
s, which are the activity of

It is necessary to see this

ng of the essay "De la
. d'un

appropriate in connection with the essay
his judgment, his 'digestive' faculty.

Passage in its proper context of the Openi .
vanité" where Montaigne is denouncing the "escrivaillerie .

siecle desbordé" (923b)-

67Sayce states that this quotation ("Je me presente debout et
couche . .") "is to be taken in part physically, but above all psy—

chologically," A Critical Exploration, p. 53. Given the context in

which the statement occurs, it must also include Montaigne's style.

 

 

214

65Frame translation, p. 818.

69Sayce, éLCritical Exploration, ch. 4, esp. p. 73.

 

7°"J'ay mis tous mes efforts a former ma vie. Voyla mon
mestier et mon ouvrage. Je suis moins faiseur de livres que de nulle
autre besoigne" (11:37, 764a).

71Barbara Bowen easily dismisses it as another use of Montaigne's
boutades, The Age_p§ Bluff, p. 117, but one must keep in mind that she

reads almost the entire book in the vein of boutades: "Montaigne's
whole attitude to himself, his book, and his reader is tongue in cheek"
(p. 127)! Sayce takes the statement more seriously: "The book and the

man are indeed consubstantial. Still, consubstantiality in its original
and best known sense implies difference as well as unity, and so it is
here. . . . As so often for Montaigne, we are forced to an antithetical
conclusion: they are the same, they are not the same," A_Critical
Exploration, p. 70. The question is left in abeyance.

72Richard Regosin recognizes this tension in Montaigne's
relationship to his writing as residing in his "sense of written
language as the repository of reality" and his opposing View of language
as the "'corps aéré de la voix.'" Regosin relates this tension to the
generation of the Essais: "The Essais reside at the very heart of the
paradox, at that point of tension where the word takes on body,"
"Montaigne's Essais: The Book of the Self," p. 44.

73See above, p. 166.

71'See above, note 71.
75See above, pp. 166-167 and note 10.

76See above, pp. 166—167.

 

 

 

CONCLUSION

Nostre vie est composée, comme l'harmonie
du monde, de choses contraires (III:13,
1068b).

The unity of Montaigne grows out of his active pursuit of the
integration of contraries. His vision of the world, of man and of
himself attests to the flux and diversity of all things. No two things
are alike and nothing remains stable and unchanging. But there are ways
of making connections between things that are dissimilar, of perceiving
relationships which, though they do not dispel difference, do enable us
to integrate the diverses and ondoyantes pieces of existence into a
harmonious whole: "Toutes choses se tiennent par quelque similitude"
(III:13, 1047b). Although the relationships which can be drawn from
experience are faulty and imperfect, Montaigne holds that there are
always 'corners' by which things can be 'joined.‘ Endowed with what
Aristotle called 'an eye for resemblances,’ Montaigne is constantly
engaged in the activity of making associations. From his perspective
of all things being in perpetual branle, the vision he creates must be
continually reshaped. The harmonious integration of dissimilarities
and even contraries into a unified whole cannot be immobilized into a
static representation, for that would deny the basic premise that "il
n'y a aucune constante existence, ny de nostre estre, ny de celuy des
objects. Et nous, et nostre jugement, et toutes choses mortelles, vont

coulant et roulant sans cesse" (11:12, 586a).

215

 

216

Movement and stability are polar opposites marking the
continuing spectrum of Montaigne's thought. Throughout the Essais
there is a dynamic interplay of the forceful impulsion to movement
and the contrasting urge to create and experience a sense of EEBQE-
Neither pole can be divorced from the other and taken as the exclusive
characteristic or ultimate aspiration of Montaigne, for the two exist
in relationship to each other. In the formulation of his thought,
Montaigne operates, to a large degree, through a progression of anti-
theses. The mobile aspect of things is always juxtaposed to their
contrasting aspect of stability. In the metamorphosing course of
nature, Montaigne posits the systematized order of a "machine," one
that functions on the principle of universal diversity and change, a
system "veiled" to the eyes of man, yet constituting a unified whole.
Human institutions and customs are seen as variable and unstable, as
forces sweeping individual lives into their current, and, at the same
time, as possessing their own ability to endure. Though unstable in
themselves, they provide the structures through which men can resist
the upheavals of change and even fix themselves in unnatural postures
of rigid adherence. Life is "un mouvement inegal, irregulier et multi—
forme" (III:3, 796c), but its movements can be harmoniously integrated
into a unified whole, provided we have defined the end toward which
these irregular and multiform movements are directed. Caught up in
the impulsion of movements propelled away from themselves, men project
their lives outward along paths of horizontal lines that have no end

and hence afford them no sense of repos. Montaigne cultivates movement

 

 

217

with a very conscious design: all movements are gauged in relationship
to a fixed center, "1e siege de_constancd'(II:17, 628b) of his innermost
self. Stability is experienced in the movements issuing from and reach—
ing back to this central self-—the 'seat' of judgment, which is and
endures only in the action out of which it creates itself.

Metaphor is a radical component of Montaigne's conceptions of
movement and stability, for it is almost impossible to think in terms
of movement and its opposite without associating them to substantial
properties, without giving them corporeal quantity. "C'est tousjours
a l'homme que nous avons affaire, duquel 1a condition est merveilleuse—
ment corporelle" (111:8, 909b). Abstract concepts in Montaigne are
constantly associated to concrete bodily experience through the action
of metaphor. The metaphorical process bridges the separation of body
and mind to fuse them into an integral experience. "Que l'esprit
esveille et vivifie la pesanteur du corps, 1e corps arreste la legerte
de 1'e3prit et la fixe" (III:13, 1094—95b). In the movement of metaphor,
interacting between tenor and vehicle, the movement of Montaigne's mind
forges its own stability. His well-toned judgment is continually making
connections based on "quelque similitude" through the action of language.
By means of language, and more specifically metaphorical language,
Montaigne's judgment is able to take possession of its subjects and
"lui donner corps . . . l'appuyer et eStanconner" (1:50, 289a). The
polarities of movement and stability are joined in their common rela~
tionship to the creative process of metaphor: Montaigne's dynamic

opposition of movement and stability concurs with the perpetually

 

 

 

 

218

renewed interaction of the weight and density of the body and the
lightness and fluidity of the mind or soul.

Embodied in metaphor, movement takes shape in a figurative
context of spatial quantity. Montaigne traces the usual course of
life along lines of horizontal extension and prOposes the alternative
of a circumscribed motion, a self-oriented circularity. He ponders
man's extension of himself in vertical dimensions, viewing the movements
of the soul in terms of high and low and admiring the flexibility of
"un'ame a divers estages" (III:3, 799b). Various reflections on the
action of the mind-~the operation of judgment, the experience of reading
and the movement of the Essais themselves——are incorporated into travel
metaphors where movement is situated in a paysage of richly developed
contours. Man's subjective sense of identity is explored as an 'inner
self,‘ the spatial domain of the "arriere boutique" (1:39, 235a). This
is the setting for the tumultuous branle of the passions, for the
inward-turning movement of self study, and, at its innermost point,
the "siege magistral" of judgment (III:13, 1052b).

Montaigne concretizes movement itself with a vigorous exercise
of verbal gestures. The travel metaphor assumes many aspects, from the

straightforward statements of aller, marcher, promener, to the more

 

sculptured motidns of chanceler, choper, fourvoyer or glisser. Gestures

of a vividly active nature such as saisir, ployer, digerer or bander

 

contrast with the passive motions of couler, rouler, étre emporté or

 

 

 

percé. The circular movement of actions directed back toward the self

finds expression in a diversity of reflexive verbs: se taster, se

 

 

 

 

 

219

 

paistre, §g_rou11er and §g_mirer. And a very particular kind of
movement, the paradoxical active possession of passive motion, is
created through a transitive handling of intransitive verbs: couler

pg monde; §g_laisser aller, glisser, couler. Through his abundant and

 

diversified use of verb metaphors, Montaigne wields the movement of
‘ abstract conceptions in emphatically plastic gestures. 1n the strength
and immediacy of the link between subject and verb and the verb's direct
focus on the movement in question, the action of his mobile conceptions
takes on the forceful sensations of corporeal experience.

Accompanying the shaping of movement into bodily gestures is
the qualification of that which moves or resists movement in substantial
properties. What is easily subject to movement is characterized by
weightlessness, emptiness and mollesse and is likened to the flow of
water or the aimless blowing of wind. The opposite qualities—~the
weight and volume of solid mass and a tactile rigidity-~resist movement,
work to slow it down or oppose it with fixity. But there is an active
integration of these contrasting properties in the effort to take pos-
session of what is passively in flux: "11 faut bien bander l'ame pour
luy faire sentir comme elle s'escoule" (III:13, 1085c). In order to
perform such a gesture, Montaigne cultivates the intermediary property
of pliability, coupling the firmness to take hold of movement with the
suppleness not to arrest its ppgplg.

As Sainte—Beuve has noted, "pensée, image, chez [Montaigne],
c'est tout un." One cannot work with the ideas of Montaigne without

having recourse to his metaphors, for in the deve10pment of his

 

 

 

 

220

metaphors, one follows the working out of his ideas. Frequently, it

is through his progressive amplification of a vehicle or through his
metamorphosis from one vehicle to another, that the corresponding tenor
evolves. Montaigne's characteristic rephrasing and reshaping of ideas
in a succession of changing images is the active process of a mind
'giving body' to its conceptions. The movement of his metaphors is
consubstantial to the movements of his mind.

"Estirant et ployant" language into "plus vigoreux et divers
services" (111:5, 851b), Montaigne searches out a closeness between
word and thought. His awareness of the separation between "le nom
et la chose" (II:16, 601a) posits an underlying tension in his use
of metaphor, a tension which energizes the interaction of the meta-
phorical process. As he forges corporeal expression for abstract ideas,
Montaigne bridges the separation between word and conception and between
mind and body. Never losing touch with the organic relationship of
"l'esprit . . . si estroittement affreré aucorps" (III:5, 821b), he
engenders thought in a language "non plus de vent, ains de chair et
1 d'os" (851b).

The Essais are a portrait of Montaigne in language, a portrait
of himself conceived in interaction with the multiple aspects of his
experience, a portrait of a consciousness as it is reflected through
the mediation of its objects. Reflecting himself in the 'mirror' of
the world, in the opacity of physical sensation and in the 'inward
folds' of "une ame contournable en soy mesme" (1:39, 235a), Montaigne

'registers' the multifarious images of these separate moments of

 

 

 

 

221

consciousness into the 'duration' of the book. The book, too, serves
as an object of consciousness, a reflector of the self, and it, too,
is made 'to turn in on itself.' As the portrait of his passage, it is
to the book that Montaigne turns for the image of himself in movement:
"mon theme se renverse en soy" (III:13, 1046b). It is the book which

functions as the ultimate metaphor of self.

 

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