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Montaigne's Essays

Michel eyquem de montaigne (1533-1592), translation by john florio (1553-1625).

Note on the e-text: this Renascence Editions text was provided by Professor Emeritus Ben R. Schneider, Lawrence University, Wisconsin. It is in the public domain. "Florio's Translation of Montaigne's Essays was first published in 1603. In 'The World's Classics' the first volume was published in 1904, and reprinted in 1910 and 1924." Additional material was supplied by Risa S. Bear from the Everyman's Library edition of 1910. Content unique to this presentation is copyright © 1999 The University of Oregon. For nonprofit and educational uses only. Send comments and corrections to the Publisher, rbear[at]uoregon.edu.

THE FIRST BOOKE

THE SECOND BOOKE

THE THIRD BOOKE

trange it may seeme to some, whose seeming is mis-seeming, in one worthlesse patronage to joyne two so severallie all-worthy Ladies. But to any in the right, it would be judged wrong, to disjoyne them in ought, who were neerer in kinde, then ever in kindnesse. None dearer (dearest Ladies) I have seene, and all may say, to your Honorable husbands then you, to you then your Honorable husbands; and then to other, then eyther is to th' other. So as were I to name but the one, I should surely intend the other: but intending this Dedication to two,I could not but name both. To my last Birth, which I held masculine, (as are all mens conceipts that are thier owne, though but by their collecting; and this was to Montaigne like Bacchus, closed in, or loosed from his great Iupiters thigh) I the indulgent father invited two right Honorable Godfathers, with the One of your Noble Ladyshippes to witnesse. So to this defective edition (since all translations are reputed femalls, delivered at second hand; and I in this serve but as Vulcan, to hatchet this Minerva from that Iupiters bigge braine) I yet at least a fondling foster-father, having transported it from France to England ; put it in English clothes; taught it to talke our tongue (though many-times with a jerke of the French Iargon ) wouldset it forth to the best service I might; and to better I might not, then You that deserve the best. Yet hath it this above your other servants: it may not onely serve you two, to repeate in true English what you reade in fine French, but many thousands more, to tell them in their owne, what they would be taught in an other language. How nobly it is descended, let the father in the ninth Chapter of his third booke by letters testimoniall of the Romane Senate and Citty beare record: How rightly it is his, and his beloved, let him by his discourse in the eigh'th of his second, written to the Lady of Estissac (as if it were to you concerning your sweete heire, most motherly- affected Lady Harrington ) and by his acknowledgement in this first to all Readers give evidence, first that ir is de bonne foy, then more than that, c'est moy: how worthily qualified, embellished, furnished it is, let his faire-spoken, and fine-witted Daughter by alliance passe her verdict, which shee need not recant. Heere-hence to offer it into your service, let me for him but do and say, as he did for his other-selfe, his peerlesse paire Steven de Boetie, in the 28. of the first, and thinke hee speakes to praise-surmounting Countesse of Bedford , what hee there speakes to the Lady of Grammont, Countesse of Guissen: Since as his Maister-Poet saide,

-----mutato nomine, de te Fabula narratur: -- Hor. ser. lib. i. Sat. i. 69.  Do you but change the name, Of you is saide the same:

   The further that she goeth, The more in strength she groweth:

Ingrediturque solo, & caput inter nubila condit: --- 177.

She (great and good) on earth doth move, Yet veiles hir head in heaven above:

In questo stato son Donna ver vui, --- Petr. p. 1, son. 107. By you, or for you, Madame, thus am I.

Quod spiro, & placeo, si placeo, tuum est.

That I doe breath and please, if please I doe, It is your grace, such grace proceed's from you.

IOHN FLORIO.

To the Right Ho-

Norable, lucie countesse of bedford..

Relucent lustre of our English Dames,     In one comprising all most priz'de of all,     Whom Vertue hirs, and bounty hirs do call,     Whose vertue honor, beauty love enflames, Whose value wonder writes, silence proclaimes,     Though, as your owne, you know th'originall     Of this, whose grace must by translation fall;     Yet since this, as your owne, your Honor claimes, Yours be the honour; and if any good     Be done by it, we give all thanks and praise     For it to you, but who enough can give? Aye-honor'd be your Honorable Blood;     Rise may your Honor, which your merites raise:     Live may you long, your Honor you out-live.     To the noble-minded Ladie, Anne Harrington If Mothers love exceeding others love,     If Honours heart excelling all mens hearts,     If bounties hand with all her beauteous parts,     Poets, or Painters would to pourtray prove, Should they seeke earth below, or heav'n above,     Home, Court or Countrie, forraine moulds or marts,     For Maister point, or modell of their artes,     For life, then here, they neede no further move: For Honour, Bountie, Love, when all is done,     (Detract they not) what should they adde, or faine,     But onely write, Lady A N N E   H A R R I N G T O N. Her picture lost, would Nature second her,     She could not, or she must make her againe.     So vowes he, that himselfe doth hers averre. Il Candido. To the curteous Reader.

Al mio amato Istruttore Mr. Giovanni Florio.

Florio che fai? Vai cosi ardito di Monte?     Al monte piu scoscese che Parnasso,     Ardente piu che Mingibello?     Plino qui muore prima, che qui monte. Se'l Pegaso non hai, che cavi'l fonte,     Ritirati dal preiglioso passo.     L'hai fatto pur', andand' hor' alt' hor baffo:     Ti so ben dir', tu sei Bellerophonte. Tre corpi di Chimera di Montagna     Hai trapassato, scosso, rinversato.     Del' honorat' impres' anch' io mi glorio. Premiar' to potess' io d'or' di Spagna,     Di piu che Bianco-fior' saresti ornato.         Ma del' hono' ti basti, che sei Florio. Il Candido. A reply upon Maister Florio's answere to the Lady of Bedfords Invitation to this worke, in a Sonnet of like terminations. Anno. 1599.  Thee to excite from Epileptic fits,     Whose lethargie like frost benumming bindes     Obstupefying sence with sencelesse kindes,     Attend the vertue of Minervas wittes; Colde sides are spurrd, hot muthes held-in with bittes;     Say No, and grow more rude, then rudest hindes;     Say No, and blow more rough, then roughest windes.     Who never shootes, the marke he never hitt's. To take such taske, a pleasure is no paine;     Vertue and Honor (which immortalize)     Not stepdame Iuno (who would wish thee slaine) Calls thee to this thrice-honorable prize;     Montaigne, no cragg'd Mountaine, but faire plaine.     And who would resty rest, when SHEE bids rise? Il Candido To my deere friend M. Iohn Florio, concerning his translation of Montaigne. Bookes the amasse of humors, swolne with ease, The Griefe of peace, the maladie of rest, So stuffe the world, falne into this disease, As it receives more than it can digest: And doe so evercharge, as they confound The apetite of skill with idle store: There being no end of words, nor any bound Set to conceipt, the Ocean without shore. As if man labor'd with himself to be As infinite in words, as in intents, And draws his manifold incertaintie In ev'ry figure, passion represents; That these innumerable visages, And strange shapes of opinions and discourse Shadowed in leaves, may be the witnesses Rather of our defects, then of our force. And this proud frame of our presumption, This Babel of our skill, this Towre of wit, Seemes onely chekt with the confusion Of our mistakings, that dissolveth it. And well may make us of our knowledge doubt, Seeing what uncertainties we build upon, To be as weake within booke or without; Or els that truth hath other shapes then one.     But yet although we labor with this store And with the presse of writings seeme opprest, And have too many bookes, yet want we more, Feeling great dearth and scarsenesse of the best; Which cast in choiser shapes have bin produc'd, To give the best proportions to the minde To our confusion, and have introduc'd The likeliest images frailtie can finde. And wherein most the skill-desiring soule Takes her delight, the best of all delight, And where her motions evenest come to rowle About this doubtful center of the right.     Which to discover this great Potentate, This Prince Montaigne (if he be not more) Hath more adventur'd of his owne estate Than ever man did of himselfe before: And hath made such bolde sallies out upon Custome, the mightie tyrant of the earth, In whose Seraglio of subjection We all seeme bred-up, from our tender birth; As I admire his powres, and out of love, Here at his gate do stand, and glad I stand So neere to him whom I do so much love, T'applaude his happie setling in our land: And safe transpassage by his studious care Who both of him and us doth merit much, Having as sumptuously, as he is rare plac'd him in the best lodging of our speach. And made him now as free, as if borne here, And as well ours as theirs, who may be proud That he is theirs, though he he be every where To have the franchise of his worth allow'd.     It being the portion of a happie Pen, Not to b'invassal'd to one Monarchie, But dwells with all the better world of men Whose spirits are all of one communitie. Whom neither Ocean, Desarts, Rockes nor Sands Can keepe from th'intertraffique of the minde, But that it vents her treasure in all lands, And doth a most secure commercement finde.     Wrap Excellencie up never so much, In Hierogliphicques, Ciphers, Caracters, And let her speake nver so strange a speach, Her Genius yet finds apt decipherers: And never was she borne to dye obscure, But guided by the Starres of her owne grace, Makes her owne fortune, and is aever sure In mans best hold, to hold the strongest place. And let the Critic say the worst he can, He cannot say but that Montaige yet, Yeeldes most rich pieces and extracts of man; Though in a troubled frame confus'dly set. Which yet h'is blest that he hath ever seene, And therefore as a guest in gratefulnesse, For the great good the house yeelds him within Might spare to taxe th'unapt convayances. But this breath hurts not, for both worke and frame, Whilst England English speakes, is of that store And that choyse stuffe, as that without the same The richest librarie can be but poore. And they unblest who letters do professe And have him not: whose owne fate beates their want With more sound blowes, then Alcibiades Did his pedante that did Homer want.

    Give me leave 

THE AUTHOR TO THE READER

EADER, loe here a well-meaning Booke. It doth at the first entrance forewarne thee, that in contriving the same I have proposed unto my selfe no other than a familiar and private end: I have no respect or consideration at all, either to thy service, or to my glory: my forces are not capable of any such desseigne. I have vowed the same to the particular commodity of my kinsfolk and friends: to the end, that losing me (which they are likely to do ere long), they may therein find some lineaments of my conditions and humours, and by that meanes reserve more whole, and more lively foster the knowledge and acquaintance they have had of me. Had my intention beene to forestal and purchase the world's opinion and favour, I would surely have adorned myselfe more quaintly, or kept a more grave and solemne march. I desire thereun to be delineated in mine own genuine, simple and ordinarie fashion, without contention, art or study; for it is myselfe I pourtray. My imperfections shall thus be read to the life, and my naturall forme discerned, so farre-forth as publike reverence hath permitted me. For if my fortune had beene to have lived among those nations which yet are said to live under the sweet liberty of Nature's first and uncorrupted lawes, I assure thee, I would most willingly have pourtrayed myselfe fully and naked. Thus, gentle Reader, myselfe am the groundworke of my booke: it is then no reason thou shouldest employ thy time about so frivolous and vaine a subject. Therefore farewell, From MONTAIGNE, The First of March, 1580.

Michel Montaigne

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First English Edition of Michel de Montaigne’s Essays (1603)

The essayes, or, Morall, politike and millitarie discourses of Lo. Michaell de Montaigne, Knight of the noble Order of St. Michaell, and one of the gentlemen in ordinary of the French King, Henry the Third his chamber : the first booke, by Michel de Montaigne, translated by John Florio; 1603; London, Edward Blount.

In the late sixteenth century the philosopher Michel de Montaigne (1533–1592) felt drawn to express himself in energetic, playful meditations which he called “essais” — meaning “trials” or “attempts”. Thus a new literary genre was born. Though work-shy school children might have reason to hate the father of the essay, others have savoured the artistry of his creations. “This talking of oneself,” wrote Virginia Woolf, “following one’s own vagaries, giving the whole map, weight, colour, and circumference of the soul in its confusion, its variety, its imperfection — this art belonged to one man only: to Montaigne.”

At the age of thirty-eight, Montaigne retreated from the public sphere in Bordeaux to the family chateaux thirty miles inland. He carved quotes by his favourite authors into the wooden beams of his library, and poured much of the remaining twenty years of his life into his meditations. The resulting Essais (1580–88) interrogate a dizzying array of subjects: grief, friendship, coaches, drunkenness, impotence, smells, theology, education, war, animal intelligence, music, the New World, idleness, death, thumbs. Montaigne called his Essais :

A register of varied and changing occurrences, of ideas which are unresolved and, when needs be, contradictory, either because I myself have become different or because I grasp hold of different attributes or aspects of my subjects. So I may happen to contradict myself but, as Demades said, I never contradict truth.

Probably the most revolutionary thing about the Essais is their self-awareness. Other writers had interrogated themselves, such as Augustine in his Confessions (AD 397–400), but none with the acuteness or completeness of Montaigne:

If I speak diversely of myself, it is because I look diversely upon myself. . . . Shamefaced, bashful, insolent, chaste, luxurious, peevish, prattling, silent, fond, doting, labourious, nice, delicate, ingenious, slow, dull, froward, humorous, debonaire, wise, ignorant, false in words, true-speaking, both liberal, covetous, and prodigal. All these I perceive in some measure or other to be in mine, according as I stir or turn myself.

In 1603, the Italian linguist John Florio translated the Essais into poetic, wildly inventive, but nonetheless idiomatic Elizabethan prose. Now “done into English” the Essayes made a real splash in the minds of the reading public. William Shakespeare’s attention was caught by a passage in “Of the Cannibals” in which Montaigne describes the people of the New World:

[They] hath no kind of traffic, no knowledge of letters, no intelligence of numbers, no name of magistrate, nor of politic superiority; no use of service, of riches, or of poverty; no contracts, no successions, no dividences, no occupation but idle; no respect of kindred, but common; no apparel, but natural; no manuring of lands, no use of wine, corn, or metal...

Shakespeare fed this utopian description into the mouth of Gonzalo in The Tempest (1611). Daydreaming about what he would do if he were king of the island he and his friends have been shipwrecked on, Gonzalo says:

No kind of traffic Would I admit, no name of magistrate; Letters should not be known; riches, poverty, And use of service, none; contract, succession, Bourn, bound of land, tilth, vineyard, none; No use of metal, corn, or wine, or oil; No occupation, all men idle, all; And women too—but innocent and pure; No sovereignty – (II .i.148–56)

Thousands more early modern English readers were influenced by Florio’s Montaigne. In the marginal notes of their copies of the Essayes you will find agreement and disagreement, offence, and enjoyment — but never boredom. As the clergyman Abiel Borft put it in his copy: “Montaign hath the Art above all men to keep his Reader from sleeping.”

If you’d like to read Montaigne in modern English we recommend The Complete Essays translated by M.A. Screech (Penguin, 1993). As well as providing the clearest access to the more conceptually challenging passages, the edition includes an excellent introduction and footnotes revealing Montaigne’s sources. For a highly enjoyable take on his life, thought, and reception we recommend Sarah Bakewell’s How to Live: Or A Life of Montaigne in One Question and Twenty Attempts at an Answer (2010). Phillipe Desan has written a more academic biography, Montaigne: A Life (2017), which draws attention to the political player behind the solitary philosopher.

• Thought, Reflection & Theory
• Non-fiction
• 16th Century
• 17th Century

Feb 28, 2018

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1958 --> 1958 908 pages. from $45.00

Hardcover ISBN: 9780804704854 Paperback ISBN: 9780804704861 Ebook ISBN: 9780804780773

This new translation of Montaigne's immortal Essays received great acclaim when it was first published in The Complete Works of Montaigne in the 1957 edition. The New York Times said, "It is a matter for rejoicing that we now have available a new translation that offers definite advantages over even the best of its predecessors," and The New Republic stated that this edition gives "a more adequate idea of Montaigne's manner, his straight and unpretentious style, than any of the half-dozen previous English translations."

In his Essays Montaigne warns us from the outset that he has set himself "no goal but a domestic and private one"; yet he is one author whose modernity and universality have been acclaimed by each age since he wrote. Probing into his emotions, attitudes, and behavior, Montaigne reveals to us much about ourselves.

As new editions of the Essays were published during his lifetime, Montaigne interpolated many new passages—often of considerable length. This volume indicates the strata of composition, so that the reader may follow the development of Montaigne's thought over the years. The detailed index provides a convenient means of locating the many famous passages that occur throughout the work.

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The Essays: A Selection (Penguin Classics) Paperback – May 3, 1994

• Print length 480 pages
• Language English
• Publisher Penguin Classics
• Publication date May 3, 1994
• Grade level 12 and up
• Reading age 18 years and up
• Dimensions 7.76 x 5.12 x 0.85 inches
• ISBN-10 0140446028
• ISBN-13 978-0140446029
• See all details

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• Publisher ‏ : ‎ Penguin Classics; Reprint edition (May 3, 1994)
• Language ‏ : ‎ English
• Paperback ‏ : ‎ 480 pages
• ISBN-10 ‏ : ‎ 0140446028
• ISBN-13 ‏ : ‎ 978-0140446029
• Reading age ‏ : ‎ 18 years and up
• Grade level ‏ : ‎ 12 and up
• Item Weight ‏ : ‎ 2.31 pounds
• Dimensions ‏ : ‎ 7.76 x 5.12 x 0.85 inches
• #7 in Renaissance Western Philosophy
• #33 in Renaissance Literary Criticism (Books)
• #197 in Essays (Books)

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Michel de montaigne.

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