The Canadian poet Robert
Melançon and I were commiserating over politics and its corrosive effect on
everything it touches, like acid that dissolves the container holding it. He reminded
me of Montaigne “keeping a steady composure during the worst civil war France
ever suffered.” Robert refers to the Wars of Religion that raged in the second
half of the sixteenth century, in which Montaigne sometimes acted as a mediator
between warring parties. Catholics and Huguenots slaughtered each other, and between
2 and 4 million were killed. Those without faith should not rush to self-righteous
judgment against the faithful. Twentieth-century atheists in Russia and China make
the French Wars of Religion look like une
petite fête.
As
the wars went on – they usually are dated from 1562 to the Edict of Nantes in
1598, when the killing continued at a slower pace -- Montaigne wrote the first
of his Essais, in 1570. He was never
a hermit. Retreat to his tower never meant disengagement. Evidence of the
religious wars is everywhere in his essays. Yet, in “Of Experience” (trans.
Donald Frame) he was able to write:
“To
compose our character is our duty, not to compose books, and to win, not
battles and provinces, but order and tranquility in our conduct. Our great and
glorious masterpiece is to live appropriately. All other things, ruling,
hoarding, building, are only little appendages and props, at most.”
Much
of Montaigne sounds Roman in sensibility. Think of Seneca and Marcus Aurelius. In
“Monsieur Montaigne’s Voyage to Italy” (The
Collected Prose 1948-1998) Zbigniew Herbert writes:
“. . . it
is the antiquities of Rome that made the greatest impression on Montaigne. The
author of the Essays, who spends so
much attention during his journey on meals and the cleanliness of bedclothes,
falls into a truly poetic and exalted mood at the sight of the Forum. His
sobriety, formed by ancient authors (Montaigne himself resembles a Renaissance
Pliny), does not allow him to fall into sentimental raptures.”
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