Here is a link to my copy of the essay “Of Repentance,” employing some new media “paint” to annotate and portray how I engaged with this essay: http://scrible.com/s/kEw22
12th June 1580
Reader, thou hast here an honest book; it doth at the outset forewarn thee that, in contriving the same, I have proposed to myself no other than a domestic and private end: I have had no consideration at all either to thy service or to my glory. My powers are not capable of any such design. I have dedicated it to the particular commodity of my kinsfolk and friends, so that, having lost me (which they must do shortly), they may therein recover some traits of my conditions and humours, and by that means preserve more whole, and more life-like, the knowledge they had of me. Had my intention been to seek the world’s favour, I should surely have adorned myself with borrowed beauties: I desire therein to be viewed as I appear in mine own genuine, simple, and ordinary manner, without study and artifice: for it is myself I paint. My defects are therein to be read to the life, and any imperfections are my natural form, so far as public reverence hath permitted me. If I had lived among those nations, which (they say) yet dwell under the sweet liberty of nature’s primitive laws, I assure thee I would most willingly have painted myself quite fully and quite naked. Thus, reader, myself am the matter of my book: there’s no reason thou shouldst employ thy leisure about so frivolous and vain a subject. Therefore farewell.
We can think of the ways Montaigne revisits in the opening of the essay “Of Repentance” the logic or philosophy he establishes for the whole book, the entire project of his essays. He makes an argument for what we tend to call and think of as a subjective view of life, what MM refers to as “private.” He can only portray himself and his private and ordinary and simple experience in the world. That’s a limitation of his book–or so he tells us. He knows, and goes on to argue, that such portrayals and representations of the private and ordinary, the limitations of one’s experience, make up the very matter of life. And thus, too, the matter of his book.
To connect back to our initial discussion of the dramatic elements of the essay, we can see that MM establishes his “I” as a persona in the very process of telling us (this is the rhetorical part) that it is not a public persona, not what one would usually expect from conventional “nonfiction” up to his point in time: moral philosophy and teachings representing great and public lives addressing constant truths, how all should live–not merely how one person lived, or better yet, tried or attempted or “essayed” to live. This tension between the conventions of writings about great, public lives, fixed for all time (Plutarch, for example) and MM’s approach to the personal and ordinary, the passing, the subjective, identifies a dramatic tension in his essays. We can begin to see, here, why MM is thought of as the inventor of the genre. Recall the point that the essay moves toward resonance or recognition, something more subjective and complex than mere understanding in our sense of “information.” Montaigne suggests in setting up the book and the essay “Of Repentance” that such partial (but clearly insightful) recognition is all he can do; all any one of us can do; and thus all that his attempt (his essay) to portray his limitations can offer.
Let’s think of the ways, even in the first couple paragraphs of the essay, that MM’s philosophy of his essay blends as well into his rhetoric (how he organizes and structures and portrays the thinking in the sentences and paragraphs) and poetics (the words and figures that makes the portrayal–the paint).
Following Montaigne’s propensity to invoke words that suggest correlations and unconventional connotations (the poetic term here is “pun”) between life and writing, the matter or “composition” of nature and the matter/composition of his book, I am assuming that “passage” is one such pun, operative in French (the origins of the word) as it is in English. For some etymology, see the OED entry for passage. While you are at it, consider the entries for other phrases used by Montaigne poetically in this sense of multiple connotations, including “composition” and the word “essay” itself.
And finally, we can look to Emerson (the American essayist we will be reading shortly) for some insight into Montaigne’s poetics, and the way his poetics, his sentence style and vernacular language, plays a role in his rhetoric and philosophy–what these essays are about, what they are doing. Here is Emerson in his essay “Montaigne; or, the Skeptic” (1850):
The Essays, therefore, are an entertaining soliloquy on every random topic that comes into his head; treating every thing without ceremony, yet with masculine sense. There have been men with deeper insight; but, one would say, never a man with such abundance of thoughts: he is never dull, never insincere, and has the genius to make the reader care for all that he cares for.
The sincerity and marrow of the man reaches to his sentences. I know not anywhere the book that seems less written. It is the language of conversation transferred to a book. Cut these words, and they would bleed; they are vascular and alive. One has the same pleasure in it that he feels in listening to the necessary speech of men about their work, when any unusual circumstance gives momentary importance to the dialogue. For blacksmiths and teamsters do not trip in their speech; it is a shower of bullets. It is Cambridge men who correct themselves and begin again at every half sentence, and, moreover, will pun, and refine too much, and swerve from the matter to the expression. Montaigne talks with shrewdness, knows the world and books and himself, and uses the positive degree; never shrieks, or protests, or prays: no weakness, no convulsion, no superlative: does not wish to jump out of his skin, or play any antics, or annihilate space or time, but is stout and solid; tastes every moment of the day; likes pain because it makes him feel himself and realize things; as we pinch ourselves to know that we are awake. He keeps the plain; he rarely mounts or sinks; likes to feel solid ground and the stones underneath. His writing has no enthusiasms, no aspiration; contented, self-respecting and keeping the middle of the road. There is but one exception,- in his love for Socrates. In speaking of him, for once his cheek flushes and his style rises to passion.
Montaigne’s style of writing, Emerson suggests, is alive with everything in his head, the blood coursing through his body. This is the point in writing the essays; this is the point, the pulse (to stay with his metaphor) the reader feels when touching the matter of his man-made book.
Some further reading and thinking (in addition to Emerson on Montaigne):
Here is an essay/blog on Montaigne as the father of the essay and the blog: “What Bloggers Owe Montaigne”