No More Learning

If possible, I would add to it; but I will not take
from you any satisfaction you could enjoy without me.
On my
own side, I endeavor to form as right a judgment of the temper
of human nature, and of my own in particular, as I am capable
of. I would throw off all partiality and passion, and be calm in
my opinion. Almost all people are apt to run into a mistake,
that when they once feel or give a passion, there needs nothing
to entertain it. This mistake makes, in the number of women
that inspire even violent passions, hardly one preserve one after
possession. If we marry, our happiness must consist in loving
one another; 'tis principally my concern to think of the mcst
probable method of making that love eternal. You object against
living in London: I am not fond of it myself, and readily give
it up to you; though I am assured there needs more art to
keep a fondness alive in solitude, where it generally preys upon
itself.
There is one article absolutely necessary: to be ever beloved,
one must ever be agreeable. There is no such thing as being
agrecable without a thorough good-humor, a natural sweetness
of temper, enlivened by cheerfulness. Whatever natural funds
of gayety one is born with, 'tis necessary to be entertained with
agreeable objects. Anybody capable of tasting pleasure when
they confine themselves to one place, should take care 'tis the
place in the world the most agreeable. Whatever you may now
think (now, perhaps, you have some fondness for me), though
your love should continue in its full force there are hours when
the most beloved mistress would be troublesome. People are not
forever (nor is it in human nature that they should be) disposed
to be fond; you would be glad to find in me the friend and the
companion. To be agreeably the last, it is necessary to be gay
and entertaining. A perpetual solitude, in a place where you see
nothing to raise your spirits, at length wears them out, and con-
versation insensibly falls into dull and insipid. When I have no
more to say to you, you will like me no longer.
How dreadful is that view! You will reflect for my sake
you have abandoned the conversation of a friend that you liked,


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LADY MARY WORTLEY MONTAGU
10221
and your situation in a country where all things would have
contributed to make your life pass in (the true volupte) a smooth
tranquillity. I shall lose the vivacity which should entertain you,
and you will have nothing to recompense you for what you have
lost. Very few people that have settled entirely in the country,
but have grown at length weary of one another.
The lady's
conversation generally falls into a thousand impertinent effects.
of idleness; and the gentleman falls in love with his dogs and
his horses, and out of love with everything else. I am not now
arguing in favor of the town: you have answered me as to that
point.
In respect of your health, 'tis the first thing to be considered,
and I shall never ask you to do anything injurious to that. But
'tis my opinion, 'tis necessary, to be happy, that we neither of us
think any place more agreeable than that where we are. I have
nothing to do in London; and 'tis indifferent to me if I never
see it more. I know not how to answer your mentioning gal-
lantry, nor in what sense to understand you: whoever I marry,
when I am married I renounce all things of the kind.
I am
willing to abandon all conversation but yours; I will part with
anything for you, but you. I will not have you a month, to lose
you for the rest of my life. If you can pursue the plan of hap-
piness begun with your friend, and take me for that friend, I
am ever yours. I have examined my own heart whether I can
leave everything for you; I think I can: if I change my mind,
you shall know before Sunday; after that I will not change my
mind.
If 'tis necessary for your affairs to stay in England, to assist
your father in his business, as I suppose the time will be short,
I would be as little injurious to your fortune as I can, and I will
do it. But I am still of opinion nothing is so likely to make us
both happy, as what I propose. I foresee I may break with you
on this point, and I shall certainly be displeased with myself for
it, and wish a thousand times that I had done whatever you
pleased; but, however, I hope I shall always remember how much
more miserable than anything else would make me, should I
be to live with you and to please you no longer. You can be
pleased with nothing when you are not pleased with your wife.
One of the Spectators is very just that says, "A man ought
always to be upon his guard against spleen and a too severe
philosophy; a woman, against levity and coquetry. " If we go to


## p. 10222 (#30) ###########################################

10222
LADY MARY WORTLEY MONTAGU
Naples, I will make no acquaintance there of any kind, and you
will be in a place where a variety of agreeable objects will dis-
pose you to be ever pleased. If such a thing is possible, this
will secure our everlasting happiness; and I am ready to wait on
you without leaving a thought behind me.
TO E. W. MONTAGU, ESQ.
FRIDAY NIght.
I
TREMBLE for what we are doing. Are you sure you shall love
me for ever? Shall we never repent? I fear and I hope. I
foresee all that will happen on this occasion. I shall incense
my family in the highest degree. The generality of the world
will blame my conduct, and the relations and friends of
will invent a thousand stories of me; yet 'tis possible you may
recompense everything to me. In this letter, which I am fond of,
you promise me all that I wish. Since I writ so far, I received.
your Friday letter. I will be only yours, and I will do what you
please.
TO MR. POPE
ADRIANOPLE, April 1st, O. S. , 1717.
I
AM at this present moment writing in a house situated on the
banks of the Hebrus, which runs under my chamber window.
My garden is all full of cypress-trees, upon the branches of
which several couple of true turtles are saying soft things to one
another from morning till night. How naturally do boughs and
vows come into my mind at this minute! and must not you con-
fess, to my praise, that 'tis more than an ordinary discretion that
can resist the wicked suggestions of poetry, in a place where
truth, for once, furnishes all the ideas of pastoral? The summer
is already far advanced in this part of the world; and for some
miles round Adrianople the whole ground is laid out in gardens,
and the banks of the rivers are set with rows of fruit trees, under
which all the most considerable Turks divert themselves every
evening: not with walking,- that is not one of their pleasures;
but a set party of them choose out a green spot, where the shade
is very thick, and there they spread a carpet, on which they sit
drinking their coffee, and are generally attended by some slave


## p. 10223 (#31) ###########################################

LADY MARY WORTLEY MONTAGU
10223
Every
with a fine voice, or that plays on some instrument.
twenty paces you may see one of these little companies listening
to the dashing of the river; and this taste is so universal, that
the very gardeners are not without it. I have often seen them
and their children sitting on the banks of the river, and playing
on a rural instrument, perfectly answering the description of the
ancient fistula,- being composed of unequal reeds, with a simple
but agreeable softness in the sound.
Mr. Addison might here make the experiment he speaks of in
his travels: there not being one instrument of music among the
Greek or Roman statues, that is not to be found in the hands
of the people of this country. The young lads generally divert
themselves with making garlands for their favorite lambs, which
I have often seen painted and adorned with flowers, lying at
their feet while they sung or played. It is not that they ever
read romances, but these are the ancient amusements here, and
as natural to them as cudgel-playing and football to our British
swains; the softness and warmth of the climate forbidding all
rough exercises, which were never so much as heard of amongst
them, and naturally inspiring a laziness and aversion to labor,
which the great plenty indulges. These gardeners are the only
happy race of country people in Turkey. They furnish all the
city with fruits and herbs, and seem to live very easily. They
are most of them Greeks, and have little houses in the midst of
their gardens, where their wives and daughters take a liberty not
permitted in the town, I mean, to go unveiled. These wenches
are very neat and handsome, and pass their time at their looms
under the shade of the trees.
I no longer look upon Theocritus as a romantic writer: he has
only given a plain image of the way of life amongst the peas-
ants of his country; who, before oppression had reduced them to
want, were, I suppose, all employed as the better sort of them
are now. I don't doubt, had he been born a Briton, but his
'Idylliums' had been filled with descriptions of threshing and
churning, both which are unknown here: the corn being all trod-
den out by oxen, and butter (I speak it with sorrow) unheard-of.
I read over your Homer here with an infinite pleasure, and
find several little passages explained that I did not before entirely
comprehend the beauty of; many of the customs and much of
the dress then in fashion, being yet retained. I don't wonder
to find more remains here of an age so distant, than is to be


## p. 10224 (#32) ###########################################

LADY MARY WORTLEY MONTAGU
10224
found in any other country: the Turks not taking that pains to
introduce their own manners as has been generally practiced by
other nations that imagine themselves more polite. It would be
too tedious to you to point out all the passages that relate to
present customs. But I can assure you that the princesses and
great ladies pass their time at their looms, embroidering veils and
robes, surrounded by their maids, which are always very numer-
ous, in the same manner as we find Andromache and Helen
described. The description of the belt of Menelaus exactly re-
sembles those that are now worn by the great men; fastened
before with broad golden clasps, and embroidered round with
rich work. The snowy veil that Helen throws over her face is
still fashionable; and I never see half a dozen of old bashaws
(as I do very often) with their reverend beards, sitting basking
in the sun, but I recollect good King Priam and his counselors.
Their manner of dancing is certainly the same that Diana is sung
to have danced on the banks of Eurotas. The great lady still
leads the dance, and is followed by a troop of young girls, who
imitate her steps, and if she sings, make up the chorus. The
tunes are extremely gay and lively, yet with something in them
wonderfully soft. The steps are varied according to the pleasure
of her that leads the dance; but always in exact time, and infi-
nitely more agreeable than any of our dances, at least in my
opinion. I sometimes make one in the train, but am not skillful
enough to lead; these are the Grecian dances, the Turkish being
very different.
I should have told you, in the first place, that the Eastern
manners give a great light into many Scripture passages that
appear odd to us; their phrases being commonly what we should
call Scripture language. The vulgar Turkish is very different
from what is spoken at court, or amongst the people of figure,
who always mix so much Arabic and Persian in their discourse
that it may very well be called another language. And 'tis as
ridiculous to make use of the expressions commonly used, in
speaking to a great man or lady, as it would be to speak broad
Yorkshire or Somersetshire in the drawing-room. Besides this
distinction, they have what they call the sublime; that is, a style
proper for poetry, and which is the exact Scripture style.
believe you will be pleased to see a genuine example of this;
and I am very glad I have it in my power to satisfy your curios-
ity, by sending you a faithful copy of the verses that Ibrahim


## p. 10225 (#33) ###########################################

LADY MARY WORTLEY MONTAGU
10225
Pasha, the reigning favorite, has made for the young princess, his
contracted wife,-whom he is not yet permitted to visit without
witnesses, though she is gone home to his house. He is a man
of wit and learning; and whether or no he is capable of writing
good verse, you may be sure that, of such an occasion, he would
not want the assistance of the best poets in the empire. Thus
the verses may be looked upon as a sample of their finest poetry;
and I don't doubt you'll be of my mind, that it is most wonder-
fully resembling the Song of Solomon, which was also addressed
to a royal bride.
You see I am pretty far gone in Oriental learning; and to
say truth, I study very hard. I wish my studies may give me an
occasion of entertaining your curiosity, which will be the utmost
advantage hoped for from them by
Yours, &c.
•
TO MRS. S. C. .
À
ADRIANOPLE, April 1st, O. S. , 1717.
PROPOS of distempers, I am going to tell you a thing that
will make you wish yourself here. The small-pox, so fatal
and so general amongst us, is here entirely harmless, by
the invention of ingrafting, which is the term they give it.
There is a set of old women who make it their business to per-
form the operation every autumn, in the month of September,
when the great heat is abated. People send to one another to
know if any of their family has a mind to have the small-pox;
they make parties for this purpose, and when they are met
(commonly fifteen or sixteen together), the old woman comes
with a nut-shell full of the matter of the best sort of small-pox,
and asks what vein you please to have opened. She immediately
rips open that you offer to her with a large needle (which gives
you no more pain than a common scratch) and puts into the
vein as much matter as can lie upon the head of her needle,
and after that binds up the little wound with a hollow bit of
shell; and in this manner opens four or five veins. The Grecians
have commonly the superstition of opening one in the middle of
the forehead, one in each arm, and one in the breast, to mark
the sign of the cross; but this has a very ill effect, all these
wounds leaving little scars, and is not done by those that are not
superstitious, who choose to have them in the legs, or that part
XVIII-640


## p. 10226 (#34) ###########################################

10226
LADY MARY WORTLEY MONTAGU
of the arm that is concealed. The children or young patients
play together all the rest of the day, and are in perfect health
to the eighth. Then the fever begins to seize them, and they
keep their beds two days, very seldom three. They have very
rarely above twenty or thirty [spots] in their faces, which never
mark; and in eight days' time they are as well as before their
illness. Where they are wounded, there remain running sores
during the distemper, which I don't doubt is a great relief to it.
Every year thousands undergo this operation; and the French
ambassador says, pleasantly, that they take the small-pox here
by way of diversion, as they take the waters in other countries.
There is no example of any one that has died in it; and you
may believe I am well satisfied of the safety of this experiment,
since I intend to try it on my dear little son.
I am patriot enough to take pains to bring this useful inven-
tion into fashion in England; and I should not fail to write to
some of our doctors very particularly about it, if I knew any one
of them that I thought had virtue enough to destroy such a con-
siderable branch of their revenue for the good of mankind. But
that distemper is too beneficial to them, not to expose to all their
resentment the hardy wight that should undertake to put an end
to it. Perhaps if I live to return, I may, however, have courage
to war with them. Upon this occasion, admire the heroism in
the heart of your friend, &c. , &c.
TO THE COUNTESS OF MAR
ADRIANOPLE, April 18th, O. S. , 1717.
I
WROTE to you, dear sister, and to all my other English corre-
spondents by the last ship, and only Heaven can tell when I
shall have another opportunity of sending to you; but I can-
not forbear to write again, though perhaps my letter may lie
upon my hands these two months. To confess the truth, my
head is so full of my entertainment yesterday, that 'tis absolutely
necessary for my own repose to give it some vent. Without
farther preface, I will then begin my story.
I was invited to dine with the Grand Vizier's lady; and it
was with a great deal of pleasure I prepared myself for an
entertainment which was never before given to any Christian. I
thought I should very little satisfy her curiosity (which I did not


## p. 10227 (#35) ###########################################

LADY MARY WORTLEY MONTAGU
10227
doubt was a considerable motive to the invitation) by going in
a dress she was used to see; and therefore dressed myself in the
court habit of Vienna, which is much more magnificent than
ours. However, I chose to go incognito, to avoid any disputes
about ceremony, and went in a Turkish coach, only attended.
by my woman that held up my train, and the Greek lady who
was my interpretess. I was met at the court door by her black
eunuch, who helped me out of the coach with great respect, and
conducted me through several rooms, where her she-slaves, finely
dressed, were ranged on each side. In the innermost I found
the lady sitting on her sofa, in a sable vest. She advanced to
meet me, and presented me half a dozen of her friends with
great civility. She seemed a very good-looking woman, near fifty
years old. I was surprised to observe so little magnificence in
her house, the furniture being all very moderate; and except
the habits and number of her slaves, nothing about her appeared
expensive. She guessed at my thoughts, and told me she was
no longer of an age to spend either her time or money in super-
fluities; that her whole expense was in charity, and her whole
employment praying to God. There was no affectation in this
speech; both she and her husband are entirely given up to
devotion. He never looks upon any other woman; and what is
more extraordinary, touches no bribes, notwithstanding the exam-
ple of all his predecessors. He is so scrupulous on this point, he
would not accept Mr. Wortley's present till he had been assured
over and over that it was a settled perquisite of his place at the
entrance of every ambassador.
She entertained me with all kind of civility till dinner came
in; which was served, one dish at a time, to a vast number, all
finely dressed after their manner,—which I don't think so bad as
you have perhaps heard it represented. I am a very good judge
of their eating, having lived three weeks in the house of an
effendi at Belgrade, who gave us very magnificent dinners, dressed
by his own cooks. The first week they pleased me extremely;
but I own I then began to grow weary of their table, and desired
our own cook might add a dish or two after our manner. But
I attribute this to custom, and am very much inclined to believe
that an Indian who had never tasted of either would prefer
their cookery to ours. Their sauces are very high, all the roast
very much done. They use a great deal of very rich spice. The
soup is served for the last dish; and they have at least as great


## p. 10228 (#36) ###########################################

10228
LADY MARY WORTLEY MONTAGU
who was
a variety of ragouts as we have. I was very sorry I could not
eat of as many as the good lady would have had me,
very earnest in serving me of everything. The treat concluded
with coffee and perfumes, which is a high mark of respect; ten
slaves, kneeling, censed my hair, clothes, and handkerchief. After
this ceremony, she commanded her slaves to play and dance,
which they did with their guitars in their hands; and she excused.
to me their want of skill, saying she took no care to accomplish
them in that art.
I returned her thanks, and soon after took my leave.
I was
conducted back in the same manner I entered, and would have
gone straight to my own house: but the Greek lady with me
earnestly solicited me to visit the kiyàya's lady; saying he was
the second officer in the empire, and ought indeed to be looked
upon as the first, the Grand Vizier having only the name, while
he exercised the authority. I had found so little diversion in the
Vizier's harem, that I had no mind to go into another. But her
importunity prevailed with me, and I am extremely glad I was
so complaisant.
All things here were with quite another air than at the Grand
Vizier's; and the very house confessed the difference between an
old devotee and a young beauty. It was nicely clean and mag-
nificent. I was met at the door by two black eunuchs, who led
me through a long gallery between two ranks of beautiful young
girls, with their hair finely plaited, almost hanging to their feet,
all dressed in fine light damasks, brocaded with silver.
I was
sorry that decency did not permit me to stop to consider them
nearer. But that thought was lost upon my entrance into a large
room, or rather a pavilion, built round with gilded sashes, which
were most of them thrown up; and the trees planted near them
gave an agreeable shade, which hindered the sun from being
troublesome. The jessamines and honeysuckles that twisted round
their trunks shed a soft perfume, increased by a white marble
fountain playing sweet water in the lower part of the room,
which fell into three or four basins with a pleasing sound. The
roof was painted with all sorts of flowers, falling out of gilded
baskets, that seemed tumbling down. On a sofa, raised three
steps, and covered with fine Persian carpets, sat the kiyàya's
lady, leaning on cushions of white satin, embroidered; and at her
feet sat two young girls about twelve years old, lovely as angels,
dressed perfectly rich, and almost covered with jewels. But they


## p. 10229 (#37) ###########################################

LADY MARY WORTLEY MONTAGU
10229
were hardly seen near the fair Fatima (for that is her name),
so much her beauty effaced everything I have seen,— nay, all that
has been called lovely, either in England or Germany. I must
own that I never saw anything so gloriously beautiful, nor can I
recollect a face that would have been taken notice of near hers.
She stood up to receive me, saluting me after their fashion, put-
ting her hand to her heart with a sweetness full of majesty, that
no court breeding could ever give. She ordered cushions to
be given me, and took care to place me in the corner, which is
the place of honor. I confess, though the Greek lady had before
given me a great opinion of her beauty, I was so struck with
admiration, that I could not for some time speak to her, being
wholly taken up in gazing. That surprising harmony of feat-
ures! that charming result of the whole! that exact proportion
of body! that lovely bloom of complexion unsullied by art! the
unutterable enchantment of her smile! But her eyes-large and
black, with all the soft languishment of the blue! every turn of
her face discovering some new grace.
After my first surprise was over, I endeavored, by nicely
examining her face, to find out some imperfection: without any
fruit of my search but my being clearly convinced of the error
of that vulgar notion that a face exactly proportioned and per-
fectly beautiful would not be agreeable; nature having done for
her with more success, what Apelles is said to have essayed by
a collection of the most exact features, to form a perfect face.
Add to all this a behavior so full of grace and sweetness, such
easy motions, with an air so majestic, yet free from stiffness or
affectation, that I am persuaded,-could she be suddenly trans-
ported upon the most polite throne in Europe, nobody would
think her other than born and bred to be a queen, though edu-
cated in a country we call barbarous. To say all in a word, our
most celebrated English beauties would vanish near her.
She was dressed in a caftán of gold brocade, flowered with
silver, very well fitted to her shape, and showing to admiration
the beauty of her bosom, only shaded by the thin gauze of her
shift. Her drawers were pale pink, her waistcoat green and
silver, her slippers white satin, finely embroidered; her lovely
arms adorned with bracelets of diamonds, and her broad girdle
set round with diamonds; upon her head a rich Turkish handker-
chief of pink and silver, her own fine black hair hanging a great
length in various tresses, and on one side of her head some


## p. 10230 (#38) ###########################################

10230
LADY MARY WORTLEY MONTAGU
bodkins of jewels. I am afraid you will accuse me of extrava-
gance in this description. I think I have read somewhere that
women always speak in rapture when they speak of beauty, and
I cannot imagine why they should not be allowed to do so. I
rather think it a virtue to be able to admire without any mixture
of desire or envy.
The gravest writers have spoken with great
warmth of some celebrated pictures and statues. The workman-
ship of Heaven certainly excels all our weak imitations, and I
think has a much better claim to our praise. For my part, I
am not ashamed to own I took more pleasure in looking on the
beauteous Fatima, than the finest piece of sculpture could have
given me.
TO THE ABBÉ X-
CONSTANTINOPLE, May 19th, O. S. , 1718.
You
see, sir, these people are not so unpolished as we represent
them. 'Tis true their magnificence is of a very different
taste from ours, and perhaps of a better. I am almost of
opinion they have a right notion of life.
They consume it in
music, gardens, wine, and delicate eating, while we are tormenting
our brains with some scheme of politics, or studying some science
which we can never attain, or if we do, cannot persuade other
people to set that value upon it we do ourselves. 'Tis certain
what we feel and see is properly (if anything is properly) our own:
but the good of fame, the folly of praise, are hardly purchased;
and when obtained, a poor recompense for loss of time and health.
We die or grow old before we can reap the fruit of our labors.
Considering what short-lived, weak animals men are, is there any
study so beneficial as the study of present pleasure? I dare not
pursue this theme; perhaps I have already said too much, but I
depend upon the true knowledge you have of my heart. I don't
expect from you the inspired railleries I should suffer from
another in answer to this letter. You know how to divide the
idea of pleasure from that of vice, and they are only mingled in
the heads of fools. But I allow you to laugh at me for the sen-
sual declaration, in saying that I had rather be a rich effendi with
all his ignorance, than Sir Isaac Newton with all his knowledge!
I am, sir, &c. , &c.


## p. 10231 (#39) ###########################################

LADY MARY WORTLEY MONTAGU
10231
TO THE COUNTESS OF MAR
CAVENDISH SQUARE,- 1725.
I
AM very glad, dear sister, to hear you mention our meeting
in London. We are much mistaken here as to our ideas
of Paris: to hear that gallantry has forsaken it, sounds as
extraordinary to me as a want of ice in Greenland. We have
nothing but ugly faces in this country, but more lovers than ever.
There are but three pretty men in England, and they are all in
love with me at this present writing. This will surprise you
extremely; but if you were to see the reigning girls at present,
I will assure you there is little difference between them and old
women. I have been embourbé in family affairs for this last
fortnight. Lady F. Pierrepont, having £400 per annum for her
maintenance, has awakened the consciences of half her relations
to take care of her education: and (excepting myself) they have
all been squabbling about her; and squabble to this day. My
sister Gower carries her off to-morrow morning to Staffordshire.
The lies, twattles, and contrivances about this affair are innumer-
able. I should pity the poor girl, if I saw she pitied herself.
The Duke of Kingston is in France, but is not to go to the cap-
ital: so much for that branch of your family. My blessed off-
spring has already made a great noise in the world.
That young
rake, my son, took to his heels t'other day, and transported his
person to Oxford; being in his own opinion thoroughly qualified
for the University. After a good deal of search, we found and
reduced him, much against his will, to the humble condition of a
schoolboy. It happens very luckily that the sobriety and discre-
tion is of my daughter's side; I am sorry the ugliness is so too,
for my son grows extremely handsome.
I don't hear much of Mrs. Murray's despair on the death of
poor Gibby, and I saw her dance at a ball where I was two days
before his death. I have a vast many pleasantries to tell you,
and some that will make your hair stand on an end with won-
der. Adieu, dear sister: conservez-moi l'honneur de votre amitié,
et croyez que je suis toute à vous.
CAVENDISH SQUARE,-1727.
I cannot deny but that I was very well diverted on the
Coronation Day. I saw the procession much at my ease, in a
house which I filled with my own company, and then got into


## p. 10232 (#40) ###########################################

10232
LADY MARY WORTLEY MONTAGU
Westminster Hall without trouble, where it was very entertain-
ing to observe the variety of airs that all meant the same thing.
The business of every walker there was to conceal vanity and
gain admiration. For these purposes some languished and others
strutted; but a visible satisfaction was diffused over every coun-
tenance as soon as the coronet was clapped on the head. But
she that drew the greatest number of eyes was indisputably Lady
Orkney. She exposed behind, a mixture of fat and wrinkles;
and before, a very considerable protuberance which preceded her.
Add to this, the inimitable roll of her eyes, and her gray hairs,
which by good fortune stood directly upright, and 'tis impossible
to imagine a more delightful spectacle. She had embellished all
this with considerable magnificence, which made her look as big
again as usual; and I should have thought her one of the largest
things of God's making if my Lady St. J-n had not displayed
all her charms in honor of the day. The poor Duchess of M-se
crept along, with a dozen of black snakes playing round her face;
and my lady P-nd (who is fallen away since her dismission from
court) represented very finely an Egyptian mummy embroidered
over with hieroglyphics. In general, I could not perceive but
that the old were as well pleased as the young; and I, who dread
growing wise more than anything in the world, was overjoyed
to find that one can never outlive one's vanity. I have never
received the long letter you talk of, and am afraid you have only
fancied that you wrote it. Adieu, dear sister; I am affectionately
yours,
M. W. M.
TO THE COUNTESS OF BUTE
LOUVÈRE, February 19th, N. S. , 1753.
My Dear Child:
I
GAVE you some general thoughts on the education of your
children in my last letter; but fearing you should think I
neglected your request, by answering it with too much con-
ciseness, I am resolved to add to it what little I know on that
subject, and which may perhaps be useful to you in a concern
with which you seem so nearly affected.
People commonly educate their children as they build their
houses, according to
according to some plan they think beautiful, without
considering whether it is suited to the purposes for which they
are designed. Almost all girls of quality are educated as if they


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LADY MARY WORTLEY MONTAGU
10233
were to be great ladies, which is often as little to be expected
as an immoderate heat of the sun in the north of Scotland. You
should teach yours to confine their desires to probabilities, to
be as useful as is possible to themselves, and to think privacy
(as it is) the happiest state of life. I do not doubt your giving
them all the instructions necessary to form them to a virtuous
life; but 'tis a fatal mistake to do this without proper restric-
tions. Vices are often hid under the name of virtues, and the
practice of them followed by the worst of consequences. Sincer-
ity, friendship, piety, disinterestedness, and generosity are all
great virtues; but pursued without discretion become criminal.
I have seen ladies indulge their own ill-humor by being very
rude and impertinent, and think they deserved approbation by
saying, "I love to speak truth. " One of your acquaintances made
a ball the next day after her mother died, to show she was sin-
cere! I believe your own reflection will furnish you with but too
many examples of the ill effects of the rest of the sentiments I
have mentioned, when too warmly embraced. They are generally
recommended to young people without limits or distinction; and
this prejudice hurries them into great misfortunes, while they
are applauding themselves in the noble practice (as they fancy)
of very eminent virtues.
I cannot help adding (out of my real affection to you) that I
wish you would moderate that fondness you have for your child-
ren. I do not mean that you should abate any part of your care,
or not do your duty to them in its utmost extent; but I would
have you early prepare yourself for disappointments, which are
heavy in proportion to their being surprising. It is hardly possi-
ble, in such a number, that none should be unhappy; prepare
yourself against a misfortune of that kind. I confess there is
hardly any more difficult to support; yet it is certain, imagina-
tion has a great share in the pain of it, and it is more in our
power than it is commonly believed, to soften whatever ills are
founded or augmented by fancy. Strictly speaking, there is but
one real evil,-I mean acute pain; all other complaints are so
considerably diminished by time, that it is plain the grief is
owing to our passion, since the sensation of it vanishes when
that is over.
There is another mistake I forgot to mention, usual in moth-
ers: if any of their daughters are beauties, they take great pains
to persuade them that they are ugly, or at least that they think


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10234
LADY MARY WORTLEY MONTAGU
so; which the young woman never fails to believe springs from
envy, and is perhaps not much in the wrong.
I would, if pos-
sible, give them a just notion of their figure, and show them
how far it is valuable. Every advantage has its price, and may
be either over- or undervalued. It is the common doctrine of
what are called good books, to inspire a contempt of beauty,
riches, greatness, &c. ; which has done as much mischief among
the young of our sex as an over-eager desire of them.
Why
they should not look on these things as blessings where they
are bestowed, though not necessaries that it is impossible to be
happy without, I cannot conceive. I am persuaded the ruin of
Lady FM was in great measure owing to the notions
given her by the good people that had the care of her; —'tis
true, her circumstances and your daughters' are very different.
They should be taught to be content with privacy, and yet not
neglect good fortune if it should be offered them.
I am afraid I have tired you with my instructions. I do not
give them as believing my age has furnished me with superior
wisdom, but in compliance with your desire, and being fond of
every opportunity that gives a proof of the tenderness with which
I am ever
Your affectionate mother,
M. WORTLEY.
I should be glad if you sent me the third volume of Camp-
bell's 'Architecture,' and with it any other entertaining books.
I have seen the Duchess of Marlborough's 'Memoirs,' but should
be glad of the 'Apology for a Late Resignation. ' As to the ale,
'tis now so late in the year, it is impossible it should come good.
You do not mention your father; my last letter from him told
me he intended soon for England.
FROM A LETTER TO THE COUNTESS OF BUTE
LOUVÈRE, March 6, 1753.
I
CAN truly affirm, I never deceived anybody in my life, ex-
cepting (which I confess has often happened undesigned) by
speaking plainly; as Earl Stanhope used to say, during his
ministry, he always imposed on the foreign ministers by telling
them the naked truth,- which as they thought impossible to
come from the mouth of a statesman, they never failed to write


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LADY MARY WORTLEY MONTAGU
10235
information to their respective courts directly contrary to the
assurances he gave them. Most people confound the ideas of
sense and cunning, though there are really no two things in
nature more opposite: it is in part from this false reasoning, the
unjust custom prevails of debarring our sex from the advantages
of learning, the men fancying the improvement of our under-
standings would only furnish us with more art to deceive them,
which is directly contrary to the truth. Fools are always enter-
prising, not seeing the difficulties of deceit or the ill consequences
of detection. I could give many examples of ladies whose ill
conduct has been very notorious, which has been owing to that
ignorance which has exposed them to idleness, which is justly
called the mother of mischief. There is nothing so like the edu-
cation of a woman of quality as that of a prince: they are taught
to dance, and the exterior part of what is called good breeding,
- which if they attain, they are extraordinary creatures in their
kind, and have all the accomplishments required by their direct-
ors. The same characters are formed by the same lessons: which
inclines me to think (if I dare say it) that nature has not placed
us in an inferior rank to men, no more than the females of
other animals, where we see no distinction of capacity; though
I am persuaded, if there was a commonwealth of rational horses,
as Doctor Swift has supposed, it would be an established maxim
among them that a mare could not be taught to pace.
-
TO THE COUNTESS OF BUTE
SEPTEMBER 30th, 1757.
D
AUGHTER! daughter! don't call names: you are always abusing
my pleasures, which is what no mortal will bear. Trash,
lumber, sad stuff, are the titles you give to my favorite
amusement. If I called a white staff a stick of wood, a gold key
gilded brass, and the ensigns of illustrious orders colored strings,
this may be philosophically true, but would be very ill received.
We have all our playthings: happy are they that can be con-
tented with those they can obtain; those hours are spent in the
wisest manner that can easiest shade the ills of life, and are the
least productive of ill consequences. I think my time better em-
ployed in reading the adventures of imaginary people, than the


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10236
LADY MARY WORTLEY MONTAGU
Duchess of Marlborough's, who passed the latter years of her life
in paddling with her will, and contriving schemes of plaguing
some and extracting praise from others, to no purpose; eter-
nally disappointed and eternally fretting. The active scenes are
over at my age. I indulge, with all the art I can, my love for
reading. If I would confine it to valuable books, they are almost
as rare as valuable men. I must be content with what I can
find. As I approach a second childhood, I endeavor to enter
into the pleasures of it. Your youngest son is perhaps at this
very moment riding on a poker with great delight; not at all
regretting that it is not a gold one, and much less wishing it an
Arabian horse, which he would not know how to manage. I am
reading an idle tale, not expecting wit or truth in it; and am very
glad it is not metaphysics to puzzle my judgment, or history to
mislead my opinion. He fortifies his health by exercise: I calm
my cares by oblivion. The methods may appear low to busy
people; but if he improves his strength, and I forget my infirmi-
ties, we attain very desirable ends.


## p. 10236 (#45) ###########################################



## p. 10236 (#46) ###########################################


Grosch
MONTAIGNE.
an


## p. 10236 (#47) ###########################################

1.
Di


## p. 10236 (#48) ###########################################

!


## p. 10237 (#49) ###########################################

10237
MICHEL EYQUEM DE MONTAIGNE
(1533-1592)
BY FERDINAND BOCHER
M
ONTAIGNE tells us: "If I am talked of, I wish that it should
be truthfully and accurately. I should willingly return from
the other world to contradict him who should represent
me other than I was, even were it to do me honor. " And in his
own writings he has left a more truthful portrait of himself than any
other hand could paint.
Were he to return to the world he might well be dissatisfied; for
he would find himself variously pictured - untruthfully and inaccu-
rately as the type of the egotist, of the skeptic, of the epicurean.
But with his keen eyes he would soon see that he himself was the
originator of these false impressions. The truth is, his sincerity has
been misunderstood. He has been taken at his word by a too literal
world, that has transformed his absence of ambition into a desire for
inaction, his independence of thought into the denial of received
truths, his intelligent analysis of his own nature into a disrespect for
human nature, and the humorous sketches of his conditions into
commonplace vanity.
We need not read a biography of Montaigne to know him. He is
all in his Essays. The more important events of his life are told or
suggested in them. His inmost thoughts, his feelings, the good and
bad of his character, its strength and its weaknesses, are all revealed
in these pages.
"I am myself the subject of my book," he says
truly. No other writer has ever so made himself the centre from
which radiates, and to which converges, all that he touches upon.
His book, in his own phrase again, is "consubstantial" with himself.
Yet he never paints a carefully studied full-length portrait of
We learn to know him only by becoming his companion,-
by becoming intimate with him. All he tells us comes by the way,
not in any formal sequence, but as occasion presents itself.
At one
moment he speaks of his great-grandfather, Ramon Eyquem, he who
bought the Château de Montaigne, whence the name. Elsewhere
he tells us not only the year of his birth, 1533, but the day and the
precise hour. From his own conditions as mayor of Bordeaux, he
passes to comments on his father's attitude in the same office. Some


## p. 10238 (#50) ###########################################

10238
MICHEL EYQUEM DE MONTAIGNE
of the tenderest pages in the Essays are devoted to this "kind
father," "the best father that ever was," who, carrying out peculiar
ideas of his own, had Michel pass his earliest years among peasants,
made him learn Latin before he did French, and woke him in the
morning by music. Many of these facts of his childhood are nar-
rated to enforce Montaigne's own ideas on education; which were
far beyond those of his age, and all of which have not even yet been
put into practice.
The physical details of his existence he speaks of with a frequency
and freedom to which nineteenth-century readers are not accustomed;
nor is he less open regarding his personal habits and humors. He
tells us with pleasant garrulity how he loved to talk and joke with
his friends, what an indolent dreamer he was in his library, and
yet what an eager traveler in foreign countries, even to the verge of
old age. His love of books, even while he asserts that he was little
of a reader, his special admiration for Plutarch, his thoughts about
death, illness, and old age, his hatred of medicine, his detestation of
deceit, his ignorances and awkwardnesses, his lack of memory, his
dislike of ceremonious customs, his conservatism, his pride, his over-
carefulness about money at one time and his over-carelessness at
another, his dislike of "affairs," of trouble of any kind, his more
than dislike of restraint, his thoughtful hours in his solitary tower
away from all the servitudes of life,-these topics, and such as these,
are all touched upon incidentally, and often illustrated by a quotation
from Horace or Seneca.
But there are other passages which are illustrated-and could
only be illustrated-by quotations from Plato. For the most part
these were written in his later years, and this is one of the many
proofs of the constant deepening and enriching of his thought. The
serious interest he took in the complicated public affairs of his time
turned his attention to questions regarding government, laws, beliefs,
and crimes; which unquestionably concerned himself as a citizen and
as a thinker, but which he considered from an admirably unpreju-
diced and impersonal point of view.
Thus we find that when Montaigne tells us he studies only him-
self, we must not take him too literally. He smiles behind the
words. His Gascon vivacity is far removed from all formality and
precision, and he makes no effort to be consistent, knowing that what
he thinks to-day he may condemn to-morrow; for "man is an ani-
mal unstable and varying. " But it is man, not himself alone, that
he depicts, and the knowledge he seeks is of man in general. And
he finds that knowledge is to be gained chiefly, but not only, by
studying himself. "This long attention," he said, "that I devote to
considering myself, trains me to judge also tolerably well of others;


## p. 10239 (#51) ###########################################

MICHEL EYQUEM DE MONTAIGNE
10239
it often happens to me to see and distinguish more exactly the con-
ditions of my friends than they do themselves. " It is this blending
of insight, whether about himself or about others, with the power of
judging beyond all mere personality, that called forth Pascal's say-
ing: "It is not in Montaigne but in myself that I find all I see in
him. "
Many of Montaigne's best years he passed in active life, singularly
open to all social pleasures, with ardent affections that found a re-
sponse from his friend La Boëtie; who, dying only four years after
they had met, was constantly present to Montaigne's thought, and
was often nobly spoken of by him, during the thirty years that he
survived him.
It was only at the age of thirty-eight that Montaigne retired, as it
were, within himself; and closing "the great book of the world" he
had been reading, gave himself up deliberately to companionship with
the ancient authors familiar to him in youth, and always loved, and
to that self-analysis, never morbid or declamatory, which gradually
led him to the serene acceptance of things as they are, that manifests
itself more and more as we advance in the Essays.
-
This is not the mood of a skeptic-taking the word, as it is now
generally understood, to imply an absence of faith. Used in its prim-
itive sense, it may be applied to Montaigne. He was essentially an
examiner. He could see many sides in any matter he was consider-
ing, and they were all so vivid to him that the result was the ques-
tion, "Que sçais-je ? " which might be paraphrased, Who knows? Of
every form of dogmatism he was the enemy - the skeptical enemy.
But a man with such a high faith in human nature, and its possi-
ble development, as Montaigne shows himself to possess whenever he
touches on education, friendship, virtue, the true use of knowledge
and the true objects of life,- a man who admires the heroic side of
humanity as profoundly as he does, is no skeptic. The terrible
effects in his own day of religious and political intolerance, had forced
home on him the danger that lies in the imperative assertion of gen-
eral philosophical or moral conceptions; and it might perhaps be said
of him that for his age he was an agnostic, for he is almost dogmatic
about one thing alone, namely that on many points we must accept
the uncertainty of ignorance. His latent and sincere Catholicism re-
moved him far from what the term "agnostic" denotes to-day; but
to be "knowingly ignorant" is the state of mind he would have us
acquire. Complete ignorance - "A B C ignorance" is not wholly
bad; to think that one knows is much worse; but it is excellent to
have reached "the willing ignorance of those who know. " Let us
not try to climb impossible heights, but abide on the level of attain-
able good.
Such are the lessons he would have taught could he have
become didactic. Moderation in all things, but a moderation that
―


## p. 10240 (#52) ###########################################

10240
MICHEL EYQUEM DE MONTAIGNE
accepts all heroisms as possible. If there seems to be an apparent
contradiction in this, it finds its corrective in his modest precept, "Do
thy deed and know thyself. " The "deed," the "doing," of each of us
according to his powers is the highest point we can ever reach. The
three "most excellent" men in his eyes were Homer and Alexander
the Great and Epaminondas: but his Psalm of Life would not bid us
"make our lives sublime," but make them wise and happy, contented
and resigned; wise with sobriety, happy with discretion, contented and
resigned, but not passive and idle. Thus this sage of the Renais-
sance, this humanist full of pagan reminiscences, reaches conclusions
which he himself phrases in the words of St. Paul: "Gloria nostra
est testimonium conscientiæ nostræ. "
Serenity, toleration in its broadest sense, not indifference, that is
the lesson we learn from the Essays. But even this vague definition
of their value is too narrow. The adopted daughter of Montaigne,
Mademoiselle de Gournay, said of him excellently, "Il désenseigne la
sottise" (he unteaches foolishness). We do not merely learn, but we
unlearn from him,- perhaps the greatest of benefits. We unlearn the
unwisdom of the foolish world.
It is scarcely more easy to put a label on the style in which the
Essays are written than on their contents. Its great charm lies in
its characteristic freedom, expressiveness, and clearness. Sometimes
eloquent, sometimes poetic and picturesque, it is always familiar.
But praise is checked by remembrance of Montaigne's saying that
he cared so much more for the meaning than the words, that when
he heard any one dwelling on the language of the Essays he would
rather they should be silent.
He did not aim at the distinction of being a great writer, still less
of being a great man. Yet he unquestionably takes a high place
among the representative men of humanity. But it is not as Mon-
taigne the Skeptic that he should be known, nor Montaigne the Ego-
tist, nor Montaigne the Epicurean; but as Montaigne the Sincere.
Zervines Böcher
BIBLIOGRAPHIC NOTE. - - Two books of his Essays were first pub-
lished in 1580; a third book was added in 1588. The first posthumous
edition, with additions by the author, appeared in 1595; most of the
modern editions follow this. The Journal of his travels was pub-
lished in 1774. The Essays were translated into English early in the
seventeenth century by John Florio; later by Charles Cotton. The
best and latest translation, that by William Carew Hazlitt, is based
on these.


## p. 10241 (#53) ###########################################

MICHEL EYQUEM DE MONTAIGNE
10241
THE AUTHOR TO THE READER
From the Essays
R
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 com-
modity of my kinsfolks 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 worlds opinion and favour, I would
surely have adorned my selfe more quaintly, or kept a more
grave and solemne march. I desire therein to be delineated in
mine owne genuine, simple and ordinarie fashion, without conten-
tion, art or study; for it is my selfe I pourtray. My imperfections
shall therein be read to the life, and my naturall forme discerned,
so farre-forth as publike reverence hath permitted me.