Montaigne and Brief Narrative Form

Shaping the Essay

D. Losse

• Publisher: Palgrave Macmillan
• Year: 2013
• ISBN:
  9781137320834
• Topic: Literature
• Subtopic: Modern Literary Criticism
• Index: Literature

The first book-length study to trace the origins of the essay to the conte, Montaigne and Brief Narrative Form puts the reader in touch with how unstable times and exceptional artistic insights transform one genre to create a new artistic form.

1

Renewing the Ancients: Montaigne’s Retelling of the Tales of Antiquity

Renewing old material—retelling stories in a fresh, original -manner—was in fact what Montaigne was doing when he recalls the tales once told by his classical masters from Greek and Latin Antiquity. He does not claim, as did some of his contemporary conteurs, that a tale borrowed from Antiquity was of recent origin, although he will on occasion recast a remote foreign setting in French tones to render the tale less remote and more universal in terms of human behavior. Marguerite de Navarre, who makes such claims to telling only true stories (“nulle nouvelle qui ne soit veritable histoire”), masks the remote medieval as well as fictional origins of the Seventieth Tale by sketching in the very efficient style of the nouvelle the familiar geographic setting of her tale (“En la duché de Bourgoingne”).¹ Nor does he cast a tale borrowed from the remote Middle Ages as if it had taken place just a short while ago.

The essayist makes it clear that his recycling of the material borrowed from Greek and Latin authors—what he calls his pilferings (“larrecins”)—is done not in an effort to compete with his models but as a means of learning through trying out and application. Perhaps sensitive to the criticism that he is generous in his borrowings from Antiquity, he explains the process of trying out the Ancients in a late addition to the essay:

Si sçay-je bien combien audacieusement j’entreprens moy mesmes à touscoups de m’esgaler à mes larrecins, d’aller pair à pair quand et eux, non sans une temeraire esperance que je puisse tromper les yeux des juges à les discerner. Mais c’est autant par le benefice de mon application que par le benefice de mon invention et de ma force. Et puis, je ne luitte point en gros ces vieux champions là, et corps à corps: c’est par reprinses, menues et legieres attaintes. Je ne m’y aheurte pas; je ne fay que les taster . . . (I, 26, 147–8C; 108)

Still, I well know how audaciously I always attempt to match the level of my pilferings, to keep pace with them, not without a rash hope that I may deceive the eyes of the judges who try to discover them. But this is as much by virtue of my use of them as by virtue of my inventiveness or my power. And then, I do not wrestle with those old champions wholesale and body against body; I do so by snatches, by little light attacks. I don’t go at it stubbornly. I only feel them out . . .

We might better understand what he calls his “application”—his trying out of these authors—by taking note of what he says concerning Jacques Amyot’s fine translation of Plutarch’s work. The meeting of an ancient and modern author takes the form of a sustained conversation—a dialogue which results in the transmission of the essence or “generale Idee” of the revered author’s thought to the modern author.² The modern writer works to bring such an essence to life without distortion or contradiction of his forerunner’s “generale Idee,” not the facts of narration but the cultural mores in which the events took place and the reasoning behind the events and their consequences.³ Again and again, when he relates stories of either antique or French origin, Montaigne will shape the narrative to highlight these two components: customs/behavior patterns and the “pourquoy” behind the events. The fresh context, his Essais, will set off the “vieux champions” without betraying their work and will provide an innovative context for it.

Along with pleasing the listener, tales aim at teaching us something about human behavior. Such instruction, however, is not a passive activity. The content, shape, and characterization of the conte enable the reader to construct his or her own judgment based on the particulars of the narrative. The tutor who guides his pupils will not teach the details of the stories but instruct them to draw their own conclusions based on the specifics: “qu’il ne lui apprenne pas tant les histoires, qu’à en juger” ‘Let him be taught not so much the histories as how to judge them’ (I, 26, 156A/115). As a storyteller and as a writer, Montaigne will make demands on the reader’s receptive skills, just as the ancient writers with whom Montaigne had been in dialogue had engaged his own capacity for critical thinking. Reading is for him a critical activity, and this attitude toward reading informs his recounting of stories from Antiquity. He, like the classical authors of antiquity, looks to, as we have noted in the Introduction, the “suffisant lecteur,” who embellishes the intentions of the author in seeing meanings not yet imagined by the author: “y preste des sens et des visages plus riches” (“que celles que l’autheur y mises”) (I, 24, 127A].

I will in fact argue that much of the freshness of his reworking of old tales comes from Montaigne’s attitude that the storyteller should not tell all but rely on the reader’s ability to draw inferences and to flesh out what the storyteller has sketched in the sparest terms.⁴ Such a viewpoint comes in part from Montaigne’s vigorous training and activity as a reader of tales both ancient and modern. The art of storytelling, with its emphasis on rapid but accurate characterization of the protagonists and accelerated movement towards a witty conclusion, had gained great favor during the years of Montaigne’s adolescence and early adulthood. The publication of the works of Bonaventure Des Périers, Marguerite de Navarre, Noël du Fail, and later Jacques Yver is evidence of the popularity of the short narrative form in this period. Krystyna Kasprzyk informs us that from the time of the most reliable and accurate edition, R. Granjon’s editio princeps in 1558, Des Périers’s Nouvelles Récréations et Joyeux Devis underwent twenty-one editions, “ce qui témoigne d’une vogue considerable” ‘which shows quite a popular trend’ (Nouvelles Récréations et Joyeux Devis xlix). Marguerite de Navarre’s Heptaméron saw similar success with seven editions between the Boiastuau edition (Histoires des Amans fortunez) in 1558, and the more complete Grujet edition of 1559—reproduced five times between 1560 and 1615 (L’Heptaméron xxv). Pierre Jourda reminds us that Jacques Yver’s Le Printemps underwent thirteen editions in the span from 1572 to 1618 (Les Conteurs français du XVIe Siècle xl). The popularity of the short narrative tale is evident in the multiple editions undertaken by the book publishers in the era in which Montaigne set out to write his essays.

When Montaigne sat down to write, he came upon a method which permitted him to interweave tales witnessed by the great figures of Antiquity or by his neighbors in the Périgord with his own experiences and anecdotes. It is only natural that techniques -governing the form and content of the contemporary conte should shape his retelling of the tales he borrows from Greek and Latin authors. In very few cases, except when citing directly, does Montaigne follow his source word for word without making changes in the order or manner of presentation.⁵ Such changes are most often dictated by contemporary taste in storytelling if not by the structure of the essay itself. It should be noted here that I am referring not to direct quotations which the author of the Essais includes in every essay, but to tales he retells in his own words.

Critics generally agree that the fifteenth- and sixteenth-century conte seldom begins in medias res. The tale may be introduced by a remark of a general nature preparing the context or topic of the tale, or the conteur may give brief indications of place, time, and character. Such indications, as Lionello Sozzi points out, allow the storyteller to go straight to the central action of the tale once he has prepared the setting (47).⁶ This last technique will be essential to Montaigne in rapidly setting the scene and introducing the characters from Antiquity, particularly when he has only a few words to sketch a character which had been presented at length in his source.

The present chapter will analyze specific tales that Montaigne -appropriates and recasts from among his favorite authors of Antiquity: Livy, Tacitus, Plutarch, Pliny the Younger, Seneca, and Diodorus of Sicily. Special attention will be paid to those strategies used by Montaigne to reshape his own account using many of the techniques of conteurs of the late fifteentth and sixteenth centuries. These include the brief indications of time and place, the rapid and efficient description of character to focus on salient traits, the intervention of the narrator, the recourse to direct address, the witty word play (the trait saillant or pointe, and finally the use of the efficient participial construction that grew out of the style curial in cases before the papal courts.

When Montaigne rewrites a classical tale, he selects one incident from what may be an extended account. Introducing the single incident with a personal reflection or general remark both personalizes the tale and prepares the reader for what is to follow. In the example below, selected because Montaigne’s affection for Livy is evident, the essayist establishes what he is looking for in illustrious examples from history but lets us know that he will not hesitate to rearrange the textual order of events. His source is Livy’s account of the story of Theoxena:

Les belles matieres tiennent tousjours bien leur reng, en quelque place qu’on les seme. Moi, qui ay plus de soin du poids et utilité des discours que de leur ordre et suite, ne doy pas craindre de loger icy un peu à l’escart une très-belle histoire (II, 27, 699C; 528–9)

Fine materials are always in place, wherever you sow them. I, who have more concern for the weight and utility of the arguments than for their order and sequence, should not fear to place here, a little out of the way, a very beautiful story.

When he appropriates Theoxena’s story, he seeks to keep the internal consistency of Livy’s story, but the essayist strives also to have the story reflect a consistency within his own moral discourse. Livy’s highlighting of Theoxena’s virtue is consistent with what the essayist seeks to underscore—his reordering will further enhance Livy’s account. The Ancient and the Modern narrators work together. Montaigne’s attachment to the story becomes evident in the telling and, especially, in his characterization of Theoxena, where he departs from Livy’s text. Livy, like Montaigne, emphasizes death as a way to freedom when faced with an unjust tyrant.⁷ The message is all the more pertinent in the wake of Saint-Barthélemy—never mentioned by Montaigne, but as Géralde Nakam states, “tous les Essais crient ces massacres” ‘all of the Essays shout out these massacres.’⁸ The fact that the anecdote is added in the [C] or later couche gives credence to the fact that the random and vicious cruelty of the Wars of Religion is weighing on the essayist. Theoxena’s strength and virtue in the midst of chaos provides a moral guidepost for subjects caught in the unjust violence and intolerance of the French Wars of Religion. When the rule of Law falls apart, inner strength is critical.

While Livy brings out Theoxena’s courageous actions in protecting her own child and those of her sister-in-law, Montaigne not only shows her virtuous actions, following Livy’s text quite closely, but adds a number of epithets to highlight her maternal courage as she struggles against the unjust tyrant Philippus: “Cette courageuse mere, se deffiant et de la cruauté de Philippus et de la licence de ses satellites envers cette belle et tendre jeunesse . . . ” ‘This courageous mother, mistrustful both of Philip’s cruelty and of the licentiousness of his satellites toward these fair and tender children . . . ’ (II, 27, 700C; 529, emphasis added). This ‘vigorous counselor’ (“vigoureuse conseillere”) is set in direct opposition to the spineless figure of her second husband Poris, depicted as full of fright (“effrayé”) when faced with Theoxena’s insistence that the family take its life rather than suffer the indignities of an unjust ruler.

It is rare that Montaigne’s reshaping of a classical tale exceeds the original in length. Brevity and rapid narration are two fundamental traits of the Renaissance conte. Lionello Sozzi draws an analogy between the exchange of succinct, witty comments in the tales to the influence of vernacular theater on Des Periers’s tales (Sozzi 1965, 279). For example, when Des Périers pits a college official against a female herring seller, it is without a doubt the herring seller who has the upper hand in cursing:

Mercy Dieu dit elle, tu l’as desja dict, filz de putain que tu es.

—Et bien dit le Regent, n’es tu pas bien villaine deux foys? voyre trois.

—Tu as menty, crapault infaict. (Des Périers, Tale 63, 235–6; translation mine)

Thank God, she said, you have already said it, whore’s son that you are.

Well, said the university official, are you not two times ugly, even three times?

You lied, wretched toad.

One exception to this customary brevity (III, 9, “De la vanité”) occurs when Montaigne retells the story of Lyncestes from his source, Quintus Curtius. The introductory remark reveals Montaigne’s emotional attachment to the tale: “Je ne lis jamais cette histoire que je ne m’en offence, d’un ressentiment propre et naturel” ‘I never read the following story without indignation, and natural and personal resentment’ (III, 9, 962B; 735). His intervention in the narrative—first to involve the reader in the account to follow, and then to prolong the contact between storyteller and reader through direct address (“Vrayment c’est bien dict!” ‘That certainly was good reasoning!’)—is typical of the structure of the Renaissance tale. Such interventions and personalized remarks are frequent in Des Périers’s Nouvelles récréations et joyeux devis (Sozzi 1965, 246). Rasmussen speaks of marking the beginning and end of the tale by procedures to guide the readers and to keep them informed (Rasmussen 74).⁹ In the instance of Montaigne’s account he expresses his indignation at the injustice of condemning Lyncestes on the basis of his bungled self-defense: “Le lieu estonne, l’assistance, l’expectation, lors mesme qu’il n’y va que de l’ambition de bien dire. Que peut-on faire quand c’est une harangue qui porte la vie en consequence?” ‘The place, the audience, the anticipation, daze a man even when nothing is at stake but the ambition to speak well. What can a man do when it is a speech on which his life depends?’ (962B; 735). The final rhetorical question addressed to the reader sums up the resentment the essayist had expressed at the outset of his account. His point of view colors the rewriting of the original tale.

The craft of the fifteenth- and sixteenth-century conte depends upon the speed and brevity with which the narrative unfolds. Rasmussen attributes these qualities to the philosophy governing the tale—that the storyteller should reproduce not create the action.¹⁰ In the language of current criticism, we would speak of showing rather than telling. The narrative begins with the greatest economy of detail, with description limited to those essential qualities which serve to explain the action. Subsequent narration takes up the major actions and words of the protagonists, with the words of the main characters expressed, where possible, in direct rather than indirect discourse.

A good example of the economic but effective characterization occurs in the story of Lucan. We choose this because of Montaigne’s subsequent analogy between natural offspring and artistic creation. Tacitus had introduced Lucan without descriptive comment, stating that Nero had ordered his death.¹¹ Montaigne begins: “Le bon Lucanus était jugé par ce coquin de Neron sur les derniers traits de sa vie” ‘In the last moments of the good Lucan’s life, after he was condemned by that scoundrel Nero’ (II, 8, 401; 292). The opposition of good (bon) and scoundrel (coquin), both succinct terms from everyday speech, sets the tone for the noble death of Lucan at the hands of the wretched tyrant.

Since no dialogue is involved, Montaigne follows Tacitus in accenting Lucan’s calm manner as the blood drains from his heart and the cold moves from the outer extremities towards his heart. He calmly recites verses he has written describing a wounded soldier in battle. From here, Montaigne departs from Tacitus to develop the idea which had sparked his interest in the account by Tacitus. Montaigne compares Lucan’s recitation ...

Table of contents

• Cover
• Title
• Copyright
• Contents
• Preface and Acknowledgments
• Abbreviations
• Introduction: The Essay—That Heretical Genre
• 1 Renewing the Ancients: Montaigne’s Retelling of the Tales of Antiquity
• 2 Recounting Others, Recounting Self: Montaigne and the Conteurs of his Century
• 3 Rewriting Culture: Montaigne Recounts New World Ethnography
• 4 “Se peindre de la plume”: History, Biography, and Self-Portraiture in Montaigne’s Reframing of History
• 5 A Storied Life and A Lived Story: Writing Oneself in Montaigne’s Essais
• 6 “Mes ancestres avoient la medecine à contrecoeur” ‘My Ancestors had an Aversion to Medicine’: Medical Discourse, Observation, and Self-Portraiture
• Conclusion: “Ce fagotage de tant de diverses pieces”/‘This Bundle of So Many Disparate Pieces’
• Notes
• Bibliography
• Index