I have been asked which ten French novels I like most. I believe it was Jules Lemaitre who started the fashion of the little game Pierre Louys and I used to play when we were still in rhetoric: “If you had to pass the rest of your days on a desert island, which twenty books would you rather take with you?” Twenty books! We thought it was very few to people a desert and furnish the pleasure of a lifetime; so instead of writing the titles of works, we wrote the names of authors. For example, we chose simply Goethe, which kept us from having to choose between “Faust,” “Wilhelm Meister,” and the poems. Then we resorted to ruses ; we chose Amyot, which guaranteed us the delightful “Daphnis and Chloe” with “Plutarch” thrown in. We chose Leconte de Lisle, whose translations seemed to us then to display an unsurpassable Hellenism. I used to choose Sainte-Beuve. . . . In this way our library of twenty authors furnished us with from three to four hundred volumes.
I have kept several of these lists, which we made out anew each term. I search among them in vain for the name of a novelist.
Though the novel is the latest born child, today it enjoys most favor. In the body of literature, particularly French literature, it holds small place; we were not so short-sighted that we were not already able to see that. It is true that at twenty we had not yet discovered Stendhal. But even if I had to choose among this writer’s works, would it be his novels I should pick? Or rather his letters, his “Henri Brulard,” his “Journal,” and his “Reminiscences”?
But today it is novels I am asked to designate; what is worse, French novels!
I have hesitated a long time between “The Red and the Black” and “The Charterhouse of Parma.” In my doubt, I even came near picking “Lucien Leuwen,” for which I retained a certain predilection as long as I had not reread the other two. But no: “The Charterhouse” remains the unique book; even though “The Red and the Black” be at first acquaintance more surprising, “The Charterhouse” has this one magic quality; every time one goes back to it, it is always a new book one is reading.
When I reopen Montesquieu, La Fontaine, Montaigne, I can always taste in them some sentence from which at first I had not sucked all the marrow, or which, even, I had not noticed; my mind can listen with more docility, with more intelligence, to their counsel, or, if it refuses to, it is for the most judicious reasons. . . . I deny myself unceasingly to Stendhal; I should find only boredom in what brings him pleasure; prolonged, his company would be deadly to me; but like Racine’s Britannicus, it is always with a new face that Mosca, Fabrice, and the duchess smile at me, that the whole book smiles at me. What grace in his detail I What elegance in the cleanness of his line! How little he insists! . . . I leave him; I come back to him; never shall I finish talking of him.
The great secret of this diverse youth is that Stendhal, and particularly in his “Charterhouse,” wishes to affirm literally nothing; the whole book was written for pleasure. Hardly ever, here and there (much less than in the other two books), does Stendhal take sides; it is in that way that he might age. How I love him on the contrary, when he writes: “I fear lest Fabrice’s credulity deprive him of the reader’s sympathy; but after all thus he was: why flatter him more than another?” And how much more even would I love him if he were pretending less, if he had written that more sincerely.
There remain in man a great many regions which Stendhal has not discovered, and he does not even like to discover anything he cannot later explain; the ultra-violet tones escape him, precisely those which occupy us most today; a certain theory of pleasure pushes him to conclusions a little too quickly; he shuts himself in a little too deliberately. . . . No matter! If I had to choose ten novels, without bothering about their origin, I should pick two French ones: “The Charterhouse” would be the first.
The “Liaisons Dangereuses” of Laclos would be the other.
I loved this book so much at first — I ask myself now whether I am not making too much of it. I must reread it. I did not discover it, happily, until pretty late; I mean nearer thirty, than twenty. Readers who are too young get tired of Madame de Tourvel’s resistances; they believe the book would gain if she gave way sooner to Valmont and spent less time afterwards in bewailing. They, deserve to prefer Faublas.
Everything in the “Liaisons” disconcerts me, and nothing I have ever learned about Laclos enlightens me as to his motives for writing this novel. I have almost come to the point of doubting whether, in his impertinent preface, the author is mocking, or whether he really did not imagine that he was “rendering a service to morals” as he says. I should wish this were the case, and that this book might prove by reductio ad absurdum that to render service to morals is to render disservice to art. It must be admitted that he becomes rather mediocre when he plumes himself, near the end, on making up for things and putting in the right not only the wife of President de Tourvel, in whom sincere love and virtue are incarnate, but even Madame de Volanges, Madame de Rosemont, and other supernumeraries who represent, if you will, the party of good morals—against which true love and true virtue will always have to struggle, and more than the Valmonts and Merteuils ever did.
And sometimes on the contrary I doubt whether, under cover of a virtuous intention, Laclos did not wish rather to compose the real manual of debauch. After all debauchery is not the Merteuil’s vice or Valmont’s, but rather Danceny’s and the Little Volanges’ ; debauch starts where pleasure begins to dissociate itself from love. I am hardly forcing my point if I decline to see a debauchee in Valmont, but only a libertine; in Don Juan, not so much a profligate as an unbeliever. Danceny is no longer a debauchee when he ceases to love Cile. Between the sensations of pleasure and the feelings of love, the cleavage is not so fatal, nor even perfectly natural. “Love, which people vaunt to us as the cause of our pleasures, is no more at most than their pretext.” This little sentence, which Laclos puts in the Merteuil’s mouth, throws plain light on some of the supposed “mysteries” of the human heart.
In like manner it is in this book that I find, and always in the same letter of the Marquise de Merteuil, the subtlest and most pertinent criticism, even though the most indirect, of the doctrines of Barres. “Believe me, Viscount,” says she, “one rarely acquires good traits one can do without.” And the environment Barr postulates puts man in precisely that situation which exacts from him only the least effort and the least virtue. . . . We have developed this elsewhere.
After these two novels, if my choice is not restricted to France, I shall cite only foreign ones.
“What! You think no more of France than that?”
“Simply: in my eyes, it is not in the novel that France excels.”
France is a country of moralists, of incomparable artists, of composers and architects, of orators. Whom will foreigners put against Montaigne, Pascal, Molie, Bossuet, Racine? But, to offset this, what is a Le Sage beside a Fielding or a Cervantes? An AbbProst compared to a Defoe? And what, even, is a Balzac when faced with a Dostoevsky? . . . Or, if you prefer, what is a “Princess of Cleves” beside a “Britannicus”?
Nevertheless I must pick “The Princess of Cleves,” since my choice is to be restricted to French. But I confess I feel only a mild admiration for this book. There is nothing new to be said about it, nor anything that has not been well said. Without doubt, there are various ways of reacting to “The Princess of Cleves,” and it is possible not to like this novel at all; but the moment one likes it, I defy him to have more than one reason for liking it. There is no secret, no withdrawal, no indirection; no unutilized resources—everything is set out clearly, exploited, there is nothing further to wait for. Without doubt this is the height of art: a nec plus ultra without possibility of further development. Shall I really put “The Princess of Cleves” on my list? Or rather “Le Roman Bourgeois”? Ah, if only Fureticre were Moliere; and Javotte, Monsieur Jour-dain! . . .
In default of “Moll Flanders,” shall I now choose “Ma-non Lescaut”? Perhaps. Warm blood courses through it. . . . Yet I feel uncomfortable before this book; it has too many readers, and of the worst sort; I prefer not to like it.
“When you read it, you shed plenty, of tears!”
“Precisely. I’ blame it a little for that. If it touched my mind first, I would be more willing to have it touch my heart too.”
To offset this, I do not hesitate for an instant to seize on “Dominique.” So beautiful is the modesty of this book, it seems almost indiscreet to talk about it. It is not a sublime book; it is a friendly book. It speaks intimately, so much so that when one reads it, it seems as if one were talking to oneself, or as if one had no need of any other friend.
Nothing is artificial in “Dominique”; Fromentin shows in it that he is undoubtedly an artist, but not particularly a man of letters; all the good qualities of his pen are merely those of his intelligence and his heart.
What novel of Balzac shall one prefer? How can one prefer only one Balzac novel? The “Human Comedy” forms a whole; to admire only a fragment of it is to admire it badly.
It is well to read Balzac before twenty-five; afterwards it becomes too difficult. Through what balderdash one goes in him to hunt one’s food! Even then one is not always rewarded, for, as soon as he has set forth his characters, their sublimest words are foreseen; to say that they are topical is to say everything. . . . I know. But it is important to have read Balzac—all Balzac. Certain literary men have believed it possible to dispense with him; later they may not have wholly realized something that they lacked; one realizes it for them.
It is “La Cousine Bette,” I believe, that I find most profit in rereading; let us say it is the book I choose from Balzac.
I choose next “Madame Bovary,” without comment. A discussion of Flaubert would run away with me; I reserve it.
I have loved Flaubert for a long time, as a master, as a friend, as a brother; his correspondence was my bedside book. Ah, how I read it, around twenty! There is not a sentence of it today that I am not familiar with. . . . The most important progress of my, mind, since, has been to dare to judge it. Even today, there is nothing more painful to me than to hear Flaubert criticized by someone who has not first loved him. For example I recently read an article on him, which was almost hateful to me; though if it had not sought to damn, it would not have seemed to me unjust. But it attacked only the form and seemed to ignore at the same time the importance of Flaubert and the very point of the question. Nietzsche at least would not have mistaken the meaning of an aberration so plausible; the passion with which he denounces it really indicates a sort of admiration and his hatred is only the revulsion of his respect and love.
What will those who are already crying down “Madame Bovary” say when they hear me name “Germinal”? Nevertheless such a book is not dispensed with by saying that none of the praise Stendhal deserved could be applied to Zola; nor even does it make me consider it less admirable. I remain almost astonished, it is true, that it should be written in our language; but I cannot imagine it more easily in any other language whatever. It is an annex to literature. It should have been written in Volapuk.
Such as it is, this work exists; it affirms itself; it is masterly; it could not have been written differently.
I was not asked to designate ten models here. If I incline by, preference to these books, it is even less because I seek to recognize myself in them, to adore in them my own reflection. Certain critics have reproached me with the eclecticism of my tastes and have called me a dilettante because I have exacted only from myself the qualities which they exact only from others. They are working, say they, to reform the taste of the public; they do well, and I am grateful to them for preparing readers for me.
Yet I notice there is one book lacking on my list. . . . Now, for the last one, let us take something new: this one, for example—and I blush not to have read it yet: Marivaux’s “Marianne.”
"Montaigne" redirects here. For the Australian singer-songwriter, see Montaigne (musician).
|Michel de Montaigne|
Portrait of Michel de Montaigne.
|Born||Michel de Montaigne|
28 February 1533
Château de Montaigne, Guyenne, Kingdom of France
|Died||13 September 1592(1592-09-13) (aged 59)|
Château de Montaigne, Guyenne, Kingdom of France
|Alma mater||College of Guienne|
University of Toulouse
|School||Renaissance humanismRenaissance skepticism|
Montaigne's wheel argument
Michel Eyquem de Montaigne, Lord of Montaigne (;French: [miʃɛl ekɛm də mɔ̃tɛɲ]; 28 February 1533 – 13 September 1592) was one of the most significant philosophers of the French Renaissance, known for popularizing the essay as a literary genre. His work is noted for its merging of casual anecdotes and autobiography with serious intellectual insight; his massive volume Essais contains some of the most influential essays ever written.
Montaigne had a direct influence on Western writers, including Francis Bacon, René Descartes,Blaise Pascal, Jean-Jacques Rousseau, Albert Hirschman, William Hazlitt,Ralph Waldo Emerson, Friedrich Nietzsche, Stefan Zweig, Eric Hoffer,Isaac Asimov, and possibly on the later works of William Shakespeare.
In his own lifetime, Montaigne was admired more as a statesman than as an author. The tendency in his essays to digress into anecdotes and personal ruminations was seen as detrimental to proper style rather than as an innovation, and his declaration that, "I am myself the matter of my book", was viewed by his contemporaries as self-indulgent. In time, however, Montaigne would come to be recognized as embodying, perhaps better than any other author of his time, the spirit of freely entertaining doubt which began to emerge at that time. He is most famously known for his skeptical remark, "Que sçay-je?" ("What do I know?", in Middle French; now rendered as Que sais-je? in modern French).
Montaigne was born in the Aquitaine region of France, on the family estate Château de Montaigne, in a town now called Saint-Michel-de-Montaigne, close to Bordeaux. The family was very wealthy; his great-grandfather, Ramon Felipe Eyquem, had made a fortune as a herring merchant and had bought the estate in 1477, thus becoming the Lord of Montaigne. His father, Pierre Eyquem, Seigneur of Montaigne, was a French Catholic soldier in Italy for a time and had also been the mayor of Bordeaux.
Although there were several families bearing the patronym "Eyquem" in Guyenne, his father's family is thought to have had some degree of Marrano (Spanish and Portuguese Jewish) origins. While his mother, Antoinette López de Villanueva, was a convert to Protestantism. His maternal grandfather, Pedro Lopez, from Zaragoza, was from a wealthy Marrano (Sephardic Jewish) family who had converted to Catholicism. His maternal grandmother, Honorette Dupuy, was from a Catholic family in Gascony, France.
His mother lived a great part of Montaigne's life near him, and even survived him, but is mentioned only twice in his essays. Montaigne's relationship with his father, however, is frequently reflected upon and discussed in his essays.
Montaigne's education began in early childhood and followed a pedagogical plan that his father had developed, refined by the advice of the latter's humanist friends. Soon after his birth, Montaigne was brought to a small cottage, where he lived the first three years of life in the sole company of a peasant family, in order to, according to the elder Montaigne, "draw the boy close to the people, and to the life conditions of the people, who need our help". After these first spartan years, Montaigne was brought back to the château. The objective was for Latin to become his first language.
The intellectual education of Montaigne was assigned to a German tutor (a doctor named Horstanus, who could not speak French). His father hired only servants who could speak Latin, and they were also given strict orders always to speak to the boy in Latin. The same rule applied to his mother, father, and servants, who were obliged to use only Latin words he himself employed, and thus acquired a knowledge of the very language his tutor taught him. Montaigne's Latin education was accompanied by constant intellectual and spiritual stimulation. He was familiarized with Greek by a pedagogical method that employed games, conversation, and exercises of solitary meditation, rather than the more traditional books.
The atmosphere of the boy's upbringing, although designed by highly refined rules taken under advisement by his father, created in the boy's life the spirit of "liberty and delight" to "make me relish... duty by an unforced will, and of my own voluntary motion...without any severity or constraint"; yet he would have everything to take advantage of his freedom. And so a musician woke him every morning, playing one instrument or another, and an épinettier (with a zither) was the constant companion to Montaigne and his tutor, playing a tune to alleviate boredom and tiredness.
Around the year 1539, Montaigne was sent to study at a prestigious boarding school in Bordeaux, the Collège de Guyenne, then under the direction of the greatest Latin scholar of the era, George Buchanan, where he mastered the whole curriculum by his thirteenth year. He then began his study of law at the University of Toulouse in 1546 and entered a career in the local legal system. He was a counselor of the Court des Aides of Périgueux and, in 1557, he was appointed counselor of the Parlement in Bordeaux (a high court). From 1561 to 1563 he was courtier at the court of Charles IX; he was present with the king at the siege of Rouen (1562). He was awarded the highest honour of the French nobility, the collar of the Order of St. Michael, something to which he aspired from his youth. While serving at the Bordeaux Parlement, he became very close friends with the humanist poet Étienne de la Boétie, whose death in 1563 deeply affected Montaigne. It has been suggested by Donald M. Frame, in his introduction to The Complete Essays of Montaigne that because of Montaigne's "imperious need to communicate" after losing Étienne, he began the Essais as his "means of communication" and that "the reader takes the place of the dead friend".
Montaigne married Françoise de la Cassaigne in 1565, probably in an arranged marriage. She was the well-got daughter and niece of merchants of Toulouse and Bordeaux. They had six daughters, but only the second-born, Léonor, survived infancy. Little is known about their marriage, a few words only escaping from Montaigne himself on the subject – he wrote of his daughter Léonor, "All my children die at nurse; but Léonore, our only daughter, who has escaped this misfortune, has reached the age of six and more without having been punished, the indulgence of her mother aiding, except in words, and those very gentle ones." His daughter married François de la Tour and later Charles de Gamaches and had a daughter by each.
Following the petition of his father, Montaigne started to work on the first translation of the Catalan monk Raymond Sebond's Theologia naturalis, which he published a year after his father's death in 1568 (In 1595, Sebond's Prologue was put on the Index Librorum Prohibitorum for its declaration that the Bible is not the only source of revealed truth). After this, he inherited the family's estate, the Château de Montaigne, to which he moved back in 1570, thus becoming the Lord of Montaigne. Another literary accomplishment was Montaigne's posthumous edition of his friend Boétie's works.
In 1571, he retired from public life to the Tower of the Château, his so-called "citadel", in the Dordogne, where he almost totally isolated himself from every social and family affair. Locked up in his library, which contained a collection of some 1,500 works, he began work on his Essais ("Essays"), first published in 1580. On the day of his 38th birthday, as he entered this almost ten-year period of self-imposed reclusion, he had the following inscription crown the bookshelves of his working chamber:
In the year of Christ 1571, at the age of thirty-eight, on the last day of February, his birthday, Michael de Montaigne, long weary of the servitude of the court and of public employments, while still entire, retired to the bosom of the learned virgins, where in calm and freedom from all cares he will spend what little remains of his life, now more than half run out. If the fates permit, he will complete this abode, this sweet ancestral retreat; and he has consecrated it to his freedom, tranquility, and leisure.
During this time of the Wars of Religion in France, Montaigne, a Roman Catholic, acted as a moderating force, respected both by the Catholic King Henry III and the Protestant Henry of Navarre. Montaigne believed that a knowledge of devastating effects of vice is calculated to excite an aversion to vicious habits.
In 1578, Montaigne, whose health had always been excellent, started suffering from painful kidney stones, a sickness he had inherited from his father's family. Throughout this illness, he would have nothing to do with doctors or drugs. From 1580 to 1581, Montaigne traveled in France, Germany, Austria, Switzerland, and Italy, partly in search of a cure, establishing himself at Bagni di Lucca where he took the waters. His journey was also a pilgrimage to the Holy House of Loreto, to which he presented a silver relief depicting himself and his wife and daughter kneeling before the Madonna, considering himself fortunate that it should be hung on a wall within the shrine. He kept a fascinating journal recording regional differences and customs and a variety of personal episodes, including the dimensions of the stones he succeeded in ejecting from his bladder. This was published much later, in 1774, after its discovery in a trunk which is displayed in his tower.
During Montaigne's visit to the Vatican, as he described in his travel journal, the Essais were examined by Sisto Fabri who served as Master of the Sacred Palace under Pope Gregory XIII. After Fabri examined Montaigne's Essais the text was returned to its author on 20 March 1581. Montaigne had apologized for references to the pagan notion of "fortuna" as well as for writing favorably of Julian the Apostate and of heretical poets, and was released to follow his own conscience in making emendations to the text.
While in the city of Lucca in 1581, he learned that, like his father before him, he had been elected mayor of Bordeaux; he returned and served as mayor. He was re-elected in 1583 and served until 1585, again moderating between Catholics and Protestants. The plague broke out in Bordeaux toward the end of his second term in office, in 1585. In 1586, the plague and the Wars of Religion prompted him to leave his château for two years.
Montaigne continued to extend, revise, and oversee the publication of Essais. In 1588 he wrote its third book and also met the writer Marie de Gournay, who admired his work and later edited and published it. Montaigne called her his adopted daughter. King Henry III was assassinated in 1589, and Montaigne then helped to keep Bordeaux loyal to Henry of Navarre, who would go on to become King Henry IV.
Montaigne died of quinsy at the age of 59, in 1592 at the Château de Montaigne. The disease in his case "brought about paralysis of the tongue", and he had once said "the most fruitful and natural play of the mind is conversation. I find it sweeter than any other action in life; and if I were forced to choose, I think I would rather lose my sight than my hearing and voice." Remaining in possession of all his other faculties, he requested mass, and died during the celebration of that mass.
He was buried nearby. Later his remains were moved to the church of SaintAntoine at Bordeaux. The church no longer exists: it became the Convent des Feuillants, which has also disappeared. The Bordeaux Tourist Office says that Montaigne is buried at the Musée Aquitaine, Faculté des Lettres, Université Bordeaux 3 Michel de Montaigne, Pessac. His heart is preserved in the parish church of Saint-Michel-de-Montaigne.
The humanities branch of the University of Bordeaux is named after him: Université Michel de Montaigne Bordeaux 3.
Main article: Essays (Montaigne)
His fame rests on the Essais, a collection of a large number of short subjective treatments of various topics published in 1580, inspired by his studies in the classics, especially by the works of Plutarch and Lucretius. Montaigne's stated goal is to describe humans, and especially himself, with utter frankness. Montaigne's writings are studied as literature and philosophy around the world.
Inspired by his consideration of the lives and ideals of the leading figures of his age, he finds the great variety and volatility of human nature to be its most basic features. He describes his own poor memory, his ability to solve problems and mediate conflicts without truly getting emotionally involved, his disdain for the human pursuit of lasting fame, and his attempts to detach himself from worldly things to prepare for his timely death. He writes about his disgust with the religious conflicts of his time. He believed that humans are not able to attain true certainty. The longest of his essays, Apology for Raymond Sebond, marking his adoption of Pyrrhonism contains his famous motto, "What do I know?"
Montaigne considered marriage necessary for the raising of children, but disliked strong feelings of passionate love because he saw them as detrimental to freedom. In education, he favored concrete examples and experience over the teaching of abstract knowledge that has to be accepted uncritically. His essay "On the Education of Children" is dedicated to Diana of Foix.
The Essais exercised important influence on both French and English literature, in thought and style.Francis Bacon's Essays, published over a decade later, in 1596, are usually assumed to be directly influenced by Montaigne's collection, and Montaigne is cited by Bacon alongside other classical sources in later essays.
Montaigne's influence on psychology
Though not a scientist, Montaigne made observations on topics in psychology. In his essays, he developed and explained his observations of these topics. His thoughts and ideas covered topics such as thought, motivation, fear, happiness, child education, experience, and human action. Montaigne’s ideas have influenced psychology and are a part of psychology’s rich history.
Child education was among the psychological topics that he wrote about. His essays On the Education of Children, On Pedantry, and On Experience explain the views he had on child education.:61:62:70 Some of his views on child education are still relevant today.
Montaigne’s views on the education of children were opposed to the common educational practices of his day.:63:67He found fault with both what was taught and how it was taught.:62 Much of the education during Montaigne’s time was focused on the reading of the classics and learning through books.:67Montaigne disagreed with learning strictly through books. He believed it was necessary to educate children in a variety of ways. He also disagreed with the way information was being presented to students. It was being presented in a way that encouraged students to take the information that was taught to them as absolute truth. Students were denied the chance to question the information. Therefore, students could not truly learn. Montaigne believed that, to learn truly, a student had to take the information and make it their own.
At the foundation Montaigne believed that the selection of a good tutor was important for the student to become well educated.:66 Education by a tutor was to be done at the pace of the student.:67He believed that a tutor should be in dialogue with the student, letting the student speak first. The tutor should also allow for discussions and debates to be had. Through this dialogue, it was meant to create an environment in which students would teach themselves. They would be able to realize their mistakes and make corrections to them as necessary.
Individualized learning was also integral to his theory of child education. He argued that the student combines information he already knows with what is learned and forms a unique perspective on the newly learned information.:356 Montaigne also thought that tutors should encourage a student’s natural curiosity and allow them to question things.:68He postulated that successful students were those who were encouraged to question new information and study it for themselves, rather than simply accepting what they had heard from the authorities on any given topic. Montaigne believed that a child’s curiosity could serve as an important teaching tool when the child is allowed to explore the things that they are curious about.
Experience was also a key element to learning for Montaigne. Tutors needed to teach students through experience rather than through the mere memorization of knowledge often practised in book learning.:62:67He argued that students would become passive adults; blindly obeying and lacking the ability to think on their own.:354 Nothing of importance would be retained and no abilities would be learned.:62 He believed that learning through experience was superior to learning through the use of books. For this reason he encouraged tutors to educate their students through practice, travel, and human interaction. In doing so, he argued that students would become active learners, who could claim knowledge for themselves.
Montaigne’s views on child education continue to have an influence in the present. Variations of Montaigne’s ideas on education are incorporated into modern learning in some ways. He argued against the popular way of teaching in his day, encouraging individualized learning. He believed in the importance of experience over book learning and memorization. Ultimately, Montaigne postulated that the point of education was to teach a student how to have a successful life by practising an active and socially interactive lifestyle.:355
Related writers and influence
Thinkers exploring similar ideas to Montaigne include Erasmus, Thomas More, and Guillaume Budé, who all worked about fifty years before Montaigne. Many of Montaigne's Latin quotations are from Erasmus' Adagia, and most critically, all of his quotations from Socrates. Plutarch remains perhaps Montaigne's strongest influence, in terms of substance and style. Montaigne's quotations from Plutarch in the Essays number well over 500.
Ever since Edward Capell first made the suggestion in 1780, scholars have suggested Montaigne to be an influence on Shakespeare. The latter would have had access to John Florio's translation of Montaigne's Essais, published in English in 1603, and a scene in The Tempest "follows the wording of Florio [translating Of Cannibals] so closely that his indebtedness is unmistakable". However, most parallels between the two can be explained as commonplaces: as with Cervantes, Shakespeare's similarities with writers in other nations could be due simply to their simultaneous study of Latin moral and philosophical writers such as Seneca the Younger, Horace, Ovid and Virgil.
Much of Blaise Pascal's skepticism in his Pensées has been traditionally attributed to his reading Montaigne.
The English essayist William Hazlitt expressed boundless admiration for Montaigne, exclaiming that "he was the first who had the courage to say as an author what he felt as a man. ... He was neither a pedant nor a bigot. ... In treating of men and manners, he spoke of them as he found them, not according to preconceived notions and abstract dogmas". Beginning most overtly with the essays in the "familiar" style in his own Table-Talk, Hazlitt tried to follow Montaigne's example.
Ralph Waldo Emerson chose "Montaigne; or, the Skeptic" as a subject of one of his series of lectures entitled Representative Men, alongside other subjects such as Shakespeare and Plato. In "The Skeptic" Emerson writes of his experience reading Montaigne, "It seemed to me as if I had myself written the book, in some former life, so sincerely it spoke to my thought and experience." Friedrich Nietzsche judged of Montaigne: "That such a man wrote has truly augmented the joy of living on this Earth".Sainte-Beuve advises us that "to restore lucidity and proportion to our judgments, let us read every evening a page of Montaigne." 
The American philosopher Eric Hoffer employed Montaigne both stylistically and in thought. In Hoffer's memoir, Truth Imagined, he said of Montaigne, "He was writing about me. He knew my innermost thoughts." The Welsh novelist John Cowper Powys expressed his admiration for Montaigne's philosophy in his books Suspended Judgements (1916) and The Pleasures of Literature (1938). Judith N. Shklar introduces her book Ordinary Vices (1984), "It is only if we step outside the divinely ruled moral universe that we can really put our minds to the common ills we inflict upon one another each day. That is what Montaigne did and that is why he is the hero of this book. In spirit he is on every one of its pages..."
20th-century literary critic Erich Auerbach called Montaigne the first modern man. "Among all his contemporaries", writes Auerbach (Mimesis, Chapter 12), "he had the clearest conception of the problem of man's self-orientation; that is, the task of making oneself at home in existence without fixed points of support".
- Marvin Lowenthal (1935). The Autobiography of Michel de Montaigne: Comprising the Life of the Wisest Man of his Times: his Childhood, Youth, and Prime; his Adventures in Love and Marriage, at Court, and in Office, War, Revolution, and Plague; his Travels at Home and Abroad; his Habits, Tastes, Whims, and Opinions. Composed, Prefaced, and Translated from the Essays, Letters, Travel Diary, Family Journal, etc., withholding no signal or curious detail. Houghton Mifflin. ASIN B000REYXQG.
- ^Robert P. Amico, The Problem of the Criterion, Rowman & Littlefield, 1995, p. 42. Primary source: Montaigne, Essais, II, 12: "Pour juger des apparences que nous recevons des subjets, il nous faudroit un instrument judicatoire ; pour verifier cet instrument, il nous y faut de la demonstration ; pour verifier la demonstration, un instrument : nous voilà au rouet [To judge of the appearances that we receive of subjects, we had need have a judicatorie instrument: to verifie this instrument we should have demonstration; and to approve demonstration, an instrument; thus are we ever turning round]" (transl. by Charles Cotton).
- ^FT.com "Small Talk: José Saramago". "Everything I’ve read has influenced me in some way. Having said that, Kafka, Borges, Gogol, Montaigne, Cervantes are constant companions."
- ^"Montaigne". Random House Webster's Unabridged Dictionary.
- ^His anecdotes are 'casual' only in appearance; Montaigne writes: 'Neither my anecdotes nor my quotations are always employed simply as examples, for authority, or for ornament...They often carry, off the subject under discussion, the seed of a richer and more daring matter, and they resonate obliquely with a more delicate tone,' Michel de Montaigne, Essais, Pléiade, Paris (ed. A. Thibaudet) 1937, Bk. 1, ch.40, p. 252 (tr. Charles Rosen)
- ^Buckley, Michael J., At the Origins of Modern Atheism, Yale UP, 1990, p. 69.
- ^ abKinnaird, John, William Hazlitt: Critic of Power, Columbia University Press, 1978, p. 274.
- ^from Truth Imagined, memoir by Eric Hoffer.
- ^Sophie Jama, L’Histoire Juive de Montaigne [The Jewish History of Montaigne], Paris, Flammarion, 2001, p. 76.
- ^"His mother was a Jewish Protestant, his father a Catholic who achieved wide culture as well as a considerable fortune." Civilization, Kenneth Clark, (Harper & Row: 1969), p. 161.
- ^Winkler, Emil (1942). "Zeitschrift für Französische Sprache und Literatur".
- ^Goitein, Denise R (2008). "Montaigne, Michel de". Encyclopaedia Judaica. The Gale Group. Retrieved 2014-03-06.
- ^Introduction: Montaigne's Life and Times, in Apology for Raymond Sebond, By Michel de Montaigne (Roger Ariew), (Hackett: 2003), p. iv: "Michel de Montaigne was born in 1533 at the chateau de Montagine (about 30 miles east of Bordeaux), the son of Pierre Eyquem, Seigneur de Montaigne, and Antoinette de Louppes (or Lopez), who came from a wealthy (originally Iberian) Jewish family".
- ^"...the family of Montaigne's mother, Antoinette de Louppes (Lopez) of Toulouse, was of Spanish Jewish origin...." The Complete Essays of Montaigne, Translated by Donald M. Frame, "Introduction," p. vii ff., Stanford University Press, Stanford, 1989 ISBN 0-8047-0486-4
- ^Popkin, Richard H (2003-03-20). "The History of Scepticism: From Savonarola to Bayle". ISBN 9780195107678.
- ^Green, Toby (2009-03-17). "Inquisition: The Reign of Fear". ISBN 9781429938532.
- ^Montaigne. Essays, III, 13
- ^Hutchins, Robert Maynard; Hazlitt, W. Carew, eds. (1952). The Essays of Michel Eyquem de Montaigne. Great Books of the Western World. twenty-five. Trans. Charles Cotton. Encyclopædia Britannica. p. v.
- ^Frame, Donald (translator). The Complete Essays of Montaigne. 1958. p. v.
- ^The New Yorker
- ^As cited by Richard L. Regosin, ‘Montaigne and His Readers', in Denis Hollier (ed.) A New History of French Literature, Harvard University Press, Cambridge, Massachusetts, London 1995, pp. 248–52, p. 249. The Latin original runs: 'An. Christi 1571 aet. 38, pridie cal. mart., die suo natali, Mich. Montanus, servitii aulici et munerum publicorum jamdudum pertaesus, dum se integer in doctarum virginum recessit sinus, ubi quietus et omnium securus (quan)tillum in tandem superabit decursi multa jam plus parte spatii: si modo fata sinunt exigat istas sedes et dulces latebras, avitasque, libertati suae, tranquillitatique, et otio consecravit.' as cited in Helmut Pfeiffer, 'Das Ich als Haushalt:Montaignes ökonomische Politik’, in Rudolf Behrens, Roland Galle (eds.) Historische Anthropologie und Literatur:Romanistische Beträge zu einem neuen Paradigma der Literaturwissenschaft, Königshausen und Neumann, Würzburg, 1995 pp. 69–90 p. 75
- ^ abc Reynolds, Francis J., ed. (1921). "Montaigne, Michel, Seigneur". Collier's New Encyclopedia. New York: P.F. Collier & Son Company.
- ^Edward Chaney, The Evolution of the Grand Tour: Anglo-Italian Cultural Relations since the Renaissance, 2nd ed. (London, 2000), p. 89.
- ^Cazeaux, Guillaume (2015). Montaigne et la coutume [Montaigne and the custom]. Milan: Mimésis. ISBN 9788869760044. Archived from the original on 2015-10-30.
- ^Montaigne's Travel Journal, translated with an introduction by Donald M. Frame and foreword by Guy Davenport, San Francisco, 1983
- ^Treccani.it, L'encicolpedia Italiana, Dizionario Biografico. Accessed 10 August 2013
- ^Montaigne, Michel de, Essays of Michel de Montaigne, tr. Charles Cotton, ed. William Carew Hazlitt, 1877, "The Life of Montaigne" in v. 1. n.p., Kindle edition.
- ^"The Autobiography of Michel De Montaign", translated, introduced, and edited by Marvin Lowenthal, David R. Godine Publishing, p. 165
- ^"Biographical Note", Encyclopædia Britannica "Great Books of the Western World", Vol. 25, p. vi "Montaigne"
- ^Bakewell, Sarah. How to Live – or – A Life of Montaigne in One Question and Twenty Attempts at an Answer (2010), pp. 325–26, 365 n. 325.
- ^"Titi Lucretii Cari De rerum natura libri sex (Montaigne.1.4.4)". Cambridge Digital Library. Retrieved 9 July 2015.
- ^Bloom, Harold. The Western Canon.
- ^Bakewell, Sarah (2010). How to live : a life of Montaigne in one question and twenty attempts at an answer. London: Vintage. p. 280. ISBN 9780099485155.
- ^ abKing, Brett; Viney, Wayne; Woody, William.A History of Psychology: Ideas and Context, 4th ed., Pearson Education, Inc. 2009, p. 112.
- ^ abcdefghiHall, Michael L. Montaigne's Uses of Classical Learning. "Journal of Education" 1997, Vol. 179 Issue 1, p. 61
- ^ abEdiger, Marlow. Influence of ten leading educators on American education.Education Vol. 118, Issue 2, p. 270
- ^ abcWorley, Virginia. Painting With Impasto: Metaphors, Mirrors, and Reflective Regression in Montagne's 'Of the Education of Children.'Educational Theory, June 2012, Vol. 62 Issue 3, p. 343–70.
- ^Friedrich, Hugo; Desan, Philippe (1991). Montaigne. ISBN 9780520072534.
- ^Billault, Alain (2002). "Plutarch's Lives". In Gerald N. Sandy. The Classical Heritage in France. p. 226. ISBN 9789004119161.
- ^ abOlivier, T. (1980). "Shakespeare and Montaigne: A Tendency of Thought". Theoria. 54: 43–59.
- ^Harmon, Alice (1942). "How Great Was Shakespeare's Debt to Montaigne?". PMLA. 57 (4): 988–1008. JSTOR 458873.
- ^Eliot, Thomas Stearns (1958). Introduction to Pascal's Essays. New York: E. P. Dutton and Co. p. viii.
- ^Quoted from Hazlitt's "On the Periodical Essayists" in Park, Roy, Hazlitt and the Spirit of the Age, Oxford, Clarendon Press, 1971, pp. 172–73.
- ^Nietzsche, Untimely Meditations, Chapter 3, "Schopenhauer as Educator", Cambridge University Press, 1988, p. 135
- ^Sainte-Beuve, "Montaigne", "Literary and Philosophical Essays", Ed. Charles W. Eliot, New York: P. F. Collier & Son, 1938.
- ^Auerbach, Erich, Mimesis: Representations of Reality in Western Literature', Princeton UP, 1974, p. 311