XDlnOer a Bogwoob vvttb /iDontatane 



capital, whence poets, artists, philosophers, 

 wits, have always brought away a literary 

 honey-bag ready to burst with good 

 things? Certainly no Frenchman was 

 ever " Frenchier " than he ; but his boast 

 was that he cared little for urban life, and 

 the " Essais " have a rural, often a rustic, 

 flavor, as if prepared and dried by the 

 recipe our great-grandmothers used in 

 preserving simple herbs. 



Paris was a filthy and muddy little city 

 in Montaigne's day, quite distasteful to 

 him, as it was to Ronsard and other literary 

 notables. In fact, there could be no 

 peaceful and thoughtful rest within its 

 walls. The area was entirely given over to 

 violent intrigue and sudden calamities. 

 Montaigne went there once in a while, 

 to keep in touch with court life, staying 

 but a few days, then hustling back to his 

 estate and his goose-quill. Presumably 

 he collected books during these visits. 

 The air was sweet with the bouquet of 

 fresh lyrics blown in from all quarters of 

 France. He must have known the rich, 

 Hellenic smack of La Belle Cordiere's 

 249 



