XHn^er a BoqwooD voitb /IDontaigne 



was a Diogenes in a golden tub, not in the 

 least disheveled or absent-minded, well 

 aware of his own indecencies, while re- 

 cording those of the passing crowd ; but 

 to every individual he sped the catchword 

 of irresistible human sympathy, and his 

 voice and countenance were supremely 

 winning. 



There is a marked dramatic element in 

 the genuine essay; the writer stands as 

 the actor, and at best advantage when 

 apparently forgetful of his art, doing 

 wonders as if by the happy accident of 

 temperament and conditions. Montaigne 

 talked to his literary ego with an air of 

 one meeting a charming stranger on a long 

 stage-coach journey; then he annotated 

 what he said, and interpolated it with 

 passages, more or less apropos, from the 

 ancient poets, mostly Latin. His recipe 

 does not vary : his beginnings are all alike ; 

 his style-texture neither degenerates nor 

 improves ; on to the end, like a fine animal 

 running by scent after its prey, he doubles 

 and circles and digresses, yet keeps the 

 track, meantime mouthing dehghtfully. 

 271 



