■Qln&er a 2>oqwoo& witb flDontafgne 



A mind like Montaigne's is aware that 

 reform is an infection, not a contagion — a 

 germ in the air, not a private leaven in the 

 pot of a zealot. He knew that Luther 

 was not the real power of the tidal wave 

 then shaking the foundations of medieval 

 Christian religion, but only the stormy 

 petrel winging fierce circles just above the 

 waves. He knew that Calvin was not 

 Christ come again ; the recent things were 

 not the old things revived; the reformers 

 were but creatures of the average aspira- 

 tion, mere voices of the average need of 

 the time. And so, without premeditation 

 or plan, the Seigneur de Montaigne gave 

 to paper and immortality a record of his 

 thoughts right in the midst of an epoch- 

 making throe of the world. Tesla, in his 

 quiet study or workshop, at this moment 

 of calm and peace, is not more oblivious 

 of cataclysmal war than was Montaigne in 

 his defenseless chateau with the very earth 

 rocking under him. Little cared he for 

 the tides of progress beginning to foam. 

 His day was good enough for him, and 

 " if I could chock our wheel, and stop it 

 287 



