The Essays of Montaigne/Book II/Chapter XV

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The Essays of Montaigne by Michel de Montaigne, translated by Charles Cotton
Chapter XV. That our desires are augmented by difficulty.

Chapter XV. That our desires are augmented by difficulty.[edit]

There is no reason that has not its contrary, say the wisest of the
philosophers. I was just now ruminating on the excellent saying one of
the ancients alleges for the contempt of life: "No good can bring
pleasure, unless it be that for the loss of which we are beforehand
prepared."

          "In aequo est dolor amissae rei, et timor amittendae,"

          ["The grief of losing a thing, and the fear of losing it,
          are equal."—Seneca, Ep., 98.]

meaning by this that the fruition of life cannot be truly pleasant to us
if we are in fear of losing it. It might, however, be said, on the
contrary, that we hug and embrace this good so much the more earnestly,
and with so much greater affection, by how much we see it the less
assured and fear to have it taken from us: for it is evident, as fire
burns with greater fury when cold comes to mix with it, that our will is
more obstinate by being opposed:

               "Si nunquam Danaen habuisset ahenea turris,
               Non esses, Danae, de Jove facta parens;"

     ["If a brazen tower had not held Danae, you would not, Danae, have
     been made a mother by Jove."—Ovid, Amoy., ii. 19, 27.]

and that there is nothing naturally so contrary to our taste as satiety
which proceeds from facility; nor anything that so much whets it as
rarity and difficulty:

     "Omnium rerum voluptas ipso, quo debet fugare, periculo crescit."

     ["The pleasure of all things increases by the same danger that
     should deter it."—Seneca, De Benef., vii. 9.]

          "Galla, nega; satiatur amor, nisi gaudia torquent."

     ["Galla, refuse me; love is glutted with joys that are not attended
     with trouble."—Martial, iv. 37.]

To keep love in breath, Lycurgus made a decree that the married people of
Lacedaemon should never enjoy one another but by stealth; and that it
should be as great a shame to take them in bed together as committing
with others. The difficulty of assignations, the danger of surprise, the
shame of the morning,

                    "Et languor, et silentium,
                    Et latere petitus imo Spiritus:"

     ["And languor, and silence, and sighs, coming from the innermost
     heart."—Hor., Epod., xi. 9.]

these are what give the piquancy to the sauce. How many very wantonly
pleasant sports spring from the most decent and modest language of the
works on love? Pleasure itself seeks to be heightened with pain; it is
much sweeter when it smarts and has the skin rippled. The courtesan
Flora said she never lay with Pompey but that she made him wear the
prints of her teeth.—[Plutarch, Life of Pompey, c. i.]

          "Quod petiere, premunt arcte, faciuntque dolorem
          Corporis, et dentes inlidunt saepe labellis . . .
          Et stimuli subsunt, qui instigant laedere ad ipsum,
          Quodcunque est, rabies unde illae germina surgunt."

     ["What they have sought they dress closely, and cause pain; on the
     lips fix the teeth, and every kiss indents: urged by latent stimulus
     the part to wound"—Lucretius, i. 4.]

And so it is in everything: difficulty gives all things their estimation;
the people of the march of Ancona more readily make their vows to St.
James, and those of Galicia to Our Lady of Loreto; they make wonderful
to-do at Liege about the baths of Lucca, and in Tuscany about those of
Aspa: there are few Romans seen in the fencing school of Rome, which is
full of French. That great Cato also, as much as us, nauseated his wife
whilst she was his, and longed for her when in the possession of another.
I was fain to turn out into the paddock an old horse, as he was not to be
governed when he smelt a mare: the facility presently sated him as
towards his own, but towards strange mares, and the first that passed by
the pale of his pasture, he would again fall to his importunate neighings
and his furious heats as before. Our appetite contemns and passes by
what it has in possession, to run after that it has not:

          "Transvolat in medio posita, et fugientia captat."

     ["He slights her who is close at hand, and runs after her
     who flees from him."—Horace, Sat., i. 2, 108.]

To forbid us anything is to make us have a mind to't:

                         "Nisi to servare puellam
               Incipis, incipiet desinere esse mea:"

     ["Unless you begin to guard your mistress, she will soon begin
     to be no longer mine."—Ovid, Amoy., ii. 19, 47.]

to give it wholly up to us is to beget in us contempt. Want and
abundance fall into the same inconvenience:

               "Tibi quod superest, mihi quod desit, dolet."

          ["Your superfluities trouble you, and what I want
          troubles me.—"Terence, Phoym., i. 3, 9.]

Desire and fruition equally afflict us. The rigors of mistresses are
troublesome, but facility, to say truth, still more so; forasmuch as
discontent and anger spring from the esteem we have of the thing desired,
heat and actuate love, but satiety begets disgust; 'tis a blunt, dull,
stupid, tired, and slothful passion:

          "Si qua volet regnare diu, contemnat amantem."

     ["She who would long retain her power must use her lover ill."
     —Ovid, Amor., ii. 19, 33]

                              "Contemnite, amantes:
               Sic hodie veniet, si qua negavit heri."

     ["Slight your mistress; she will to-day come who denied you
     yesterday.—"Propertius, ii. 14, 19.]

Why did Poppea invent the use of a mask to hide the beauties of her face,
but to enhance it to her lovers? Why have they veiled, even below the
heels, those beauties that every one desires to show, and that every one
desires to see? Why do they cover with so many hindrances, one over
another, the parts where our desires and their own have their principal
seat? And to what serve those great bastion farthingales, with which our
ladies fortify their haunches, but to allure our appetite and to draw us
on by removing them farther from us?

          "Et fugit ad salices, et se cupit ante videri."

     ["She flies to the osiers, and desires beforehand to be seen going."
     —Virgil, Eclog., iii. 65.]

               "Interdum tunica duxit operta moram."

               ["The hidden robe has sometimes checked love."
               —Propertius, ii. 15, 6.]

To what use serves the artifice of this virgin modesty, this grave
coldness, this severe countenance, this professing to be ignorant of
things that they know better than we who instruct them in them, but to
increase in us the desire to overcome, control, and trample underfoot at
pleasure all this ceremony and all these obstacles? For there is not
only pleasure, but, moreover, glory, in conquering and debauching that
soft sweetness and that childish modesty, and to reduce a cold and
matronlike gravity to the mercy of our ardent desires: 'tis a glory,
say they, to triumph over modesty, chastity, and temperance; and whoever
dissuades ladies from those qualities, betrays both them and himself.
We are to believe that their hearts tremble with affright, that the very
sound of our words offends the purity of their ears, that they hate us
for talking so, and only yield to our importunity by a compulsive force.
Beauty, all powerful as it is, has not wherewithal to make itself
relished without the mediation of these little arts. Look into Italy,
where there is the most and the finest beauty to be sold, how it is
necessitated to have recourse to extrinsic means and other artifices to
render itself charming, and yet, in truth, whatever it may do, being
venal and public, it remains feeble and languishing. Even so in virtue
itself, of two like effects, we notwithstanding look upon that as the
fairest and most worthy, wherein the most trouble and hazard are set
before us.

'Tis an effect of the divine Providence to suffer the holy Church to be
afflicted, as we see it, with so many storms and troubles, by this
opposition to rouse pious souls, and to awaken them from that drowsy
lethargy wherein, by so long tranquillity, they had been immerged.
If we should lay the loss we have sustained in the number of those who
have gone astray, in the balance against the benefit we have had by being
again put in breath, and by having our zeal and strength revived by
reason of this opposition, I know not whether the utility would not
surmount the damage.

We have thought to tie the nuptial knot of our marriages more fast and
firm by having taken away all means of dissolving it, but the knot of the
will and affection is so much the more slackened and made loose, by how
much that of constraint is drawn closer; and, on the contrary, that which
kept the marriages at Rome so long in honour and inviolate, was the
liberty every one who so desired had to break them; they kept their wives
the better, because they might part with them, if they would; and, in the
full liberty of divorce, five hundred years and more passed away before
any one made use on't.

     "Quod licet, ingratum est; quod non licet, acrius urit."

     ["What you may, is displeasing; what is forbidden, whets the
     appetite.—"Ovid, Amor., ii. 19.]

We might here introduce the opinion of an ancient upon this occasion,
"that executions rather whet than dull the edge of vices: that they do
not beget the care of doing well, that being the work of reason and
discipline, but only a care not to be taken in doing ill:"

               "Latius excisae pestis contagia serpunt."

     ["The plague-sore being lanced, the infection spreads all the more."
     —Rutilius, Itinerar. 1, 397.]

I do not know that this is true; but I experimentally know, that never
civil government was by that means reformed; the order and regimen of
manners depend upon some other expedient.

The Greek histories make mention of the Argippians, neighbours to
Scythia, who live without either rod or stick for offence; where not only
no one attempts to attack them, but whoever can fly thither is safe, by
reason of their virtue and sanctity of life, and no one is so bold as to
lay hands upon them; and they have applications made to them to determine
the controversies that arise betwixt men of other countries. There is a
certain nation, where the enclosures of gardens and fields they would
preserve, are made only of a string of cotton; and, so fenced, is more
firm and secure than by our hedges and ditches.

                    "Furem signata sollicitant . . .
                    aperta effractarius praeterit."

          ["Things sealed, up invite a thief: the housebreaker
          passes by open doors."—Seneca, Epist., 68.]

Peradventure, the facility of entering my house, amongst other things,
has been a means to preserve it from the violence of our civil wars:
defence allures attempt, and defiance provokes an enemy. I enervated the
soldiers' design by depriving the exploit of danger and all manner of
military glory, which is wont to serve them for pretence and excuse:
whatever is bravely, is ever honourably, done, at a time when justice is
dead. I render them the conquest of my house cowardly and base; it is
never shut to any one that knocks; my gate has no other guard than a
porter, and he of ancient custom and ceremony; who does not so much serve
to defend it as to offer it with more decorum and grace; I have no other
guard nor sentinel than the stars. A gentleman would play the fool to
make a show of defence, if he be not really in a condition to defend
himself. He who lies open on one side, is everywhere so; our ancestors
did not think of building frontier garrisons. The means of assaulting,
I mean without battery or army, and of surprising our houses, increases
every day more and more beyond the means to guard them; men's wits are
generally bent that way; in invasion every one is concerned: none but the
rich in defence. Mine was strong for the time when it was built; I have
added nothing to it of that kind, and should fear that its strength might
turn against myself; to which we are to consider that a peaceable time
would require it should be dismantled. There is danger never to be able
to regain it, and it would be very hard to keep; for in intestine
dissensions, your man may be of the party you fear; and where religion is
the pretext, even a man's nearest relations become unreliable, with some
colour of justice. The public exchequer will not maintain our domestic
garrisons; they would exhaust it: we ourselves have not the means to do
it without ruin, or, which is more inconvenient and injurious, without
ruining the people. The condition of my loss would be scarcely worse.
As to the rest, you there lose all; and even your friends will be more
ready to accuse your want of vigilance and your improvidence, and your
ignorance of and indifference to your own business, than to pity you.
That so many garrisoned houses have been undone whereas this of mine
remains, makes me apt to believe that they were only lost by being
guarded; this gives an enemy both an invitation and colour of reason; all
defence shows a face of war. Let who will come to me in God's name; but
I shall not invite them; 'tis the retirement I have chosen for my repose
from war. I endeavour to withdraw this corner from the public tempest,
as I also do another corner in my soul. Our war may put on what forms it
will, multiply and diversify itself into new parties; for my part, I stir
not. Amongst so many garrisoned houses, myself alone amongst those of my
rank, so far as I know, in France, have trusted purely to Heaven for the
protection of mine, and have never removed plate, deeds, or hangings.
I will neither fear nor save myself by halves. If a full acknowledgment
acquires the Divine favour, it will stay with me to the end: if not, I
have still continued long enough to render my continuance remarkable and
fit to be recorded. How? Why, there are thirty years that I have thus
lived.