THE JOURNAL OF
MONTAIGNE’S TRAVELS
IN ITALY
[Illustration: _Michel de Montaigne_]
͆
THE JOURNAL OF
MONTAIGNE’S TRAVELS
IN ITALY BY WAY OF SWITZERLAND
AND GERMANY
IN 1580 AND 1581
TRANSLATED AND EDITED
WITH AN INTRODUCTION AND NOTES
BY W. G. WATERS
AUTHOR OF “JEROME CARDAN,” ETC.
IN THREE VOLUMES
VOL. I
LONDON
JOHN MURRAY, ALBEMARLE STREET
1903
PREFACE
Up to February 16, 1581, the “Journal” of Montaigne’s travels was
written down from dictation by a confidential servant, who seems to
have combined the duties of secretary and valet. On the date aforesaid
Montaigne either dismissed him or gave him leave of absence, and set to
work to keep the diary himself. The portion of the “Journal” written
by the secretary presents certain difficulties in translation, seeing
that he wrote sometimes in the first and sometimes in the third person,
and occasionally had to describe events which happened in his absence,
but as far as possible uniform diction has been secured. In the earlier
part Montaigne added divers notes to the margin of the MS. in his own
handwriting, thus showing that he revised that portion which he did not
write. From May 15, to November 1, 1581, Montaigne used the Italian
tongue, reverting to French as soon as he crossed Mont Cenis.
A translation of the “Journal” was made by W. Hazlitt in 1842 and
annexed to his edition of Cotton’s “Essays.” In a recent reprint of
the “Essays” and of all the extant “Letters,” Mr. W. C. Hazlitt, in an
introduction, remarks, as a reason for not including the “Journal,”
that it is all in the third person, and was dictated by Montaigne to
his secretary, being unaware, apparently, that more than half of it was
written in the first person by Montaigne himself.
The portions of the “Journal” which deal with Montaigne’s sojourn at
the baths of Lucca are full of details of the symptoms of the malady
which troubled him, and of the results of the curative treatment. In
these it has been thought permissible to abbreviate some passages
and to omit others entirely, seeing that they are at the same time
valueless and unpleasant. But not a word which refers to any matter
of general interest has been repressed; uninteresting medical details
alone have been left out.
W. G. WATERS.
_August 1903._
CONTENTS
CHAP. PAGE
INTRODUCTION 1
I. FRANCE 25
II. SWITZERLAND 60
III. THE EMPIRE 97
IV. TIROL 159
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
VOL. I
MICHEL DE MONTAIGNE (_Photogravure_) _Frontispiece_
MEAUX _To face page_ 26
BASEL ” 62
BADEN EN ARGOW ” 76
CONSTANCE ” 96
KEMPTEN ” 116
AUGSBURG ” 128
MUNICH ” 150
INNSBRUCK ” 158
BRIXEN ” 172
TRENT ” 180
INTRODUCTION
In the world of literature there are many instances which exhibit
the personality of a particular writer identified so completely with
certain of his works that he is, so to speak, divorced from all
association with any others, however great their merit, which he
may have left behind him. The popular verdict, so often swayed by
incomprehensible impulse, is given in favour of one or two books,
and all the rest fall into oblivion or neglect. How trifling is the
vogue of Walton’s “Lives” compared with that of the “Angler.” To the
multitude Swift is known almost entirely as the author of Gulliver,
and the name of Gray suggests the “Elegy” as inevitably as that of
Cowper suggests “John Gilpin.” In like manner we find the fame of
Montaigne resting on the “Essays” alone; but this case is in a measure
exceptional. Montaigne died in 1592, and until 1774 the “Essays”
comprised the whole of his literary legacy. In the year last mentioned,
a certain M. Prunis, who was collecting materials for a history of
Perigord, discovered in a chest at the Château de Montaigne the
manuscript account of the writer’s travels in Switzerland, the Empire,
and Italy in the years 1580 and 1581.
Notwithstanding the fame of the writer, and the inherent interest of
the long-hidden work, the “Journal” failed to win the public favour,
and virtually Montaigne still kept the status of a single book author.
It has never roused much enthusiasm in France, in spite of a generous
and appreciative article by Sainte-Beuve in the _Nouveaux Lundis_.
“Montaigne,” he writes, “is the intimate friend of every one of us,
and of our intimate friends it is impossible to know too much.” And he
then goes on to demonstrate the extraordinary value and interest of the
“Journal” when read in connection with the “Essays.” It is casting
no slur on the “Journal” to say that it is inferior to the writers
masterpiece in literary grace; and, so much being granted, it may be
asserted that nowhere in Montaigne’s writings is his personality, with
its attractive wisdom and no less attractive weaknesses, more clearly
and completely exhibited than in the work under consideration.
This excellence of self-portraiture may be explained by the fact that
the Montaigne of the “Essays” greets us as the philosopher in his
study, face to face with the innumerable problems to be canvassed
in determining the rules which should guide man’s conduct towards
his fellows. Here with laborious care he searches the world of books
for illustrations apt for the establishment of his position and
for its defence. Now and then, in spite of the quaint charm of the
writing, it seems as if we cannot see the wood for the trees, and we
regret that we cannot enjoy a closer personal acquaintance with the
author, a knowledge at first hand, and not blurred by the cloud of
approving witnesses which it has pleased him to summon up from the
caverns of the libraries. But with the Montaigne of the “Journal” it
is altogether different. Here we find the man giving his experience
of a phase of life which, for good or evil, has become almost normal
in these latter days. Most of us have crossed the Alps and descended
upon Italy; and, changed as the conditions of travel are, it raises a
sympathetic interest to read of the humours of the road in Montaigne’s
time, and to compare his experience with our own. We are introduced
to him face to face with troubles and pleasures, the intensity of
which it is not difficult to gauge: the knavery of postmasters: the
stupidity of guides: the discomfort of this inn, and the excellence
of that. We listen to his simple narrative of his experience of men
and cities, and learn to know him better here than when encumbered by
the swarming hypotheses and guarding clauses which fill the pages of
his _opus magnum_. When he begins to speculate, his reflections are
given in the plainest words, and rarely fail to reveal one or other
of those lovable personal traits with which acquaintance, as well as
tradition, will have invested him. His large-minded toleration, his
fastidious care lest any judgment given should be based on insufficient
knowledge, and his reluctance to commit himself to any positive
statement--characteristics which dominate the drift of thought in the
“Essays”--reappear in the “Journal,” and help to give to his utterances
on the world as he found it an authority which few contemporary
travellers could claim.
In any comparison he felt bound to draw between things in France and
things over the frontier, toleration is his watchword; and he knew
no more of the spirit of Chauvinism than he did of the word. But he
seems to have found some tendencies in that direction in the carriage
of certain young Frenchmen whom he met at Padua, and he goes on to
lament that the number of these should be large enough to constitute a
society in itself, and that on this account his young countrymen should
be debarred from making acquaintance with the people of the place.
Again, he shows a little resentment at finding himself surrounded by
such a crowd of Frenchmen as he found in Rome. He is full of praise
of the iron work of Switzerland, and of the cookery as well. The
bed-chambers in Germany did not always please him, but he could not
say too much in favour of the porcelain stoves and the coverlets
stuffed with feathers; and when he found the charges at the baths of
Baden a little arbitrary, he adds that he would have fared no better
in France. He describes the private houses round Constance as being
far superior to the parallel class of house in France; and, in taking
exception in a general way to defects in the service at the inns, he
remarks that these things seemed amiss to him chiefly because they were
unfamiliar: indeed, he lavished so much praise on German ways of living
that the patriotism of his amanuensis, was in one instance stirred
to remonstrance. Montaigne had evidently a strong liking for Germany
(though indeed he is somewhat uncomplimentary as to the personal charms
of the ladies of Augsburg) and he left it with reluctance; for, when he
arrived at Botzen and marked the prevalence of Italian customs there,
he wrote in a strain of regret to Francis Hottoman, the jurisconsult
whom he had met at Basel, expressing his satisfaction at the treatment
he had met with in that city and his regrets at bidding farewell to
the Empire, even though his goal were Italy. Vanity is the proverbial
weakness of the Frenchman, but the only trace of it in Montaigne’s
record is to be found in his action at Augsburg when some of the town
officers took him for a baron, and he bade his companions not correct
the error. His remarks thereanent show that he was more swayed by
considerations of practical utility than by the desire of personal
exaltation; as he goes on to say that, being credited with a baron’s
rank, he would doubtless receive more attention from the hands of the
authorities.
To show how little of the braggart was in him it may be noted that when
he visited the church of S. Lorenzo at Florence he did not refrain
from naming, amongst the other sights he saw there, the French banners
captured from Marshal Strozzi’s forces by the Florentines, and when
on his way home he passed by Fornovo, the scene of the great French
victory in 1495, does not allude to the battle at all. On the other
hand, he expressly records that he turned aside from the road between
Pavia and Milan to view the field of the battle so disastrous to the
arms of France.
The bent of Montaigne’s mind led him to devote his chief attention to
the rules and institutions which regulated public life in the lands he
visited, rather than to what modern travellers call “sights,” and in
Fynes Moryson’s travels about ten, and in Coryat’s about thirty years
later, the same tendencies appear. When at any time he does describe
any human achievement, it is usually some mechanical device, such as
the watch-tower and the water-works at Augsburg. Italy was rich, or
probably much richer, in paintings than she is now, but only on three
or four occasions does he find any worth mentioning. Nevertheless he
writes pages in praise of the ridiculous squirts and tubes which are
devised to drench the unwary visitors to Italian gardens now, just as
they did at the time when he was on his travels. Artificial water-works
of all sorts seem to have had a peculiar fascination for him: indeed
on his way back to France he paid a second visit to Pratolino, near
Florence, in order to compare the merits of the fountains there with
those which he had seen at Tivoli. He ends the description of his
expedition with the following thoroughly characteristic sentences: “Et
essendo pregato dal casiero del palazzo di dire la mia sentenzia di
quelle bellezze e di Tivoli, ne discorsi non comparando questi luoghi
in generale, ma parte per parte, con le diverse considerazioni dell’un
e dell’altro, essendo vicendevolmente vittore ora questo, or quello.”
Perhaps it would be unfair to attribute to indifference Montaigne’s
comparative silence over Italian painting. In his day it was not the
fashion to write so copiously as at present concerning this particular
phase of art, nor was it deemed necessary that every third-rate painter
should possess his exponent and prophet. Whatever the reason, Montaigne
passed it by in silence, save in a few instances, and the cause of
his appreciation in these cases was evidently that the pictures
possessed historic interest. At Caprarola he found portraits of Henry
II. of France, Catherine dei Medici and their two sons. He mentions
the pictures at Loreto, referring probably to the _ex voto_ daubs and
not to the works of Signorelli and Melozzo da Forli. In his visit to
the Vatican he notices a certain gallery which was being decorated
with views of Italy, ancient and modern, by the order of Gregory
XIII., the reigning Pope, and also those by Vasari in the Sala Regia
depicting recent events of history which could hardly fail to interest
him--the battle of Lepanto, the massacre of S. Bartholomew, and the
death of Coligny. At Padua he praises the gardens of the Arena, but
leaves unnoticed the chapel and its frescoes: probably he had never
heard Giotto’s name. He has much to say of the Piazza at Siena, of
the fountain and of the bronze wolf, but only a few words as to the
exterior of the Cathedral, and not one about the many works of art
within. At the Certosa at Pavia he mentions the carven façade and the
tomb of Gian Galeazzo Visconti, but ignores the paintings. Sculpture
seems to have had much greater fascination for him: he gives the names
of many of the great works in the Vatican and Capitol, and praises
Michael Angelo’s “Moses” and his statues in the Medici Chapel at
Florence. He makes special mention of “la belle fame qui est aus pieds
du Pape Pol tiers en la nouvelle église de S. Pierre,” the statue which
the prudery of a later Pontiff caused to be encased in robes of bronze.
Montaigne would occasionally throw a hard word at the Jesuits, and
probably he disliked them as a body, but, however this might be, he
seldom failed to seek out any member of the order who might be resident
in the cities he visited; no doubt because he knew he would meet a
well-educated man, and one able to converse with him on the topics
he had most at heart. At Rome he gives high praise to the diligence
and ability of the Jesuits, probably for the reason that he found
the practical drift of their policy congenial to his own humour. He
certainly showed no sign of enthusiasm in contemplating the scenes of
the more emotional phenomena of Catholicism, for he made no reference
to S. Catherine when describing Siena, and Assisi he did not deem
worth a visit. He probably went to Loreto on account of the historic
fame of the Santa Casa, and he was certainly much more impressed by
the material aspect of the prevalent legend, the crowds of pilgrims,
the shops for the sale of candles and _ex votos_, the riches of the
treasury, and the profit of the pilgrimage to the townsfolk, than by
the spiritual aspect of the same.
Montaigne, sceptic as he was in dealing with religious questions,
never allowed this disposition to induce him to take up an unqualified
attitude of hostility. Over the claims of the miraculous he kept his
judgment in suspense, and did not condemn as a necessary imposture
what he could not accept as a proven truth. Joseph Glanvil, in
_Sadducismus Triumphatus_, holds a similar position in condemning what
he calls “the credulity of unbelief,” that is, when sceptics, by way
of discrediting phenomena which they cannot accept, suggest, as an
alternative explanation, something still harder to believe. At Loreto,
in commenting on the alleged miraculous cure of a certain M. Marteau,
Montaigne shows a marked inclination to accept the popular version
of the story, and omits to appraise the divers subjective influences
which invariably play an important part in remedial phenomena of
this description. Again, he is swayed by the same humour in writing
concerning the peculiar virtue of the earth in the Campo Santo at Pisa,
which was fabled to preserve human remains from corruption for any
length of time.
Nothing that Montaigne saw in his travels seems to have given him more
pleasure than the sight of the exquisite cultivation of the plains and
hillsides in Italy and the consequent well-being of the _contadini_.
On this subject he writes with enthusiasm and even astonishment while
descending the southern slopes of the Alps, and traversing the Lombard
plain and the lovely valley of Clitumnus. Nowhere in the “Journal”
does he speak with a stronger note of gratification than in describing
these evidences of material prosperity: not even when he tells of an
interview with some learned man, or sets down some new facts concerning
prevalent laws and institutions, or ventures on some shrewd and
luminous inference founded on his experiences of the men and cities he
had got to know in the course of his travels.
The part of the “Journal” which will be found most interesting to
contemporary readers is unquestionably that which describes his sojourn
in Rome. His perception was dazzled and awe-stricken at the spectacle
of the vast and ruinous habitation which then sheltered the greatest
unifying influence still existing in the world; but, impressed as he
was by the majesty of the Papal power, he made it quite clear that
this was not for him the true Rome. His conception of the genius of
the place was in the main a subjective one. With an intelligence
disciplined and enriched by historic study, he seemed to behold at
every turn the phantom of that astounding domination, now empty, vain,
and shattered; and, in recording his reflections on this pregnant
theme, his style rises as near to rhapsody as his well-balanced
temperament would allow.
With respect to Rome as he found it, Montaigne was profoundly impressed
by the manifestation of the concentrated power of the Catholic
Church, the splendour of the religious functions, and the activity and
devotion of the various confraternities. He estimates this show of
religious enthusiasm, and the ardour of the people over their spiritual
exercises, as the chief glory of the place as it then existed. At the
same time he was quite unconvinced by the spectacle of an attempt by
some priests to exorcise evil spirits, and evidently viewed the whole
affair as a nauseous imposture, like Fynes Moryson on a subsequent
visit. His tolerant disposition is shown by the keen interest he took
over the Lutheran baptismal and marriage rites which he witnessed at
Augsburg, and few experiences of his travels seem to have interested
him more than the ceremony of circumcision, which he witnessed in the
house of a Jew in Rome, and described in minute detail and at great
length.
The main object of Montaigne’s journey was to visit certain foreign
baths, with the hope of getting relief from the pains which he
suffered through gall-stone and gravel. Seeing that he must almost
always have been in pain, or at least discomfort, and that the
inconveniences of travel were in themselves no light burden in these
days, the constant cheerfulness of his temper, and his freshness
of sentiment and speech, whenever he chanced to be brought face to
face with some attractive experience, prove what a sweet and happy
nature his must have been. He records how on the road from Terni to
Spoleto he was suffering from colic, which had vexed him for the
last four-and-twenty hours, but this plague did not prevent him from
expressing his delight over the exquisite scenery on either hand.
Travel by itself was to him the keenest pleasure, as he shows in the
quaint remarks he lets fall when journeying from Trent to Rovere. His
companions were seemingly aggrieved that he occasionally led them a
wild-goose chase, and brought them back to the point from which they
started; but he gaily assured them that he never missed his way,
because, as he never made plans, the place in which he might find
himself at sunset must needs be the legitimate end of the day’s travel.
Perhaps of all the humours he displayed _en route_, the most marked
was his insatiable curiosity and his avidity of fresh experience. He
met the Pope (Gregory XIII.), the Grand Duke of Tuscany, the Duke of
Ferrara, and cardinals, ambassadors, chancellors, and officials out
of number, and hardly one of these got rid of him without having to
listen and reply to divers well-judged questions. He even went so far
as to pay visits to the lodgings of the fashionable _cortigiane_ in
Rome, as Coryat did at Venice. In many places he writes in a strain
which shows that, in spite of bodily ills and his clear perception
of the troubles of the world, he felt a keen joy in life. On setting
out for Italy he declared he seemed to be in like case to one who
reads some delightful story or good book and dreads to turn the last
page. The pleasure of travel was to him so intense, that he hated the
sight of the place where he ought by rights to stop and rest. The
grant of Roman citizenship evidently pleased him greatly, as did his
election as Mayor of Bordeaux, though he coquetted a little with the
burgesses at first. But though he and the world were good friends, he
kept constantly before his mind the certainty and the nearness of the
hour when they must part. There is nothing of fear, nothing even of
querulousness, in his reflections when he was evidently very ill at
Lucca. “It would be too great cowardice and _ischifiltà_ on my part if,
knowing that I am every day in danger of death from these ailments, and
drawing nearer thereto every hour in the course of nature, I did not
do my best to bring myself into a fitting mood to meet my end whenever
it may come. And in this respect it is wise to take joyfully all the
good fortune God may send. Moreover there is no remedy, nor rule, nor
knowledge whereby to keep clear of these evils which, from every side
and at every minute, gather round man’s footsteps, save in the resolve
to endure them with dignity, or boldly and promptly make an end of
them.” We seem here to be very far from the traditional frivolity of
the Frenchman; much nearer to the calm wisdom of Epictetus or Marcus
Aurelius.
Montaigne travelled in company with M. Mattecoulon, his younger
brother; M. d’Estissac, probably the son of the lady to whom he
dedicated the “Essay,” Book ii. No. 8; M. de Caselis, who left the
party to stay on at Padua; and M. d’Hautoy, who seems to have remained
with him all through the journey. Mattecoulon remained in Rome after
Montaigne’s final departure, and shortly after he was imprisoned on
account of a duel (“Essays,” ii. 27), and liberated by the good offices
of the King of France. M. d’Estissac seems to have remained behind with
him.
The first two books of the “Essays” were published in 1580, before the
author set forth on his travels, and the work, as we know it, was first
given to the world in 1588, with the third book added. In this book
he refers to several incidents of his sojourn in Rome--notably to the
grant of Roman citizenship which was then made to him. In addition,
he carefully revised the first and second books by the light of his
foreign experiences, and made some six hundred additions, many of which
refer to incidents connected with his journey. He mentions the strange
story of Mary Germain, who underwent transformation from the female to
the male sex, a story also noticed by Ambrose Paré, the great French
surgeon; the execution at Rome of Catena, a notorious criminal; and his
visit to Tasso at Ferrara. Curiously enough, he makes no mention of
this visit in the “Journal.”
It is hard to believe that a man so communicative as Montaigne would
have kept secret from his friends the existence of the written record
he made of his journey; and, taking it for granted that the existence
of the MS. was suspected, it is just as hard to understand how it
happened that a search was not made for it after his death, and that
it should have lain undiscovered till M. Prunis found it in 1774. The
MS. was complete, except a leaf or so at the beginning, and nearly
half of it seems to have been written from dictation by a valet or
secretary, Montaigne himself having taken up the task on February 16th,
1581. The handwriting, both of master and man, was very bad, and it
needed all the skill of M. Capperonier, the royal librarian at Paris,
and of other experts, to disentangle the meaning of the caligraphy, and
make a legible copy. When this was finished, it was placed in the hands
of M. Querlon, who brought out the first edition in 1774.
It would be unreasonable to expect any elegancies of style in the
portion of the “Journal” written down by the secretary from dictation,
and when Montaigne himself takes the pen in hand he does not greatly
mend matters. All through will be found the strangest mixture of
subjects, and jerkiness of style. The most incongruous themes are
treated in juxtaposition. At Augsburg, at the end of a discussion with
a Lutheran theologian, he throws in the remark that they had white
hares for supper; and again, while speaking of mixed marriages, he
records that here they clean windows with a hairbrush fixed on the end
of a stick. At Rome he passes in a breath from a consideration of the
relative prevalence of heresy in France and Spain to a remark that all
the cargo boats on the Tiber are towed by buffaloes. In cataloguing
the advantages of the city as a place of abode he tells how many
of the palaces of the high nobility were at the disposition of any
strange gentleman who might wish to repair thither for the night with a
companion to his taste, and how in no other city in the world could be
heard so many sermons and theological disputes.
As soon as he had crossed the Alps on his homeward way Montaigne
evidently looked upon his journey as over. The entries in the “Journal”
are merely memoranda of the various stopping places, and the note of
sadness in these closing sentences is very evident. All interest in the
places he passed is now vanished, and the humours of the road appeal to
him no more. He is going home, an old man afflicted by an ailment which
has proved incurable, with only the prospect of a few years of invalid
life before him, and he may well be excused for falling into a mood
which throws a darker shade over the last pages of his record.
THE JOURNAL OF MONTAIGNE’S TRAVELS IN ITALY
BY WAY OF SWITZERLAND AND GERMANY[1] IN 1580 AND 1581
I
FRANCE
... Monsieur de Montaigne sent Monsieur Mattecoulon[2] with his squire
by post to pay a visit to the count[3] aforesaid, whom they found
wounded, but not mortally. At Beaumont M. d’Estissac joined our party
for the sake of company, our routes being the same. He had with him a
gentleman, a _valet-de-chambre_, two lackeys, a muleteer and a mule,
an addition equal in number to our own party, the outlay being equally
divided. On Monday, September 5th, we left Beaumont after dinner, and
rode in one bout to Meaux, where we arrived in time for supper.
[Illustration: MEAUX
_To face p. 26_, vol. i.
]
Meaux is a small and handsome town on the Marne, divided into three
parts. The town itself and its suburbs are on this side of the river
towards Paris, and over the Marne lies another portion--the third--a
large suburb known as the Marché, surrounded on all sides by the
river and a well-constructed ditch, and containing many houses and
inhabitants. This place was formerly strongly fortified by high and
formidable walls and towers, but in the second period of our Huguenot
troubles, the greater part of the inhabitants being of that party, all
these defences were thrown down. This quarter also withstood the attack
of the English, the other portions of the town being ruined, and by way
of reward the inhabitants of the Marché are still exempted from payment
of _taille_ and other taxes. They point out in the Marne an island, two
or three hundred feet in length, which was, they say, originally an
embankment made by the English as a position from which the fortress of
the Marché might be bombarded by warlike engines, the artificial work
having become firm ground in the course of time.[4] In this faubourg
we saw the abbey of Saint Faron, a building of great antiquity, where
they show certain chambers in which Ogier the Dane[5] is said to have
dwelt. There is also an ancient refectory, with tables of stone, very
long and massive, and of an unwonted size, and in the middle of this
hall was formerly a spring of fresh water which served for drinking.
To this day most of the monks are men of gentle birth. Amongst other
things is to be seen an ancient and stately tomb, upon which are carved
in stone the figures of two knights of abnormal stature, and legend
says that these represent Ogier the Dane and one of his paladins. It
has neither inscription nor armorial device, nothing save a sentence
in Latin which an abbot caused to be set thereon some hundred years
ago, recording that two unknown heroes lie buried below; and in the
treasury they still show the bones of these knights, the bone of the
arm, from shoulder to elbow, being about the length of the entire arm
of a man of average stature in these days, and a little longer than
that of M. de Montaigne. They show likewise two of their swords, about
the length of our own two-handed swords, the edges gapped by strokes
of battle. At Meaux, M. de Montaigne paid a visit to the treasurer of
the church of St. Stephen, one Juste Terrelle,[6] a man of note amongst
the savants of France, a little old man, sixty years of age, who has
visited Egypt and Jerusalem, and lived seven years in Constantinople.
He showed us his library and the curiosities of his garden, where the
most wonderful thing we saw was a tree of box of round growth, and so
thick by artificial cutting, that it seemed to be a circular ball,
massive and trim, about a man’s height.
From Meaux, where we took our dinner on the Tuesday, we set out and
slept at Charly, seven leagues distant. On Wednesday after dinner we
went on to sleep at Dormans, seven leagues farther on, and on the
morrow we arrived in time for dinner at Esprenei.[7] After our arrival
M. de Montaigne and M. d’Estissac went to the church of Notre Dame
to hear Mass, as was their wont. M. de Montaigne had taken note that
when M. de Strozzi[8] was slain some years ago at Thionville they had
buried his body in this church, wherefore he now inquired what manner
of sepulture had been given him, and found that he had been buried
in a spot in front of the high altar which was marked neither by
memorial nor tombstone, nor armorial device, nor epitaph. They told
us, moreover, that the queen[9] had caused him to be buried thus simply
because this was his desire. The day being the feast of our Lady of
September[10] the office was said by the bishop of Rennes, one of the
Parisian family of Hanequin and abbé of this church. After the Mass was
finished, M. de Montaigne met in the church M. Maldonat,[11] a Jesuit
well known to fame by reason of his philosophical and theological
learning. They held divers learned discourses together during and after
dinner in M. de Montaigne’s lodging, whither Maldonat had come to see
him. Amongst other matters Maldonat described the baths of Spa, near
by to Liège, where he had recently sojourned in company with M. de
Nevers. These are exceedingly cold, and it is there considered that
the colder the water the better. The springs are so cold that some who
drink thereof fall into a trembling and shuddering, but soon after the
water causes a fine feeling of warmth in the stomach. In his case he
took a hundred ounces; the glasses being supplied by the attendants of
whatever measure each particular visitor may require. The waters may
be drunk fasting and also after a meal, and their effect seemed to be
similar to those of Gascony. As to his own experience he gave certain
observations concerning their strength, and as to the hurt which had
befallen him through drinking the same when sweating and fatigued. He
marked how frogs and other small animals died immediately they were
thrown into the water, and how a handkerchief, which was placed over
a glass filled with the same, quickly became yellow. The shortest
course of treatment is fifteen days or three weeks. It is a place where
excellent accommodation and lodgment may be found, and is most salutary
in cases of gravel or obstruction. Nevertheless neither the speaker nor
M. de Nevers got any relief from the waters.
Maldonat had with him the _maître d’hôtel_ of M. de Nevers. They gave
to M. de Montaigne the printed paper relating to the dispute between
M. de Montpensier and M. de Nevers,[12] so that he might be rightly
informed concerning the matter, and be able to explain the same to
any gentlefolk who might question him thereanent. We set forth on the
Friday morning and travelled seven leagues to Châlons.[13] Here we
lodged at the “Crown,” a fine house, where we were served on silver
plate, and most of us were provided with silken bedding. The ordinary
houses of this district are built of chalk stone, cut into small blocks
about half a foot square; some, however, are of turf, treated in like
fashion. On the morrow we set out after dinner and slept at Vitri le
François, seven leagues farther on.
This is a small town on the banks of the Marne, built some thirty-five
or forty years ago in place of the former town, which had been burnt.
It still keeps its original form, pleasant and well proportioned, and
in the midst thereof is a large square, one of the finest in France.
During our sojourn there, three marvellous stories were told to us.
One was that Madame the Dowager de Guise de Bourbon,[14] who was
living at the age of eighty-seven years, could still go afoot for the
distance of a quarter of a league. Another was, that a short time ago,
execution had been done at Montirandet,[15] a place close by, upon one
condemned for a certain offence. Several years before, seven or eight
girls belonging to Chaumont-en-Bassigni had secretly determined to
put on male attire, and to live the life of men. Amongst these one,
called Mary, came from Vitry aforenamed. She got her living by weaving,
passing as a well-favoured young man, and on friendly terms with every
one. She engaged herself to marry a woman of Vitry, who is still alive,
but on account of some strife which arose between them, the match went
no further. Afterwards, having gone to Montirandet, and still following
the weavers calling, she fell in love again with a certain woman, with
whom she married and lived, as the story goes, contentedly four or five
months. But, having been recognised by some one living at Chaumont, and
the matter having been brought to the notice of the courts, she was
condemned to be hanged; whereupon she declared she would liefer suffer
thus than live a woman’s life. She was hanged on the charge of using
unlawful appliances to remedy the defects of her sex.
The third story is of a man still living named Germain,[16] of humble
condition, and engaged in no employment. Up to the age of twenty-two
years he had been regarded by all the townsfolk as a girl, albeit the
chin was more hairy than that of other girls, for which reason she
was called _Marie la barbue_. It came to pass one day when she put
forth all her strength in taking a leap, that the distinctive signs
of manhood showed themselves, whereupon the Cardinal of Lenoncourt,
at that time bishop of Châlons, gave him the name of Germain. This
personage is still unmarried, and has a large thick beard. We could not
see him because he was away at the village where he lived. A popular
song, sung by the girls of the place, warns all girls against taking
long strides lest they should become men like Marie Germain. Report
says that Ambrose Paré has taken note of this tale in his book on
surgery. It is certainly true, and testimony thereof was given to M. de
Montaigne by the chief officials of the town. We left this place after
breakfast on Sunday morning and travelled to Bar,[17] a distance of
nine leagues.
M. de Montaigne had already visited this town. He now came upon
nothing fresh worth noting, save the extraordinary outlay which a
certain priest, the dean of the place, had made, and was still making,
over public works. His name was Gilles de Trèves.[18] He has built a
chapel of marble, with paintings and ornaments, the most sumptuous of
any in France; and besides this, he has erected and almost furnished a
house which is the finest in the town, of the fairest structure, the
best planned and furnished, elaborated with rich carved work and most
comfortable as a residence. This he desires to make a college, to endow
the same, and set it to work at his own charges. From Bar, where we
took our dinner on the Monday morning, we journeyed four leagues to
Mannese,[19] where we slept.
This was a small village, where M. de Montaigne was forced to halt by
reason of a colic, for which same cause he put aside the plan he had
formed of seeing Toul, Metz, Nancy, Joinville, and St. Disier, towns
scattered along the route, and repaired direct by diligence to the
baths of Plombières. From Mannese we departed on the Tuesday morning,
and took our dinner at Vaucouleur, a place a league farther on. Passing
along the banks of the Meuse we came to Donremy-sur-Meuse, seven
leagues from Vaucouleur, where was born the famous Maid of Orleans
named Jeanne Day or Dallis. Her family was afterwards ennobled by the
king,[20] who made a grant of arms which was shown to us; azure with a
straight sword, crowned and with a golden hilt, and two _fleurs-de-lis_
in gold beside the sword aforenamed. A certain receiver of Vaucouleur
gave a painted escutcheon of the same to M. de Caselis. The front of
the little house where she was born is all painted with her feats, but
the colour is much decayed through age. There is also a tree beside
a vineyard which they call “_l’arbre de la Pucelle_,” but there is
nothing remarkable about it. That evening we slept, after travelling
five leagues, at Neufchasteau.
Here in the church of the Cordeliers are many ancient tombs, three or
four hundred years old, erected to the memory of the nobles of the
province. The inscriptions thereon all run in these terms: “Here lies
a certain one who died when the tale of years was passing through the
twelve hundreds,” &c.[21] M. de Montaigne went to see the library,
which contains many books, but none of them rare; and a well from which
water is drawn by vast buckets which are turned by stepping with the
feet on to a wooden plank attached to a wheel: the axle of the wheel
aforesaid being a piece of wood to which the well rope is fastened. He
had seen elsewhere others like it. Beside the well is a great stone
trough, six or seven feet above the brim, and the bucket rises and
empties water into this trough without further help, and lowers itself
when empty. This trough is raised so high that by means of leaden pipes
the water of the well finds its way to the refectory and kitchen and
bath-house. It likewise springs forth out of masses of stone, built
to counterfeit natural fountains. We breakfasted in the morning at
Neufchasteau, and after travelling six leagues we supped at Mirecourt.
This is a fair little town where M. de Montaigne heard tidings of M.
and Madame de Bourbon who dwelt near thereto. On the morning of the
morrow after breakfast he went a quarter of a league or so aside from
our route to see the nuns of Poussay. This was one of those religious
houses, of which there are many in these parts, established for the
maintenance of women of good family. Each one has pension by way of
sustenance, of one, two, or three hundred crowns, some less, some
more, and a separate dwelling where each one can live apart. There
little girls are taken in to nurse; no obligation of virginity is
laid upon any except those holding office, to wit, the abbess, the
prioress, and certain others. They have liberty to dress as they will,
like other ladies, except that they wear on their heads a white veil;
and, in church during the Mass, they wear a large cloak which they
leave behind them in their seat in the choir. The inmates can receive
any acquaintance who may come to seek them, whether to urge them to
matrimony or for any other reason. Any one who is so minded may sell
her annuity to whomsoever she will, provided that this person be of the
class and condition required. For certain of the nobles of the district
have this duty laid upon them, to wit, that they must be satisfied by a
sworn declaration as to the lineage of the candidate whom any one may
bring forward. It is not unbecoming for one nun to hold three or four
annuities. During their sojourn they attend religious services the same
as in other places, and the greater part of them end their days there
without desiring change of condition.
On leaving this place we rode five leagues to supper at Espine,[22] a
well-built little town where entry was denied to us for that we had
journeyed by Neufchasteau where the plague had raged a short time ago.
On the next day in the morning we reached Plommieres[23] in time for
dinner, a journey of four leagues.
From Bar-le-Duc onwards the leagues are again of the Gascon measure,
and as one approaches Germany they become longer and longer, so that,
at last, they wax double, or even treble. We entered Plommieres on
Friday the 16th of September 1580, at two o’clock in the afternoon.
It is on the borders of Lorraine and Germany, situated in a chasm
between divers lofty scarped hills, which close it in on all sides. At
the bottom of this valley several springs, cold and hot as well, flow
forth. The hot water has neither smell nor taste, and is by nature as
hot as any one can endure to drink: so much so that M. de Montaigne
was obliged to pass it from glass to glass. Only two of the springs
are drunk. One which flows from the eastward and forms the bath, which
they call the Queen’s Bath, leaves in the mouth a certain sweet taste,
not unlike liquorice, and no disagreeable aftertaste. But after very
careful attention, M. de Montaigne declared that a slight flavour of
iron might be detected therein. The other spring which rises at the
base of the mountain opposite, and of which M. de Montaigne drank only
one day, is slightly harsh, and has the flavour of alum. The habit
of the place is to take a bath two or three times a day. Some take
their meals in the bath, where they are cupped and scarified, and do
not drink the waters except after a purge. If they drink at all, they
take a glass or two in the bath. They deemed the practice of M. de
Montaigne a mighty strange one, to wit that, without any preparatory
medicine, he should take nine glasses of water, amounting to a potful,
every morning at seven, and dine at mid-day; that on the days when he
bathed--every other one--he should fix upon four o’clock, and only stay
about an hour in the water. And on these days he willingly went without
his supper.
We saw some men cured of ulcers and others of pimples on the body.
The wonted course is a month at least, and rooms are let most readily
in May. Few people frequent the place after the month of August, by
reason of the cold, but we found much company there still, because the
heat and drought had been abnormally prolonged. Amongst others, M.
de Montaigne gained the friendship and acquaintance of the Seigneur
d’Andelot of Franche Conté,[24] the son of the master of the horse of
the Emperor Charles V. He himself was chief field-marshal in the army
of Don John of Austria, and he held the governorship of St. Quentin
after we lost the place. One portion of his beard and one side of his
eyebrow had become white, and he told M. de Montaigne how this change
had come about in a moment of time, on a certain day when he was filled
with distress over the death of one of his brothers, whom the Duke of
Alva had put to death as an accomplice of the Counts Egmont and Horn.
He was sitting resting his head upon his hand, which touched the places
beforenamed, wherefore his attendants, when they saw what had happened
to him, deemed that some flour must have fallen upon him by accident.
He has been like this ever since.
This bath was formerly used only by Germans, but for several years past
the people of Franche Conté and France have come in great numbers.
There are several baths, and the principal one is built oval in shape,
after the fashion of an ancient edifice. It is thirty-five paces long
and fifteen wide. The hot water rises from several springs, and cold
water is made to trickle down into the bath so that the heat may be
moderated according to the taste of those who use it. The places in
the bath are set out side by side by bars suspended like those in our
stables, and planks are laid over the top so as to keep off the heat of
the sun and the rain. The visitors in this place maintain a singular
propriety of carriage, and it is reckoned indecent for men to bathe
naked or with less clothing than a little jacket, or for women to wear
less than a chemise. We lodged at the “Angel,” which is the best house,
because it communicates with two of the baths. The charge for lodging,
when several rooms were engaged, was no more than fifteen sous a day.
The hosts supply all wood for this charge, but the country is so rich
therein that it costs nothing but the cutting, and the hostesses do
exceedingly well in the kitchens. When the high season comes a lodging
like this one would cost a crown a day, and be cheap at the price.
Horse feed is seven sous a day, and everything else the visitor needs
to buy is good and reasonable in price. The chambers are not sumptuous,
but very convenient, and, by reason of the numerous galleries, there is
never need to pass through one to reach another; but the wine and bread
are bad. The people are worthy, independent, sensible, and obliging.
All the laws of the land are religiously observed, and every year they
write afresh on a tablet, hung up in front of the principal bath, the
laws there inscribed in the German and French tongues as follows:--
“Claude de Rynach, knight, lord of St. Balesmont, Montureulz en
Ferette, Lendacourt, &c., councillor and chamberlain of our sovereign
lord monseigneur the Duke &c., and his balli of the Vosges.
“Let it be known that for securing the comfort and quietude of the many
ladies and other persons, coming from divers countries to these baths
of Plommieres, we have (according to the intention of his Highness)
decreed and ordained as follows:
“Let it be known that corrective discipline for light offences shall
remain as heretofore in the hands of the Germans, who are enjoined
to enforce observation of all ceremonies, regulations, and police,
which have hitherto been used for the seemly maintenance of the baths
aforesaid, and for the punishment of offences committed by those of
their own nation, without granting exception to any person by the
payment of ransom, and without using blasphemy or other irreverent
remarks against the Catholic Church and the traditions of the same.
“It is forbidden to all people, of whatever quality, condition,
region, or province they may be, to use provocation in insulting
language tending to lead to quarrels: to carry arms while at the baths
aforesaid: to give the lie: to put hand to arms under pain of severe
punishment as breakers of the peace, rebels and disobedient to his
Highness.
“Also it is forbidden to all prostitutes and immodest women to enter
the baths, or to be found within five hundred paces of the same
under penalty of a whipping at the four corners of the town. And the
householders who shall receive or conceal them shall incur the pain of
imprisonment and arbitrary fine.
“The same penalty will fall on those who shall use any lascivious or
immodest discourse to any ladies, or damsels, or other women and girls
who may be visiting the baths, or touch them in a manner unbecoming, or
enter or quit the baths in ribald fashion, contrary to public decency.