form; he did not possess the supreme mastery of language which alone can
lead to the creation of great works of literary art. His scepticism is
not important as a contribution to philosophical thought, for his mind
was devoid both of the method and of the force necessary for the pursuit
and discovery of really significant intellectual truths. To claim for
him such titles of distinction is to overshoot the mark, and to distract
attention from his true eminence. Montaigne was neither a great artist
nor a great philosopher; he was not _great_ at all. He was a charming,
admirable human being, with the most engaging gift for conversing
endlessly and confidentially through the medium of the printed page ever
possessed by any man before or after him. Even in his self-revelations
he is not profound. How superficial, how insignificant his rambling
ingenuous outspokenness appears beside the tremendous introspections of
Rousseau! He was probably a better man than Rousseau; he was certainly a
more delightful one; but he was far less interesting. It was in the
gentle, personal, everyday things of life that his nature triumphed.
Here and there in his Essays, this simple goodness wells up clear and
pure; and in the wonderful pages on Friendship, one sees, in all its
charm and all its sweetness, that beautiful humanity which is the inward
essence of Montaigne.




CHAPTER III

THE AGE OF TRANSITION


In the seventy years that elapsed between the death of Montaigne (1592)