Reading Sarah Bakewell's excellent new Humanly Possible, about the development of humanist thought, has sent me back to reread Montaigne. My first reaReading Sarah Bakewell's excellent new Humanly Possible, about the development of humanist thought, has sent me back to reread Montaigne. My first reading was the translation by M.A. Screech on Penguin books, which may be out of print now, but which I highly recommend. This collection of the complete works, translated by Donald H. Frame, includes the essays, the travelogue of Montaigne's journey through Germany, Austria, and Switzerland to Italy, and his letters to various correspondents.
from That the taste of good and evil depends in large part on the opinion we have of them
"Men, says an old Greek maxim, are tormented by the opinions they have of things, not by the things themselves. . . . For if evils have no entry into us but by our judgment, it seems to be in our power to disdain them or turn them to good use. . . . If what we call evil and torment is neither evil nor torment in itself, if it is merely our fancy that gives it this quality, it is in us to change it." (p. 39)
"Epicurus says that being rich is not an alleviation, but a change, of troubles. In truth, it is not want, but rather abundance, that breeds avarice." (p. 51)
This is the Norton Critical Edition. Robert M. Adams's translation has his invaluable notes. No other edition has these notes which are concise and exThis is the Norton Critical Edition. Robert M. Adams's translation has his invaluable notes. No other edition has these notes which are concise and explain all the personalities and military exploits which inform Machiavelli's narrative. So one is able to see what clarity Machiavelli brought to his task. He lays out his rules for a prince and then marshalls pertinent examples. Augmenting the classic text is a section called "Backgrounds" which are selections of other Machiavelli writings. There is some correspondence from the time he served as Florentine diplomat to the court of the rapacious Cesare Borgia, illegitimate son of Pope Julius II. ...more
Shakespeare's history plays on the page are hard for me, somehow too dense, too heavy footnoted. But this little gem flies by in an hour. Such an airyShakespeare's history plays on the page are hard for me, somehow too dense, too heavy footnoted. But this little gem flies by in an hour. Such an airy confection. So I'm going to focus on the comedies for now....more
Cellini was a goldsmith and sculptor of genius and little of his work survives today. Perseus with the Head of Medusa, the bronze sculpture he made inCellini was a goldsmith and sculptor of genius and little of his work survives today. Perseus with the Head of Medusa, the bronze sculpture he made in 1545, being a stunning exception. Precious metals tend to be melted down, especially in times of strife. One of the text's greatest pleasures, therefore, is Cellini's description of his works and his painstaking process of making them. This is truly a book of an artist of exquisite talent and his work plans. Were it not for this text we would know little of the larger body of his work, since, as I've said, so few examples survive.
This praise aside, one is tempted to label this memoir auto-hagiography, for a lot of it is about self-promotion and securing the author's posthumous myth. Cellini's self-love can overwhelm; he has no gift for humility. But the fact remains that the book's also highly readable. Readable as, say, Robert Louis Stevenson's Treasure Island is readable. Suddenly he's walking down the street with his mentor Michelangelo or meeting with Pope Clement—for whom he made many baubles—or manning the Castel Sant'Angelo's guns during the 1527 Sack of Rome by Holy Roman Emperor Charles V.
He was one of those people who liked making enemies. By tearing others down he'd propping himself up. Apparently his works alone were insufficient to the task of contenting him. Perhaps because producing them required such fawning acquiescence before the rich and powerful; Cellini was far too headstrong to be a courtier. When he is calumniated by a vicious Vatican courtier, who says he has gravely insulted the Pope—Farnese now not Clement—Cellini sets off to find work in France, for the Pope will no longer pay him for his baubles' true worth and he fears arrest. On this journey by horseback we glimpse the pristine countryside in 1530 or so from Grisons to Zurich, and then in and around Lausanne, Geneva and Lyons until finally—after fighting off murderous brigands—the road to Paris is open. But soon Cellini returns to his shop and boyfriends in Rome, I found the rationale for doing so unclear.
When Pope Farnese's illegitimate son, Signor Pier Luigi, calumniates Cellini—saying that during the Sack of Rome (under Clement) he stole Vatican jewelry worth 80,000 crowns—he is thrown without a hearing into prison, which turns out to be the same Castel Sant'Angelo from whose terrace he'd valiantly supervised the Church's guns during the Sack. The French king, who met Cellini in Rome, and whom Cellini has promised to come and serve for a time, tries diplomatic measures to free him and fails. Ultimately, the wily goldsmith escapes by tying together strips of bedsheets, but during the escape he breaks his leg. On all fours then, leaving a trail of blood, he crawls through the streets to a friendly Cardinal's house for sanctuary. Pleas from high society are then made to the pope on Cellini's behalf. But once again Luigi smears him with a heinous lie, more outrageous than the first, and Cellini is thrown into the Vatican's worst dungeon crawling with tarantulas and venomous worms. Now his death is eagerly sought by the pope and his henchmen. But finally the French king is victorious in his diplomacy and Cellini is almost literally spirited out of the Vatican.
The French king, Francis I, inundates Cellini with money and honors. I cannot understate how despicably corrupt the French royal court was. My God, the avarice! And naturally there were no police, no rule of law. The so called chivalrous knights were too busy shaking down the peasantry for coins. Moreover, it's the 1540s so we can hardly fault Cellini for the many unsourced scenes in which he is not present but seems to possess a verbatim transcript. Suspect too are his many speeches set before his noble patrons in which he wins the argument. Many of these speeches feel like staircase wit (Yiddish: trepverter; French: l'esprit de l'escalier), if not outright invention. But we must keep in mind that Cellini was very social. It could be that these overheard conversations, some of them, were relayed to him later by third parties. We can never really know for sure of course and this undermines credibility. That said, the autobiography remains a rare glimpse into the daily life of Renaissance Italy and has few if any textual equals, as such it compels careful reading. Highly recommended....more
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