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I find myself nearly finished writing a book whose hero is Michel de Montaigne. In the manuscript, I quote him many times. I have read large swaths of his Essays in M.A. Screech’s translation, which is learned and reliable (and good English prose). I translate the passages that concern me most. But sometimes I also turn to John Florio’s 1603 translation, which was hugely influential. Shakespeare had the same publisher as Florio and drew heavily on Montaigne, probably using Florio’s translation.
Florio is not always as literal as I need for my purpose (closely reading Montaigne), but he is an excellent writer.
Consider, for example, a passage from “De Mesnager sa Volonté” (or “How one ought to governe his will” in Florio’s translation). I will first offer a summary, interpolating my own translations, and then show what Florio does with with the text.
The passage begins with Montaigne saying that he no longer wants to improve himself. “It’s almost better never to become an honest man than to do so so late, and certainly better to learn how to live when you no longer have a life to live. I, who am about to depart, would gladly pass on to someone who comes after me the lessons of prudence I’ve learned in dealing with the world. Mustard after dinner.”
He mentions the recent change to the Gregorian Calendar, a reform that has “eclipsed” ten days. He says that it depresses him, and he finds himself clinging to the old ways even though it makes him feel a bit like a heretic. He convinces himself that the reform is not for him but for those who will follow after he has died. He may keep “counting” the days as he has. He explains, “In short, here I am, finishing this man, not remaking another. Through long use, this form has passed into substance for me, and fortune into nature.”
I think Montaigne means both that the old calendar, which was a flawed human invention, has become a natural truth for him—and also that all the experiences that have accidentally turned him into Michel de Montaigne have become his substance and nature. “I say, therefore, that each of us, in our weakness, should be excused for considering as our own what is comprised within this measure. But also, beyond these limits, there is nothing but confusion.”
Now consider Florio’s version:
I will say this by way of example; that the eclipsing or abridging of tenne dayes, which the Pope hath lately caused, hath taken me so lowe, that I can hardly recover my selfe. I followe the yeares, wherein we were wont to compt otherwise. So long and ancient a custome doth chalenge and recall me to it againe. I am thereby enforced to be somewhat an heretike: Incapable of innovation, though corrective. My imagination maugre my teeth runnes still tenne dayes before, or tenne behinde; and whispers in mine eares: This rule toucheth those, which are to come. If health it selfe so sweetely-pleasing, comes to me but by fittes, it is rather to give mee cause of griefe, than possession of it selfe. I have no where left me to retire it. Time forsakes me; without which nothing is enjoyed. How small accompt should I make of these great elective dignities I see in the worlde, and which are onely given to men, ready to leave the world! wherein they regarde not so much how duelie they shall discharge them, as how little they shall exercise them: from the beginning they looke to the end. To conclude, I am ready to finish this man, not to make another. By long custome, this forme is changed into substance, and Fortune into Nature. I say therefore, that amongst us feeble creatures, each one is excusable to compt that his owne, which is comprehended under this measure. And yet all beyond these limites, is nothing but confusion.
Florio sees a theme here about “counting” and uses that verb (“compt” or “accompt”) three times. There is no similar echo in Montaigne’s French text, but this is a lovely way to convey the author’s argument.
Likewise, Florio’s “hath taken me so lowe, that I can hardly recover my selfe” allows him to foreshadow the discussion of Montaigne’s “self” that is coming soon, although the word is not in the original (“m’ont prins si bas que je ne m’en puis bonnement accoustrer.”)
Screech ably translates a sentence as “I grit my teeth [a modern idiom], but my mind is always ten days ahead or ten days behind; it keeps muttering in my ears” (p. 1143). However, Florio’s language is more pungent: “My imagination maugre my teeth runnes still tenne dayes before, or tenne behinde; and whispers in mine eares.”
See also: Montaigne’s equanimity; was Montaigne a relativist?; three takes on the good life: Aristotle, Buddha, Montaigne