[“The mind desires what it has lost, and in fancy flings itself wholly into the past.”]
Let childhood look forward, and age backward; is not this the signification of Janus’ double face? Let years haul me along if they will, but it shall be backward; as long as my eyes can discern the pleasant season expired, I shall now and then turn them that way; though it escape from my blood and veins, I shall not, however, root the image of it out of my memory:
“Hoc est
Vivere bis, vita posse priore frui.”—Martial, x. 23, 7.
[“’Tis to live twice to be able to enjoy former life again.”]
Harmlessly, even engagingly, pensive seems the foregoing strain of sentiment. Who could suppose it a prelude to detailed reminiscence on the author’s part of sensual pleasures—the basest—enjoyed in the past? The venerable voluptuary keeps himself in countenance for his lascivious vein by writing as follows:
I have enjoined myself to dare to say all that I dare to do; even thoughts that are not to be published displease me; the worst of my actions and qualities do not appear to me so evil, as I find it evil and base not to dare to own them....
... I am greedy of making myself known, and I care not to how many, provided it be truly.... Many things that I would not say to a particular individual, I say to the people; and, as to my most secret thoughts, send my most intimate friends to my book.... For my part, if any one should recommend me as a good pilot, as being very modest, or very chaste, I should owe him no thanks [because the recommendation would be false].
We must leave it—as, however, Montaigne himself is far enough from leaving it—to the imagination of readers to conjecture what “pleasures” they are, of which this worn-out debauchee (nearing death, and thanking God that he nears it “without fear”) speaks in the following sentimental strain:
In farewells, we oftener than not heat our affections toward the things we take leave of: I take my last leave of the pleasures of this world; these are our last embraces.