Si qua volet regnare diu, contemnat amantem.
If any mistress wants to go on reigning over her lover, then let her scorn him. (Ovid)
This essay brings up a lot of thoughts and feelings for me. For one, it’s fascinating to me that he wrote it before meeting Marie de Gournay, because their story aligns with the message so well. I wonder if she took inspiration from the essay in how she dealt with Montaigne. No doubt de Gournay was brilliant, so who knows.
Upon their meeting, which de Gournay set up by basically stalking him, historical lore has it that Montaigne attempted to seduce her. But anticipating his move, de Gournay convinced Montaigne to declare her as his “adopted daughter,” defusing his advance. She goes on to have a great influence on the third volume of essays and served as his posthumous executor.
But the story is even more interesting than that. A posthumous edition of the essays includes a glowing Montaigne description of de Gournay, one that hinted strongly of a romantic bond between them. Montaigne scholars question the authenticity of the section—Sarah Bakewell believes it reads much more like de Gournay’s work than Montaigne’s. Some credibility is lended to this theory by the fact it only appeared in one posthumous edition of the essays, de Gournay pulled it in subsequent editions.
Still, it is possible that de Gournay was accurately relaying Montaigne’s sentiments for her. Or there’s an interesting third possibility — that the excerpt was evidence that the table turned in the relationship and that while Montaigne was unsuccessful in his early pursuit of her, she might have been equally unsuccessful when she caught feelings for him.
All of this sounds like a plot line in Stendhal’s “The Red and the Black,” and is more evidence that once romantic games begin, the already difficult task of bringing two people together becomes infinitely more challenging. And it’s not at all surprising that de Gournay might form a deeper attachment to Montaigne, because she was the one closest to him as he approached death:
I have just been chewing over that other fine saying which one of the Ancient philosophers cites as a reason for holding life in contempt: ‘No good can bring us pleasure except one which we have prepared ourselves to lose: “Sorrow for something lost is equal to the fear of losing it.” (Seneca) He wanted to show by that that the fruition of life can never be truly pleasing if we go in fear of losing it.
Seneca is describing one of the hardest feelings to hold and understand, the dread that something you are finding enjoyable, perhaps even blissful, will someday end, and this temporality can bring sorrow and fear. So these moments of heightened bliss are also when we are most sad and afraid of losing what we desire most.
For de Gournay, I doubt that desire was sex. Rather it was probably being in partnership with a brilliant man who deeply respected her intellect, something remarkable and rare in the 16th century. In fact, it’s still relatively rare today.
There’s a certain kind of bond that is overwhelmingly powerful, far beyond any matter of attraction, alignment in values, or some contemporary checklist of what makes a couple compatible. It is a meeting of minds that feels like a spiritual connection. Montaigne had this with his friend Etienne de La Boetie, and in his waning years, relived the experience with de Gournay. Whether love or sex ever became part of it seems immaterial. What we know that they had was already meaningful enough.
Having said this, love and sex are important parts of life and Montaigne certainly had them in mind when he included that quote from Ovid in this essay. I cannot deny that I’m just as susceptible to this trick as any man. If you want to get my attention, make me feel your absence. Bear in mind, however, that Ovid refers to the woman and man as a mistress and her lover.
This tactic is most effective, and ethical, when the passion between two people is fully requited and consummated. A woman scorning a man other than a lover would be torturing him. It could very well increase his desire, but over time, it could destroy his perception of reality and ability to act. Having been in this situation myself, I would so much more appreciate any kind of hint about how I could guide the relationship towards something mutual rather than be given one more reminder of what I’m missing out on.
Taking a step back from the “Dangerous Liaisons” reminiscent romantic warfare, Montaigne applies this wisdom more broadly to all aspects of life where the anticipation of loss can mar the happiest of times.
In opposition to this, I can hear all of the stoic philosophy bros on Instagram (I hate my algorithm, it feeds me these hucksters constantly) telling me how we suffer more in anticipation than reality. I’m often tempted to do the opposite of stoic thoughts purely out of contempt for these know it alls and their Gold’s Gym philosophy.
But stoicism did also inspire Cognitive Behavioral Therapy and the CBT therapist would say that you are experiencing a thinking error, blanking out part of the present with thoughts about the future that aren’t facts. Those who practice mindfulness would also say that this fear of the future is an error in focus, that if you can shift your attention to the moment, you can take in all the bliss of the present and bracket off the parts of life you may expect, but cannot know for sure.
There is another way of thinking about those oppositional feelings, however. So many of our best moments in life feel like they can go on forever. When a moment arises that is so great, our psyche feels compelled to remind us it will end, it’s a wonderful signal. Something inside of us, call it the soul or the unconscious, is telling us that something blissful is happening and we shouldn’t take it for granted.
The answer isn’t to deny those counter-attack feelings, but to welcome them as proof of vitality, as an affirmation of life. So Montaigne moves on from this thought and goes back to the top of the subject:
We see also that by nature there is nothing so contrary to our tastes than that satiety which comes from ease of access; and nothing which sharpens them more than rareness and difficulty: In all things, pleasure is increased by the very danger which ought to make us flee from them.
It sounds to me like Montaigne is mostly talking about sex. But keep in mind that this is someone who craved difficulty is whole life. He could have just retired to his estate. Instead, he created a new literary genre, with a quill pen. I feel Montaigne is this regard, having run marathons, read all the difficult novels I could find, learned new musical instruments late in life, and, probably most consistent of all, remaining most attached to women and romantic situations that were the most confusing and seemingly out of reach.
For me, there’s another psychological factor that makes difficulty appealing. As I’ve mentioned in other essays, my greatest happiness requires some bitter sorrow. Because my happiness is rarely the result of simple pleasures, but derives from being deeply engaged in something I enjoy, I need that pinch of sadness to drive me towards the blissful depths.
But back to Montaigne’s point, which isn’t quite the same. He is discussing barriers as being arousing and this example from the Spartans illustrates it:
To keep love in trim Lycurgus ordained that married couples in Sparta should only have intercourse with each other by stealth, and that it should be as much a disgrace for them to be discovered lying together as lying with others. The difficulty of arranging trysts, the danger of being surprised, the embarrassment on the morning after “and listlessness and no word spoken and the sigh coming from the depth of our bosom.”
And Montaigne finishes this thought with this: “So it is with everything: it is difficulty which makes us prize things.” He elaborates beautifully:
We are equally troubled by desiring something and by possessing it. Coldness in mistresses is most painful, but in very truth compliance and availability are even more so; that is because the yearning which is born in us from the high opinion in which we hold the object of our love sharpens our love, and the choler similarly makes it hot: but satiety engenders a feeling of insipidness; our passion then is blunted, hesitant, weary and half-asleep.
Many years ago, my marriage was in a very bad spot and my eye started to wander once more. I developed an infatuation for a very attractive woman that I believed would lead nowhere. In the meantime, my ex and I patched things up (which in retrospect might have been a mistake for us both) and I put this attraction out of my mind. But short after that, I discovered that she, in fact, was interested in me and still was, which was no longer possibly in mind mind, so I had to turn her down. After becoming single many years later, I attempted to circle back to her, only to find that she was no longer available.
While married, I couldn’t help but notice that there were women who seemed interested in me when I was still married—but lost interest as soon as I was single. Many people want and need the obstacle to feel deeply. And while it’s true that some do so to keep the romance purely in their head, others genuinely believe that a love won through challenge is the only one worth pursuing.
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