Who wouldn’t have liked to see Montaigne with Francis I and Charles V? This meeting, which never took place, was nonetheless made possible in 1812 thanks to Baron Antoine-Jean Gros (1771–1835), a painter of historical and military subjects and of religious compositions. His painting, Charles Quint venant visiter l’église de Saint-Denis, où il est reçu par François Ier, accompagné de ses fils et des premiers de sa cour (figure 1),i depicts Montaigne as a child.1 It is the painter himself who identifies Montaigne and gives a list of the men and women represented in the framework of his composition.2 The young Michel stands alongside the platform, on the right. The magnificence of the event seems hardly to impress him; he is concentrating his gaze on a detail we cannot see. The scene is supposed to date from January 1540, so that the Montaigne in the picture would be seven years old.
In the nineteenth century, Montaigne specialists argued about his exact place in this picture, as if Gros might have been mistaken about the identity of his figures. Dr. Payen, an eminent and erudite “Montaignologist” of his time, preferred to identify Montaigne not with the young man near the platform, but with a gentleman standing just behind the monarchs. Payen ignored the painter’s designation of the figure and unhesitatingly replaced Henri d’Albret with the author of the Essais. The argument he gave to justify this iconological correction has to do with figure’s physiognomy and a few details of the clothing. We note that the necklace on the gentleman’s dove-gray vest vaguely resembles the chain and medal of the Order of Saint Michael conferred on Montaigne in 1571, more than thirty years later. Other Montaigne specialists also disagreed with the painter’s idea of respecting the dates and representing Montaigne as a child. All this seems to ignore the fact that the figure supposedly representing Montaigne is as tall as Charles V and looks like he is closer to twenty than seven. They preferred to see Montaigne standing, behind the sovereigns, himself a noble and an important political actor. Disregarding chronology, they opted for a Montaigne who was already in full possession of his abilities as a negotiator; in that way they wanted to indicate that the essayist would no doubt have been one of the kingpins at a meeting between Charles V and Francis I, had he been lucky enough to have been born twenty years earlier. Never mind the dates, here we are in the order of the possible; it was better to broaden the picture’s temporal framework a little in order to insert Montaigne into it as a wise philosopher and accomplished author.
1812 is not an insignificant date so far as judgments regarding Montaigne are concerned; in that year he received his literary canonization. The First Empire consecrated the author of the Essais, whom the French Academy had designated for the concours des éloges in 1810. The genre of “eulogies” contributed to the rediscovery of many authors who had been forgotten in the course of the eighteenth century. Thirty-seven candidates entered this prize competition. Ten of the eulogies were published in 1812, and most of them served as introductions to one of the many editions of the Essais printed in the first half of the nineteenth century. In most of the eulogies of Montaigne, as in Antoine-Jean Gros’s painting, no distinction was made between the author and the politician. It was taken for granted that a great writer would participate in the public life of his time and, even at a young age, in historically memorable events.
As a precursor of French Romantic painting, Gros brought the young Montaigne into the history of France by placing him amid the sovereigns of the Renaissance. Exhibited at the Salons of 1812 and 1814—climactic years for Napoleon I and the Empire—this canvas was favorably received by the critics. The painter considered it “his crowning achievement.” All the historical actors of the period between 1530 and 1550 are represented in it, along with great literary men and artists of the time. Influential women, even if their names are less well known today, also occupy prominent places in the composition. Despite a few approximations, Gros does not take liberties with chronology; there is no real anachronism that would spoil the verisimilitude of the scene. The artist also respected, on the whole, the biography of the figures represented, with one notable exception: that of Montaigne.
Traveling through the Low Countries to put down the revolt of the people of Ghent, Charles V was invited by Francis I to cross France. He made his entrance into Paris on January 19, 1540, and asked permission to pay his respects to the tombs of the sovereigns buried in the church of Saint-Denis. The scene chosen to represent this event emphasizes the reconciliation of these powerful monarchs known for their long-standing rivalry, and their shared choice of Catholicism in the age of the “new religion.” The comparison with Napoleon I at the apex of the Empire and just before the Russian campaign is not innocent. In a moment of respite, the two sovereigns stand side by side. Charles V appears as the master of Europe. The emperor of Germany and king of Spain, he dominates his neighbors and has extended his reign as far as the Low Countries. Francis I is accompanied by his sons, Crown Prince Henry, the future king, who is painted in profile and occupies the left side of the picture, and Charles II of Orléans, who is not yet eighteen years old and stands behind his father. Dressed in black, Charles V expresses the mastery and self-assurance of a soldier, he is sizing up his host. The king of France establishes himself in another register, more tranquil and reposed. In accord with his image as the father of the rebirth of the arts and letters, he is surrounded by architects, painters, poets, and men of letters, who constitute a necessary counterpoint to the great military leaders.
Reconciled for the moment, the two sovereigns are moving toward a stairway that leads to the tombs of the kings of France. A chaplain holding two torches waits for them under an arch, ready to guide them into the church’s crypt. With his left hand, Francis I is directing Charles V’s attention to the tomb of Louis XII, which only the young Montaigne seems to be looking at. Facing the sovereigns and accompanied by two priests, the Cardinal of Bourbon, abbot of Saint-Denis, wears the miter and carries the crosier. On the steps of the stairway, Constable Montmorency holds his sword raised, with Henri d’Albret, son of Catherine de Foix and Jean III d’Albret, king of Navarre, on his right, and the duke of Guise on his left, next to the pillar. Antoine de Bourbon, a prince of the blood who favored the introduction of Calvinism into France while remaining faithful to the Catholic religion and to his king, stands on the same step. In 1562, he was to be fatally wounded during the siege of Rouen, at which Montaigne might have been present. The father of Henry IV, Antoine de Bourbon, here supplies the historical continuity between the last Valois and Henry of Navarre, the first French sovereign from the Bourbon branch of the royal family. Montaigne was later to serve as a political intermediary between Henry III and Henry of Navarre, who had not yet been born at the time of the imagined meeting of Francis I and Charles V.
Behind these princes of the blood, we can recognize the legate, with his long, flourishing beard, as well as Cardinal Du Bellay and the Cardinal of Lorraine, with their red cardinals’ hats. And, behind these representatives of the clergy, we can see the Marquis of Astorga, a Spanish grandee, dressed in black like his king. Swiss guards with pikes and halberds stand in the background. The whole political history of the years between 1530 and 1550, along with an anticipation of the civil wars waged in the time of Montaigne, is suggested by the Empire-period painter.
The balcony located above the platform is occupied by Catherine de Medici, on the left. We know her political influence and the role she was soon to play as Henry II’s wife, and then as the mother of the kings of France, Francis II, Charles IX, and Henry III, of Elisabeth of France, and of Margaret of Valois, also called “Queen Margot.” In perfect symmetry with Montaigne, on the opposite side of the picture, Catherine casts a benevolent but perhaps already calculating look on the unprecedented scene taking place before her eyes. She was the person who held the keys to the new alliances and religious conflicts that divided the kingdom. Montaigne intermittently associated with her right up to her death in 1589. Alongside the future queen, on the same level, we see Louise de Clermont-Tonnerre, Duchess of Uzès; Catherine’s lady-in-waiting; Charlotte Le Sueuer d’Esquetot, Countess of Brissac and wife of Charles I of Cossé, who was raised to the dignity of Marshal of France in 1550; Diane de Poitiers; and “la Belle Ferronière,” Francis I’s mistress. Behind these influential women, Jacques Amyot, the translator of Plutarch, seems to be conversing with the Duchess of Uzès and Jean Goujon, the sculptor of the bas-reliefs at the château of Écouen. The latter dominates the others by his height. Men of letters, artists, and ladies-in-waiting share this historical moment so that it might be perpetuated on monuments, books, and salons.
The second balcony, to the right of the platform, shows Claudine de Rieux, known as Madame d’Angelot, the wife of François de Coligny, one of the Protestant leaders at the beginning of the Wars of Religion; Anne de Polignac, Countess de la Rochefoucauld; and Marie-Marguerite de Lorraine-Guise, called Mlle d’Elbeuf, who was to become queen and regent of Scotland. In this moment of apparent peace, Protestants and Catholics are still side by side, caring little about the religious inferno that was about to divide them and tear the kingdom apart.
Finally, to complete this impressive list of queens and princesses, and perhaps to bring the scene up to date, Gros added the portrait of his wife to the left of Montaigne, as if it were she who had rediscovered the author of the Essais at the beginning of the nineteenth century and made him join the canon of French letters. In the second row, le Primatice, a painter in the service of Francis I and one of the masters of the first School of Fontainebleau, cranes his neck to see around the pillar that is preventing him from viewing the scene. To his left, Pierre Lescot, the architect of the Louvre, is trying to look over women to see the sovereigns. Jean Bullant, the architect of the château of Écouen, also leans forward to gain a better view. Above Montaigne, Clément Marot and François Rabelais are whispering to each other. We can imagine what they are saying…. In the third row, an unidentified figure dominates the scene. Still very young, he may be the painter himself. He has succeeded in getting around the pillar and is leaning dangerously over le Primatice. Like a dwarf on the shoulders of a giant—Gros on the shoulders of le Primatice?—the painter remains outside the scene. Moreover, it is hard to understand how he can stand so high above the other spectators. He is the only one who has a bird’s-eye view. Both a witness and a reporter, the painter looks out from his own canvas.
The scene Gros chose to depict is unstable and temporary. Reality and illusion merge. The people depicted are soon going to separate and will be rediscovered in other situations. Some will go back to Spain, others to Italy or Scotland. Most will be involved in wars. The moment of peace and hope Gros suggests was to vanish in Montaigne’s time. For this is a foreshadowing canvas: the only thing that counts is what is going to happen after the meeting of Francis I and Charles V. The painting is to be read from left to right, from Catherine de Medici to Montaigne. To Catherine’s political hyperrealism we should perhaps oppose a more idealist vision of politics. The scene reflects an assemblage that is too historical, and only Montaigne-as-a-child could give it a naiver dimension to reestablish a semblance of balance between the forces that were soon to oppose one another. The future author of the Essais offers an innocent but optimistic vision of politics, in harmony with Napoleon I’s indefectible confidence during the First Empire. The child is not yet capable of understanding the intrigues that were to come and that constitute the real stakes involved in this picture, far beyond the formal setting. He is the only guarantor of a candid vision of the situation. At least, that is the image of Montaigne that the early nineteenth century liked to project.
As if marked by this imaginary scene of his youth, Montaigne held several public offices. He was a member of the parlement of Bordeaux,ii mayor of the same city, and served as a negotiator for Henry III, Catherine de Medici, and Henry of Navarre. In turn, he frequented the Court and proposed a different approach to politics after Machiavelli. As an author, he developed the project of describing himself and leading his life differently from his contemporaries, advocating transparency rather than dissimulation. To the end of his life, he insisted that “pure naturalness and truth, in whatever age, still find their time and their place.”3 This optimistic approach to the events of his time allowed him to serve his king for a time and to develop his own political ambitions, basing himself on his moral integrity. However, like many others, he ended up having doubts about this “childish view” of politics and finally lost his illusions regarding the kinds of action allowed by official functions. Having experienced that, he became a full-fledged author. Gros’s painting symbolizes the political man’s hope at the same time that it announces his failure.
Montaigne belonged to history even though he had not yet joined the literary canon suggested by the “good” Marot and the “simple and pleasing” Rabelais. All the figures in Gros’s painting were chosen with care, in order to maintain a balance between arms and letters, those two complementary elements of the history of the Renaissance. But in the end, one has to be realistic—and Montaigne was, in his own way. His encounter with the political and artistic elite suggests a historical project rather than an objective description, and he was barely able to slip into this idealized construction. Gros’s representation of him as a child ultimately corresponds to his quite minor place in the history of the events of the sixteenth century. This foreshadowing of Montaigne among the great names of the Renaissance may be more accurate than we imagine, and on this point our history painter had only to stretch historical fact a little. His view of the reign of Francis I is valid in a way for the whole century. It is also a resolutely political conception of the Renaissance dominated by the last Valois and the Habsburgs. Just one thing is absent from this canvas: the Wars of Religion. But we nonetheless find here the duke of Guise, a Catholic extremist, and Admiral Coligny’s sister-in-law, Madame d’Andelot. The Protestant evangelism of Clément Marot and François Rabelais is suggested by their whispering together. In this sumptuous scene in which a temporary peace prevails, we can already find all the reasons for which the tempest of the Wars of Religion broke out twenty years later, in Montaigne’s time.
Montaigne’s biography has always been flexible enough to allow men of letters and historians to adapt history a little and insert the author of the Essais into almost all the significant events of his time. However, Montaigne’s place in history—as in Gros’s painting—remains problematic. Rather than a self-portrait in a romantic context and framework, we propose here a different picture of Montaigne in order to evaluate his various careers as a member of parlement, mayor, and negotiator, as the translator of Raymond Sebond, the editor of La Boétie’s works, and finally as a full-fledged author—in short, a portrait of Montaigne in politics.
i Commissioned in 1811 for the new sacristy at Saint Denis, and transferred to the Royal Museum in 1820, this painting inspired several artists and was the subject of several engravings during the Romantic period, notably by Sisco (1812), Forster (1826), and Réveil (1827). Let us also mention Norblin de la Gourdaine’s version (1837), another copy of Gros’s painting by Dehay, and a Gobelins tapestry that represents the same scene. The young Montaigne appears in all these representations.
ii Under the Old Régime, the “parlements” were provincial appellate courts, not legislative bodies. Laws and edicts issued by the crown were not official in a jurisdiction until they had been registered by the respective parlements. [Trans.]