in his own day, but which was to be for the next two centuries the dominant influence.

The problem of political obligation was in the age of Montaigne a very real one. Contemporary writers give the most despairing account of the condition of France in the third quarter of the sixteenth century. The wars of religion were fast reducing the country to that condition of anarchy from which Charles VII and Louis XI had rescued it a hundred years before. In his essay "On Physiognomy," Montaigne tells us of some of his adventures of the stratagem by which one of his neighbours sought to take possession of his house; of how, when travelling "through a dangerous and very ticklish countrey," he was set upon by a troop of horsemen who were in two minds as to whether it were better to hold him for ransom or to make away with him. On each occasion Montaigne's sang-froid carried him through. Yet incidents such as these disagreeably impressed him. He tells us that throughout all the troubles his house has been freely open and" much frequented . . . in entertaining all sorts of people." That it was still unsacked seems to him " a most wonderfull and exemplar strangenesse."

But it grieveth me that it is rather by fortune, yea, and by my discretion than by justice; and it vexeth me to be without the protection of the lawes and under any other safeguard than theirs. As things now stand, I live more than half by the favour of others, which is a severe obligation.

The truth is that the burden laid upon the sixteenth century State had by the middle of the century proved altogether greater than it could bear. We have to remember that in the history of State-theory the sixteenth century is a transition period. At the end of the fifteenth century the Roman Church still stood for a creed which it might claim was accepted semper, ubique, ab omnibus. But the medieval conception of a respublica Christiana, which under pope and emperor reduced the spiritual and the temporal government of the world to that unity which the medieval mind so greatly desired, had broken down before the rise of nationalism. Henry VII of England, Louis XI of France and Ferdinand of Spain-the tres magi, as Bacon calls them-stood for a new order. With the Reformation, and the immense impetus which that movement gave to the growth of nationalism, the last illusion of a united Christendom was destroyed.

In no country did nationalism develop more rapidly than in France. From the Hundred Years' War had emerged a people bound together by that tradition which arises from suffering borne in a common cause. Charles VII and Louis XI had broken the back of feudalism. Their immediate successors raised the selfrespect of their subjects by a series of seemingly successful foreign expeditions. The process of centralisation was accelerated by the accession to the Crown of a number of provinces previously detached from it-Normandy and Guienne in 1443, Burgundy in 1477, Anjou and Maine in 1481, Brittany in 1491. Moreover, while France remained faithful to the Catholic faith, and its ruler termed himself "the eldest son of the Church," the powers of the pope had been severely circumscribed. The Concordat of 1518 had indeed driven a wedge between the claims of the French Church on the one hand, and those of the pope on the other; and fifty years later, Julius II complained to Henry II that the King of France possessed, within his dominions, rights over the Church which the pope himself nowhere else claimed to exercise. So it was that the King of France had come to enjoy as complete immunity as any sovereign could desire. The recital of his privileges was the favourite theme of the lawyers. Humanists like Budé, statesmen like de Seyssel, are at one in magnifying his prerogatives, while the theologians ascribe to him a sacerdotal power (it is true never very clearly defined) which sets him above the laity. Francis I, it has been said, was the first monarch of the "bon plaisir." His power was virtually absolute. And the people were glad to have it so. They looked to their national ruler as a bulwark against the Church and the great lords, and if he was prepared to fill this position no one was disposed to question too closely the limits of his authority.

But, by the third quarter of the century, this complacency was fast giving way to a profound dissatisfaction. The Italian wars had ended in disaster and had involved the nation in a long struggle with the emperor. The resources of the Crown were exhausted and the country severely impoverished. But further, the nation was divided against itself. The reformed religion was making rapid headway. Though its headquarters were at Geneva it was none the less a movement indigenous to French soil, and owing its inspiration to the genius of a Frenchman, Calvin. By 1550 it was organized all over France. Its followers, originally

recruited from the poorer classes, included the King of Navarre, his brother Condé and many of the noblesse. It had become, in fact, the rallying point for all the disaffected elements in the kingdom.

Such was the condition of affairs when in 1556, Henry II, now seriously alarmed, concluded the Treaty of Château Cambresis on terms very little favourable to his country, and set himself to the task of extirpating heresy from his dominions. With his tragic death-hailed by the Huguenots as an act of Godwe enter upon a period of great confusion. The weakness of the Valois kings, the rivalry between Catherine de Medici and the Guises, the absence of any consistent policy for dealing with an increasingly difficult problem, led to the outbreak of the wars of religion. It is here that we become conscious of a current of reaction against the Crown. It is true that up to the massacre of St. Bartholomew the Huguenots made an outward profession of loyalty. They maintained that they had no quarrel with their sovereign, but rather with his advisers. After the massacre there was a marked change of tone. They advance a theory of limited monarchy based upon contract, which is an anticipation of the Whig position of 1688. The Franco-Gallia of Hotman, and the Vindicia contra tyrannnos of Du Plessis Mornay, had a wide influence and circulation, while it was in the Reveille-Matin, the most violent of the post-massacre pamphlets, that there was then printed for the first time the greater part of the Servitude Volontaire of Etienne de la Boétie, whose friendship with Montaigne is familiar to every reader of the Essays.

Nor was it the Huguenots alone who expressed these views. In their anxiety to be rid of the Valois they had insisted upon the right of the people to choose their own ruler, the laws of succession notwithstanding, while their Catholic opponents had taken their stand upon the principle of hereditary right. But with the death of the Duke of Anjou in 1585, the Protestant Henry of Navarre became the heir apparent. Both parties found themselves in an embarrassing position. If the electoral principles advocated by the Huguenots were adopted, Henry would certainly be rejected by a population which was overwhelmingly Catholic. But, were the Catholics prepared to apply their strictly legitimist principle in favour of a heretic ruler? Each party was obliged to execute a volte-face; the Huguenots came forward as supporters of the

divine right, while the Catholics insisted upon the sovereignty of the people. It is to those writers on both sides who invoked this last principle that their opponent Barclay gave the name of Monarchomachi.

On the other hand, there were not wanting defenders of the absolute power of the sovereign. The historian, Du Haillan, and the Platonist, Le Roy, continued the tradition of Grassaille and de Seyssel. By these writers the royal privileges, great and small, are faithfully enumerated; the powers of the ruler are described as limited by law and custom, though how in practice this control was exercised is not explained. The French monarchy is hereditary and not elective. The function of the estates, it is argued, should be restricted to formulating grievances and to voting taxes, and the less they had to do with the government of the country the better. In Bodin's great work, "Les Six Livres de la République," an attempt is made to re-state the elements implicit in these views in the explicit terms of a legal theory of sovereignty. The incoherence with which his theory is formulated makes the determination of its precise range and content a matter of extreme difficulty. But, what does at least stand out quite clearly is that Bodin regarded sovereignty as inherent in the nature and structure of any fully developed State, and that sovereignty in the strict sense can only exist under a monarchical constitution. And so, passing from the general to the particular, he lays down unequivocally that the King of France is sovereign in the fullest sense of the word; that is, not only in relation to his own subjects, but also as regards all foreign rulers whatever, and that this sovereignty is imprescriptible and absolute.

There was yet a third party, the Politiques. It drew its adherents from the moderate elements in both camps and included such men as L' Hospital, de Thou, Pasquier, du Moulin, La Noue and Castillion. If we except Castillion, who regarded toleration as a duty, these men were not in principle opposed to persecution. With their contemporaries they believed that the stability of a State was to be measured by its homogeneity, and they clung to the formula: une loi, un roi, une foy. Hence to persecute a new religion which threatened to disturb this uniformity was good policy enough. But it was a policy which was only justified by In France it had been tried and had failed. The new religion could only be uprooted-if, indeed, it ever could be—

by destroying half the nation. Hence persecution must be abandoned and the State must be saved even at the cost of toleration. As Figgis has put it, the Politiques regarded toleration, not as something which is good in itself, but as a pis aller. For them, religious uniformity was of the bene esse of the State; it was not of the esse.

We must now consider Montaigne's position. He reveals himself in the Essays with a seeming frankness. He emphasises at all times his bonne foy and assures us that he wishes us to see him as he really is. But the man who insists upon his good faith is always suspect, and in the case of Montaigne we have good reason to be suspicious. There is, for example, his repeated assurance that his method of writing is "naturelle et ordinaire, sans étude et artifice." But the 1595 edition of the Essays contains more than 3000 corrections. Again, to pass from a small matter to a greater, his treatment of religion is scarcely that of a man of strong principles. He professes himself to be an orthodox Catholic, hears Mass, goes to confession, places ex voto offerings in churches and even tells us that he prays. Yet he never once raises his voice on behalf of Christianity as an ideal. He never treats of Christ or of the Gospels or of the teaching of the Church, while the "Apology," which has been taken as proof of his Christianity, really shows that in the end he believed in nothing.

In dealing therefore with his theory of the State we are justified in asking how far the views which he expressed really reflected his true opinions, and how far they were consistent with what we know of his somewhat obscure political activities. Montaigne gives himself out to be a loyal subject. He takes part in the wars of religion; executes confidential missions; becomes Mayor of Bordeaux, in deference to a royal command, and allows himself to be re-elected. At the same time he is in continual relations with Henry of Navarre, plays with the idea of becoming his " conseiller intime," accepts from him the post of Gentleman of the Chamber, corresponds with him and entertains him at his château. When Henry succeeded to the Crown, Montaigne was able to assure him with all sincerity that from the first he had wished for his success.

The more, indeed, we study Montaigne's character, not only in the light of his Essays, but of his public life, the more we are forced to recognise that it was scarcely as open and straightforward