SCALING THE TOWER

I never got into Montaigne. That was mostly due to ignorance, I'd say.
Somehow I came upon the chateau during my weekend travels outside the military depot in the Landes De Bussac of southwestern France. I did look up at the walls, and I've since seen photographs of the study inside the tower. It seems like I've been there, but I cannot say for sure that I have.
A few years later I met him. He was there in our class, a Survey of French Literature, after I returned to NYU to finish my Bachelor's degree. A real humanist; someone I could relate to. Reading portions of his essays struck a chord that made me resonate with experiences and a picture of the world I'd never seen elsewhere. Twenty-three, and I'd never heard this stuff before! I had a lot of catching up to do. I was rushing along and just skimmed the surface doing my assignments.
Convention required that as Graduate students we read the Essays in the original archaic language. That took quite a bit of effort. Then there were historical circumstances and technical considerations to be examined. Another distraction! Basic themes and attitudes were about all we could expect to master at this stage. And when it came to research and write a paper I chose to do something on his obscure friend, Pierre Charron. I'm still intending to read more of those essays, again. The Pleiade edition of Montaigne's Oeuvres Completes sits on the book shelf in our front parlor. Two copies, in fact! One, the perfect gift for the aspiring Professor Plank. I wonder if it was for Monsieur or Madame?
How is it that these glimpses can suffice to nourish a life? Surely, hidden within the tower there are treasures that would enrich each day of my life. If only the path through the gate were irresistibly inviting. If only the voice from within would call out: "Friend, enter." Impoverished, I stand outside the walls, hat in hand, waiting to be recognized. My ignorance remains. And yet, what he said to me, and what I saw there those many years ago, persist. There is just enough to pass on as wisdom along this unlikely chain of personalities evolving through the ages. So, yes, perhaps I never did get into that stronghold of thought. But somehow, some of that labor of love and understanding leaked outside to be absorbed by any passing and unsuspecting creature endowed with that sensitive apparatus we call the human spirit.
Perhaps I'll give it another try.