’Does he think, says Brutus, that his Consulship deserves more Applause than my putting Caesar to Death, because I am not perpetually talking of the Ides of March, as he is of the Nones of December?’

I need not acquaint my learned Reader, that in the Ides of March, Brutus destroyed Caesar, and that Cicero quashed the Conspiracy of Cataline in the Calends of December.  How shocking soever this great Man’s talking of himself might have been to his Contemporaries, I must confess I am never better pleased than when he is on this Subject.  Such Openings of the Heart give a Man a thorough Insight into his Personal Character, and illustrate several Passages in the History of his Life:  Besides that, there is some little Pleasure in discovering the Infirmity of a great Man, and seeing how the Opinion he has of himself agrees with what the World entertains of him.

The Gentlemen of Port-Royal, who were more eminent for their Learning and their Humility than any other in France, banish’d the way of speaking in the First Person out of all their Works, as arising from Vain-Glory and Self-Conceit.  To shew their particular Aversion to it, they branded this Form of Writing with the Name of an Egotism; a Figure not to be found among the ancient Rhetoricians.

The most violent Egotism which I have met with in the Course of my Reading, is that of Cardinal Wolsey, Ego et Rex meus, I and my King; as perhaps the most eminent Egotist that ever appeared in the World, was Montagne the Author of the celebrated Essays.  This lively old Gascon has woven all his bodily Infirmities into his Works, and after having spoken of the Faults or Virtues of any other Man, immediately publishes to the World how it stands with himself in that Particular.  Had he kept his own Counsel he might have passed for a much better Man, though perhaps he would not have been so diverting an Author.  The Title of an Essay promises perhaps a Discourse upon Virgil or Julius Caesar; but when you look into it, you are sure to meet with more upon Monsieur Montagne, than of either of them.  The younger Scaliger, who seems to have been no great Friend to this Author, after having acquainted the World that his Father sold Herrings, adds these Words; La grande fadaise de Montague, qui a escrit, qu’il aimoit mieux le vin blanc—­que diable a-t-on a faire de scavoir ce qu’il aime?  For my Part, says Montague, I am a great Lover of your White Wines—­What the Devil signifies it to the Publick, says Scaliger, whether he is a Lover of White Wines or of Red Wines?

I cannot here forbear mentioning a Tribe of Egotists for whom I have always had a mortal Aversion, I mean the Authors of Memoirs, who are never mentioned in any Works but their own, and who raise all their Productions out of this single Figure of Speech.