The dispersing and scattering our names into many mouths, we call making them more great; we will have them there well received, and that this increase turn to their advantage, which is all that can be excusable in this design.  But the excess of this disease proceeds so far that many covet to have a name, be it what it will.  Trogus Pompeius says of Herostratus, and Titus Livius of Manlius Capitolinus, that they were more ambitious of a great reputation than of a good one.  This is very common; we are more solicitous that men speak of us, than how they speak; and it is enough for us that our names are often mentioned, be it after what manner it will.  It should seem that to be known, is in some sort to have a man’s life and its duration in others’ keeping.  I, for my part, hold that I am not, but in myself; and of that other life of mine which lies in the knowledge of my friends, to consider it naked and simply in itself, I know very well that I am sensible of no fruit nor enjoyment from it but by the vanity of a fantastic opinion; and when I shall be dead, I shall be still and much less sensible of it; and shall, withal, absolutely lose the use of those real advantages that sometimes accidentally follow it.

I shall have no more handle whereby to take hold of reputation, neither shall it have any whereby to take hold of or to cleave to me; for to expect that my name should be advanced by it, in the first place, I have no name that is enough my own; of two that I have, one is common to all my race, and indeed to others also; there are two families at Paris and Montpellier, whose surname is Montaigne, another in Brittany, and one in Xaintonge, De La Montaigne.  The transposition of one syllable only would suffice so to ravel our affairs, that I shall share in their glory, and they peradventure will partake of my discredit; and, moreover, my ancestors have formerly been surnamed, Eyquem,—­[Eyquem was the patronymic.]—­a name wherein a family well known in England is at this day concerned.  As to my other name, every one may take it that will, and so, perhaps, I may honour a porter in my own stead.  And besides, though I had a particular distinction by myself, what can it distinguish, when I am no more?  Can it point out and favour inanity?

              “Non levior cippus nunc imprimit ossa? 
               Laudat posteritas!  Nunc non e manibus illis,
               Nunc non a tumulo fortunataque favilla,
               Nascentur violae?”

["Does the tomb press with less weight upon my bones?  Do comrades
praise?  Not from my manes, not from the tomb, not from the ashes
will violets grow.”—­Persius, Sat., i. 37.]