In the first engagement they were often worsted. The son went off to college. Montaigne deplores it. It is within the four walls of a class-room, he says, and by doses of Greek syntax, that a young fellow is to be taught the science of life and given that clear philosophic outlook which comes through history and experience! What professor will teach him the wisdom of holding aloof from the world’s Vanity Fair, swarming with upstart mountebanks and overweening buffoons? His mother would have liked to extract for him the essence of life, the secret of happiness, to impart to him the sacred spark of love. But Montaigne is one of those who regard this as very dangerous; he believes, in short, that “seeing the world” would be still more fatal than “preventive imprisonment.” In other cases, the father would select a tutor to train his son, and then the crisis lay below the surface. The father always has some hesitation in determining his course. To begin with, he thinks of the expense, and though enthusiasts represent that there is no better investment, he knits his brows. Then he would like to find a perfect man: a difficult matter. As a rule, he decides on the recommendation of friends, who have seen their nominee at work, and are loud in praise of his tact, his manner, his method, his knowledge; they do not explain that their man finds it necessary to expatriate himself, but he is still young (thirty or thirty-five), and is anxious to make a position. The candidate himself takes up his pen to speak with becoming modesty of his humble accomplishments. He promises to ride out with his pupil, and “engage in any other exercise that may be desired”; all that he asks is that he may sleep outside the château and not have to dine in the kitchen, like some of his colleagues. This is not enough for the anxious mother; she would like to know if he is a man of honour and a gentleman. Her mind is set at rest. For a long time these tutors maintained a certain attitude of reserve.