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I. Diderot's character (by G. Lanson).

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"The head of a Langrois is on his shoulders like a rooster on top of a tower: it is never fixed at one point, and if she returns to the one she left, it is not stopping there. With surprising rapidity of movement, in desires, in projects, in fantasies, in ideas, they have slow speech. For me, I am of my country only stay in the capital and the diligent application just corrected me. Denis Diderot, Langres became a Parisian, had indeed corrected, but not the way he thought. His mind had kept the quickness to turn, but he had equaled the impetuosity of his speech to the speed of his thought. He is talkative, storyteller, counselor, reasoner. This son of a cutler of Langres was never in the world: it has spread in salons that his fame was opening, slovenly ways, vulgar, but of all worldly conveniences, if there is one that it has trodden under foot, the one that constrains language. Big eater, glutton, he does not grace his indigestion: it is full of his subject, he must speak. It has the gaiety of the people, huge, filthy, where it is, to anyone, it makes it loose the nonsense that seethe in his mind: he must speak. He has the frankness of the people, that of the Auvergne by Labiche rather than Molière's Alceste: he throws in the faces of people of their truths, he thinks, they spring: he must speak. He has friends, he sees action, make plans, arrange their lives: it flows through their lives, through their most intimate feelings, advising, arranging, indiscreet pressing, it is the crow that fells nuts, and that's how he fell out with Rousseau: he wants to keep him in Paris, send it to Geneva, he decides, he directs, he must speak.

Bonhomme rest, obliging, generous, full of good feelings, good son, good brother, good father, good husband even close to the fidelity, good friend, warm heart, enthusiastic, always willing to give and devote himself: if only he could s 'pour out freely, always happy to put themselves forward to be a negotiation of a case where there is burning of the activity, thought to evaporate in words. It is the least selfish, the most disinterested of men, provided it is spent. He crossed his age, constantly in the mouth, packed, overflowing, never tired of the ceaseless fermentation dimmed his brain and he said, he had more to say.

Its robust organization provided all expenses. It was a stunning conversationalist, his conversation was a firework, which we saw go with dizzying speed images, ideas, pranks, science, storytelling, metaphysics, crazy dreams, assumptions fruitful divinations amazing. The fireplace in his house Taranne street at the Cafe de la Regence, the dear Madame d'Epinay Chevrette, at Grandval at the Baron d'Holbach, Diderot was always ready, always heated, leaving a word on a sign. And when he was told well, played, cried, he remained of the surplus that had not given way: he took the pen and continued the conversation at times with the same person, sometimes with another, he wrote or Falconet Mlle Volland. And these conversations and letters, this was only his overflow that flowed. I would have said that the relaxation of his books, if his books had tired.

But he wrote as he spoke easily, merrily, without fatigue or break: it serving his mind, as Aristotle would have said. So can we speak here of artistic work, to slow development, composition and scholarly thought: all these antics are not his way. Write or talk is a natural function for him, there is no way he relieves himself, and there is really shameless in its natural spread in his improvisation at full speed, all the places it is good, and all occasions. It has started to Encyclopedia, and as he wants to your destination safely, he lowers the tone. Nothing allows us to better measure the energy expended by Diderot in this case, that this miracle wrought in him the desire to succeed: he has tried to be decent, not to unleash it on the government or religion that was too scandalous. But as his tongue itch while working so wisely! this task as excited! Everything he could not say in his articles, he threw in another structure, it was not for glory or for gain he wrote, was for him to evacuate his thought. He published his Thoughts on the Nature Interpretation its dramas, its interview with a philosopher madame de *** , etc.. But his D'Alembert's Dream , his Supplement au Voyage de Bougainville his Paradox on the Actor his Religious his Jacques the Fatalist his Neveu de Rameau is to say the best and worst, the most characteristic of his work anyway, all that remained buried in his papers. It was written and it was enough to Diderot, he had drawn from his work the pleasure he expected. With equal indifference, he sowed its pages in the books of his friends: a treatise on harpsichord Bemetzrieder of a history of Abbe Raynal, a gazette of Grimm, everything was good, mainly for him was to write, put his name would not add to its fun! And, after thirty years of this relentless outpouring, I can not guarantee that Diderot did not die with regret at having kept something unsaid in her mind.

This intense refund of thinking was the result of active absorption, and its powerful engine ever produced under pressure and incessant work had to be largely fueled. Diderot is not a creative genius, able to make a world of itself and is far from Descartes, Rousseau even further. This requires him to be a scholar and curious. Emile Faguet has rightly said, it is aware of many things which were not common knowledge in his time. When we stick to the easy arguments of Locke, when our frightened people who do not shrink from Spinoza, not to the boldness, but given the depth of his doctrine, and fear of them breaking the head, Diderot , without ceremony, without fuss, assimilates the drive, the great system of Leibniz and there is no other reason, I believe, it has given France's reputation of being a German head. He made mathematics, he has made the physical he made of natural history, he knows the most recent assumptions, the most striking experiences of science that is currently up and stretch. He knows the painting, music: I'm not saying do reasons a little rhyme, but never the absence of specific knowledge or techniques is the source of its deviations trial. In literature, it has the largest reading, watching it abroad, he knows the seventeenth century. He also knows a lot about antiquity, and it is not vague impressions of a quick read, he sees the details, it looks accurate, and if Horace bed, the bed he philologist, a poet, historian, Pliny, if he reads it the bed still philologist, but also a painter, an archaeologist, a chemist and he takes each item on the side of which the skilled person would take, before you press his personal musings.

Thus shall Diderot's fertility is not spontaneous. He needs a shock from outside to put in motion the whirlwind of his thoughts, he can give himself the flick. There comes the flick That's all in motion, the machine hisses, smokes, spits, cracks, we are amazed at the disproportionate share of its breathtaking and its infernal din with a simple gesture that gave them birth. Sterne and Diderot is in a half-page that entertains: he left it, and place three hundred pages of Jacques the Fatalist . I do not know if he has never done anything that is not the occasion for something, like a huge reaction against its being an external impression. But, it will be said, is not it always thus? No, because first, Diderot, the shock is not any emotion, a fact of experience, is the shock of thinking that has tried to translate into speech or art, then the detachment of the external cause of his internal thought is not, his work, so vast it is, Besides, if I may say, pinned on the margins of the book of others is a stunning Diderot commentator, often more interesting than the text. He excels again at the books of others: he is incapable of judging them. While he seems to listen, he took the starting point where the author has placed, and he travels on his behalf: when you finish, you said the book he would have done your place, and this is his way of hearing the criticism. In conversation, he is the same: everything you tell him in two hours, he hears something, one, he takes the works, the growing and your tiny little thought becomes a large system, and you sometimes rebellion, or you fear. That is the mental mechanism of Diderot spontaneity poor reactions prodigious.

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II. Diderot's Thought (by G. Lanson).

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apart Encyclopedia, Diderot is hardly less significant in the eighteenth century, Voltaire and Rousseau. Before Rousseau, Voltaire and when everything was still bound by prejudice, vanity, worldly ambitions, Diderot had openly declared the man of nature. And here is what nature was for him.

She was - she was at least early on - atheism. God is not in nature. There can be, and there is nothing to do with him. The world is a vast pool where an infinite number of balls roll, intersect, collide, forming an intricate network of movements required, which never run out. But morality? She will not suffer. "Do not you think you can be born so happily found great pleasure in doing good? - I think. - That may have received an excellent education that strengthens the natural tendency to charity? - Certainly. - And that in a later age, the experience has convinced us that on the whole, it is better for his happiness in this world, be an honest man a knave? "Instinct, education and experience: that which is sufficient for morality. Be virtuous to get to heaven, God is lend to small-time , and the trouble is that the lender gives stuffed crocodiles, not good species, for the virtue of vestries is to go to Mass, not to touch the sacred vessels, love comes after the next. Religion, which punishes more sacrilegious than adultery is immoral, it leaves for practices, remain all the corruption of the world. It is a source of crime, fanaticism, war, torture, etc.. : It's too expensive to buy a foundation of morality, which founds nothing at all. God exists or not, if it exists, it does not exist in nature, we do not take them into account. There is no for us, if we say a few imprudent not there at all, there is not much wrong with that. A fine day out of life, we were face to face with him in his world, well, God is not bad enough for hell we want to have it denied, when we had no reason to think so.

Nature, secondly, for Diderot, the opposite of society. All evils, the vices of man, come from the company that invented religion, power, distinctions, hierarchy, wealth, that is to say oppression of some, the tyranny of others, corruption and misery for everyone - especially who invented morality. Because that is the characteristic of Diderot: boldly, bluntly, sometimes cynical, often profound, he attacks morality. It is a social institution, especially its hateful hypocritical compulsion exerted by it: the name of morality, we instructed children to refrain some legitimate pleasures that result from natural functions.

is the naturalism of Rabelais, one of Panurge and Friar John, who reappears in Diderot, in these people he has chosen and conformed to his ideal, in Rameau's Nephew and Jacques the fatalist . It deletes all the virtues, Christian, Stoic, even mundane, who did report that the individual, and are based on respect for oneself. Chastity, modesty, sobriety, reserve, dignity, sincerity, that all this nonsense, prejudice and inconvenience of society. Scruples, the delicacy of the means are absurd grimaces when one is assured of its intention, and we know the good: see the curious dialogue Is it good? Is it bad ? one of the masterpieces of Diderot. What then is virtue? It is in one word: it is charitable. All that is useful to humanity is: everything that is harmful to humanity is evil, which is neither good nor harm anyone is indifferent, that I lie, I get drunk, or worse, that 'important, if these acts have no effect, without fatal extensions outside? And if in my lie, or my drunkenness, it leaves a good for someone, I'm being a liar or drunkard. The nature of Diderot saved the vices which degrade, poor, independent, generous, without lust and without platitudes, he is honest enough to come to a kind of morality with his instinct. It is based on respect, worship of nature, that is to say phenomena because it is only the collection. So can he help admiring, almost loving this great burst of natural energy, appetites, offered by the nephew of Rameau: he falls in agreement with him that "the important point is that you and I are, and we are you and me all go elsewhere as he can. "

Nature, finally, for Diderot, is science. He designed the method, directions, results. But the word nature is determined to Diderot in a very modern sense. He sees no more this inner nature that the seventeenth century especially studied, which Descartes believed life more secure and easier than knowledge of external nature. All his impulses, to him, from without, his philosophy and that of his time, told him that all his ideas came to him through his senses: it is natural that the external nature, and science that apply , are the object of his study. By the middle of the century, he announced, although recklessly, that the reign mathematics is finished, but he announced, by a sure divination that the reign of natural science will begin. Physiology, physics is that side of it is inviting young people, rather emphatically, but her gesture highlights quack ideas learned. Diderot with the relationship between philosophy and science seems to be reversed: the philosophy renounces impose its systems and expects their discoveries to extract a general conception of the universe. The philosophy of Diderot, in his characteristic parts is really a philosophy of nature: it derives from Leibniz, it is these principles of reason, less action, continuity, that the scientific study of inorganic and organic world and it constantly assumed, and it was he who first, before Helvetius, Holbach before, puts the man in nature, and reduces science legal natural sciences.

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III. The art of Diderot (by G. Lanson).

His art is in harmony with his temperament and his philosophy. I do not mean the execution, often dropped, thrown, the perfection of the work is not meeting little home. I mean his art of art intentions it expresses.

So there will be a first in Diderot naturalistic art, expressive life as it is, beings as seen. Contracted as he was by external nature, he receives, and renders, as mechanically, with a wonderful safety. Read Correspondence and see all these pictures, all these stories it is sown. Read Rameau's Nephew, the masterpiece on more equal than Diderot composed. This eccentric and powerful figure removed with terrain, incredible clarity: Profile, accent, gestures, grimaces, instantaneous changes of tone, posture, the fundamental identity and all forms of mobile disguise, everything is noted in the dizzying dialogue of Diderot. He put much of his, no doubt, and he lent his ideas to the character, I do not think that was a true bohemian Rameau as deep. But with an astonishing instinct of objective art, all that was hers was incorporated into the substance of the original character whose inner vision guided his pen. From that story, he sees ; figures, movements, local and accessories everything is in his eye, just under his pen, and his tale is a series of prints.

But the prints were legends and these legends are romantic: at least Diderot tends to romanticism. Of nature, it respects its most nature, and provided it is and it him, he did the rest do not care. Rameau's Nephew is a happy accident: the subjective also mingles with the objective; the impressions of external nature overlap, intertwine, clinging elk, enthusiasms, the indignation of Denis Diderot, any individuality frantic, noisy, bulky. He already carries within it the seeds of romantic lyricism. Here is the proof in two sentences:

"The lark, the lark, the linnet, the canary chatter and babble as the day is. The sun set, they cram their heads under their wings, and that's asleep. Then the genius takes his lamp and lit it, and the solitary bird, wild, untamed, and sad brown plumage, opens his throat, began his singing sounds the melodious grove and breaks the silence and the darkness of the night. "Do this he Chateaubriand's not already?

"The first oath is made two beings of flesh, it was at the foot of a rock falling into dust, they bore witness to their constancy a sky that is not even a moment; everything happening in them, around them, and they believed their hearts free from vicissitudes. O child! still children! And it is literally two stanzas of Musset. But the most curious is to get this jet lyricism where it occurred in Jacques the Fatalist . In the midst of the realistic story of Madame de la Pommeraye all of a sudden a tear occurs in the bark of the narrative thrust of these five throws feeling hot lines, which no character nor the author assumes the same responsibility, once everything calms down, and two minutes after we Buttons on an enormous prank . That's the inconsistency of Diderot. There's something in his style: analysis, synthesis, idea, sensation, hallucination, realism, romanticism, it is a teeming, which has not always beauty, who at least has often life.

This leads to another consideration : Diderot's substitution of a new ideal in the classical ideal. And she still does, because he is human nature. Nature does not care about beauty, that men agree to call it. The nature of the concern that has life is what is beautiful, naturally beautiful. Forms of life and activity of life, that is what the artist must work to make: most of these forms will feature, this activity will be more intense, and there will be beauty in be. The character (and not the regularity, the nobility, the generality and Components classic beauty) should be the subject of the imitation of literary expression. That was the direction already Lesage, Marivaux, Prevost had given the novel but never did this new aesthetic emerged as powerfully as in Rameau's Nephew .

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IV. The "Funeral" by Diderot (by G. Lanson).

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must say a word about the famous Salons of Diderot (1765, 1766, 1767). The art critic does not satisfy us anymore. It is too literary. It takes too happy about the , the idea to give a development that replaces the work of the writer at work by the painter or sculptor. Here, as elsewhere, the method of Diderot's thought is to hang at the thought of others, lost breath digressions, paintings, statues provide an outlet for more internal bubbling sentimentality, reflection, imagination ferments in him.

But let's not be too severe for Diderot. No truth, first, the devil is true of man, but the truth is otherwise a bit too real. With this strong sense of reality that we have seen in him, he sees the painting, and shows. Before you rant, and while reciting, it puts us in front of the painting where he hangs his thoughts or his effusions: in five lines, half a page, it gives us the sensation. This is no small talent for art criticism. It has, moreover, that of smell, report the nature , accuracy expressive faces, gestures, attitudes, criticism and comments are an original taste, we recognize the man who saw naturally their particularity in their respective reports and the external forms of life. But he still has a quality more valuable: it is to judge, in fact, painting a painter, to focus on light, color, enjoy their delicate or powerful combinations. If his criticism is more technical, is not that the public would not follow? And is it not also the paintings, statues of which he spoke did not include? These works were all full of literary intentions: they wanted to act on public issues and ideas that the topics suggested, saucy ideas in Boucher or Fragonard voluptuous or moral ideas in Greuze, philosophical ideas in Bouchardon. The means of painting and sculpture were a language with which you spoke to intelligence. In the same composition, was still the prevailing literature: the theater provided models of arrangement and coordination of a principle of natural objects. Diderot was wrong, no doubt, to push in that direction. If mishandled Boucher, Greuze he applauded, he shouted: "Let us morals, my friend! And indeed Greuze painted inspirational dramas and boring as the Father of family.

Still the Salons of Diderot are a work of considerable time. We have the right to say that he founded - if not the art critic - at least of art journalism. This is the first time we encounter a literary matters, and has been for the fine arts. Diderot paintings, statues a subject of literature, whereas previously the arts and literature were closed worlds, without communication, and that did not exist for one another. Similarly, artists and writers lived apart, each on their own: Ms. Geoffrin had his dinner artists and writers' dinner, which did not have many guests in common. Diderot knock down all those barriers. Literary man, he haunts the workshops, he talks, he played and he rubs his ideas against their theories, aesthetics poetics against their picturesque beauty or plastic. Confined to the public so far in literary taste, he opens a window on the art through all its expansions and its sentimental dissertations thinker, it is education of the senses of his readers, he teaches them to see and enjoy, to grasp the truth of an attitude, the delicacy of a tone. All this found later, and this communication is established between art and literature is not without contributing to the Romantic revolution.

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ills of others.

The moralist La Rochefoucauld is I believe, who wrote: "We still have enough strength to endure the misfortunes of others," said certainly some truth. But that's only half true. What is more beautiful to notice is that we still have enough strength to bear our own pain. And it must. When we need put his hand on his shoulder, we are well maintained. It would therefore die, or else they saw as can be, and the Most people stop at this last party. The force of life is admirable.

Thus flooded, they adapted. They groaned point on the bridge, where they set foot. Those who were crammed into schools and other public places camped there for the better and ate and slept with all their heart. Those who were at war tell much; major penalties are not so because we are at war, but because it was cold feet, it is thought furiously to make fire, and we are quite happy when it gets warm.

One could even say that existence is more difficult it supports more penalties and more can enjoy the pleasures, for the prediction does not have time to go up merely possible evils, and is held in check by necessity. Robinson begins to regret his country that when he built his house. That is probably why a rich likes to hunt, these are so sore the next as a sore foot, or the pleasures next, as well drink and eat well, and carries all the action, continues everything. He who puts all his attention on an act rather difficult, this one is perfectly happy. Whoever thinks of his past or his future can not be totally happy. As long as we bear the weight things, he must be happy or die, but as soon as door, anxiety, weight per se, any road is tough. The past and future rub hard on the road.

In sum, it should point to think about oneself. The fun is that it is others that bring me back to me with their talk about themselves. Acting together, it is always good, talk together to talk, to whine, to grumble, is one of the great scourges of this world. Besides the human face is terribly expressive, and manages to arouse sadness that made me forget things. We are selfish in society, the clash of individuals, by the response to each other, answer the mouth, eyes reply, reply brotherly heart. A complaint unleashed a thousand complaints and a thousand fears unleashed fear. All the runs in each herd sheep. Therefore a sensitive heart is still a bit misanthropic. These are things that must always remember the friendship. Would be appointed soon too selfish man who seeks sensible precaution against loneliness posts humans and is not a hard heart to bear hardly worry, sadness, suffering, painted on a friendly face. And we doubt if those who are happy with the evil corporation has more attention their own evils, or more courage, more or indifference. This was only moral evil. The evils of others are cumbersome to wear.

March 23, 1910.

Alain , About on happiness.