Crudity with him is not extenuated by malice or glossed over by elegance. He is neither refined nor pungent； is quite incapable， like the younger Crébillon， of depicting the scapegrace of ability. He is a new-comer， a parvenu in standard society； you see in him a commoner， a powerful reasoner， an indefatigable workman and great artist， introduced， through the customs of the day， at a supper of fashionable livers. He engrosses the conversation， directs the orgy， or in the contagion or on a wager， says more filthy things， more "gueulées，"than all the guests put together[29]. In like manner， in his dramas， in his "Essays on Claudius and Nero，" in his "Commentary on Seneca，"in his additions to the "Philosophical History" of Raynal， he forces the tone of things. This tone， which then prevails by virtue of the classic spirit and of the new fashion， is that of sentimental rhetoric. Diderot carries it to extremes in the exaggeration of tears or of rage， in exclamations， in apostrophes， in tenderness of feeling， in violences， indignation， in enthusiasms， in full-orchestra tirades， in which the fire of his brains finds employment and an outlet. -On the other hand， among so many superior writers， he is the only genuine artist， the creator of souls， within his mind objects， events and personages are born and become organized of themselves， through their own forces， by virtue of natural affinities， involuntarily， without foreign intervention， in such a way as to live for and in themselves， safe from the author's intentions， and outside of his combinations. The composer of the "Salons，" the "Petits Romans，" the "Entretien，" the "Paradoxe du Comédien，" and especially the "Rêve de d'Alembert" and the" Neveu de Rameau "is a man of an unique species in his time. However alert and brilliant Voltaire's personages may be， they are always puppets； their action is derivative； always behind them you catch a glimpse of the author pulling the strings. With Diderot， the strings are severed； he is not speaking through the lips of his characters； they are not his comical loud-speakers or puppets， but independent and detached persons， with an action of their own， a personal accent， with their own temperament， passions， ideas， philosophy， style and spirit， and occasionally， as in the "Neveu de Rameau，" a spirit so original， complex and complete， so alive and so deformed that， in the natural history of man， it becomes an incomparable monster and an immortal document. He has expressed everything concerning nature，[30] art morality and life[31] in two small treatises of which twenty successive readings exhaust neither the charm nor the sense. Find elsewhere， if you can， a similar stroke of power and a greater masterpiece， "anything more absurd and more profound！"[32] - Such is the advantage of men of genius possessing no control over themselves. They lack discernment but they have inspiration. Among twenty works， either soiled， rough or nasty， they produce a creation， and still better， an animated being， able to live by itself， before which others， fabricated by merely intellectual people， resemble simply well-dressed puppets. - Hence it is that Diderot is so great a narrator， a master of dialogue， the equal in this respect of Voltaire， and， through a quite opposite talent， believing all he says at the moment of saying it； forgetful of his very self， carried away by his own recital， listening to inward voices， surprised with the responses which come to him unexpectedly， borne along， as if on an unknown river， by the current of action， by the sinuosities of the conversation inwardly and unconsciously developed， aroused by the flow of ideas and the leap of the moment to the most unexpected imagery， extreme in burlesque or extreme in magnificence， now lyrical even to providing Musset with an entire stanza，[33] now comic and droll with outbursts unheard of since the days of Rabelais， always in good faith， always at the mercy of his subject， of his inventions， of his emotions； the most natural of writers in an age of artificial literature， resembling a foreign tree which， transplanted to a parterre of the epoch， swells out and decays on one side of its stem， but of which five or six branches， thrust out into full light， surpass the neighboring underwood in the freshness of their sap and in the vigor of their growth.
