Diderot and the Encyclopædists (Vol 1 of 2) | Page 6

of dexterity in expression.
His father was one of the bravest, most upright, most patient, most
sensible of men. Diderot never ceased to regret that the old man's
portrait had not been taken with his apron on, his spectacles pushed up,
and a hand on the grinder's wheel. After his death, none of his
neighbours could speak of him to his son without tears in their eyes.
Diderot, wild and irregular as were his earlier days, had always a true
affection for his father. "One of the sweetest moments of my life," he
once said, "was more than thirty years ago, and I remember it as if it
were yesterday, when my father saw me coming home from school, my
arms laden with the prizes I had carried off, and my shoulders burdened
with the wreaths they had given me, which were too big for my brow
and had slipped over my head. As soon as he caught sight of me some
way off, he threw down his work, hurried to the door to meet me, and
fell a-weeping. It is a fine sight--a grave and sterling man melted to
tears."[1] Of his mother we know less. He had a sister, who seems to
have possessed the rough material of his own qualities. He describes
her as "lively, active, cheerful, decided, prompt to take offence, slow to
come round again, without much care for present or future, never
willing to be imposed on by people or circumstance; free in her ways,
still more free in her talk; she is a sort of Diogenes in petticoats.... She
is the most original and the most strongly-marked creature I know; she
is goodness itself, but with a peculiar physiognomy."[2] His only
brother showed some of the same native stuff, but of thinner and sourer
quality. He became an abbé and a saint, peevish, umbrageous, and as
excessively devout as his more famous brother was excessively the
opposite. "He would have been a good friend and a good brother,"
wrote Diderot, "if religion had not bidden him trample under foot such
poor weaknesses as these. He is a good Christian, who proves to me
every minute of the day how much better it would be to be a good man.
He shows that what they call evangelical perfection is only the
mischievous art of stifling nature, which would most likely have
spoken as lustily in him as in me."[3]

Diderot, like so many others of the eighteenth-century reformers, was a
pupil of the Jesuits. An ardent, impetuous, over-genial temperament
was the cause of frequent irregularities in conduct. But his quick and
active understanding overcame all obstacles. His teachers, ever wisely
on the alert for superior capacity, hoped to enlist his talents in the Order.
Either they or he planned his escape from home, but his father got to
hear of it. "My grandfather," says Diderot's daughter, "kept the
profoundest silence, but as he went off to bed took with him the keys of
the yard door." When he heard his son going downstairs, he presented
himself before him, and asked whither he was bound at twelve o'clock
at night. "To Paris," replied the youth, "where I am to join the Jesuits."
"That will not be to-night; but your wishes shall be fulfilled. First let us
have our sleep." The next morning his father took two places in the
coach, and carried him to Paris to the Collége d'Harcourt. He made all
the arrangements, and wished his son good-bye. But the good man
loved the boy too dearly to leave him without being quite at ease how
he would fare; he had the patience to remain a whole fortnight, killing
the time and half dead of weariness in an inn, without ever seeing the
one object of his stay. At the end of the fortnight he went to the college,
and Diderot used many a time to say that such a mark of tenderness and
goodness would have made him go to the other end of the world if his
father had required it. "My friend," said his father, "I am come to see if
you are well, if you are satisfied with your superiors, with your food,
with your companions, and with yourself. If you are not well or not
happy, we will go back together to your mother. If you had rather stay
where you are, I am come to give you a word, to embrace you, and to
leave you my blessing." The boy declared he was perfectly happy; and
the principal pronounced him an excellent scholar, though already
promising to be a troublesome one.[4]
After a couple of years the young Diderot, like other sons of Adam, had
to think of earning his bread. The usual struggle followed between
youthful genius and