Comrades

Stéphane Mallarmé

I met my wife through Mallarmé's family, so you know we were tight. Stéphane and I were also both Symbolist poets—need I say more?

Admittedly, this guy always sort of intimidated me. His poetry just seemed like a hard act to follow, so I penned "Apocalypte Teste," an essay expressing my significant debt to him. That's why I was so touched when he wrote the following words to me: "My dear poet, with your gift for subtle analogy and your time sense of music you have all that is essential" (source). Still moves me.

Pierre Feline

Pierre and I met in Montpellier when I was studying law. He wasn't a famous symbolist poet, but he was a bosom buddy. The guy was a real math wiz and a talented musician; he was also infinitely generous with his knowledge of science. We had endless conversations about the universe, and he bore a heavy influence on my thinking about mental functions. He also did me the favor of showing me that when it comes to math, you really will use it in real life, even if you're the English-major type.

Ludo van Bogaert

Who says a poet has to hang out with a bunch of other poets? Not me, that's who. I actually preferred the company of the science-minded sort, and Ludo offers a perfect example. He was this crazy smart neuroscientist who was interested in painting and literature, so we were the perfect match. Our favorite pastime was talking about mental functions over tea.

Edgar Degas

I liked writing about this great painter almost as much as I liked hanging out with him. Don't hold this against us, but neither Edgar nor I supported Dreyfus in the famous Dreyfus Affair trial. People later got on my case big-time, accusing me of being anti-Semitic. Keepin' it classy.

But I digress. Really, it was just such an honor being friends with Edgar—I thought he was as important to the history of painting as Leonardo da Vinci. If our friendship is a source of infinite fascination for you, check out my book Degas Manet Morisot.

Rivals

Blaise Pascal

So I got a little nasty in my article published on the Pascal tercentenary (July 14, 1923), which maybe wasn't my best call. Pascal just didn't appreciate the intellect the way I thought he should, and I kind of accused him of not knowing squat about theology. His Pensées got me really riled up because I just couldn't put a finger on the identity of the narrator—the "me" in the writing. I mean, what gives? Did a person write the Pensées, or did a robot?

Denis Diderot

I had a real beef with this philosopher's comparison between artistic ideas and machines. In general, Diderot is just too perfect, too theatrical for me. So irritated was I by this dude that I embarked on a long digression about him in my essay on Stendhal (stay tuned for more on that un-favorite of mine) just to talk about Diderot's predictability, his staginess, and the way he addressed the reader. Too cheeky, by far.

Stendhal

I lot of people would put Stendhal on their must-read list, but I was more into his theories than into his greatest hits, like The Red and the Black.

Here's where Stendhal and I intersected: we both had the idea that sensation is "the basis of all things," and we both believed in "the omnipotence of reason." Last, but not least—we both "submit all problems of the heart to the ordinary rules of logic or experimental method" (source). Not exactly romantics, we two.

Still, Stendhal really bugged me, because I felt like he was too much of a performer who wanted all sorts of celebrity attention. That meant something different back in the 19th century, but it was equally annoying back then. I mean, which is more important to you, Stendhal? Critical thinking, or fame? How can you think clearly if you're getting celebrity attention all the time?