PARIS LETTER
99
it
sees, and, from time to time, it lets go of certain trial balloons, like
those on neutrality, and against rearmament. The moods of this oppo–
sition deserve to be watched attentively, because they are much more
serious than, let's say, Monsieur Moch's proposals on German rearma–
ment. In any case,
Le Monde
is a civilized paper.
It
goes very well with
the Fourth Republic, which is the first of the four where the republican
principle itself goes unchallenged, but a lso the first that has no con–
quering faith, and no vision of the future. Hence, some people feel it
should at least stick to reasonableness and dignity of style.
But neither the newspapers nor the level of political life; neither
the literary magazines nor literary and artistic life would be sufficient
reasons to remain in Paris for more than a few weeks. I am stuck here,
that is the truth. I am stuck because I can't get rid of the thought, con–
ceived many years ago, that if something unexpectedly human happens
in history, it must either happen here, Or find here its true significance,
its most appropriate dramatic form. That's it. I am fascinated by the
French stage, by the way the French, all of them, from the concierge to
the Sorbonne professor and the famous actress herself, act out the comedy
of life. Everyone with complete conviction and with nothing held back,
always in the limelight, everyone demanding the same fidelity to the role
from himself and from the whole cast, and everyone suppressing ruth–
lessly the superfluous, any impulse that does not fit into the plot as
it
develops. Looked at from a certain angle, French civilization appears
as a fabric woven of three main threads: the School, the Bureau, and
the Theater. Everything that has to do with knowledge and the forma–
tion of the individual belongs to the School. Everything that concerns
material life is taken care of by bureaucratic order. The Theater is the
final result, embracing all that pertains to social life, and to life
tout
court.
It
is the most important part, the ultimate test of the whole.
Having observed the French play the comedy of life with a seem–
ingly total absence of innocence, serious persons have again and again
repeated that the French are a frivolous people, all artifice and insin–
cerity. And it might well be true, in the sense that artifice and insincerity
might be the price the French pay for their virtues, just as other people
get crudity and muddle in exchange for their spontaneity.
If
the French
are wrong, however, they are wrong in a very big way. Taking life as
a play in which one is called to impersonate remorselessly a role entirely
his own is a very serious and very radical attitude.
It
means to be thor–
oughly committed, but with a vengeance that is human. The only serious
objection is that comedy will inevitably be the result, never tragedy. At
least, not tragedy in the Sophoclean sense. Also, a certain kind of wonder
