1 Janurary 1986

There is nothing left to write except for the forewords before send Récoltes et Semailles to the printer. I confess I have the greatest will in the world to write something which can make a different, something reasonable, this time. Three or Four pages isn't too long, but expressive enough to represent this enourmous pave to over million pages. Something that hooks the blasé reader, which makes him foresee in this little doubtful "over million pages", there may be chances to interest him (or even concerns him, who's to say?) Hooking is not my style. But let me make this exception here just once! It was necessary that "an editor crazy enough to run this advanture" (to publish this monter, obviously not publishable) to cool down as best as he can.

And then no, this isn't come, I have done my best though. And not no afternoon, as I expected, quickly done. Tomorrow it will be three weeks till I've been working on in, all sheets piles up. What have come for sure, is not something one can decently call a "foreword". It is still missing! People are redoing more at my age - and I am not selling. Event when it comes to giving pleasure (to myself and to friends.)

What has come is one sort of long "promenade" as commented upon, through my work as a mathematician. A promenade intentionally especially "profane" - of the one who never understood anything thing in maths. An to my intention also, who never took leisure time in such promanade. From one thing to another, I was taken to disengage and to say the things which always remains unspoken. As if by chance, I feel these most essential in my work and my labour. These things are not technical. You will see if I have succeeded in my naive enterprise (effort?) to 'make them pass'. An enterprise a little bit crazy surly, too. My satisfaction and my pleasure would be to have you feel them. Many of my learned college nong longer feels them. Maybe because they are too erudite and prestigious. This makes them losing contact with the simple and essential things.

On the course of this "Promenade à travers une oeuvre", I will also talk a little about my life and some questions in Récoltes et Semailles: I'd refer in a more detailed way in the "Lettre" (Dated in May last year) which follows the "Promenade". This letter was intended to my "ex-kids" and "old friends" in the world of mathematics. But neither is techinical. It can be read with problem by all readers who have interest to know, by an recite "on the fly", these ins and outs that led me to finally write Récoltes et Semailles. Just like Promenade, that gives also an avant-goût of a certain atmosphere, in the "gread world" of mathematics. And also (just like the Promenade), my style of expressing seems a little bit special, and the spirit a little bit special as well - a spirit that is not appreciated by everyone.

In the Promenade and a little bit everywhere in teh Récoltes et Semailles, I speak of math work. It is a work that I konw well and the first hand. The most thing that I say is true and sure for all the created, all the discovered. It is true at least for so-called "intellecual" wor, which is done mostly "by the head", and by writing. Such work is marked by the blooming and blossoming of a comprehension of things taht you are probing. But, for get an example at the opposite end, the passion of love also urges to discover. It opens us to a "carnal" knowledge，which also renews, florishes and deepens itself. These are two impulses - one who animate the mathematician to work, and the other of the lover or the loved - are more closer that the one generally suspected, admit. I hot the pages of Récoltes et Semailles will help you to feelin your work and your everyday life.

In the Promenade, there will be everywhere questions of math work itself.