Poetry--unknown poetry--is a pretext for not
working; when one is "known," of course that is quite another thing;
Camus held Hugo in high esteem, and could even recite verses from the
"Chatiments," or from Auguste Barbier. They were "known," you see, and
that made all the difference.... Just at this time Clerambault himself
became "known," Camus read about him one day in his favourite paper,
and after that he consented to read Clerambault's poems. He did not
understand them, but he bore them no ill will on that account. He
liked to call himself old-fashioned, it made him feel superior, and
there are many in the world like him, who pride themselves on their
lack of comprehension. For we must all plume ourselves as we can; some
of us on what we have, others on what we have not.
Camus was willing to admit that Clerambault could write. He knew
something of the art himself,--and his respect for his brother-in-law
increased in proportion to the "puffs" he read in the papers, and he
liked to chat with him. He had always appreciated his affectionate
kind-heartedness, though he never said so, and what pleased also in
this great poet, for great he was now, was his manifest incapacity,
and practical ignorance of business matters; on this ground Camus
was his superior, and did not hesitate to show it.
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