Even in
his most critical moments, his simplicity would never have imagined
the deceptive foundations on which reposes a Crusade for the Right,
and as he was not a man to keep his discovery to himself, he
proclaimed it loudly, first in articles which were forbidden by the
censor, and then in the shape of sarcastic apologues, or little
symbolic tales, touched with irony. The Voltairian apologues slipped
through sometimes, owing to the inattention of the censor, and in this
way Clerambault was marked out to the authorities as a very dangerous
man.
Those who thought they knew him best were surprised. His adversaries
had called him sentimental, and assuredly so he was, but he was aware
of it, and because he was French he could laugh at it, and at himself.
It is all very well for sentimental Germans to have a thick-headed
belief in themselves; deep down in an eloquent and sensitive creature
like Clerambault, the vision of the Gaul--always alert in his thick
woods--observes, lets nothing escape, and is ready for a laugh at
everything. The surprising thing is that this under-spirit will emerge
when you least expect it, during the darkest trials and in the most
pressing danger. The universal sense of humour came as a tonic to
Clerambault, and his character, scarcely freed from the conventions in
which it had been bound, took on suddenly a vital complexity.
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