https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lourmarin
http://genius.com/Albert-camus-return-to-tipasa-annotated
A moralist is not a moralizer. The latter
has the answer before he is asked the question, while the former
has only
questions after she hears the available answers. And it is the questions that, as the French say, déranger— disturb, or
more literally, disarrange what has already been arranged. Camus was, in this respect, a moralist. These questions
did not lead Camus to solitude and nihilism, but instead pulled him toward solidarity and a form of ethical exigency. He was a moralist who insisted that while the world
is absurd and allows for no hope, we are not condemned to despair; a moralist who reminded us that, in the end,
all we have is one another in an indifferent and silent world. (Zaretsky, 2013, p. 8)
This reflex of intellectual modesty also surfaced in an interview fated to be Camus’ last, given a month before his death. When the interviewer suggested that Camus was a guide for his generation, the response was clear and immediate: “I speak for no one: I have trouble enough finding my own words.
I guide no one: I do not know, or know only dimly, where I am going.”
(ibid, p. 185)
Yet, ignored by many commentators, both men also insisted on the necessity of beauty. In an essay published
shortly after the war, “Some Thoughts on the Common Toad,” Orwell dwelt on the abiding and necessary joys of
nature. Is it, Orwell asked, “politically reprehensible . . . to point out that life is frequently more worth living because
of a blackbird’s song, a yellow elm tree in October, or some other natural phenomenon which does not cost money and does not have what the editors of left- wing newspapers call a class angle?” Orwell in fact offers an English equivalent to Camus’s “Mediterranean” philosophy— a kind of pensée de Cotswalds. (ibid, p. 190) (italics added)
questions after she hears the available answers. And it is the questions that, as the French say, déranger— disturb, or
more literally, disarrange what has already been arranged. Camus was, in this respect, a moralist. These questions
did not lead Camus to solitude and nihilism, but instead pulled him toward solidarity and a form of ethical exigency. He was a moralist who insisted that while the world
is absurd and allows for no hope, we are not condemned to despair; a moralist who reminded us that, in the end,
all we have is one another in an indifferent and silent world. (Zaretsky, 2013, p. 8)
This reflex of intellectual modesty also surfaced in an interview fated to be Camus’ last, given a month before his death. When the interviewer suggested that Camus was a guide for his generation, the response was clear and immediate: “I speak for no one: I have trouble enough finding my own words.
I guide no one: I do not know, or know only dimly, where I am going.”
(ibid, p. 185)
Yet, ignored by many commentators, both men also insisted on the necessity of beauty. In an essay published
shortly after the war, “Some Thoughts on the Common Toad,” Orwell dwelt on the abiding and necessary joys of
nature. Is it, Orwell asked, “politically reprehensible . . . to point out that life is frequently more worth living because
of a blackbird’s song, a yellow elm tree in October, or some other natural phenomenon which does not cost money and does not have what the editors of left- wing newspapers call a class angle?” Orwell in fact offers an English equivalent to Camus’s “Mediterranean” philosophy— a kind of pensée de Cotswalds. (ibid, p. 190) (italics added)
http://orwell.ru/library/articles/Common_Toad/english/e_ctoad
https://drive.google.com/file/d/0B5viXpvvYMYERF91NEp5Ml8zZlE/view?usp=sharing
(accessible via scribd) (kindle 2013)
