The
fate of those in the second category is more pathetic; they gradually
wither and die away like flowers planted in a thin soil. Among these men
many noble souls are to be found, men who have surrendered all things for
love of their art, and who seemed at starting to be the best equipped to
win, but who failed, impossible to tell how or why. Sometimes their failure
turns to comedy, sometimes to tragedy. They may become refined, delicate,
elderly bachelors, the ornaments of drawing-rooms, professional
diners-out--men with brilliant careers behind them. But if fate has not
willed that they should retire into brilliant shells; if chance does not
allow them to retreat, to separate themselves from their kind, but
arbitrarily joins them to others, linking their fate to the fate of others'
unhappiness, disaster may and must accrue from the alliance; honesty of
purpose, trueness of heart, deep love, every great, good, and gracious
quality to be found in nature, will not suffice to save them.'
The paper dropped from his hands, and he recollected all his failures.
'Once I could do good work; now I can do neither good work nor bad. Were I
a rich man, I should collect my scattered papers and write songs to be sung
in drawing-rooms; but being a poor one, I must--I suppose I must get out.
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