Positively, there is no hope,--debts on every side. Fate has willed me to
go as went Haydon, Gerard de Nerval, and Mar?chal. The first cut his
throat, the second hanged himself, and the third blew out his brains.
Clearly the time has come to consider how I shall make my exit. It is a
little startling to be called upon so peremptorily to go.'
In this moment of extreme dejection it seemed to Hubert that the writer of
the article had told him the exact truth. He refused to admit the plea of
poverty. It was of course hard to write when one is being harassed by
creditors. But if he had had it in him, it would have come out. The critic
had very probably told him the truth. He could not hope to make a living
out of literature. He had not the strength to write the masterpiece which
the perverse cruelty of nature had permitted him only to see, and he was
hopelessly unfit for journalism. But in his simple, wholesome mind there
was no bent towards suicide; and he scanned every horizon. Once again he
thought of his uncle. Five years ago he had written, asking him for the
loan of a hundred pounds. He had received ten. And how vain it would be to
write a second time! A few pounds would only serve to prolong his misery.
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