He
did lose the situation, because one day he stayed at home to finish a
poem, instead of appearing at his desk. The misfortune came at the worst
possible time. It came when he owed two quarters' rent, fifteen dollars,
to his landlord, and ten dollars to other people. "I am half dead of
hunger. I am at the end of the rope. I must get a place somewhere, or
blow my brains out." The mental anguish and physical privation brought
back the _purpura_. He went to the hospital,--for the fifth time in
eleven months and seven days,--all his furniture was sold for rent, and
he knew not where he was to go when he quitted the hospital. Yet he did
not give up in despair. "Notwithstanding all this, I declare to you, my
dear friend," he wrote, "that, when I feel somewhat satisfied with what
I have written, I am ready to clap my hands at life.... Everything is
against me, and yet I shall none the less remain in the arena. The wild
beasts may devour me: so be it!"
After leaving the hospital, he formed the acquaintance of Monsieur Jules
Fleury, or, as he is better known to the world of letters, Monsieur
Champfleury,--for, with that license the French take with their names,
so this rising novelist styles himself.
Pages:
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87