It was the fault of his character, and,
thus far on his life's journey, in recognising the error might he
not correct it? Unbalanced ambition explained his ineffectiveness.
At six-and-twenty he had done nothing, and saw no hope of activity
correspondent with his pride. In Russia he had at least felt that he
was treading an uncrowded path: he had made his own a language
familiar to very few western Europeans, and constantly added to his
knowledge of a people moving to some unknown greatness; the position
was not ignoble. But here in London he was lost amid the uproar of
striving tradesmen. The one thing which would still have justified
him, hope of wealth, had all but vanished. He must get rid of his
absurd self-estimate, see himself in the light of common day.
Peace! He could only hope for it in marriage; but what was marriage
without ideal love? Impossible that he should ever love another
woman as he had loved, as he still loved, Irene. The ordinary man
seeks a wife just as he takes any other practical step necessary to
his welfare; he marries because he must, not because he has met with
the true companion of his life; he mates to be quiet, to be
comfortable, to get on with his work, whatever it be. Love in the
high sense between man and woman is of all things the most rare. Few
are capable of it; to fewer still is it granted. "The crown of
life!" said Jerome Otway.
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