Now that he had the chance to do
this, village life seemed insufferable to him, and he longed for the
stimulus of a town where alone his energies could have scope.
"The stir and bustle of a city! The thrill of passionate eloquence!" so
he rapturously phrased it to himself; yet he soon checked such boyish
enthusiasm.
"After all, what does it mean? What are politics and science? Great as
ideals in the distance, yes! But in the life of each individual they're
only a trade, like anything else! Strife! Titanic efforts! The
conditions of modern existence make all that impossible. I suffer, I
strive, I surmount obstacles! Well, what then? Where's the end of it?
Not in my lifetime, at any rate! Prometheus wished to give fire to
mankind, and he did so. That was a triumph, if you like! But what about
us? The most we do is to throw faggots on a fire that we have never
kindled, and which by us will never be put out."
It suddenly struck him that if things were wrong it was because he,
Yourii, was not a Prometheus. Such a thought, in itself most
distressing, yet gave him another opportunity for morbid self-torture.
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