XLVI
THE FABLE OF THE IDEAL GADGET
NO poem can turn out respectably well unless written in the full confidence that this time at last the poet is going to attain perfect expression. So long as this confidence survives he goes on revising the poem at intervals for days or months until nothing more can be done, and the inevitable sense of failure is felt, leaving him at liberty to try again. It is on this inevitable failure that the practice of every art is made conditional.
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A man once went into an ironmonger’s shop and said hesitatingly, “Do you sell those gadgets for fixing on doors?”
“Well, sir,” replied the assistant, “I am not quite sure if I understand your requirements, but I take it you are needing a patent automatic door-closer?”
“Exactly,” said the customer. “One to fix on my pantry door which, by the way, contains a glass window.”
“You will want a cheap one, sir?”
“Cheap but serviceable.”
“You will prefer an English make, sir?”
“Indeed, that’s a most important consideration.”