"Ungrateful Wretch!" said the Artist. "When I am dead it will find this good food."
Then he gave the Tired World what he thought was Inspiration,—but the
World was not Inspired.
"Dense Dolt!" said the Artist. "When I am dead it will recognize my
Inspiration."
Then he gave the Ugly World what he thought was Beauty,—but the World did not find it Beautiful.
"Blind Brute!" said the Artist. "How terrible it is to be unappreciated! This Fool Incarnate can never realize what it is ignoring! And it will give me no reward! When I am dead it will see my Beauty!"
Now the World had its feelings, and did not enjoy the attitude of the Artist; so verily it gave him no reward. And he died. Nevertheless what he foretold was by no means fulfilled, for his work was for himself alone, and perished with him.
Then arose the second Artist, and he was not only an Artist, but a
Merchant.
And he said, "I perceive that this my brother has died because he did not please the World, and it would give him no reward. I shall be wiser."
Then he studied the tastes of the World; Dull, Hungry, Tired and Ugly; a
Neglected Child.
And he carefully catered to its ignorance, its prejudices and its childish tastes; he tickled with cheap pleasures, he gave it what its lower nature liked, and the Dull World found his Amusement amusing, and paid for it; and the Hungry World found his food palatable, and paid for it; and the Tired World received his Inspiration as if it were genuine, and paid for it; and the Ugly World eagerly grasped his poor prettiness as if it were Beauty, and paid for it; so the second Artist did not die—until he died; and then he was dead; and his work with him.