Why should you take the trouble to write good work that will bring you
posthumous fame when without trouble you can write work that will bring
you fame during your lifetime? The whole world is sham and advertisement
and opportunism, is it not? Reputations are made by publishers and
newspapers. Greatness is a matter determined by majorities. But impress
the public, but compose works that will arouse universal comment, but
break a few academic formulas and get yourself talked about, but write
music that will surprise and seem wonderful at a first hearing, and your
fame is assured. The important thing is to live luxuriously and keep
your name before the public. In so doing one will have lived life as
fully as it can be lived. And after one is dead, what does it all
matter?
Yet, though the world be full of men whose spiritual energies have been
lamed in kindred fashions, the terrible misadventure of Richard Strauss
remains deeply affecting. However far the millions of bright spirits who
have died a living death have fallen, their fall has been no farther
than this man's. There can be no doubt of the completeness of Strauss's
disaster. It is a long while since he has been much besides a bore to
his once fervent admirers, an object of hatred to thousands of honest,
idealistic musicians.
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