It was too much.

Neither nature nor the Baron had given him a sanguine spirit; the seeds of pessimism, once lodged within him, flourished in a propitious soil.

He "questioned things, and did not find One that would answer to his mind; And all the world appeared unkind." He believed that he was a failure and he began to despair.
Yet Stockmar had told him that he must "never relax," and he never would.

He would go on, working to the utmost and striving for the highest, to the bitter end.

His industry grew almost maniacal.
Earlier and earlier was the green lamp lighted; more vast grew the correspondence; more searching the examination of the newspapers; the interminable memoranda more punctilious, analytical, and precise.