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Chapter 7

           I’mreallygrievedforyou,myfriend—Ineverthoughtyourcasewasquitesodesperate."

           Ilaughedinspiteofmydepression.

           "Youareincorrigible,Lucio!"Isaid—"Butyourcheerfulnessisveryinspiriting.AllIwantedtoexplaintoyouisthis—thatmybookexpressesacertaintoneofthoughtwhichpurportingtobemine,isnotme—inshort,I,inmypresentselfhavenosympathywithit.ImusthavechangedverymuchsinceIwroteit."

           "Changed?Whyyes,Ishouldthinkso!"andLuciolaughedheartily—"Thepossessionoffivemillionsisboundtochangeamanconsiderablyforthebetter—orworse!Butyouseemtobeworryingyourselfmostabsurdlyaboutnothing.Notoneauthorinmanycenturieswritesfromhisownheartorashetrulyfeels—whenhedoes,hebecomeswell-nighimmortal.ThisplanetistoolimitedtoholdmorethanoneHomer,onePlato,oneShakespeare.Don’tdistressyourself—youareneitherofthesethree!Youbelongtotheage,Tempest—itisadecadentephemeralage,andmostthingsconnectedwithitaredecadentandephemeral.Anyerathatisdominatedbytheloveofmoneyonly,hasarottencorewithinitandmustperish.Allhistorytellsusso,butnooneacceptsthelessonofhistory.Observethesignsofthetime—Artismadesubservienttotheloveofmoney—literature,politicsandreligionthesame—youcannotescapefromthegeneraldisease.Theonlythingtodoistomakethebestofit—noonecanreformit—leastofallyou,whohavesomuchofthelucregiventoyourshare."

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