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Chapter 16

           Butwho,orwhatamIthatIshouldjudgeofvanity—Iwhoseegregiousandflagrantself-approbationwasofsuchacharacterthatitblindedmetotheperceptionandcomprehensionofeverythinginwhichmyownEgowasnotrepresented!Andyet—withallthemorbidinterestItookinmyself,mysurroundings,mycomfort,mysocialadvancement,therewasonethingwhichsoonbecameatorturetome—averitabledespairandloathing—andthis,strangetosay,wastheverytriumphIhadmostlookedforwardtoasthecrownandsummitofallmyambitiousdreams.Mybook—thebookIhadpresumedtoconsideraworkofgenius—whenitwaslaunchedonthetideofpublicityandcriticism,resolveditselfintoasortofliterarymonsterthathauntedmydaysandnightswithitshatefulpresence;thethick,black-lettered,lyingadvertisementsscatteredbroadcastbymypublisher,flaredatmewithanoffensiveinsistenceineverypaperIcasuallyopened.Andthepraiseofthereviewers!...theexaggerated,preposterous,fraudulent‘boom’!GoodGod!—howsickeningitwas!—howfulsome!Everyepithetofflatterybestoweduponmefilledmewithdisgust,andonedaywhenItookupaleadingmagazineandsawalongarticleuponthe‘extraordinarybrilliancyandpromise’ofmybook,comparingmetoanewÆschylusandShakespearecombined,withthesignatureofDavidMcWhingappendedtoit,IcouldhavethrashedthateruditeandassuredlypurchasedScotwithinaninchofhislife.

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