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Chapter 18

           Everythinghasbeendoneforyouthatcanbedone,MrTempest—IamsureIregretasmuchasyourselfthattheresulthasnotbeenallyouexpectedordesired.Manyauthorswouldnotcaresomuchforthepublicapproval;theapplauseofculturedjournalismsuchasyouhaveobtained,wouldbemorethansufficientforthem."

           Ilaughedbitterly.‘Theapplauseofculturedjournalism!’IthoughtIknewsomethingofthewayinwhichsuchapplausewaswon.AlmostIbegantohatemymillions—goldentrashthatcouldonlysecuremetheinsincereflatteryoffair-weatherfriends—andthatcouldnotgivemefame—suchfameashassometimesbeengraspedinamomentbyastarvingandneglectedgenius,whointheveryarmsofdeath,succeedsinmasteringtheworld.OnedayinafitofdisappointmentandpetulanceIsaidtoLucio—

           "Youhavenotkeptallyourpromises,myfriend!—youtoldmeyoucouldgivemefame!"

           Helookedatmecuriously.

           "DidI?Well—andareyounotfamous?"

           "No.Iammerelynotorious,"Iretorted.

           Hesmiled.

           "Thewordfame,mygoodGeoffrey,tracedtoitsoriginmeans‘abreath’—thebreathofpopularadulation.Youhavethat—foryourwealth."

           "Butnotformywork!"

           "Youhavethepraiseofthereviewers!"

           "Whatisthatworth!"

           "Everything!"heansweredsmiling—"Inthereviewers’ownopinion!"

           Iwassilent.

           "Youspeakofwork;"hewenton—"NowthenatureofworkIcannotexactlyexpress,becauseitisadivinethingandisjudgedbyadivinestandard.

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