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- Мари Корелли
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He
smiled
.
"
The
word
fame
,
my
good
Geoffrey
,
traced
to
its
origin
means
'
a
breath
'
--
the
breath
of
popular
adulation
.
You
have
that
--
for
your
wealth
.
"
"
But
not
for
my
work
!
"
"
You
have
the
praise
of
the
reviewers
!
"
"
What
is
that
worth
!
"
"
Everything
!
"
he
answered
smiling
--
"
In
the
reviewers
'
own
opinion
!
"
I
was
silent
.
"
You
speak
of
work
;
"
he
went
on
--
"
Now
the
nature
of
work
I
can
not
exactly
express
,
because
it
is
a
divine
thing
and
is
judged
by
a
divine
standard
.
One
must
consider
in
all
work
two
things
;
first
,
the
object
for
which
it
is
undertaken
,
and
secondly
the
way
in
which
it
is
performed
.
All
work
should
have
a
high
and
unselfish
intent
--
without
this
,
it
perishes
and
is
not
considered
work
at
all
--
not
at
least
by
the
eternal
judges
invisible
.
If
it
is
work
,
truly
and
nobly
done
in
every
sense
of
the
word
,
it
carries
with
it
its
own
reward
,
and
the
laurels
descend
from
heaven
shaped
ready
for
wearing
--
no
earthly
power
can
bestow
them
.
I
can
not
give
you
that
fame
--
but
I
have
secured
you
a
very
fair
imitation
of
it
.
"
I
was
obliged
to
acquiesce
,
though
more
or
less
morosely
--
whereat
I
saw
that
he
was
somewhat
amused
.
Unwilling
to
incur
his
contempt
I
said
no
more
concerning
the
subject
that
was
the
nearest
to
my
heart
,
and
wore
out
many
sleepless
hours
at
night
in
trying
to
write
a
new
book
--
something
novel
and
daring
,
such
as
should
force
the
public
to
credit
me
with
a
little
loftier
status
than
that
obtained
by
the
possession
of
a
huge
banking
account
.
But
the
creative
faculty
seemed
dead
in
me
--
I
was
crushed
by
a
sense
of
impotence
and
failure
;
vague
ideas
were
in
my
brain
that
would
not
lend
themselves
to
expression
in
words
--
and
such
a
diseased
love
of
hypercriticism
controlled
me
,
that
after
a
miserably
nervous
analysis
of
every
page
I
wrote
,
I
tore
it
up
as
soon
as
it
was
written
,
thus
reducing
myself
to
a
state
of
mind
that
was
almost
unbearable
.
