Alwyn smiled. He was thinking of what his Shadow-Self had said on this very subject--"A book or poem, to be great, and keep its greatness hereafter, must be judged by the natural instinct of PEOPLES. This world-wide decision has never yet been, and never will be, hastened by any amount of written criticism,--it is the responsive beat of the enormous Pulse of Life that thrills through all mankind, high and low, gentle and simple,--its great throbs are slow and solemnly measured, yet if once it answers to a Poet's touch, that Poet's name is made glorious forever!" He.. in the character of Sah-luma.. had seemed to utter these sentiments many ages ago,--and now the words repeated themselves in his thoughts with a new and deep intensity of meaning.
"Of course," added Villiers suddenly--"you must expect plenty of adverse criticism now, as it is known beyond all doubt that you are alive and able to read what is written concerning you,--but if you once pay attention to critics, you may as well put aside pen altogether, as it is the business of these worthies never to be entirely satisfied with anything. Even Shelley and Byron, in the critical capacity, abused Keats, till the poor, suffering youth, who promised to be greater then either of them, died of a broken heart as much as disease. This sort of injustice will go on to the end of time, or till men become more Christianized than Paul's version of Christianity has ever yet made them."
Here a knock at the door interrupted the conversation. The servant entered, bringing a note gorgeously crested and coroneted in gold. Villiers, to whom it was addressed, opened and read it.
"What shall we do about this?" he asked, when his man had retired. "It is an invitation from the Duchess de la Santoisie. She asks us to go and dine with her next week,--a party of twenty--reception afterward. I think we'd better accept,--what do you say?"
Alwyn roused himself from his reverie. "Anything to please you, my dear boy!" he answered cheerfully--"But I haven't the faintest idea who the Duchess de la Santoisie is!"
"No? ... Well, she's an Englishwoman who has married a French Duke. He is a delightful old fellow, the pink of courtesy, and the model of perfect egotism. A true Parisian, and of course an atheist,--a very polished atheist, too, with a most charming reliance on his own infallibility. His wife writes novels which have a SLIGHT leaning toward Zolaism,--she is an extremely witty woman sarcastic, and cold-blooded enough to be a female Robespierre, yet, on the whole, amusing as a study of what curious nondescript forms the feminine nature can adopt unto itself, if it chooses. She has an immense respect for GENIUS,--mind, I say genius advisedly, because she really is one of those rare few who cannot endure mediocrity. Everything at her house is the best of its kind, and the people she entertains are the best of theirs. Her welcome of you will be at any rate a sincerely admiring one,-- and as I think, in spite of your desire for quiet, you will have to show yourself somewhere, it may as well be there."