"
"That is because you pity yourself, and in that you are quite right.
But you are turning away from the question. I do not say that it would
give one pleasure to be called an ass."
"But the public esteem that goes hand in hand with fame?"
Sniatynski, who is very lively and always walks about the room,
sitting down on any table or chair, now sat on the window-sill, and
replied:--
"Public esteem? You are wrong there, old fellow; there is no such
thing. Ours is a strange society, dominated by a pure republican
jealousy. I write plays, work for the stage; very good. I have gained
a certain reputation; better still. Now, these plays excite the
jealousy,--of another playwright, you think? Not at all; it is the
engineer, the bank clerk, the teacher, the physician, the railway
official,--in short, people who never wrote a play in their
lives,--that envy you. All these in their intercourse will show that
they do not think much of you, will speak slightingly of you behind
your back, and belittle you on purpose, so as to add an inch or two to
their own height. 'Sniatynski? who is he? Yes, I remember; he dresses
at the same tailor as I.' Such is fame, my dear fellow."
"But if must be worth something, since people risk their lives for
it?"
Sniatynski grew thoughtful, and replied with a certain gravity:--
"In private life it is worth something; you can make a footstool of it
for the woman you love.
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