第2部分(第1/7 页)

our　poem；　your　novel；　who　bargained　with　you　for　it？　If　it　is　honest　journeywork；　yet　lacks　purchasers；　at　most　you　may　call　yourself　a　hapless　tradesman。　If　it　e　from　on　high；　with　what　decency　do　you　fret　and　fume　because　it　is　not　paid　for　in　heavy　cash？　For　the　work　of　man's　mind　there　is　one　test；　and　one　alone；　the　judgment　of　generations　yet　unborn。　If　you　have　written　a　great　book；　the　world　to　e　will　know　of　it。　But　you　don't　care　for　posthumous　glory。　You　want　to　enjoy　fame　in　a　fortable　armchair。　Ah；　that　is　quite　another　thing。　Have　the　courage　of　your　desire。　Admit　yourself　a　merchant；　and　protest　to　gods　and　men　that　the　merchandise　you　offer　is　of　better　quality　than　much　which　sells　for　a　high　price。　You　may　be　right；　and　indeed　it　is　hard　upon　you　that　Fashion　does　not　turn　to　your　stall。

II

The　exquisite　quiet　of　this　room！　I　have　been　sitting　in　utter　idleness；　watching　the　sky；　viewing　the　shape　of　golden　sunlight　upon　the　carpet；　which　changes　as　the　minutes　pass；　letting　my　eye　wander　from　one　framed　print　to　another；　and　along　the　ranks　of　my　beloved　books。　Within　the　house　nothing　stirs。　In　the　garden　I　can　hear　singing　of　birds；　I　can　hear　the　rustle　of　their　wings。　And　thus；　if　it　please　me；　I　may　sit　all　day　long；　and　into　the　profounder　quiet　of　the　night。

My　house　is　perfect。　By　great　good　fortune　I　have　found　a　housekeeper　no　less　to　my　mind；　a　low…voiced；　light…footed　woman　of　discreet　age；　strong　and　deft　enough　to　render　me　all　the　service　I　require；　and　not　afraid　of　solitude。　She　rises　very　early。　By　my　breakfast…time　there　remains　little　to　be　done　under　the　roof　save　dressing　of　meals。　Very　rarely　do　I　hear　even　a　clink　of　crockery；　never　the　closing　of　a　door　or　window。　Oh；　blessed　silence！

There　is　n