"
If he had said no more, Herminia would have been amply satisfied.
To be called morbid by the "Spectator" is a sufficient proof that
you have hit at least the right tack in morals. And to be accused
of genius as well was indeed a triumph. No wonder Herminia went
home to her lonely attic that night justifiably elated. She
fancied after this her book must make a hit. It might be blamed
and reviled, but at any rate it was now safe from the ignominy of
oblivion.
Alas, how little she knew of the mysteries of the book-market! As
little as all the rest of us. Day after day, from that afternoon
forth, she watched in vain for succeeding notices. Not a single
other paper in England reviewed her. At the libraries, her romance
was never so much as asked for. And the reason for these phenomena
is not far to seek by those who know the ways of the British public.
For her novel was earnestly and sincerely written; it breathed a
moral air, therefore it was voted dull; therefore nobody cared for
it. The "Spectator" had noticed it because of its manifest
earnestness and sincerity; for though the "Spectator" is always on
the side of the lie and the wrong, it is earnest and sincere, and
has a genuine sympathy for earnestness and sincerity, even on the
side of truth and righteousness.
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