th their shadow.
We are jealous of the geniuses of former times, whose names, standing
out like the landmarks of history, rescue the ages from oblivion. The
heaven of fame is not very large, and the more there are who enter it
the less is the share of each. The great names of the past rob us of our
place in it; the space which they fill in the popular memory they usurp
from us who aspire to occupy it. And so we rise up in revolt against
them, and hence the bitterness with which all those who seek after fame
in the world of letters judge those who have already attained it and are
in enjoyment of it. If additions continue to be made to the wealth of
literature, there will come a day of sifting, and each one fears lest he
be caught in the meshes of the sieve. In attacking the masters,
irreverent youth is only defending itself; the iconoclast or
image-breaker is a Stylite who erects himself as an image, an _icon_.
"Comparisons are odious," says the familiar adage, and the reason is
that we wish to be unique. Do not tell Fernandez that he is one of the
most talented Spaniards of the younger generation, for though he will
affect to be gratified by the eulogy he is really annoyed by it; if,
however, you tell him that he is the most talented man in Spain--well
and good! But even that is not sufficient: one of the worldwide
reputations would be more to his liking, but he is only fully satisfied
with being esteemed the first in all countries and all ages. The more
alone, the nearer to that unsubstantial immortality, the immortality of
the name, for great names diminish one another.

What is the meaning of that irritation which we feel when we believe
that we are robbed of a phrase, or a thought, or an image, which we
believed to be our own, when we are plagiarized? Robbed? Can it indeed
be ours once we have given it to the public? Only because it is ours we
prize it; and we are fonder of the false money that preserves our
impress than of the coin of pure gold from which our effigy and our
legend has been effaced. It very commonly happens that it is when the
name of a writer is no longer in men's mouths that he most influences
his public, his mind being then disseminated and infused in the minds of
those who have read him, whereas he was quoted chiefly when his thoughts
and sayings, clashing with those generally received, needed the
guarantee of a name. What was his now belongs to all, and he lives in
all. But for him the garlands