"
I spoke to his publisher about him not long since. "Mr. Pontifex,"
he said, "is a homo unius libri, but it doesn't do to tell him so."
I could see the publisher, who ought to know, had lost all faith
in Ernest's literary position, and looked upon him as a man whose
failure was all the more hopeless for the fact of his having once made
a coup. "He is in a very solitary position, Mr. Overton," continued
the publisher. "He has formed no alliances, and has made enemies not
only of the religious world but of the literary and scientific
brotherhood as well. This will not do nowadays. If a man wishes to get
on he must belong to a set, and Mr. Pontifex belongs to no set- not
even to a club."
I replied, "Mr. Pontifex is the exact likeness of Othello, but
with a difference-he hates not wisely but too well. He would dislike
the literary and scientific swells if he were to come to know them and
they him; there is no natural solidarity between him and them, and
if he were brought into contact with them his last state would be
worse than his first. His instinct tells him this, so he keeps clear
of them, and attacks them whenever he thinks they deserve it- in the
hope, perhaps, that a younger generation will listen to him more
willingly than the present.
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