Works of the ordinary type meet with a better fate.  Arising as they do in the course of, and in connection with, the general advance in contemporary culture, they are in close alliance with the spirit of their age—­in other words, just those opinions which happen to be prevalent at the time.  They aim at suiting the needs of the moment.  If they have any merit, it is soon recognized; and they gain currency as books which reflect the latest ideas.  Justice, nay, more than justice, is done to them.  They afford little scope for envy; since, as was said above, a man will praise a thing only so far as he hopes to be able to imitate it himself.

But those rare works which are destined to become the property of all mankind and to live for centuries, are, at their origin, too far in advance of the point at which culture happens to stand, and on that very account foreign to it and the spirit of their own time.  They neither belong to it nor are they in any connection with it, and hence they excite no interest in those who are dominated by it.  They belong to another, a higher stage of culture, and a time that is still far off.  Their course is related to that of ordinary works as the orbit of Uranus to the orbit of Mercury.  For the moment they get no justice done to them.  People are at a loss how to treat them; so they leave them alone, and go their own snail’s pace for themselves.  Does the worm see the eagle as it soars aloft?

Of the number of books written in any language about one in 100,000 forms a part of its real and permanent literature.  What a fate this one book has to endure before it outstrips those 100,000 and gains its due place of honor!  Such a book is the work of an extraordinary and eminent mind, and therefore it is specifically different from the others; a fact which sooner or later becomes manifest.

Let no one fancy that things will ever improve in this respect.  No! the miserable constitution of humanity never changes, though it may, to be sure, take somewhat varying forms with every generation.  A distinguished mind seldom has its full effect in the life-time of its possessor; because, at bottom, it is completely and properly understood only by minds already akin to it.

As it is a rare thing for even one man out of many millions to tread the path that leads to immortality, he must of necessity be very lonely.  The journey to posterity lies through a horribly dreary region, like the Lybian desert, of which, as is well known, no one has any idea who has not seen it for himself.  Meanwhile let me before all things recommend the traveler to take light baggage with him; otherwise he will have to throw away too much on the road.  Let him never forget the words of Balthazar Gracian:  lo bueno si breve, dos vezes bueno—­good work is doubly good if it is short.  This advice is specially applicable to my own countrymen.

Compared with the short span of time they live, men of great intellect are like huge buildings, standing on a small plot of ground.  The size of the building cannot be seen by anyone, just in front of it; nor, for an analogous reason, can the greatness of a genius be estimated while he lives.  But when a century has passed, the world recognizes it and wishes him back again.