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<p>u don't know how pleasant it is to be wi</p>
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Ght as well try to write a long poem. Such things are certainly _long_, and as certainly not _poems_. That huge thing is not a picture. Denham. Ah, you write quatrains. Should no poem exceed four lines? Vane. Not only should not, but in our present state of development, _cannot_. The quatrain is the analogue of the Greek gem, the _consummate_ flower of the national art of the period. It will take at _least_ a century to perfect and exhaust it. Have you seen my book, "Three Quatrains"? Denham. No; have you published it lately? Vane. My dear Denham! I never _publish_ anything. In a wilderness of mediocrity obscurity is fame. Denham. Yes, a well-advertised obscurity. But surely you _have_ published poems? Vane. Where have you lived, my dear fellow? I breathe a poem into the air, and the world hears. If some one prints it, can I help it? One does not print, wake, and become famous; one becomes famous, and the world awakes, cackles, and prints one. Fitzgerald. By-the-bye, Vane, there's a quatrain in your "In the House of Hathor" I wanted to ask you about. Vane. Which? Fitzgerald. Let me see--it begins: "I saw a serpent in my Lady's heart,"-- Vane. Ah! spare me the torment of hearing-- Fitzgerald. Your own lines? Vane. _Mur_-dered! "I saw the serpent of my Lady's heart, Lovely and leprous; and a violet sigh Shook the wan, yellowing leaves of threnody, Bruised in the holy chalice of my Art." Fitzgerald. Ah yes! I didn't quite catch the meaning. Vane. Meaning? It is a piece of _mu_-sic, in which I have skilfully e-_lu_-ded ALL _meaning_. Fitzgerald. Oh, I see! (_Resumes his book._) Denham. (_to Vane_) Have a cigarette? (_Denham offers him a cigarette; he takes one absently, then lets it drop back into the box._) Vane. Thanks, no--I never smoke. It has become so vulgar. Denham. Really? What do you do then--_absinthe_? Vane. For the purposes of art it is antiquated. (_He sighs._) I have tried _haschish_. Denham. Well? Vane. Without distinct results--for one's style, that is. Denham. Oh! Vane. One sometimes sees oneself inventing the Narghile. It involves the black slave, of course, and might lead to a true retrogressive progress--even to the _Harim_. One pities the superfluous woman, there are so many about. Denham. Yet Mormonism seems to be a failure. Vane. It was so _dreadfully_ upholstered! Denham. The _Harim_ would be a new field for the collector. How prices would run up! Vane. Ah, Denham, never touch a dream with the vulgarity of real things! (_Crosses to picture._) (_Fitzgerald, who has been reading Gyp, suddenly comes forward with the book in his han
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