He insisted that "fame is the perfume of heroic deeds".

I think he meant that fame should emerge as a reward only after the event, accruing like, say, superannuation or bank interest.

Moreover, fame rightly is attached to a deed - heroic, tragic, moving or the like - rather than to any single person.

Receiving fame as a due reward (in the form of a title, a medal or a pat on the back) might seem fitting, but going out seeking fame may well prove vain and delusional.

We should beware of putative leaders committed to that quest.

During ceremonial triumphs the Romans used to place a bloke in the chariot behind the victorious general, whispering: you'll soon be history; nobody has your back; you're not going to come out alive; the dogs are pissing on your swag - or however you make those points in Latin.

In the absence of the chariot whisperer, we might invite politicians to disclose how badly they are infected by the fame virus.

Some are silly enough to do so. A former President of France, Nicolas Sarkozy, confides in his memoir that he devoted his life to finding ways to be noticed.

One British Prime Minister, Benjamin Disraeli, candidly admitted that: "we are come here for fame".

Barack Obama's autobiography talks about how he gained the presidency by creating and surfing a wave of undeserved fame and unrequited hope, all the while professing to be bemused rather than beguiled by his own celebrity.

Jean Cocteau thought one French novelist went a few steps farther in kidding himself, contending that "Victor Hugo was a madman who thought he was Victor Hugo".

Others are more circumspect - or more cunning.

Deng Xiaoping was content to run China from an eccentric position as Most Honourable President of the Chinese Bridge Association.

In his war history Winston Churchill maintained that he slept "soundly and had no need for cheering dreams" when finally appointed prime minister.

Readers are encouraged to believe that fame counted for nothing: "I knew a good deal about it all, and I knew I should not fail". Not even a bedtime scotch is mentioned in that sober account.

False modesty and fake diffidence have led many politicians to declare, with the opera version of Eva Peron: "And as for fortune and as for fame/I never invited them in/though it seemed to the world they were all I desired". We voters know better.

Nonetheless, we might benefit from setting a short test for politicians to filter symptoms of the fame virus.

That appraisal would also detect traces of vanity, narcissism and pomposity, but those maladies are less pernicious and insidious than a desire for fame.

The queries would be rudimentary but practical, a bit like one American vice president's definition of a first meeting: "just circle and sniff".

A handful of questions would offer enough opportunities for a good sniff.

They could show us whether our leaders wanted to be someone or do something.

First, we might ask whether our prospective leaders roll their own.

That is, do they write their own speeches? Take time to think and reflect? Actually try to come up with ideas which might work?

If your thinking, writing and speaking are outsourced and hostage to other people, then what is left of you?

The next few questions would provide hints about a commitment to public service, not just career advancement.

They could be designated the "do you hold a hose, mate" queries.

If "when did you last help someone you do not know" seems too simplistic, then how about "when did you last spend a day working without publicity for a charity"?

Or, given the lamentable tendency of politicians to hang on past the bitter end, we might ask: "Do you reckon you would actually know when to retire?"

We could then move on to a few clues to character. "How long do you hold a grudge" might be followed up with "what are you reading now" or "what career could you pursue outside the public domain"?

Confronted with a morbid narcissist and fame-addict like Donald Trump, we might simply ask: "Do you ever think of anyone else's interests and concerns?"

An even simpler pub test, would you enjoy having a beer with this person, can lead you astray. You might then be stuck with an agreeable rascal, a Boris Johnson, Boris Yeltsin or an early Bob Hawke.

Without applying obvious tests like these, the quest for fame can blur otherwise serious appraisals.

Take, for instance, the newest biography of John Kennedy. Frederik Logevall spends 792 pages taking Kennedy only as far as 1956, praising his "magnificent leadership and inspirational rhetoric", reminding readers regularly of JFK's irony, wit or diffidence.

The fact that Kennedy lacked a moral compass (in his views on civil rights, treatment of women, disloyalty or refusal to denounce McCarthyism) does not invert the author's verdict. .

A similar pattern is evident in accounts of, say, Napoleon, Caesar or Alexander the Great, let alone Winston Churchill.

Lack of balance in the judgments of the biographers mirrors lack of contrition or self-analysis in their subjects.

Few obsessed with fame would recognise, as did Lady Macbeth, that: "Naught's had, all's spent/Where our desire is got without content". They should.