I did not know why Strickland had suddenly offered to show them to me. I welcomed the opportunity. A man’s work reveals him. In social intercourse he gives you the surface that he wishes the world to accept, and you can only gain a true knowledge of him by inferences from little actions, of which he is unconscious, and from fleeting64 expressions, which cross his face unknown to him. Sometimes people carry to such perfection the mask they have assumed that in due course they actually become the person they seem. But in his book or his picture the real man delivers himself defenceless. His pretentiousness will only expose his vacuity. The lathe painted to look like iron is seen to be but a lathe. No affectation of peculiarity can conceal a commonplace mind. To the acute observer no one can produce the most casual work without disclosing the innermost secrets of his soul.
As I walked up the endless stairs of the house in which Strickland lived, I confess that I was a little excited. It seemed to me that I was on the threshold of a surprising adventure. I looked about the room with curiosity. It was even smaller and more bare than I remembered it. I wondered what those friends of mine would say who demanded vast studios, and vowed they could not work unless all the conditions were to their liking.
“You’d better stand there,” he said, pointing to a spot from which, presumably, he fancied I could see to best advantage what he had to show me.
“You don’t want me to talk, I suppose,” I said.
“No, blast you; I want you to hold your tongue.”
He placed a picture on the easel, and let me look at it for a minute or two; then took it down and put another in its place. I think he showed me about thirty canvases. It was the result of the six years during which he had been painting. He had never sold a picture. The canvases were of different sizes. The smaller were pictures of still-life and the largest were landscapes. There were about half a dozen portraits.
“That is the lot,” he said at last.
I wish I could say that I recognised at once their beauty and their great originality. Now that I have seen many of them again and the rest are familiar to me in reproductions, I am astonished that at first sight I was bitterly disappointed. I felt nothing of the peculiar29 thrill which it is the property of art to give. The impression that Strickland’s pictures gave me was disconcerting; and the fact remains, always to reproach me, that I never even thought of buying any. I missed a wonderful chance. Most of them have found their way into museums, and the rest are the treasured possessions of wealthy amateurs. I try to find excuses for myself. I think that my taste is good, but I am conscious that it has no originality. I know very little about painting, and I wander along trails that others have blazed for me. At that time I had the greatest admiration for the impressionists. I longed to possess a Sisley and a Degas, and I worshipped Manet. His Olympia seemed to me the greatest picture of modern times, and Le Déjeuner sur l’Herbe moved me profoundly. These works seemed to me the last word in painting.
I will not describe the pictures that Strickland showed me. Descriptions of pictures are always dull, and these, besides, are familiar to all who take an interest in such things. Now that his influence has so enormously affected modern painting, now that others have charted the country which he was among the first to explore, Strickland’s pictures, seen for the first time, would find the mind more prepared for them; but it must be remembered that I had never seen anything of the sort. First of all I was taken aback by what seemed to me the clumsiness of his technique. Accustomed to the drawing of the old masters, and convinced that Ingres was the greatest draughtsman of recent times, I thought that Strickland drew very badly. I knew nothing of the simplification at which he aimed. I remember a still-life of oranges on a plate, and I was bothered because the plate was not round and the oranges were lop-sided. The portraits were a little larger than life-size, and this gave them an ungainly look. To my eyes the faces looked like caricatures. They were painted in a way that was entirely54 new to me. The landscapes puzzled me even more. There were two or three pictures of the forest at Fontainebleau and several of streets in Paris: my first feeling was that they might have been painted by a drunken cabdriver. I was perfectly13 bewildered. The colour seemed to me extraordinarily38 crude. It passed through my mind that the whole thing was a stupendous, incomprehensible farce. Now that I look back I am more than ever impressed by Stroeve’s acuteness. He saw from the first that here was a revolution in art, and he recognised in its beginnings the genius which now all the world allows.
But if I was puzzled and disconcerted, I was not unimpressed. Even I, in my colossal ignorance, could not but feel that here, trying to express itself, was real power. I was excited and interested. I felt that these pictures had something to say to me that was very important for me to know, but I could not tell what it was. They seemed to me ugly, but they suggested without disclosing a secret of momentous significance. They were strangely tantalising. They gave me an emotion that I could not analyse. They said something that words were powerless to utter. I fancy that Strickland saw vaguely some spiritual meaning in material things that was so strange that he could only suggest it with halting symbols. It was as though he found in the chaos of the universe a new pattern, and were attempting clumsily, with anguish of soul, to set it down. I saw a tormented spirit striving for the release of expression.
I turned to him.
“I wonder if you haven’t mistaken your medium,” I said.
“What the hell do you mean?”
“I think you’re trying to say something, I don’t quite know what it is, but I’m not sure that the best way of saying it is by means of painting.”
When I imagined that on seeing his pictures I should get a clue to the understanding of his strange character I was mistaken. They merely increased the astonishment with which he filled me. I was more at sea than ever. The only thing that seemed clear to me—and perhaps even this was fanciful—was that he was passionately striving for liberation from some power that held him. But what the power was and what line the liberation would take remained obscure. Each one of us is alone in the world. He is shut in a tower of brass, and can communicate with his fellows only by signs, and the signs have no common value, so that their sense is vague and uncertain. We seek pitifully to convey to others the treasures of our heart, but they have not the power to accept them, and so we go lonely, side by side but not together, unable to know our fellows and unknown by them. We are like people living in a country whose language they know so little that, with all manner of beautiful and profound things to say, they are condemned to the banalities of the conversation manual. Their brain is seething with ideas, and they can only tell you that the umbrella of the gardener’s aunt is in the house.
The final impression I received was of a prodigious effort to express some state of the soul, and in this effort, I fancied, must be sought the explanation of what so utterly perplexed me. It was evident that colours and forms had a significance for Strickland that was peculiar to himself. He was under an intolerable necessity to convey something that he felt, and he created them with that intention alone. He did not hesitate to simplify or to distort if he could get nearer to that unknown thing he sought. Facts were nothing to him, for beneath the mass of irrelevant incidents he looked for something significant to himself. It was as though he had become aware of the soul of the universe and were compelled to express it.
Though these pictures confused and puzzled me, I could not be unmoved by the emotion that was patent in them; and, I knew not why, I felt in myself a feeling that with regard to Strickland was the last I had ever expected to experience. I felt an overwhelming compassion.
“I think I know now why you surrendered to your feeling for Blanche Stroeve,” I said to him.
“Why?”
“I think your courage failed. The weakness of your body communicated itself to your soul. I do not know what infinite yearning possesses you, so that you are driven to a perilous, lonely search for some goal where you expect to find a final release from the spirit that torments you. I see you as the eternal pilgrim to some shrine that perhaps does not exist. I do not know to what inscrutable Nirvana you aim. Do you know yourself? Perhaps it is Truth and Freedom that you seek, and for a moment you thought that you might find release in Love. I think your tired soul sought rest in a woman’s arms, and when you found no rest there you hated her. You had no pity for her, because you have no pity for yourself. And you killed her out of fear, because you trembled still at the danger you had barely escaped.”
He smiled dryly and pulled his beard.
“You are a dreadful sentimentalist, my poor friend.”
A week later I heard by chance that Strickland had gone to Marseilles. I never saw him again.
1 tilted [tɪltɪd] 第7级 | |
v. 倾斜的 | |
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2 irritably ['iritəbli] 第9级 | |
ad.易生气地 | |
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3 chuckled [ˈtʃʌkld] 第9级 | |
轻声地笑( chuckle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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4 apparently [əˈpærəntli] 第7级 | |
adv.显然地;表面上,似乎 | |
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5 artistic [ɑ:ˈtɪstɪk] 第7级 | |
adj.艺术(家)的,美术(家)的;善于艺术创作的 | |
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6 sincerity [sɪn'serətɪ] 第7级 | |
n.真诚,诚意;真实 | |
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7 disapproval [ˌdɪsəˈpru:vl] 第8级 | |
n.反对,不赞成 | |
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8 fascination [ˌfæsɪˈneɪʃn] 第8级 | |
n.令人着迷的事物,魅力,迷恋 | |
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9 outrage [ˈaʊtreɪdʒ] 第7级 | |
n.暴行,侮辱,愤怒;vt.凌辱,激怒 | |
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10 rogues [rəʊgz] 第12级 | |
n.流氓( rogue的名词复数 );无赖;调皮捣蛋的人;离群的野兽 | |
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11 recesses [rɪ'sesɪz] 第8级 | |
n.壁凹( recess的名词复数 );(工作或业务活动的)中止或暂停期间;学校的课间休息;某物内部的凹形空间v.把某物放在墙壁的凹处( recess的第三人称单数 );将(墙)做成凹形,在(墙)上做壁龛;休息,休会,休庭 | |
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12 subconscious [ˌsʌbˈkɒnʃəs] 第10级 | |
n./adj.潜意识(的),下意识(的) | |
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13 perfectly [ˈpɜ:fɪktli] 第8级 | |
adv.完美地,无可非议地,彻底地 | |
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14 motives [ˈməutivz] 第7级 | |
n.动机,目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
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15 applied [əˈplaɪd] 第8级 | |
adj.应用的;v.应用,适用 | |
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16 sentimental [ˌsentɪˈmentl] 第7级 | |
adj.多愁善感的,感伤的 | |
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17 derisively [dɪ'raɪsɪvlɪ] 第11级 | |
adv. 嘲笑地,嘲弄地 | |
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18 callous [ˈkæləs] 第9级 | |
adj.无情的,冷淡的,硬结的,起老茧的 | |
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19 callousness [] 第9级 | |
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20 inhuman [ɪnˈhju:mən] 第9级 | |
adj.残忍的,不人道的,无人性的 | |
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21 mince [mɪns] 第8级 | |
n.切碎物;v.切碎,矫揉做作地说 | |
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22 mere [mɪə(r)] 第7级 | |
adj.纯粹的;仅仅,只不过 | |
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23 remorse [rɪˈmɔ:s] 第9级 | |
n.痛恨,悔恨,自责 | |
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24 jaws [dʒɔ:z] 第7级 | |
n.口部;嘴 | |
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25 shrugged [ʃ'rʌɡd] 第7级 | |
vt.耸肩(shrug的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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26 gratitude [ˈgrætɪtju:d] 第7级 | |
adj.感激,感谢 | |
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27 seduced [siˈdju:st] 第8级 | |
诱奸( seduce的过去式和过去分词 ); 勾引; 诱使堕落; 使入迷 | |
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28 compassionate [kəmˈpæʃənət] 第9级 | |
adj.有同情心的,表示同情的 | |
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29 peculiar [pɪˈkju:liə(r)] 第7级 | |
adj.古怪的,异常的;特殊的,特有的 | |
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30 concealed [kən'si:ld] 第7级 | |
a.隐藏的,隐蔽的 | |
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31 shameful [ˈʃeɪmfl] 第8级 | |
adj.可耻的,不道德的 | |
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32 tranquillity [træŋ'kwɪlətɪ] 第7级 | |
n. 平静, 安静 | |
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33 sullen [ˈsʌlən] 第9级 | |
adj.愠怒的,闷闷不乐的,(天气等)阴沉的 | |
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34 reassuring [ˌri:ə'ʃuəriŋ] 第7级 | |
a.使人消除恐惧和疑虑的,使人放心的 | |
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35 incurring [ɪn'kɜ:rɪŋ] 第7级 | |
遭受,招致,引起( incur的现在分词 ) | |
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36 resentment [rɪˈzentmənt] 第8级 | |
n.怨愤,忿恨 | |
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37 horrified ['hɔrifaid] 第8级 | |
a.(表现出)恐惧的 | |
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38 extraordinarily [ɪk'strɔ:dnrəlɪ] 第9级 | |
adv.格外地;极端地 | |
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39 wreaked [ri:kt] 第10级 | |
诉诸(武力),施行(暴力),发(脾气)( wreak的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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40 primitive [ˈprɪmətɪv] 第7级 | |
adj.原始的;简单的;n.原(始)人,原始事物 | |
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41 obsession [əbˈseʃn] 第7级 | |
n.困扰,无法摆脱的思想(或情感) | |
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42 prudence ['pru:dns] 第11级 | |
n.谨慎,精明,节俭 | |
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43 nude [nju:d] 第10级 | |
adj.裸体的;n.裸体者,裸体艺术品 | |
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44 imprisons [ɪmˈprɪzənz] 第8级 | |
v.下狱,监禁( imprison的第三人称单数 ) | |
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45 imprison [ɪmˈprɪzn] 第8级 | |
vt.监禁,关押,限制,束缚 | |
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46 hindrance [ˈhɪndrəns] 第9级 | |
n.妨碍,障碍 | |
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47 insignificant [ˌɪnsɪgˈnɪfɪkənt] 第9级 | |
adj.无关紧要的,可忽略的,无意义的 | |
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48 lust [lʌst] 第10级 | |
n.性(淫)欲;渴(欲)望;vi.对…有强烈的欲望 | |
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49 spoke [spəʊk] 第11级 | |
n.(车轮的)辐条;轮辐;破坏某人的计划;阻挠某人的行动 v.讲,谈(speak的过去式);说;演说;从某种观点来说 | |
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50 chattels [tʃætlz] 第11级 | |
n.动产,奴隶( chattel的名词复数 ) | |
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51 snare [sneə(r)] 第10级 | |
n.陷阱,诱惑,圈套;(去除息肉或者肿瘤的)勒除器;响弦,小军鼓;vt.以陷阱捕获,诱惑 | |
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52 bind [baɪnd] 第7级 | |
vt.捆,包扎;装订;约束;使凝固;vi.变硬 | |
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53 amazement [əˈmeɪzmənt] 第8级 | |
n.惊奇,惊讶 | |
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54 entirely [ɪnˈtaɪəli] 第9级 | |
ad.全部地,完整地;完全地,彻底地 | |
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55 simplicity [sɪmˈplɪsəti] 第7级 | |
n.简单,简易;朴素;直率,单纯 | |
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56 inane [ɪˈneɪn] 第10级 | |
adj.空虚的,愚蠢的,空洞的 | |
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57 outraged ['autreidʒəd] 第7级 | |
a.震惊的,义愤填膺的 | |
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58 armour ['ɑ:mə(r)] 第9级 | |
(=armor)n.盔甲;装甲部队 | |
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59 indifference [ɪnˈdɪfrəns] 第8级 | |
n.不感兴趣,不关心,冷淡,不在乎 | |
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60 preposterous [prɪˈpɒstərəs] 第10级 | |
adj.荒谬的,可笑的 | |
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61 herd [hɜ:d] 第7级 | |
n.兽群,牧群;vt.使集中,把…赶在一起 | |
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62 yearn [jɜ:n] 第9级 | |
vi.想念;怀念;渴望 | |
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63 fiery [ˈfaɪəri] 第9级 | |
adj.燃烧着的,火红的;暴躁的;激烈的 | |
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