AT that moment we were interrupted by the appearance of Madame Coutras, who had been paying visits. She came in, like a ship in full sail, an imposing1 creature, tall and stout2, with an ample bust3 and an obesity4 girthed in alarmingly by straight-fronted corsets. She had a bold hooked nose and three chins. She held herself upright. She had not yielded for an instant to the enervating5 charm of the tropics, but contrariwise was more active, more worldly, more decided6 than anyone in a temperate7 clime would have thought it possible to be. She was evidently a copious8 talker, and now poured forth9 a breathless stream of anecdote10 and comment. She made the conversation we had just had seem far away and unreal.
Presently Dr. Coutras turned to me.
“I still have in my bureau the picture that Strickland gave me,” he said. “Would you like to see it?”
“Willingly.”
We got up, and he led me on to the verandah which surrounded his house. We paused to look at the gay flowers that rioted in his garden.
“For a long time I could not get out of my head the recollection of the extraordinary decoration with which Strickland had covered the walls of his house,” he said reflectively.
I had been thinking of it, too. It seemed to me that here Strickland had finally put the whole expression of himself. Working silently, knowing that it was his last chance, I fancied that here he must have said all that he knew of life and all that he divined. And I fancied that perhaps here he had at last found peace. The demon11 which possessed12 him was exorcised at last, and with the completion of the work, for which all his life had been a painful preparation, rest descended13 on his remote and tortured soul. He was willing to die, for he had fulfilled his purpose.
“What was the subject?” I asked.
“I scarcely know. It was strange and fantastic. It was a vision of the beginnings of the world, the Garden of Eden, with Adam and Eve—que sais-je?—it was a hymn14 to the beauty of the human form, male and female, and the praise of Nature, sublime15, indifferent, lovely, and cruel. It gave you an awful sense of the infinity16 of space and of the endlessness of time. Because he painted the trees I see about me every day, the cocoa-nuts, the banyans, the flamboyants, the alligator-pears, I have seen them ever since differently, as though there were in them a spirit and a mystery which I am ever on the point of seizing and which forever escapes me. The colours were the colours familiar to me, and yet they were different. They had a significance which was all their own. And those nude17 men and women. They were of the earth, and yet apart from it. They seemed to possess something of the clay of which they were created, and at the same time something divine. You saw man in the nakedness of his primeval instincts, and you were afraid, for you saw yourself.”
Dr. Coutras shrugged18 his shoulders and smiled.
“You will laugh at me. I am a materialist19, and I am a gross, fat man—Falstaff, eh?—the lyrical mode does not become me. I make myself ridiculous. But I have never seen painting which made so deep an impression upon me. Tenez, I had just the same feeling as when I went to the Sistine Chapel20 in Rome. There too I was awed21 by the greatness of the man who had painted that ceiling. It was genius, and it was stupendous and overwhelming. I felt small and insignificant22. But you are prepared for the greatness of Michael Angelo. Nothing had prepared me for the immense surprise of these pictures in a native hut, far away from civilisation23, in a fold of the mountain above Taravao. And Michael Angelo is sane24 and healthy. Those great works of his have the calm of the sublime; but here, notwithstanding beauty, was something troubling. I do not know what it was. It made me uneasy. It gave me the impression you get when you are sitting next door to a room that you know is empty, but in which, you know not why, you have a dreadful consciousness that notwithstanding there is someone. You scold yourself; you know it is only your nerves—and yet, and yet... In a little while it is impossible to resist the terror that seizes you, and you are helpless in the clutch of an unseen horror. Yes; I confess I was not altogether sorry when I heard that those strange masterpieces had been destroyed.”
“Destroyed?” I cried.
“Mais oui; did you not know?”
“How should I know? It is true I had never heard of this work; but I thought perhaps it had fallen into the hands of a private owner. Even now there is no certain list of Strickland’s paintings.”
“When he grew blind he would sit hour after hour in those two rooms that he had painted, looking at his works with sightless eyes, and seeing, perhaps, more than he had ever seen in his life before. Ata told me that he never complained of his fate, he never lost courage. To the end his mind remained serene25 and undisturbed. But he made her promise that when she had buried him—did I tell you that I dug his grave with my own hands, for none of the natives would approach the infected house, and we buried him, she and I, sewn up in three pareos joined together, under the mango-tree—he made her promise that she would set fire to the house and not leave it till it was burned to the ground and not a stick remained.”
I did not speak for a while, for I was thinking. Then I said:
“He remained the same to the end, then.”
“Do you understand? I must tell you that I thought it my duty to dissuade26 her.”
“Even after what you have just said?”
“Yes; for I knew that here was a work of genius, and I did not think we had the right to deprive the world of it. But Ata would not listen to me. She had promised. I would not stay to witness the barbarous deed, and it was only afterwards that I heard what she had done. She poured paraffin on the dry floors and on the pandanus-mats, and then she set fire. In a little while nothing remained but smouldering embers, and a great masterpiece existed no longer.
“I think Strickland knew it was a masterpiece. He had achieved what he wanted. His life was complete. He had made a world and saw that it was good. Then, in pride and contempt, he destroyed it.”
“But I must show you my picture,” said Dr. Coutras, moving on.
“What happened to Ata and the child?”
“They went to the Marquesas. She had relations there. I have heard that the boy works on one of Cameron’s schooners27. They say he is very like his father in appearance.”
At the door that led from the verandah to the doctor’s consulting-room, he paused and smiled.
“It is a fruit-piece. You would think it not a very suitable picture for a doctor’s consulting-room, but my wife will not have it in the drawing-room. She says it is frankly28 obscene.”
“A fruit-piece!” I exclaimed in surprise.
We entered the room, and my eyes fell at once on the picture. I looked at it for a long time.
It was a pile of mangoes, bananas, oranges, and I know not what and at first sight it was an innocent picture enough. It would have been passed in an exhibition of the Post-Impressionists by a careless person as an excellent but not very remarkable29 example of the school; but perhaps afterwards it would come back to his recollection, and he would wonder why. I do not think then he could ever entirely30 forget it.
The colours were so strange that words can hardly tell what a troubling emotion they gave. They were sombre blues31, opaque32 like a delicately carved bowl in lapis lazuli, and yet with a quivering lustre33 that suggested the palpitation of mysterious life; there were purples, horrible like raw and putrid34 flesh, and yet with a glowing, sensual passion that called up vague memories of the Roman Empire of Heliogabalus; there were reds, shrill35 like the berries of holly—one thought of Christmas in England, and the snow, the good cheer, and the pleasure of children—and yet by some magic softened36 till they had the swooning tenderness of a dove’s breast; there were deep yellows that died with an unnatural37 passion into a green as fragrant38 as the spring and as pure as the sparkling water of a mountain brook39. Who can tell what anguished40 fancy made these fruits? They belonged to a Polynesian garden of the Hesperides. There was something strangely alive in them, as though they were created in a stage of the earth’s dark history when things were not irrevocably fixed41 to their forms. They were extravagantly42 luxurious43. They were heavy with tropical odours. They seemed to possess a sombre passion of their own. It was enchanted44 fruit, to taste which might open the gateway45 to God knows what secrets of the soul and to mysterious palaces of the imagination. They were sullen46 with unawaited dangers, and to eat them might turn a man to beast or god. All that was healthy and natural, all that clung to happy relationships and the simple joys of simple men, shrunk from them in dismay; and yet a fearful attraction was in them, and, like the fruit on the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil they were terrible with the possibilities of the Unknown.
At last I turned away. I felt that Strickland had kept his secret to the grave.
“Voyons, René, mon ami,” came the loud, cheerful voice of Madame Coutras, “what are you doing all this time? Here are the apéritifs47. Ask Monsieur if he will not drink a little glass of Quinquina Dubonnet.”
“Volontiers, Madame,” I said, going out on to the verandah.
The spell was broken.
1 imposing [ɪmˈpəʊzɪŋ] 第8级 | |
adj.使人难忘的,壮丽的,堂皇的,雄伟的 | |
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2 stout [staʊt] 第8级 | |
adj.强壮的,结实的,勇猛的,矮胖的 | |
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3 bust [bʌst] 第9级 | |
vt.打破;vi.爆裂;n.半身像;胸部 | |
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4 obesity [əʊ'bi:sətɪ] 第8级 | |
n.肥胖,肥大 | |
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5 enervating [ˈenəˌveɪtɪŋ] 第10级 | |
v.使衰弱,使失去活力( enervate的现在分词 ) | |
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6 decided [dɪˈsaɪdɪd] 第7级 | |
adj.决定了的,坚决的;明显的,明确的 | |
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7 temperate [ˈtempərət] 第8级 | |
adj.温和的,温带的,自我克制的,不过分的 | |
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8 copious [ˈkəʊpiəs] 第9级 | |
adj.丰富的,大量的 | |
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9 forth [fɔ:θ] 第7级 | |
adv.向前;向外,往外 | |
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10 anecdote [ˈænɪkdəʊt] 第7级 | |
n.轶事,趣闻,短故事 | |
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11 demon [ˈdi:mən] 第10级 | |
n.魔鬼,恶魔 | |
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12 possessed [pəˈzest] 第12级 | |
adj.疯狂的;拥有的,占有的 | |
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13 descended [di'sendid] 第7级 | |
a.为...后裔的,出身于...的 | |
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14 hymn [hɪm] 第8级 | |
n.赞美诗,圣歌,颂歌 | |
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15 sublime [səˈblaɪm] 第10级 | |
adj.崇高的,伟大的;极度的,不顾后果的 | |
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16 infinity [ɪnˈfɪnəti] 第8级 | |
n.无限,无穷,大量 | |
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17 nude [nju:d] 第10级 | |
adj.裸体的;n.裸体者,裸体艺术品 | |
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18 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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19 materialist [məˈtɪəriəlɪst] 第8级 | |
n. 唯物主义者 | |
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20 chapel [ˈtʃæpl] 第9级 | |
n.小教堂,殡仪馆 | |
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21 awed [ɔ:d] 第7级 | |
adj.充满敬畏的,表示敬畏的v.使敬畏,使惊惧( awe的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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22 insignificant [ˌɪnsɪgˈnɪfɪkənt] 第9级 | |
adj.无关紧要的,可忽略的,无意义的 | |
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23 civilisation [sɪvɪlaɪ'zeɪʃən] 第8级 | |
n.文明,文化,开化,教化 | |
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24 sane [seɪn] 第8级 | |
adj.心智健全的,神志清醒的,明智的,稳健的 | |
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25 serene [səˈri:n] 第8级 | |
adj. 安详的,宁静的,平静的 | |
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26 dissuade [dɪˈsweɪd] 第9级 | |
vt.劝阻,阻止 | |
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27 schooners [ˈsku:nəz] 第12级 | |
n.(有两个以上桅杆的)纵帆船( schooner的名词复数 ) | |
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28 frankly [ˈfræŋkli] 第7级 | |
adv.坦白地,直率地;坦率地说 | |
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29 remarkable [rɪˈmɑ:kəbl] 第7级 | |
adj.显著的,异常的,非凡的,值得注意的 | |
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30 entirely [ɪnˈtaɪəli] 第9级 | |
ad.全部地,完整地;完全地,彻底地 | |
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31 blues [blu:z] 第9级 | |
n.抑郁,沮丧;布鲁斯音乐 | |
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32 opaque [əʊˈpeɪk] 第7级 | |
adj.不透光的;不反光的,不传导的;晦涩的 | |
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33 lustre [ˈlʌstə(r)] 第11级 | |
n.光亮,光泽;荣誉;vi.有光泽,发亮;vt.使有光泽 | |
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34 putrid [ˈpju:trɪd] 第12级 | |
adj.腐臭的;有毒的;已腐烂的;卑劣的 | |
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35 shrill [ʃrɪl] 第9级 | |
adj.尖声的;刺耳的;vt.&vi.尖叫 | |
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36 softened ['sɒfənd] 第7级 | |
(使)变软( soften的过去式和过去分词 ); 缓解打击; 缓和; 安慰 | |
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37 unnatural [ʌnˈnætʃrəl] 第9级 | |
adj.不自然的;反常的 | |
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38 fragrant [ˈfreɪgrənt] 第7级 | |
adj.芬香的,馥郁的,愉快的 | |
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39 brook [brʊk] 第7级 | |
n.小河,溪;vt.忍受,容让 | |
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40 anguished ['æŋɡwɪʃd] 第7级 | |
adj.极其痛苦的v.使极度痛苦(anguish的过去式) | |
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41 fixed [fɪkst] 第8级 | |
adj.固定的,不变的,准备好的;(计算机)固定的 | |
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42 extravagantly [ɪk'strævəɡəntlɪ] 第7级 | |
adv.挥霍无度地 | |
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43 luxurious [lʌgˈʒʊəriəs] 第7级 | |
adj.精美而昂贵的;豪华的 | |
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44 enchanted [ɪn'tʃɑ:ntɪd] 第9级 | |
adj. 被施魔法的,陶醉的,入迷的 动词enchant的过去式和过去分词 | |
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45 gateway [ˈgeɪtweɪ] 第8级 | |
n.大门口,出入口,途径,方法 | |
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