Here lies the unreality of fiction. For in men, as a rule, love is but an episode which takes its place among the other affairs of the day, and the emphasis laid on it in novels gives it an importance which is untrue to life. There are few men to whom it is the most important thing in the world, and they are not very interesting ones; even women, with whom the subject is of paramount interest, have a contempt for them. They are flattered and excited by them, but have an uneasy feeling that they are poor creatures. But even during the brief intervals in which they are in love, men do other things which distract their mind; the trades by which they earn their living engage their attention; they are absorbed in sport; they can interest themselves in art. For the most part, they keep their various activities in various compartments, and they can pursue one to the temporary exclusion of the other. They have a faculty of concentration on that which occupies them at the moment, and it irks them if one encroaches on the other. As lovers, the difference between men and women is that women can love all day long, but men only at times.

With Strickland the sexual appetite took a very small place. It was unimportant. It was irksome. His soul aimed elsewhither. He had violent passions, and on occasion desire seized his body so that he was driven to an orgy of lust, but he hated the instincts that robbed him of his self-possession. I think, even, he hated the inevitable partner in his debauchery. When he had regained command over himself, he shuddered at the sight of the woman he had enjoyed. His thoughts floated then serenely in the empyrean, and he felt towards her the horror that perhaps the painted butterfly, hovering about the flowers, feels to the filthy chrysalis from which it has triumphantly emerged. I suppose that art is a manifestation of the sexual instinct. It is the same emotion which is excited in the human heart by the sight of a lovely woman, the Bay of Naples under the yellow moon, and the Entombment of Titian. It is possible that Strickland hated the normal release of sex because it seemed to him brutal by comparison with the satisfaction of artistic creation. It seems strange even to myself, when I have described a man who was cruel, selfish, brutal and sensual, to say that he was a great idealist. The fact remains.

He lived more poorly than an artisan. He worked harder. He cared nothing for those things which with most people make life gracious and beautiful. He was indifferent to money. He cared nothing about fame. You cannot praise him because he resisted the temptation to make any of those compromises with the world which most of us yield to. He had no such temptation. It never entered his head that compromise was possible. He lived in Paris more lonely than an anchorite in the deserts of Thebes. He asked nothing his fellows except that they should leave him alone. He was single-hearted in his aim, and to pursue it he was willing to sacrifice not only himself -- many can do that -- but others. He had a vision.

Strickland was an odious man, but I still think be was a great one.

小说之所以不真实正在这里。一般说来，爱情在男人身上只不过是一个插曲，是日常生活中许多事务中的一件事，但是小说却把爱情夸大了，给予它一个违反生活真实性的重要的地位。尽管也有很少数男人把爱情当作世界上的头等大事，但这些人常常是一些索然寡味的人；即便对爱情感到无限兴趣的女人，对这类男子也不太看得起。女人会被这样的男人吸引，会被他们奉承得心花怒放，但是心里却免不了有一种不安的感觉——这些人是一种可怜的生物。男人们即使在恋爱的短暂期间，也不停地干一些别的事分散自己的心思：赖以维持生计的事务吸引了他们的注意力；他们沉湎于体育活动；他们还可能对艺术感到兴趣。在大多数情况下，他们把自己的不同活动分别安排在不同的间隔里，在进行一种活动时，可以暂时把另一种完全排除。他们有本领专心致志进行当时正在从事的活动；如果一种活动受到另一种侵犯，他们会非常恼火。作为坠入情网的人来说，男人同女人的区别是：女人能够整天整夜谈恋爱，而男人却只能有时有晌儿地干这种事。

性的饥渴在思特里克兰德身上占的地位很小，很不重要，或勿宁说，叫他感到很嫌恶。他的灵魂追求的是另外一种东西。他的感情非常强烈，有时候欲念会把他抓住，逼得他纵情狂欢一阵，但是对这种剥夺了他宁静自持的本能他是非常厌恶的。我想他甚至讨厌他在淫逸放纵中那必不可少的伴侣；在他重新控制住自己以后，看到那个他发泄情欲的女人，他甚至会不寒而栗。他的思想这时会平静地飘浮在九天之上，他对那个女人感到又嫌恶又可怕，也许那感觉就象一只翩翩飞舞于花丛中的蝴蝶，见到它胜利地蜕身出来的肮脏的蛹壳一样。我认为艺术也是性本能的一种流露。一个漂亮的女人、金黄的月亮照耀下的那不勒斯海湾，或者提香①的名画《墓穴》，在人们心里勾起的是同样的感情。很可能思特里克兰德讨厌通过性行为发泄自己的感情（这本来是很正常的），因为他觉得同通过艺术创造取得自我满足相比，这是粗野的。在我描写这样一个残忍、自私、粗野、肉欲的人时，竟把他写成是个精神境界极高的人，我自己也觉得奇怪。但是我认为这是事实。

①提香（1490—1576），意大利威尼斯派画家。

作为一个艺术家，他的生活比任何其他艺术家都更困苦。他工作得比其他艺术家也更艰苦。大多数人认为会把生活装点得更加优雅、美丽的那些东西，思特里克兰德是不屑一顾的。对于名和利他都无动于衷。我们大多数人受不住各种引诱，总要对世俗人情做一些让步；你却无法赞扬思特里克兰德抵拒得住这些诱惑，因为对他说来，这种诱惑是根本不存在的。他的脑子里从来没有想到要做任何妥协、让步。他住在巴黎，比住在底比斯沙漠里的隐士生活还要孤独。对于别的人他没有任何要求，只求人家别打扰他。他一心一意追求自己的目标，为了达到这个目的他不仅甘愿牺牲自己——这一点很多人还是能做到的——，而且就是牺牲别人也在所不惜。他自己有一个幻境。

思特里克兰德是个惹人嫌的人，但是尽管如此，我还是认为他是一个伟大的人。