"Now, bereasonable. Let me make you comfortable. Haven't you anyone to look afteryou?"

He looked roundthe squalid attic in dismay. He tried to arrange the bed-clothes. Strickland,breathing laboriously, kept an angry silence. He gave me a resentful glance. Istood quite quietly, looking at him.

"If youwant to do something for me, you can get me some milk, " he said at last."I haven't been able to get out for two days. " There was an emptybottle by the side of the bed, which had contained milk, and in a piece ofnewspaper a few crumbs.

"What haveyou been having?" I asked.

"Nothing."

"For howlong?" cried Stroeve. "Do you mean to say you've had nothing to eator drink for two days? It's horrible. "

"I've hadwater. "

His eyes dweltfor a moment on a large can within reach of an outstretched arm.

"I'll goimmediately, " said Stroeve. "Is there anything you fancy?"

I suggested thathe should get a thermometer, and a few grapes, and some bread. Stroeve, glad tomake himself useful, clattered down the stairs.

"Damnedfool, " muttered Strickland.

I felt hispulse. It was beating quickly and feebly. I asked him one or two questions, buthe would not answer, and when I pressed him he turned his face irritably to thewall. The only thing was to wait in silence. In ten minutes Stroeve, panting,came back. Besides what I had suggested, he brought candles, and meat-juice,and a spirit-lamp. He was a practical little fellow, and without delay setabout making bread-and-milk. I took Strickland's temperature. It was a hundredand four. He was obviously very ill.

“别不讲理，好不好？让我使你舒服一些。没有人照料你么？”

他在这间邋里邋遢的小阁楼里四处张望着，不知从何下手。他把思特里克兰德的被子整了一下。思特里克兰德呼呼地喘着气，忍着怒气一语不发。他气哼哼地看了我一眼。我静静地站在那里，盯着他。

“要是你想替我做点什么事的话，就去给我买点牛奶吧，”最后他开口说，“我已经有两天出不了门了。”

床旁边放着一只装牛奶用的空瓶，一张报纸上还有一些面包屑。

“你吃过什么了？”

“什么也没吃。”

“多久了？”施特略夫喊道。“你是说两天没吃没喝了吗？太可怕了。”

“我还有水喝。”

他的眼睛在一个大水罐上停留了一会儿；这只水罐放在他一伸手就够得到的地方。

“我马上就去，”施特略夫说。“你还想要别的东西吗？”

我建议给他买一只热水瓶，一点儿葡萄同面包。施特略夫很高兴有这个帮忙的机会，噔噔地跑下楼梯去。

“该死的傻瓜。”思特里克兰德咕噜了一句。

我摸了摸他的脉搏。脉搏很快，很虚弱。我问了他一两个问题，他不回答。我再一逼问，他赌气把脸转过去，对着墙壁。没有其他事可做了，只能一语不发地在屋里等着。过了十分钟，施特略夫气喘吁吁地回来了。除了我提议要他买的东西以外，他还买来了蜡烛、肉汁和一盏酒精灯。他是一个很会办事的人，一分钟也没有耽搁，马上就煮了一杯牛奶，把面包泡在里面。我量了量思特里克兰德的体温。华氏一百零四度，他显然病得很厉害。

There was noanswer. It was really rather mysterious, and it seemed to me that Stroeve,standing just behind, was trembling in his shoes. For a moment I hesitated tostrike a light. I dimly perceived a bed in the corner, and I wondered whetherthe light would disclose lying on it a dead body.

"Haven'tyou got a match, you fool?"

Strickland'svoice, coming out of the darkness, harshly, made me start.

Stroeve criedout.

"Oh, myGod, I thought you were dead. "

I struck amatch, and looked about for a candle. I had a rapid glimpse of a tinyapartment, half room, half studio, in which was nothing but a bed, canvaseswith their faces to the wall, an easel, a table, and a chair. There was nocarpet on the floor. There was no fire-place. On the table, crowded withpaints, palette-knives, and litter of all kinds, was the end of a candle. I litit. Strickland was lying in the bed, uncomfortably because it was too small forhim, and he had put all his clothes over him for warmth. It was obvious at aglance that he was in a high fever. Stroeve, his voice cracking with emotion,went up to him.

"Oh, mypoor friend, what is the matter with you? I had no idea you were ill. Whydidn't you let me know? You must know I'd have done anything in the world foryou. Were you thinking of what I said? I didn't mean it. I was wrong. It wasstupid of me to take offence. "

"Go tohell, " said Strickland.

没有回答。一切都实在令人感到神秘，施特略夫紧靠着我后面站着，我好象觉得他正在索索发抖。我犹豫了一会，是不是要划一根火柴。朦胧中我看到墙角有一张床，我不知道亮光会不会使我看到床上躺着一具尸体。

“你没有火柴吗，你这笨蛋？”

从黑暗里传来思特里克兰德的呵斥的声音，把我吓了一跳。

施特略夫惊叫起来。

“哎呀，上帝，我还以为你死了呢。”

我划了一根火柴，四处看了看有没有蜡烛。匆猝间我看到的是一间很小的屋子，半做住房，半做画室，屋子里只有一张床，面对墙放着的是一些画幅，一个画架，一张桌子和一把椅子。地板上光秃秃的没有地毯。室内没有火炉。桌子上乱堆着颜料瓶、调色刀和杂七杂八的东西，在这一堆凌乱的物品中间我找到半截蜡烛头。我把它点上。思特里克兰德正在床上躺着，他躺得很不舒服，因为这张床对他说来显然太小了。为了取暖，他的衣服都在身上盖着。一眼就能看出来，他正在发高烧。施特略夫走到床前，因为感情激动连嗓子都哑了。

“啊，可怜的朋友，你怎么啦？我一点也不知道你生病了。为什么你不告诉我一声？你知道为了你我什么事都会做的。你还计较我说的话吗？我不是那个意思。我错了。我生了你的气太不应该了。”

“见鬼去吧！”思特里克兰德说。

There were fivein the immediate neighbourhood, and the only thing was to go to all of them.Stroeve accompanied me unwillingly. His own plan was to run up and down thestreets that led out of the Avenue de Clichy and ask at every house ifStrickland lived there. My commonplace scheme was, after all, effective, for inthe second shop we asked at the woman behind the counter acknowledged that sheknew him. She was not certain where he lived, but it was in one of the threehouses opposite. Luck favoured us, and in the first we tried the concierge toldus that we should find him on the top floor.

"Itappears that he's ill, " said Stroeve.

"It maybe, " answered the concierge indifferently. " En effet, I have notseen him for several days. "

Stroeve ran upthe stairs ahead of me, and when I reached the top floor I found him talking toa workman in his shirt-sleeves who had opened a door at which Stroeve hadknocked. He pointed to another door. He believed that the person who livedthere was a painter. He had not seen him for a week. Stroeve made as though hewere about to knock, and then turned to me with a gesture of helplessness. Isaw that he was panic-stricken.

"Supposinghe's dead?"

"Not he," I said.

I knocked.There was no answer. I tried the handle, and found the door unlocked. I walkedin, and Stroeve followed me. The room was in darkness. I could only see that itwas an attic, with a sloping roof; and a faint glimmer, no more than a lessprofound obscurity, came from a skylight.

"Strickland," I called.

我一共找到了五家，唯一的办法是挨家去打听一遍。施特略夫心有不甘地跟在我后面。他本来打算在同克利舍路相通的几条街上前后跑一通，只要碰到一家寄宿公寓就进去打听。结果证明，还是我的平凡的计划奏效了。就在我们走进的第二家面包店，柜台后面的一个女人说她认识他。她不太知道他到底住在哪儿，但是肯定是对面三座楼房中的一座。我们的运气不坏，头一幢楼的门房就告诉我们可以在最顶上的一层找到他。

“他可能害病了，”施特略夫说。

“可能是吧，”门房冷冷地说，“事实上①，我有几天没看见他了。”

①原文为法语。

施特略夫在我前面抢先跑上楼梯，当我走到最高的一层时，他已经敲开一个房间的门正在同一个穿着衬衫的工人讲话。这个人指了指另外一扇门。他相信住在那里的人是个画家。他已经有一个星期没有看见他了。施特略夫刚准备去敲门，但是马上又转过身来对我做了个手势，表示他不知道该怎么办。我发现他害怕得要命。

“要是他已经死了怎么办？”

“他死不了。”我说。

我敲了敲门。没有人应声。我扭了一下门柄，门并没有锁着。我走了进去，施特略夫跟在我后面。屋子很黑，我只能看出来这是一间阁楼，天花板是倾斜的。从天窗上射进一道朦胧的光线，并不比室内的昏暗亮多少。

“思特里克兰德。”我叫了一声。

"He's ill," he said. "Didn't you know?"

"Seriously?"

"Very, Iunderstand. "

Stroeve's facegrew white.

"Whydidn't he write and tell me? How stupid of me to quarrel with him. We must goto him at once. He can have no one to look after him. Where does he live?"

"I have noidea, " said the Frenchman.

We discoveredthat none of us knew how to find him. Stroeve grew more and more distressed.

"He mightdie, and not a soul would know anything about it. It's dreadful. I can't bearthe thought. We must find him at once. "

I tried to makeStroeve understand that it was absurd to hunt vaguely about Paris. We mustfirst think of some plan.

"Yes; butall this time he may be dying, and when we get there it may be too late to doanything. "

"Sit stilland let us think, " I said impatiently.

The onlyaddress I knew was the Hotel des Belges, but Strickland had long left that, andthey would have no recollection of him. With that queer idea of his to keep hiswhereabouts secret, it was unlikely that, on leaving, he had said where he wasgoing. Besides, it was more than five years ago. I felt pretty sure that he hadnot moved far. If he continued to frequent the same cafe as when he had stayedat the hotel, it was probably because it was the most convenient. Suddenly Iremembered that he had got his commission to paint a portrait through the bakerfrom whom he bought his bread, and it struck me that there one might find hisaddress. I called for a directory and looked out the bakers.

“他生病了，”他说，“你没有听说吗？”

“厉害吗？”

“我听说很厉害。”

施特略夫的脸色一下变白了。

“他为什么不写信告诉我？咳，我同他吵嘴做什么？咱们得马上去看看他。没有人照料他。他住在什么地方？”

“我说不清。”那个法国人说。

我们发现谁也不知道该到哪儿去找他。施特略夫越来越难过。

“说不定他已经死了，他的事没有一个人知道。太可怕了。我真是受不了。咱们一定得马上找到他。”

我想叫施特略夫明白，在茫茫大海似的巴黎找一个人是荒谬的。我们必须首先有一个计划。

“是的。但是也许就在我们想办法的时候，他正在咽气呢，等我们找到他的时候，一切就都太晚了。”

“先安安静静地坐一会，想想该怎么办，”我不耐烦地说。

我知道的唯一地址是比利时旅馆，但是思特里克兰德早已搬出那个地方了，那里的人肯定不会记得他了。他行踪诡秘，不愿意让别人知道自己的住址；在搬走的时候，多半没有留下地址。再说，这已是五年前的事了。但是我敢肯定他住的地方不会太远。既然他住在比利时旅馆的时候就到这家咖啡馆来，后来始终没有换地方，一定是因为这里对他很方便。突然我想起来，他经常去买面包的一家店铺曾经介绍他给人画过像，说不定那家面包店会知道他的住址。我叫人拿来一本电话簿，开始翻查这一带的面包店。

Shortly beforeChristmas Dirk Stroeve came to ask me to spend the holiday with him. He had acharacteristic sentimentality about the day and wanted to pass it among hisfriends with suitable ceremonies. Neither of us had seen Strickland for two orthree weeks -- I because I had been busy with friends who were spending alittle while in Paris, and Stroeve because, having quarreled with him moreviolently than usual, he had made up his mind to have nothing more to do withhim. Strickland was impossible, and he swore never to speak to him again. Butthe season touched him with gentle feeling, and he hated the thought ofStrickland spending Christmas Day by himself; he ascribed his own emotions tohim, and could not bear that on an occasion given up to good-fellowship thelonely painter should be abandoned to his own melancholy. Stroeve had set up aChristmas-tree in his studio, and I suspected that we should both find absurdlittle presents hanging on its festive branches; but he was shy about seeing Stricklandagain; it was a little humiliating to forgive so easily insults so outrageous,and he wished me to be present at the reconciliation on which he wasdetermined.

We walkedtogether down the Avenue de Clichy, but Strickland was not in the cafe. It wastoo cold to sit outside, and we took our places on leather benches within. Itwas hot and stuffy, and the air was gray with smoke. Strickland did not come,but presently we saw the French painter who occasionally played chess with him.I had formed a casual acquaintance with him, and he sat down at our table.Stroeve asked him if he had seen Strickland.

圣诞节前不久，戴尔克·施特略夫来邀请我同他们一起过节。圣诞节总是使他有些感伤（这也是他性格的一个特点），他希望能同几个朋友一起按照适宜的礼规庆祝一下这个节日。我们两人都有两三个星期没有见到思特里克兰德了；我是因为忙着陪几个来巴黎短期逗留的朋友，施特略夫则因为上次同他大吵了一顿决心不同他来往了。思特里克兰德这个人太不懂得人情世故，他发誓无论如何也不能再理他了。但是节日来临，施特略夫的心肠又软下来，说什么他也不能让思特里克兰德一个人闷坐在家里。他认为思特里克兰德的心境必然同他的一样，在这样一个人们理应互相恩爱的日子里，叫这位画家在寂寥冷清中度过实在是一件令人无法忍受的事。他在自己的画室里布置好一棵圣诞树，我猜想我们每个人都会在点缀起来的树枝上找到一件可笑的小礼品。但是他有点不好意思去找思特里克兰德；这么容易就宽恕了使他丢尽脸面的侮辱未免有失身份，他虽然决心同思特里克兰德和解，却希望主动去拜访他时我也在场。

我们一起步行到克利舍路，但是思特里克兰德并没有在咖啡馆里。天气很冷，不能再坐在室外了。我们走进屋子里，在皮面座椅上坐下。屋子里又热又闷，空气因为烟雾弥漫而变得灰蒙蒙的。思特里克兰德没在屋子里，但是我们很快就发现了偶尔同思特里克兰德一起下棋的那个法国画家。我同他也小有往来，他在我们的桌子旁边坐下。施特略夫问他看见思特里克兰德没有。

He was theconstant lover, and though she grew old, losing her rounded lines and her faircomeliness, to him she would certainly never alter. To him she would always bethe loveliest woman in the world. There was a pleasing grace in the orderlinessof their lives. They had but the studio, a bedroom, and a tiny kitchen. Mrs.Stroeve did all the housework herself; and while Dirk painted bad pictures, shewent marketing, cooked the luncheon, sewed, occupied herself like a busy antall the day; and in the evening sat in the studio, sewing again, while Dirkplayed music which I am sure was far beyond her comprehension. He played withtaste, but with more feeling than was always justified, and into his musicpoured all his honest, sentimental, exuberant soul.

Their life inits own way was an idyl, and it managed to achieve a singular beauty. Theabsurdity that clung to everything connected with Dirk Stroeve gave it acurious note, like an unresolved discord, but made it somehow more modern, morehuman; like a rough joke thrown into a serious scene, it heightened thepoignancy which all beauty has.

他是一个忠贞不渝的爱人，当她老了以后，当她失去了圆润的线条和秀丽的形体以后，她在他的眼睛里仍然会是个美人，美貌一点也不减当年。对他说来，她永远是世界上最美丽的女人。他们的井然有序的生活安详娴雅，令人非常愉快。他们住房只有一个画室，一间卧室和一个小厨房。所有家务事都是施特略夫太太自己做；在戴尔克埋头绘画的当儿，她就到市场上去买东西，做午饭，缝衣服，象勤快的蚂蚁一样终日忙碌着。吃过晚饭，她坐在画室里继续做针线活，而戴尔克则演奏一些我猜想她很难听懂的乐曲。他的演奏有一定的艺术水平，但是常常带着过多的感情，他把自己的诚实的、多情的、充满活力的灵魂完全倾注到音乐里去了。

他们的生活从某一方面看象是一曲牧歌，具有一种独特的美。戴尔克·施特略夫的一言一行必然会表现出的荒诞滑稽都给予这首牧歌添上一个奇怪的调子，好象一个无法调整的不谐和音，但是这反而使这首乐曲更加现代化，更富于人情味，象是在严肃的场景中插入一个粗俗的打诨，更加激化了美所具备的犀利的性质。

Strickland wasin a good humour, and when Dirk Stroeve came up and sat down with us he attackedhim with ferocious banter. He showed a skill I should never have credited himwith in finding the places where the unhappy Dutchman was most sensitive.Strickland employed not the rapier of sarcasm but the bludgeon of invective.The attack was so unprovoked that Stroeve, taken unawares, was defenceless. Hereminded you of a frightened sheep running aimlessly hither and thither. He wasstartled and amazed. At last the tears ran from his eyes. And the worst of itwas that, though you hated Strickland, and the exhibition was horrible, it wasimpossible not to laugh. Dirk Stroeve was one of those unlucky persons whosemost sincere emotions are ridiculous.

But after allwhen I look back upon that winter in Paris, my pleasantest recollection is ofDirk Stroeve. There was something very charming in his little household. He andhis wife made a picture which the imagination gratefully dwelt upon, and thesimplicity of his love for her had a deliberate grace. He remained absurd, butthe sincerity of his passion excited one's sympathy. I could understand how hiswife must feel for him, and I was glad that her affection was so tender. If shehad any sense of humour, it must amuse her that he should place her on apedestal and worship her with such an honest idolatry, but even while shelaughed she must have been pleased and touched.

思特里克兰德这天情绪很好，当戴尔克·施特略夫走来同我们坐在一起时，思特里克兰德马上冷嘲热讽地对他大肆攻击起来。他惯会寻找这位不幸的荷兰人的痛处，技巧的高超实在令我钦佩。他这次用的不是讥刺的细剑，而是谩骂的大棒。他的攻击来得非常突然。施特略夫被打得个措手不及，完全失掉防卫能力。象一只受了惊的小羊，没有目的地东跑西窜，张皇失措，晕头转向。最后，泪珠扑簌簌地从他眼睛里滚出来。这件事最糟糕的地方在于，尽管你非常恼恨思特里克兰德，尽管你感到这出戏很可怕，你还是禁不住要笑起来。有一些人很不幸，即使他们流露的是最真挚的感情也令人感到滑稽可笑，戴尔克·施特略夫正是这样一个人。

但是尽管如此，在我回顾我在巴黎度过的这个冬天时，戴尔克·施特略夫还是给我留下了最愉快的回忆。他的小家庭有一种魅力，他同他的妻子是一幅叫你思念不置的图画；他对自己妻子的纯真的爱情使人感到是娴雅而高尚的。尽管他的举止还是那么滑稽，但他的感情的真挚却不由你不被感动。我可以理解他的妻子对他的反应，我很高兴她对他也非常温柔体贴。如果她有幽默感的话，看到自己的丈夫这样把她放在宝座上，当作偶像般地顶礼膜拜，她一定也会觉得好笑的；但是尽管她会笑他，一定也会觉得得意，被他感动。

We began toplay. We were both absorbed in the game. When it was finished I said to him:

"Lookhere, if you're hard up, let me see your pictures. If there's anything I likeI'll buy it. "

"Go tohell, " he answered.

He got up andwas about to go away. I stopped him.

"Youhaven't paid for your absinthe, " I said, smiling.

He cursed me,flung down the money and left.

I did not seehim for several days after that, but one evening, when I was sitting in thecafe, reading a paper, he came up and sat beside me.

"Youhaven't hanged yourself after all, " I remarked.

"No. I'vegot a commission. I'm painting the portrait of a retired plumber for twohundred francs. "(5)

(5) Thispicture, formerly in the possession of a wealthy manufacturer at Lille, whofled from that city on the approach of the Germans, is now in the NationalGallery at Stockholm. The Swede is adept at the gentle pastime of fishing introubled waters.

"How didyou manage that?"

"The womanwhere I get my bread recommended me. He'd told her he was looking out forsomeone to paint him. I've got to give her twenty francs. "

"What's helike?"

"Splendid.He's got a great red face like a leg of mutton, and on his right cheek there'san enormous mole with long hairs growing out of it. "

我们开始走棋。两个人的精神都被当前的一局棋吸引住。一盘棋下完以后，我对他说：

“你听我说，如果你缺钱花，让我去看看你的画怎么样？如果有我喜欢的，我会买你一幅。”

“你见鬼去吧！”他说。

他站起来准备走，我把他拦住了。

“你还没有付酒帐呢。”我笑着说。

他骂了我一句，把钱往桌上一扔就走了。

这件事过去以后，我有几天没有看见他，但是有一天晚上我正坐在咖啡馆里看报纸的时候，思特里克兰德走了过来，在我身旁边坐下。

“你原来并没有上吊啊。”我说。

“没有。有人请我画一幅画。我现在正给一个退休的铅管工画像，可以拿到两百法郎。”①

①这幅画原来在里尔的一个阔绰的厂商手里，德国人逼近里尔时他逃赴外地。现在这幅画收藏在斯德哥尔摩国家美术馆。瑞典人是很善于这种混水摸鱼的小把戏的。（作者注）

“你怎么弄到这笔买卖的？”

“卖我面包的那个女人把我介绍去的。他同她说过，要找一个人给他画像。我得给她二十法郎介绍费。”

“是怎样一个人？”

“太了不起了。一张大红脸象条羊腿。右脸上有一颗大痣，上面还长着大长毛。”

He looked at mefor a minute or two, pulling his untidy beard. I smiled at him.

"What areyou amused at?" he said, with a gleam of anger in his eyes.

"You're sosimple. You recognise no obligations. No one is under any obligation to you."

"Wouldn'tit make you uncomfortable if I went and hanged myself because I'd been turnedout of my room as I couldn't pay the rent?"

"Not abit. "

He chuckled.

"You'rebragging. If I really did you'd be overwhelmed with remorse. "

"Try it,and we'll see, " I retorted.

A smileflickered in his eyes, and he stirred his absinthe in silence.

"Would youlike to play chess?" I asked.

"I don'tmind. "

We set up thepieces, and when the board was ready he considered it with a comfortable eye.There is a sense of satisfaction in looking at your men all ready for the fray.

"Did youreally think I'd lend you money?" I asked.

"I didn'tsee why you shouldn't. "

"Yousurprise me. "

"Why?"

"It's disappointingto find that at heart you are sentimental. I should have liked you better ifyou hadn't made that ingenuous appeal to my sympathies. "

"I shouldhave despised you if you'd been moved by it, " he answered.

"That'sbetter, " I laughed.

他盯着我看了一两分钟，一面揪着他那乱蓬蓬的胡子。我对他笑了笑。

“你有什么好笑的？”他说，眼睛里闪现出一丝恼怒的神色。

“你这人太没心眼了。你从来不懂欠人家的情。谁也不欠你的情。”

“如果我因为交不起房租被撵了出来，逼得去上了吊，你不觉得心里不安吗？”

“一点也不觉得。”

他咯咯地笑起来。

“你在说大话。如果我真的上了吊你会后悔一辈子的。”

“你不妨试一试，就知道我后悔不后悔了。”

他的眼睛里露出一丝笑意，默默地搅和着他的苦艾酒。

“想不想下棋？”我问他说。

“我不反对。”

我们开始摆棋子，摆好以后，他注视着面前的棋盘，带着一副自得其乐的样子。当你看到自己兵马都已进入阵地，就要开始一场大厮杀，总禁不住有一种快慰的感觉。

“你真的以为我会借钱给你吗？”我问他。

“我想不出来为什么你会不借给我。”

“你使我感到吃惊。”

“为什么？”

“发现你心里还是人情味十足让我失望。如果你不那么天真，想利用我的同情心来打动我，我会更喜欢你一些。”

“如果你被我打动，我会鄙视你的。”他回答说。

“那就好了。”我笑起来。

I sawStrickland not infrequently, and now and then played chess with him. He was ofuncertain temper. Sometimes he would sit silent and abstracted, taking nonotice of anyone; and at others, when he was in a good humour, he would talk inhis own halting way. He never said a clever thing, but he had a vein of brutalsarcasm which was not ineffective, and he always said exactly what he thought.He was indifferent to the susceptibilities of others, and when he wounded themwas amused. He was constantly offending Dirk Stroeve so bitterly that he flungaway, vowing he would never speak to him again; but there was a solid force inStrickland that attracted the fat Dutchman against his will, so that he cameback, fawning like a clumsy dog, though he knew that his only greeting would bethe blow he dreaded.

I do not knowwhy Strickland put up with me. Our relations were peculiar. One day he asked meto lend him fifty francs.

"Iwouldn't dream of it, " I replied.

"Whynot?"

"Itwouldn't amuse me. "

"I'm frightfullyhard up, you know. "

"I don'tcare. "

"You don'tcare if I starve?"

"Why onearth should I?" I asked in my turn.

我常常见到思特里克兰德，有时候同他下下棋。他的脾气时好时坏。有些时候他神思不定地坐在那里，一言不发，任何人都不理；另外一些时候他的兴致比较好，就磕磕巴巴地同你闲扯。他说不出什么寓意深长的话来，但是他惯用恶毒的语言挖苦讽刺，不由你不被打动；此外，他总是把心里想的如实说出来，一点也不隐讳。他丝毫也不理会别人是否经受得住；如果他把别人刺伤了，就感到得意非常。他总是不断刻薄戴尔克·施特略夫，弄得施特略夫气冲冲地走开，发誓再也不同他谈话了。但是在思特里克兰德身上却有一股强大的力量，这位肥胖的荷兰人身不由己地被它吸引着，最终还是跑了回来，象只笨拙的小狗一样向他摇尾巴，尽管他心里一清二楚，迎接他的将是他非常害怕的当头一棒。

我不知道为什么思特里克兰德对我始终保留着情面。我们两人的关系有些特殊。有一天他开口向我借五十法郎。

“这真是我连做梦也没想到的事，”我回答说。

“为什么没有？”

“这不是一件使我感到有趣的事。”

“我已经穷得叮当响了，知道吧？”

“我管不着。”

“我饿死你也管不着吗？”

“我为什么要管呢？”我反问道。