I had not verymuch to say. It was a record of hard work and of little adventure; ofexperiments in this direction and in that; of the gradual acquisition of theknowledge of books and of men. I took care to ask Strickland nothing about hisown doings. I showed not the least interest in him, and at last I was rewarded.He began to talk of himself. But with his poor gift of expression he gave butindications of what he had gone through, and I had to fill up the gaps with myown imagination. It was tantalising to get no more than hints into a characterthat interested me so much. It was like making one's way through a mutilatedmanuscript. I received the impression of a life which was a bitter struggleagainst every sort of difficulty; but I realised that much which would haveseemed horrible to most people did not in the least affect him. Strickland wasdistinguished from most Englishmen by his perfect indifference to comfort; itdid not irk him to live always in one shabby room; he had no need to be surroundedby beautiful things. I do not suppose he had ever noticed how dingy was thepaper on the wall of the room in which on my first visit I found him. He didnot want arm-chairs to sit in; he really felt more at his ease on a kitchenchair. He ate with appetite, but was indifferent to what he ate; to him it wasonly food that he devoured to still the pangs of hunger; and when no food wasto be had he seemed capable of doing without. I learned that for six months hehad lived on a loaf of bread and a bottle of milk a day. He was a sensual man,and yet was indifferent to sensual things. He looked upon privation as nohardship. There was something impressive in the manner in which he lived a lifewholly of the spirit.

我没有太多的事好说。我的生活只不过是每日辛勤工作，没有什么奇闻艳遇。我在不同方向进行了摸索试验；我逐渐积累了不少书本知识和人情世故。在谈话中，对他这几年的生活我有意闭口不问，装作丝毫也不感兴趣的样子。最后，我的这个策略生效了。他主动谈起他的生活来。但是由于他太无口才，对他自己这一段时间的经历讲得支离破碎，许多空白都需要我用自己的想象去填补。对于这样一个我深感兴趣的人只能了解个大概，这真是一件吊人胃口的事，简直象读一部残缺不全的稿本。我的总印象是，这个人一直在同各式各样的困难艰苦斗争；但是我发现对于大多数人说来似乎是根本无法忍受的事，他却丝毫不以为苦。思特里克兰德与多数英国人不同的地方在于他完全不关心生活上的安乐舒适。叫他一辈子住在一间破破烂烂的屋子里他也不会感到不舒服，他不需要身边有什么漂亮的陈设。我猜想他从来没有注意到我第一次拜访他时屋子的糊墙纸是多么肮脏。他不需要有一张安乐椅，坐在硬靠背椅上他倒觉得更舒服自在。他的胃口很好，但对于究竟吃什么却漠不关心。对他说来他吞咽下去的只是为了解饥果腹的食物，有的时候断了顿儿，他好象还有挨饿的本领。从他的谈话中我知道他有六个月之久每天只靠一顿面包、一瓶牛奶过活。他是一个耽于饮食声色的人，但对这些事物又毫不在意。他不把忍饥受冻当作什么苦难。他这样完完全全地过着一种精神生活，不由你不被感动。

I let him takeme to a restaurant of his choice, but on the way I bought a paper. When we hadordered our dinner, I propped it against a bottle of St. Galmier and began toread. We ate in silence. I felt him looking at me now and again, but I took nonotice. I meant to force him to conversation.

"Is thereanything in the paper?" he said, as we approached the end of our silentmeal.

I fancied therewas in his tone a slight note of exasperation.

"I alwayslike to read the feuilleton on the drama, " I said.

I folded thepaper and put it down beside me.

"I'veenjoyed my dinner, " he remarked.

"I thinkwe might have our coffee here, don't you?"

"Yes."

We lit our cigars.I smoked in silence. I noticed that now and then his eyes rested on me with afaint smile of amusement. I waited patiently.

"What haveyou been up to since I saw you last?" he asked at length.

我让他带我到一家他选定的餐馆，但是在路上走的时候我买了一份报纸。叫了菜以后，我就把报纸支在一瓶圣·卡尔密酒上，开始读报。我们一言不发地吃着饭。我发现他不时地看我一眼，但是我根本不理睬他。我准备逼着他自己讲话。

“报纸上有什么消息？”在我们这顿沉默无语的晚餐将近尾声时，他开口说。

也许这只是我的幻觉吧，从他的声音里我好象听出来他已经有些沉不住气了。

“我喜欢读评论戏剧的杂文，”我说。

我把报纸叠起来，放在一边。

“这顿饭吃得很不错，”他说。

“我看咱们就在这里喝咖啡好不好？”

“好吧。”

我们点起了雪茄。我一言不发地抽着烟。我发现他的目光时不时地停在我身上，隐约闪现着笑意。我耐心地等待着。

“从上次见面以后你都做什么了？”最后他开口说。

When the fatman had left I said:

"DirkStroeve thinks you're a great artist. "

"What thehell do you suppose I care?"

"Will youlet me see your pictures?"

"Whyshould I?"

"I mightfeel inclined to buy one. "

"I mightnot feel inclined to sell one. "

"Are youmaking a good living?" I asked, smiling.

He chuckled.

"Do I lookit?"

"You lookhalf starved. "

"I am halfstarved. "

"Then comeand let's have a bit of dinner. "

"Why doyou ask me?"

"Not outof charity, " I answered coolly. "I don't really care a twopenny damnif you starve or not."

His eyes lit upagain.

"Come on,then, " he said, getting up. "I'd like a decent meal. "

当这个胖子走了以后，我开口说：

“戴尔克·施特略夫说你是个了不起的画家。”

“我才他妈的不在乎他怎么说呢！”

“你可以不可以让我看看你的画？”

“为什么我要给你看？”

“说不定我想买一两幅。”

“说不定我还不想卖呢。”

“你过得不错吧？”我笑着说。

他咯咯地笑了两声。

“我象过得不错的吗？”

“你象连肚皮也吃不饱的样子。”

“我就是连饭也吃不饱。”

“那咱们去吃点什么吧。”

“你干嘛请我吃饭？”

“不是出于慈善心肠，”我冷冷地说，“你吃得饱吃不饱才不干我的事呢。”

他的眼睛又闪起亮来。

“那就走吧，”他说，站了起来，“我倒是想好好地吃它一顿。”

Strickland's eyesrested on him, and there was in them a malicious expression. I felt sure he wasseeking for some gibe, could think of none, and so was forced to silence.

"I'vebrought an old friend to see you, " repeated Stroeve, beaming cheerfully.

Stricklandlooked at me thoughtfully for nearly a minute. I did not speak.

"I'venever seen him in my life, " he said.

I do not knowwhy he said this, for I felt certain I had caught a gleam of recognition in hiseyes. I was not so easily abashed as I had been some years earlier.

"I sawyour wife the other day, " I said. "I felt sure you'd like to havethe latest news of her. "

He gave a shortlaugh. His eyes twinkled.

"We had ajolly evening together, " he said. "How long ago is it?"

"Fiveyears. "

He called foranother absinthe. Stroeve, with voluble tongue, explained how he and I had met,and by what an accident we discovered that we both knew Strickland. I do notknow if Strickland listened. He glanced at me once or twice reflectively, butfor the most part seemed occupied with his own thoughts; and certainly withoutStroeve's babble the conversation would have been difficult. In half an hourthe Dutchman, looking at his watch, announced that he must go. He asked whetherI would come too. I thought, alone, I might get something out of Strickland,and so answered that I would stay.

思特里克兰德的目光落到他身上，那里面闪现着某种恶意的讥嘲。我敢说他正在寻找一句什么挖苦话，因为找不到合适的，所以只好不开口。

“我给你带来一位老朋友，他要见你，”施特略夫满脸堆笑地又把见面时的话重复了一遍。

思特里克兰德沉思地把我端详了几乎有一分钟。我始终没说话。

“我一生中也没见过这个人，”他说。

我不知道为什么他要这样说，因为从他眼神里我敢肯定他是认识我的。我不象几年以前那样动不动就感到难为情了。

“我前几天见到你妻子了，”我说，“我想你一定愿意听听她最近的消息。”

他干笑了一声，眼睛里闪着亮。

“咱们曾一起度过一个快活的晚上，”他说，“那是多久以前了？”

“五年了。”

他又要了一杯苦艾酒。施特略夫滔滔不绝地解释，他和我如何会面，如何无意中发现都认识思特里克兰德的事。我不知道这些话思特里克兰德是否听进去了。因为除了有一两次他好象回忆起什么而看了我一眼以外，大部分时间他似乎都在沉思自己的事。如果不是施特略夫唠唠叨叨地说个没完没了，这场谈话肯定要冷场的。半个钟头以后这位荷兰人看了看表，声称他必须回去了。他问我要不要同他一起走。我想剩下我一个人也许还能从思特里克兰德嘴里打听到些什么，所以回答他说我还要坐一会儿。

He moved apiece and straightway became absorbed in the game. Poor Stroeve gave me atroubled look, but I was not disconcerted by so little. I ordered something todrink, and waited quietly till Strickland had finished. I welcomed theopportunity to examine him at my ease. I certainly should never have known him.In the first place his red beard, ragged and untrimmed, hid much of his face,and his hair was long; but the most surprising change in him was his extremethinness. It made his great nose protrude more arrogantly; it emphasized hischeekbones; it made his eyes seem larger. There were deep hollows at histemples. His body was cadaverous. He wore the same suit that I had seen him infive years before; it was torn and stained, threadbare, and it hung upon himloosely, as though it had been made for someone else. I noticed his hands,dirty, with long nails; they were merely bone and sinew, large and strong; butI had forgotten that they were so shapely. He gave me an extraordinaryimpression as he sat there, his attention riveted on his game -- an impressionof great strength; and I could not understand why it was that his emaciationsomehow made it more striking.

Presently,after moving, he leaned back and gazed with a curious abstraction at his antagonist.This was a fat, bearded Frenchman. The Frenchman considered the position, thenbroke suddenly into jovial expletives, and with an impatient gesture, gatheringup the pieces, flung them into their box. He cursed Strickland freely, then,calling for the waiter, paid for the drinks, and left. Stroeve drew his chaircloser to the table.

"Now Isuppose we can talk, " he said.

他走了一步棋，马上就全神贯注到面前的一局棋上。可怜的施特略夫心怀焦虑地望了我一眼，但是我却没有觉得有任何不自在。我要了一点喝的东西，静静地坐在那里等着思特里克兰德下完棋。对于这样一个可以从容地观察他的机会，我毋宁说是欢迎的。如果是我一个人来，我肯定认不出他了。首先，我发觉他的大半张脸都遮在乱蓬蓬的胡须底下，他的头发也非常长；但是最令人吃惊的变化还是他的极度削瘦，这就使得他的大鼻子更加傲慢地翘起来，颧骨也更加突出，眼睛显得比从前更大了。在他的太阳穴下面出现了两个深坑。他的身体瘦得只剩了皮包骨头，穿的仍然是五年前我见到的那身衣服，只不过已经破破烂烂，油迹斑斑，而且穿在身上晃晃荡荡，仿佛原来是给别人做的似的。我注意到他的两只手不很干净，指甲很长，除了筋就是骨头，显得大而有力，但是我却不记得过去他的手形曾经这么完美过。他坐在那里专心致志地下棋，给我一种很奇特的印象——仿佛他身体里蕴藏着一股无比的力量。我不知道为什么，他的削瘦使这一点更加突出了。

他走过一步棋后，马上把身体往后一靠，凝视着他的对手，目光里带着一种令人奇怪的心不在焉的神情。与他对棋的人是一个蓄着长胡须的肥胖的法国人。这个法国人察看了一下自己的棋势，突然笑呵呵地破口骂了几句，气恼地把棋子收在一起，扔到棋盒里去。他一点也不留情面地咒骂着思特里克兰德，接着就把侍者叫来，付了两人的酒账，离开了。施特略夫把椅子往桌边挪了挪。

“我想现在咱们可以谈话了，”他说。

Dirk Stroeveagreed to fetch me on the following evening and take me to the cafe at whichStrickland was most likely to be found. I was interested to learn that it wasthe same as that at which Strickland and I had drunk absinthe when I had goneover to Paris to see him. The fact that he had never changed suggested asluggishness of habit which seemed to me characteristic.

"There heis, " said Stroeve, as we reached the cafe.

Though it wasOctober, the evening was warm, and the tables on the pavement were crowded. Iran my eyes over them, but did not see Strickland.

"Look.Over there, in the corner. He's playing chess. "

I noticed a manbending over a chess-board, but could see only a large felt hat and a redbeard. We threaded our way among the tables till we came to him.

"Strickland."

He looked up.

"Hulloa,fatty. What do you want?"

"I'vebrought an old friend to see you. "

Strickland gaveme a glance, and evidently did not recognise me. He resumed his scrutiny of thechessboard.

"Sit down,and don't make a noise, " he said.

戴尔克·施特略夫答应第二天晚上来找我，带我到一家多半会找到思特里克兰德的咖啡馆去。我觉得非常有趣，因为我发现这正是上次我来巴黎看思特里克兰德时我们一起在那里饮苦艾酒的地方。这么多年，他连晚上消闲的地方也没有更换，这说明他习性不易改变，据我看来，这也正是他的一种个性。

“他就在那里，”当我们走到这家咖啡馆的时候，施特略夫说。

虽然季节已是十月，晚饭后还很暖和，摆在人行道上的咖啡台子坐满了人。我在人群里张望了一会儿，并没有看到思特里克兰德。

“看哪，他就坐在那边，在一个角落里。他在同人下棋呢。”

我看见一个人俯身在棋盘上，我只能看到一顶大毡帽和一捧红胡须。我们从桌子中间穿过去，走到他跟前。

“思特里克兰德。”

他抬头看了看。

“哈啰，胖子。你有什么事？”

“我给你带来一位老朋友，他想见你。”

思特里克兰德看了我一个眼，显然没有认出我是谁来。他的眼睛又回到棋盘上。

“坐下，别出声音，”他说。

Dirk Stroevetook off his spectacles and wiped them. His flushed face was shining withexcitement.

"Whyshould you think that beauty, which is the most precious thing in the world,lies like a stone on the beach for the careless passer-by to pick up idly?Beauty is something wonderful and strange that the artist fashions out of thechaos of the world in the torment of his soul. And when he has made it, it isnot given to all to know it. To recognize it you must repeat the adventure ofthe artist. It is a melody that he sings to you, and to hear it again in yourown heart you want knowledge and sensitiveness and imagination. "

"Why didI always think your pictures beautiful, Dirk? I admired them the very firsttime I saw them. "

Stroeve'slips trembled a little.

"Go tobed, my precious. I will walk a few steps with our friend, and then I will comeback. "

戴尔克·施特略夫摘下眼镜来，擦了擦。他的一张通红的面孔因为兴奋而闪着亮光。

“为什么你认为美——世界上最宝贵的财富——会同沙滩上的石头一样，一个漫不经心的过路人随随便便地就能够捡起来？美是一种美妙、奇异的东西，艺术家只有通过灵魂的痛苦折磨才能从宇宙的混沌中塑造出来。在美被创造出以后，它也不是为了叫每个人都能认出来的。要想认识它，一个人必须重复艺术家经历过的一番冒险。他唱给你的是一个美的旋律，要是想在自己心里重新听一遍就必须有知识、有敏锐的感觉和想象力。”

“为什么我总觉得你的画很美呢，戴尔克？你的画我第一次看到就觉得好得了不得。”

施特略夫的嘴唇颤抖了一会儿。

“去睡觉吧，宝贝儿。我要陪我的朋友走几步路，一会儿就回来。”

I wasastonished, and at the same time I was very much excited. I remembered suddenlymy last talk with him.

"Wherecan one see his work?" I asked. "Is he having any success? Where ishe living?"

"No; hehas no success. I don't think he's ever sold a picture. When you speak to menabout him they only laugh. But I know he's a great artist. After all, theylaughed at Manet. Corot never sold a picture. I don't know where he lives, butI can take you to see him. He goes to a cafe in the Avenue de Clichy at seveno'clock every evening. If you like we'll go there to-morrow. "

"I'm notsure if he'll wish to see me. I think I may remind him of a time he prefers toforget. But I'll come all the same. Is there any chance of seeing any of hispictures?"

"Notfrom him. He won't show you a thing. There's a little dealer I know who has twoor three. But you mustn't go without me; you wouldn't understand. I must showthem to you myself. "

"Dirk,you make me impatient, " said Mrs. Stroeve. "How can you talk likethat about his pictures when he treated you as he did?" She turned to me."Do you know, when some Dutch people came here to buy Dirk's pictures hetried to persuade them to buy Strickland's? He insisted on bringing them hereto show. "

"Whatdid you think of them?" I asked her, smiling.

"Theywere awful. "

"Ah,sweetheart, you don't understand. "

"Well,your Dutch people were furious with you. They thought you were having a joke withthem."

我非常吃惊，但与此同时我也非常兴奋。我忽然想起我最后一次同他谈话。

“在什么地方可以看到他的作品？”我问，“他有了点儿名气没有？他现在住在什么地方？”

“没有名气。我想他没有卖出过一幅画。你要是和人谈起他的画来，没有一个不笑他的。但是我知道他是个了不起的画家。他们还不是笑过马奈？柯罗也是一张画没有卖出去过。我不知道他住在什么地方，但是我可以带你去找到他。每天晚上七点钟他都到克利舍路一家咖啡馆去。你要是愿意的话，咱们明天就可以去。”

“我不知道他是不是愿意看到我。我怕我会使他想起一段他宁愿忘掉的日子。但是我想我还是得去一趟。有没有可能看到他的什么作品？”

“从他那里看不到。他什么也不给你看。我认识一个小画商，手里有两三张他的画。但是你要是去，一定得让我陪着你；你不会看懂的。我一定要亲自指点给你看。”

“戴尔克，你简直叫我失去耐性了，”施特略夫太太说。“他那样对待你，你怎么还能这样谈论他的画？”她转过来对我说：“你知道，有一些人到这里来买戴尔克的画，他却劝他们买思特里克兰德的。他非让思特里克兰德把画拿到这里给他们看不可。”

“你觉得思特里克兰德的画怎么样？”我笑着问她。

“糟糕极了。”

“啊，亲爱的，你不懂。”

“哼，你的那些荷兰老乡简直气坏了。他们认为你是在同他们开玩笑。”

"AndDirk actually gave it him, " said his wife indignantly.

"I wasso taken aback. I didn't like to refuse. He put the money in his pocket, justnodded, said 'Thanks, ' and walked out. "

Dirk Stroeve,telling the story, had such a look of blank astonishment on his round, foolishface that it was almost impossible not to laugh.

"Ishouldn't have minded if he'd said my pictures were bad, but he said nothing --nothing. "

"And youwill tell the story, Dirk, " Said his wife.

It waslamentable that one was more amused by the ridiculous figure cut by theDutchman than outraged by Strickland's brutal treatment of him.

"I hopeI shall never see him again, " said Mrs. Stroeve.

Stroevesmiled and shrugged his shoulders. He had already recovered his good-humour.

"Thefact remains that he's a great artist, a very great artist. "

"Strickland?"I exclaimed. "It can't be the same man. "

"A bigfellow with a red beard. Charles Strickland. An Englishman. "

"He hadno beard when I knew him, but if he has grown one it might well be red. The manI'm thinking of only began painting five years ago. "

"That'sit. He's a great artist. "

"Impossible."

"Have Iever been mistaken?" Dirk asked me. "I tell you he has genius. I'mconvinced of it. In a hundred years, if you and I are remembered at all, itwill be because we knew Charles Strickland. "

“戴尔克居然把钱给他了，”他的妻子气愤地说。

“我听了他这话吓了一跳。我不想拒绝他。他把钱放在口袋里，朝我点了点头，说了声‘谢谢’，扭头就走了。”

说这个故事的时候，戴尔克·施特略夫的一张傻里傻气的胖脸蛋上流露着那么一种惊诧莫解的神情，不由得你看了不发笑。

“如果他说我画得不好我一点也不在乎，可是他什么都没说——一句话也没说。”

“你还挺得意地把这个故事讲给人家听，戴尔克，”他的妻子说。

可悲的是，不论是谁听了这个故事，首先会被这位荷兰人扮演的滑稽角色逗得发笑，而并不感到思特里克兰德这种粗鲁行为生气。

“我再也不想看到这个人了，”施特略夫太太说。

施特略夫笑起来，耸了耸肩膀。他的好性子已经恢复了。

“实际上，他是一个了不起的画家，非常了不起。”

“思特里克兰德？”我喊起来。“咱们说的不是一个人。”

“就是那个身材高大、生着一把红胡子的人。查理斯·思特里克兰德。一个英国人。”

“我认识他的时候他没留胡子。但是如果留起胡子来，很可能是红色的。我说的这个人五年以前才开始学画。”

“就是这个人。他是个伟大的画家。”

“不可能。”

“我哪一次看走过眼？”戴尔克问我。“我告诉你他有天才。我有绝对把握。一百年以后，如果还有人记得咱们两个人，那是因为我们沾了认识查理斯·思特里克兰德的光儿。”

And then heshowed me more. I discovered that in Paris he had been painting just the samestale, obviously picturesque things that he had painted for years in Rome. Itwas all false, insincere, shoddy; and yet no one was more honest, sincere, andfrank than Dirk Stroeve. Who could resolve the contradiction?

I do not knowwhat put it into my head to ask:

"I say,have you by any chance run across a painter called Charles Strickland?"

"Youdon't mean to say you know him?" cried Stroeve.

"Beast," said his wife.

Stroevelaughed.

"Mapauvre cherie. " He went over to her and kissed both her hands. "Shedoesn't like him. How strange that you should know Strickland!"

"I don'tlike bad manners, " said Mrs. Stroeve.

Dirk,laughing still, turned to me to explain.

"Yousee, I asked him to come here one day and look at my pictures. Well, he came,and I showed him everything I had. " Stroeve hesitated a moment withembarrassment. I do not know why he had begun the story against himself; hefelt an awkwardness at finishing it. "He looked at -- at my pictures, andhe didn't say anything. I thought he was reserving his judgment till the end.And at last I said: `There, that's the lot!' He said: `I came to ask you tolend me twenty francs. '"

接着他又拿出更多的画来。我发现他在巴黎画的还是他在罗马画了很多年的那些陈腐不堪、花里胡哨的画。这些画画得一丝也不真实、毫无艺术价值，然而世界上却再没有谁比这些画的作者、比戴尔克·施特略夫更心地笃实、更真挚坦白的了。这种矛盾谁解释得了呢？

我不知道自己为什么会突然问他道：

“我问你一下，不知道你遇见过一个叫查理斯·思特里克兰德的画家没有？”

“你是说你也认识他？”施特略夫叫喊起来。

“这人太没教养了，”他的妻子说。

施特略夫笑了起来。

“我的可怜的宝贝①。”他走到她前面，吻了吻她的两只手。“她不喜欢他。真奇怪，你居然也认识思特里克兰德。”

①原文为法语。

“我不喜欢不懂礼貌的人，”施特略夫太太说。

戴尔克的笑声一直没有停止，转过身来给我解释。

“你知道，有一次我请他来看看我的画。他来了，我把我的画都拿给他看了。”说到这里，施特略夫有些不好意思，踌躇了一会儿。我不理解为什么他开始讲这样一个于他脸面并不光彩的故事；他不知道该怎样把这个故事说完。“他看着——我的画，一句话也不说。我本来以为他等着把画都看完了再发表意见。最后我说：‘就是这些了！’他说：‘我来是为了向你借二十法郎。’”