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at one another。 I could not quite understand her expression。 Her eyes
had in them a strange perplexity； and perhaps but why？ alarm。 In a
moment Strickland looked away and idly surveyed the ceiling； but she
continued to stare at him； and now her look was quite inexplicable。
In a few days Strickland began to get up。 He was nothing but skin
and bone。 His clothes hung upon him like rags on a scarecrow。 With
his untidy beard and long hair； his features； always a little larger than life；
now emphasised by illness； he had an extraordinary aspect； but it was so
odd that it was not quite ugly。 There was something monumental in his
ungainliness。 I do not know how to express precisely the impression he
made upon me。 It was not exactly spirituality that was obvious； though
the screen of the flesh seemed almost transparent； because there was in his
face an outrageous sensuality； but； though it sounds nonsense； it seemed as
though his sensuality were curiously spiritual。 There was in him
something primitive。 He seemed to partake of those obscure forces of
nature which the Greeks personified in shapes part human and part beast；
the satyr and the faun。 I thought of Marsyas； whom the god flayed because
he had dared to rival him in song。 Strickland seemed to bear in his heart
strange harmonies and unadventured patterns； and I foresaw for him an
end of torture and despair。 I had again the feeling that he was possessed
of a devil； but you could not say that it was a devil of evil； for it was a
primitive force that existed before good and ill。
He was still too weak to paint； and he sat in the studio； silent； occupied
with God knows what dreams； or reading。 The books he liked were queer；
sometimes I would find him poring over the poems of Mallarme； and he
read them as a child reads； forming the words with his lips； and I
wondered what strange emotion he got from those subtle cadences and
obscure phrases； and again I found him absorbed in the detective novels of
Gaboriau。 I amused myself by thinking that in his choice of books he
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showed pleasantly the irreconcilable sides of his fantastic nature。 It was
singular to notice that even in the weak state of his body he had no thought
for its comfort。 Stroeve liked his ease； and in his studio were a couple of
heavily upholstered arm…chairs and a large divan。 Strickland would not go
near them； not from any affectation of stoicism； for I found him seated on
a three…legged stool when I went into the studio one day and he was alone；
but because he did not like them。 For choice he sat on a kitchen chair
without arms。 It often exasperated me to see him。 I never knew a man so
entirely indifferent to his surroundings。
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Chapter XXVII
Two or three weeks passed。 One morning； having come to a pause
in my work； I thought I would give myself a holiday； and I went to the
Louvre。 I wandered about looking at the pictures I knew so well； and let
my fancy play idly with the emotions they suggested。 I sauntered into
the long gallery； and there suddenly saw Stroeve。 I smiled； for his
appearance； so rotund and yet so startled； could never fail to excite a smile；
and then as I came nearer I noticed that he seemed singularly disconsolate。
He looked woebegone and yet ridiculous； like a man who has fallen into
the water with all his clothes on； and； being rescued from death； frightened
still； feels that he only looks a fool。 Turning round； he stared at me； but I
perceived that he did not see me。 His round blue eyes looked harassed
behind his glasses。
〃Stroeve；〃 I said。
He gave a little start； and then smiled； but his smile was rueful。
〃Why are you idling in this disgraceful fashion？〃 I asked gaily。
〃It's a long time since I was at the Louvre。 I thought I'd come and see
if they had anything new。〃
〃But you told me you had to get a picture finished this week。〃
〃Strickland's painting in my studio。〃
〃Well？〃
〃I suggested it myself。 He's not strong enough to go back to his own
place yet。 I thought we could both paint there。 Lots of fellows in the
Quarter share a studio。 I thought it would be fun。 I've always thought it
would be jolly to have someone to talk to when one was tired of work。〃
He said all this slowly； detaching statement from statement with a little
awkward silence； and he kept his kind； foolish eyes fixed on mine。 They
were full of tears。
〃I don't think I understand；〃 I said。
〃Strickland can't work with anyone else in the studio。〃
〃Damn it all； it's your studio。 That's his lookout。〃
He looked at me pitifully。 His lips were trembling。
〃What happened？〃 I asked； rather sharply。
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He hesitated and flushed。 He glanced unhappily at one of the
pictures on the wall。
〃He wouldn't let me go on painting。 He told me to get out。〃
〃But why didn't you tell him to go to hell？〃 〃He turned me out。 I
couldn't very well struggle with him。 He threw my hat after me； and
locked the door。〃
I was furious with Strickland； and was indignant with myself； because
Dirk Stroeve cut such an absurd figure that I felt inclined to laugh。
〃But what did your wife say？〃
〃She'd gone out to do the marketing。〃
〃Is he going to let her in？〃
〃I don't know。〃
I gazed at Stroeve with perplexity。 He stood like a schoolboy with
whom a master is finding fault。
〃Shall I get rid of Strickland for you？〃 I asked。
He gave a little start； and his shining face grew very red。
〃No。 You'd better not do anything。〃
He nodded to me and walked away。 It was clear that for some reason
he did not want to discuss the matter。 I did not understand。
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Chapter XXVIII
The expl