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The Moon and Sixpence
drove on。 Dirk had not been to the studio since the wretched morning on
which they had taken Blanche to the hospital。 I was glad he did not want
me to accompany him； and when I left him at the door I walked away with
relief。 I took a new pleasure in the streets of Paris； and I looked with
smiling eyes at the people who hurried to and fro。 The day was fine and
sunny； and I felt in myself a more acute delight in life。 I could not help it；
I put Stroeve and his sorrows out of my mind。 I wanted to enjoy。
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The Moon and Sixpence
Chapter XXXVIII
I did not see him again for nearly a week。 Then he fetched me soon
after seven one evening and took me out to dinner。 He was dressed in the
deepest mourning； and on his bowler was a broad black band。 He had
even a black border to his handkerchief。 His garb of woe suggested that he
had lost in one catastrophe every relation he had in the world； even to
cousins by marriage twice removed。 His plumpness and his red； fat
cheeks made his mourning not a little incongruous。 It was cruel that his
extreme unhappiness should have in it something of buffoonery。
He told me he had made up his mind to go away； though not to Italy； as
I had suggested； but to Holland。
〃I'm starting to…morrow。 This is perhaps the last time we shall ever
meet。〃
I made an appropriate rejoinder； and he smiled wanly。
〃I haven't been home for five years。 I think I'd forgotten it all； I
seemed to have come so far away from my father's house that I was shy at
the idea of revisiting it； but now I feel it's my only refuge。〃
He was sore and bruised； and his thoughts went back to the tenderness
of his mother's love。 The ridicule he had endured for years seemed now
to weigh him down； and the final blow of Blanche's treachery had robbed
him of the resiliency which had made him take it so gaily。 He could no
longer laugh with those who laughed at him。 He was an outcast。 He
told me of his childhood in the tidy brick house； and of his mother's
passionate orderliness。 Her kitchen was a miracle of clean brightness。
Everything was always in its place； and no where could you see a speck of
dust。 Cleanliness； indeed； was a mania with her。 I saw a neat little old
woman； with cheeks like apples； toiling away from morning to night；
through the long years； to keep her house trim and spruce。 His father was
a spare old man； his hands gnarled after the work of a lifetime； silent and
upright； in the evening he read the paper aloud； while his wife and
daughter （now married to the captain of a fishing smack）； unwilling to lose
a moment； bent over their sewing。 Nothing ever happened in that little
town； left behind by the advance of civilisation； and one year followed the
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The Moon and Sixpence
next till death came； like a friend； to give rest to those who had laboured
so diligently。
〃My father wished me to become a carpenter like himself。 For five
generations we've carried on the same trade； from father to son。 Perhaps
that is the wisdom of life； to tread in your father's steps； and look neither
to the right nor to the left。 When I was a little boy I said I would marry the
daughter of the harness…maker who lived next door。 She was a little girl
with blue eyes and a flaxen pigtail。 She would have kept my house like a
new pin； and I should have had a son to carry on the business after me。〃
Stroeve sighed a little and was silent。 His thoughts dwelt among
pictures of what might have been； and the safety of the life he had refused
filled him with longing。
〃The world is hard and cruel。 We are here none knows why； and we
go none knows whither。 We must be very humble。 We must see the
beauty of quietness。 We must go through life so inconspicuously that
Fate does not notice us。 And let us seek the love of simple； ignorant
people。 Their ignorance is better than all our knowledge。 Let us be
silent； content in our little corner； meek and gentle like them。 That is the
wisdom of life。〃
To me it was his broken spirit that expressed itself； and I rebelled
against his renunciation。 But I kept my own counsel。
〃What made you think of being a painter？〃 I asked。
He shrugged his shoulders。
〃It happened that I had a knack for drawing。 I got prizes for it at
school。 My poor mother was very proud of my gift； and she gave me a
box of water…colours as a present。 She showed my sketches to the pastor
and the doctor and the judge。 And they sent me to Amsterdam to try for a
scholarship； and I won it。 Poor soul； she was so proud； and though it
nearly broke her heart to part from me； she smiled； and would not show
me her grief。 She was pleased that her son should be an artist。 They
pinched and saved so that I should have enough to live on； and when my
first picture was exhibited they came to Amsterdam to see it； my father
and mother and my sister； and my mother cried when she looked at it。〃
His kind eyes glistened。 〃And now on every wall of the old house there is
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one of my pictures in a beautiful gold frame。〃
He glowed with happy pride。 I thought of those cold scenes of his；
with their picturesque peasants and cypresses and olive…trees。 They must
look queer in their garish frames on the walls of the peasant house。
〃The dear soul thought she was doing a wonderful thing for me when
she made me an artist； but perhaps； after all； it would have been better for
me if my father's will had prevailed and I were now but an honest
carpenter。〃
〃Now that you know what art can offer； would you change your life？
Would you have missed all the delight it has given you？〃
〃Art is the greatest thing in the world；〃 h