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something impressive in the manner in which he lived a life wholly of the
spirit。
When the small sum of money which he brought with him from
London came to an end he suffered from no dismay。 He sold no pictures；
I think he made little attempt to sell any； he set about finding some way to
make a bit of money。 He told me with grim humour of the time he had
spent acting as guide to Cockneys who wanted to see the night side of life
in Paris； it was an occupation that appealed to his sardonic temper and
somehow or other he had acquired a wide acquaintance with the more
disreputable quarters of the city。 He told me of the long hours he spent
walking about the Boulevard de la Madeleine on the look…out for
Englishmen； preferably the worse for liquor； who desired to see things
which the law forbade。 When in luck he was able to make a tidy sum； but
the shabbiness of his clothes at last frightened the sight…seers； and he could
not find people adventurous enough to trust themselves to him。 Then he
happened on a job to translate the advertisements of patent medicines
which were sent broadcast to the medical profession in England。 During
a strike he had been employed as a house…painter。
Meanwhile he had never ceased to work at his art； but； soon tiring of
the studios； entirely by himself。 He had never been so poor that he could
not buy canvas and paint； and really he needed nothing else。 So far as I
could make out； he painted with great difficulty； and in his unwillingness
to accept help from anyone lost much time in finding out for himself the
solution of technical problems which preceding generations had already
worked out one by one。 He was aiming at something； I knew not what；
and perhaps he hardly knew himself； and I got again more strongly the
impression of a man possessed。 He did not seem quite sane。 It seemed
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to me that he would not show his pictures because he was really not
interested in them。 He lived in a dream； and the reality meant nothing to
him。 I had the feeling that he worked on a canvas with all the force of his
violent personality； oblivious of everything in his effort to get what he saw
with the mind's eye； and then； having finished； not the picture perhaps； for
I had an idea that he seldom brought anything to completion； but the
passion that fired him； he lost all care for it。 He was never satisfied with
what he had done； it seemed to him of no consequence compared with the
vision that obsessed his mind。
〃Why don't you ever send your work to exhibitions？〃 I asked。 〃I
should have thought you'd like to know what people thought about it。〃
〃Would you？〃
I cannot describe the unmeasurable contempt he put into the two
words。
〃Don't you want fame？ It's something that most artists haven't been
indifferent to。〃
〃Children。 How can you care for the opinion of the crowd； when you
don't care twopence for the opinion of the individual？〃
〃We're not all reasonable beings；〃 I laughed。
〃Who makes fame？ Critics； writers； stockbrokers； women。〃
〃Wouldn't it give you a rather pleasing sensation to think of people you
didn't know and had never seen receiving emotions； subtle and passionate；
from the work of your hands？ Everyone likes power。 I can't imagine a
more wonderful exercise of it than to move the souls of men to pity or
terror。〃
〃Melodrama。〃
〃Why do you mind if you paint well or badly？〃
〃I don't。 I only want to paint what I see。〃
〃I wonder if I could write on a desert island； with the certainty that no
eyes but mine would ever see what I had written。〃
Strickland did not speak for a long time； but his eyes shone strangely；
as though he saw something that kindled his soul to ecstasy。
〃Sometimes I've thought of an island lost in a boundless sea； where I
could live in some hidden valley； among strange trees； in silence。 There I
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think I could find what I want。〃
He did not express himself quite like this。 He used gestures instead
of adjectives； and he halted。 I have put into my own words what I think
he wanted to say。
〃Looking back on the last five years； do you think it was worth it？〃 I
asked。
He looked at me； and I saw that he did not know what I meant。 I
explained。
〃You gave up a comfortable home and a life as happy as the average。
You were fairly prosperous。 You seem to have had a rotten time in Paris。
If you had your time over again would you do what you did？〃
〃Rather。〃
〃Do you know that you haven't asked anything about your wife and
children？ Do you never think of them？〃
〃No。〃
〃I wish you weren't so damned monosyllabic。 Have you never had a
moment's regret for all the unhappiness you caused them？〃
His lips broke into a smile； and he shook his head。
〃I should have thought sometimes you couldn't help thinking of the
past。 I don't mean the past of seven or eight years ago； but further back
still； when you first met your wife； and loved her； and married her。 Don't
you remember the joy with which you first took her in your arms？〃
〃I don't think of the past。 The only thing that matters is the
everlasting present。〃
I thought for a moment over this reply。 It was obscure； perhaps； but I
thought that I saw dimly his meaning。
〃Are you happy？〃 I asked。
〃Yes。〃
I was silent。 I looked at him reflectively。 He held my stare； and
presently a sardonic twinkle lit up his eyes。
〃I'm afraid you disapprove of me？〃
〃Nonsense；〃 I answered promptly； 〃I don't disapprove of the boa…
constrictor； on the contrary； I'm interested in his mental processes。〃
〃It's a purely professional interest you take in me？〃
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〃Purely。〃
〃It's only right that you shouldn't disapprove