Chapter XIV

           

           DuringthejourneybacktoEnglandIthoughtmuchofStrickland.ItriedtosetinorderwhatIhadtotellhiswife.Itwasunsatisfactory,andIcouldnotimaginethatshewouldbecontentwithme;Iwasnotcontentwithmyself.Stricklandperplexedme.Icouldnotunderstandhismotives.WhenIhadaskedhimwhatfirstgavehimtheideaofbeingapainter,hewasunableorunwillingtotellme.Icouldmakenothingofit.Itriedtopersuademyselfthananobscurefeelingofrevolthadbeengraduallycomingtoaheadinhisslowmind,buttochallengethiswastheundoubtedfactthathehadnevershownanyimpatiencewiththemonotonyofhislife.If,seizedbyanintolerableboredom,hehaddeterminedtobeapaintermerelytobreakwithirksometies,itwouldhavebeencomprehensible,andcommonplace;butcommonplaceispreciselywhatIfelthewasnot.Atlast,becauseIwasromantic,IdevisedanexplanationwhichIacknowledgedtobefar-fetched,butwhichwastheonlyonethatinanywaysatisfiedme.Itwasthis:Iaskedmyselfwhethertherewasnotinhissoulsomedeep-rootedinstinctofcreation,whichthecircumstancesofhislifehadobscured,butwhichgrewrelentlessly,asacancermaygrowinthelivingtissues,tillatlastittookpossessionofhiswholebeingandforcedhimirresistiblytoaction.Thecuckoolaysitsegginthestrangebird’snest,andwhentheyoungoneishatcheditshouldersitsfoster-brothersoutandbreaksatlastthenestthathasshelteredit.

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