Місяць і гріш

Chapter XLIII

           Ineverknewanyonewhowaslessself-conscious.ButitisunfortunatethatIcangivenodescriptionofthearduousstepsbywhichhereachedsuchmasteryoverhisartasheeveracquired;forifIcouldshowhimundauntedbyfailure,byanunceasingeffortofcourageholdingdespairatbay,doggedlypersistentinthefaceofself-doubt,whichistheartist’sbitterestenemy,Imightexcitesomesympathyforapersonalitywhich,Iamalltooconscious,mustappearsingularlydevoidofcharm.ButIhavenothingtogoon.IneveroncesawStricklandatwork,nordoIknowthatanyoneelsedid.Hekeptthesecretofhisstrugglestohimself.IfinthelonelinessofhisstudiohewrestleddesperatelywiththeAngeloftheLordheneverallowedasoultodivinehisanguish.

           WhenIcometohisconnectionwithBlancheStroeveIamexasperatedbythefragmentarinessofthefactsatmydisposal.TogivemystorycoherenceIshoulddescribetheprogressoftheirtragicunion,butIknownothingofthethreemonthsduringwhichtheylivedtogether.Idonotknowhowtheygotonorwhattheytalkedabout.Afterall,therearetwenty-fourhoursintheday,andthesummitsofemotioncanonlybereachedatrareintervals.Icanonlyimaginehowtheypassedtherestofthetime.WhilethelightlastedandsolongasBlanche’sstrengthendured,IsupposethatStricklandpainted,anditmusthaveirritatedherwhenshesawhimabsorbedinhiswork.Asamistressshedidnotthenexistforhim,butonlyasamodel;andthentherewerelonghoursinwhichtheylivedsidebysideinsilence.Itmusthavefrightenedher.

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