Місяць і гріш

Chapter XIV

           

           Buthowstrangeitwasthatthecreativeinstinctshouldseizeuponthisdullstockbroker,tohisownruin,perhaps,andtothemisfortuneofsuchasweredependentonhim;andyetnostrangerthanthewayinwhichthespiritofGodhasseizedmen,powerfulandrich,pursuingthemwithstubbornvigilancetillatlast,conquered,theyhaveabandonedthejoyoftheworldandtheloveofwomenforthepainfulausteritiesofthecloister.Conversionmaycomeundermanyshapes,anditmaybebroughtaboutinmanyways.Withsomemenitneedsacataclysm,asastonemaybebrokentofragmentsbythefuryofatorrent;butwithsomeitcomesgradually,asastonemaybewornawaybytheceaselessfallofadropofwater.Stricklandhadthedirectnessofthefanaticandtheferocityoftheapostle.

           Buttomypracticalminditremainedtobeseenwhetherthepassionwhichobsessedhimwouldbejustifiedofitsworks.WhenIaskedhimwhathisbrother-studentsatthenightclasseshehadattendedinLondonthoughtofhispainting,heansweredwithagrin:

           "Theythoughtitajoke."

           "Haveyoubeguntogotoastudiohere?"

           "Yes.Theblightercameroundthismorning—themaster,youknow;whenhesawmydrawinghejustraisedhiseyebrowsandwalkedon."

           Stricklandchuckled.Hedidnotseemdiscouraged.Hewasindependentoftheopinionofhisfellows.

           Anditwasjustthatwhichhadmostdisconcertedmeinmydealingswithhim.Whenpeoplesaytheydonotcarewhatothersthinkofthem,forthemostparttheydeceivethemselves.

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