I confess that when first I made acquaintance with Charles Strickland I never for a moment discerned that there was in him anything out of the ordinary. Yet now few will be found to deny his greatness. I do not speak of that greatness which is achieved by the fortunate politician or the successful soldier; that is a quality which belongs to the place he occupies rather than to the man; and a change of circumstances reduces it to very discreet proportions. The Prime Minister out of office is seen, too often, to have been but a pompous rhetorician, and the General without an army is but the tame hero of a market town. The greatness of Charles Strickland was authentic. It may be that you do not like his art, but at all events you can hardly refuse it the tribute of your interest. He disturbs and arrests. The time has passed when he was an object of ridicule, and it is no longer a mark of eccentricity to defend or of perversity to extol him. His faults are accepted as the necessary complement to his merits. It is still possible to discuss his place in art, and the adulation of his admirers is perhaps no less capricious than the disparagement of his detractors; but one thing can never be doubtful, and that is that he had genius. To my mind the most interesting thing in art is the personality of the artist; and if that is singular, I am willing to excuse a thousand faults. I suppose Velasquez was a better painter than El Greco, but custom stales one's admiration for him: the Cretan, sensual and tragic, proffers the mystery of his soul like a standing sacrifice. The artist, painter, poet, or musician, by his decoration, sublime or beautiful, satisfies the aesthetic sense; but that is akin to the sexual instinct, and shares its barbarity: he lays before you also the greater gift of himself. To pursue his secret has something of the fascination of a detective story. It is a riddle which shares with the universe the merit of having no answer. The most insignificant of Strickland's works suggests a personality which is strange, tormented, and complex; and it is this surely which prevents even those who do not like his pictures from being indifferent to them; it is this which has excited so curious an interest in his life and character.
It was not till four years after Strickland's death that Maurice Huret wrote that article in the Mercure de France which rescued the unknown painter from oblivion and blazed the trail which succeeding writers, with more or less docility, have followed. For a long time no critic has enjoyed in France a more incontestable authority, and it was impossible not to be impressed by the claims he made; they seemed extravagant; but later judgments have confirmed his estimate, and the reputation of Charles Strickland is now firmly established on the lines which he laid down. The rise of this reputation is one of the most romantic incidents in the history of art. But I do not propose to deal with Charles Strickland's work except in so far as it touches upon his character. I cannot agree with the painters who claim superciliously that the layman can understand nothing of painting, and that he can best show his appreciation of their works by silence and a cheque-book. It is a grotesque misapprehension which sees in art no more than a craft comprehensible perfectly only to the craftsman: art is a manifestation of emotion, and emotion speaks a language that all may understand. But I will allow that the critic who has not a practical knowledge of technique is seldom able to say anything on the subject of real value, and my ignorance of painting is extreme. Fortunately, there is no need for me to risk the adventure, since my friend, Mr. Edward Leggatt, an able writer as well as an admirable painter, has exhaustively discussed Charles Strickland's work in a little book(1) which is a charming example of a style, for the most part, less happily cultivated in England than in France.
(1) "A Modern Artist: Notes on the Work of Charles Strickland, " by Edward Leggatt, A. R. H. A. Martin Secker, 1917.
Maurice Huret in his famous article gave an outline of Charles Strickland's life which was well calculated to whet the appetites of the inquiring. With his disinterested passion for art, he had a real desire to call the attention of the wise to a talent which was in the highest degree original; but he was too good a journalist to be unaware that the "human interest" would enable him more easily to effect his purpose. And when such as had come in contact with Strickland in the past, writers who had known him in London, painters who had met him in the cafes of Montmartre, discovered to their amazement that where they had seen but an unsuccessful artist, like another, authentic genius had rubbed shoulders with them there began to appear in the magazines of France and America a succession of articles, the reminiscences of one, the appreciation of another, which added to Strickland's notoriety, and fed without satisfying the curiosity of the public. The subject was grateful, and the industrious Weitbrecht-Rotholz in his imposing monograph(2) has been able to give a remarkable list of authorities.
(2) "Karl Strickland: sein Leben und seine Kunst, " by Hugo Weitbrecht-Rotholz, Ph. D. Schwingel und Hanisch. Leipzig, 1914.
The faculty for myth is innate in the human race. It seizes with avidity upon any incidents, surprising or mysterious, in the career of those who have at all distinguished themselves from their fellows, and invents a legend to which it then attaches a fanatical belief. It is the protest of romance against the commonplace of life. The incidents of the legend become the hero's surest passport to immortality. The ironic philosopher reflects with a smile that Sir Walter Raleigh is more safely inshrined in the memory of mankind because he set his cloak for the Virgin Queen to walk on than because he carried the English name to undiscovered countries. Charles Strickland lived obscurely. He made enemies rather than friends. It is not strange, then, that those who wrote of him should have eked out their scanty recollections with a lively fancy, and it is evident that there was enough in the little that was known of him to give opportunity to the romantic scribe; there was much in his life which was strange and terrible, in his character something outrageous, and in his fate not a little that was pathetic. In due course a legend arose of such circumstantiality that the wise historian would hesitate to attack it.
But a wise historian is precisely what the Rev. Robert Strickland is not. He wrote his biography(3) avowedly to "remove certain misconceptions which had gained currency" in regard to the later part of his father's life, and which had "caused considerable pain to persons still living. " It is obvious that there was much in the commonly received account of Strickland's life to embarrass a respectable family. I have read this work with a good deal of amusement, and upon this I congratulate myself, since it is colourless and dull. Mr. Strickland has drawn the portrait of an excellent husband and father, a man of kindly temper, industrious habits, and moral disposition. The modern clergyman has acquired in his study of the science which I believe is called exegesis an astonishing facility for explaining things away, but the subtlety with which the Rev. Robert Strickland has "interpreted" all the facts in his father's life which a dutiful son might find it inconvenient to remember must surely lead him in the fullness of time to the highest dignities of the Church. I see already his muscular calves encased in the gaiters episcopal. It was a hazardous, though maybe a gallant thing to do, since it is probable that the legend commonly received has had no small share in the growth of Strickland's reputation; for there are many who have been attracted to his art by the detestation in which they held his character or the compassion with which they regarded his death; and the son's well-meaning efforts threw a singular chill upon the father's admirers. It is due to no accident that when one of his most important works, The Woman of Samaria, (4) was sold at Christie's shortly after the discussion which followed the publication of Mr. Strickland's biography, it fetched POUNDS 235 less than it had done nine months before when it was bought by the distinguished collector whose sudden death had brought it once more under the hammer. Perhaps Charles Strickland's power and originality would scarcely have sufficed to turn the scale if the remarkable mythopoeic faculty of mankind had not brushed aside with impatience a story which disappointed all its craving for the extraordinary. And presently Dr. Weitbrecht-Rotholz produced the work which finally set at rest the misgivings of all lovers of art.
(3) "Strickland: The Man and His Work, " by his son, Robert Strickland. Wm. Heinemann, 1913.
(4) This was described in Christie's catalogue as follows: "A nude woman, a native of the Society Islands, is lying on the ground beside a brook. Behind is a tropical Landscape with palm-trees, bananas, etc. 60 in. x 48 in. "
Dr. Weitbrecht-Rotholz belongs to that school of historians which believes that human nature is not only about as bad as it can be, but a great deal worse; and certainly the reader is safer of entertainment in their hands than in those of the writers who take a malicious pleasure in representing the great figures of romance as patterns of the domestic virtues. For my part, I should be sorry to think that there was nothing between Anthony and Cleopatra but an economic situation; and it will require a great deal more evidence than is ever likely to be available, thank God, to persuade me that Tiberius was as blameless a monarch as King George V. Dr. Weitbrecht-Rotholz has dealt in such terms with the Rev. Robert Strickland's innocent biography that it is difficult to avoid feeling a certain sympathy for the unlucky parson. His decent reticence is branded as hypocrisy, his circumlocutions are roundly called lies, and his silence is vilified as treachery. And on the strength of peccadillos, reprehensible in an author, but excusable in a son, the Anglo-Saxon race is accused of prudishness, humbug, pretentiousness, deceit, cunning, and bad cooking. Personally I think it was rash of Mr. Strickland, in refuting the account which had gained belief of a certain "unpleasantness" between his father and mother, to state that Charles Strickland in a letter written from Paris had described her as "an excellent woman, " since Dr. Weitbrecht-Rotholz was able to print the letter in facsimile, and it appears that the passage referred to ran in fact as follows: God damn my wife. She is an excellent woman. I wish she was in hell. It is not thus that the Church in its great days dealt with evidence that was unwelcome.
Dr. Weitbrecht-Rotholz was an enthusiastic admirer of Charles Strickland, and there was no danger that he would whitewash him. He had an unerring eye for the despicable motive in actions that had all the appearance of innocence. He was a psycho-pathologist, as well as a student of art, and the subconscious had few secrets from him. No mystic ever saw deeper meaning in common things. The mystic sees the ineffable, and the psycho-pathologist the unspeakable. There is a singular fascination in watching the eagerness with which the learned author ferrets out every circumstance which may throw discredit on his hero. His heart warms to him when he can bring forward some example of cruelty or meanness, and he exults like an inquisitor at the auto da fe of an heretic when with some forgotten story he can confound the filial piety of the Rev. Robert Strickland. His industry has been amazing. Nothing has been too small to escape him, and you may be sure that if Charles Strickland left a laundry bill unpaid it will be given you in extenso, and if he forebore to return a borrowed half-crown no detail of the transaction will be omitted.
老实说，我刚刚认识查理斯•思特里克兰德的时候，从来没注意到这个人有什么与众不同的地方，但是今天却很少有人不承认他的伟大了。我所谓的伟大不是走红运的政治家或是立战功的军人的伟大；这种人显赫一时，与其说是他们本身的特质倒不如说沾了他们地位的光，一旦事过境迁，他们的伟大也就黯然失色了。人们常常发现一位离了职的首相当年只不过是个大言不惭的演说家；一个解甲归田的将军无非是个平淡乏味的市井英雄。但是查理斯•思特里克兰德的伟大却是真正的伟大。你可能不喜欢他的艺术，但无论如何你不能不对它感到兴趣。他的作品使你不能平静，扣紧你的心弦。思特里克兰德受人挪揄讥嘲的时代已经过去了，为他辩护或甚至对他赞誉也不再被看作是某些人的奇行怪癖了。他的瑕疵在世人的眼中已经成为他的优点的必不可少的派生物。他在艺术史上的地位尽可以继续争论。崇拜者对他的赞颂同贬抑者对他的诋毁固然都可能出于偏颇和任性，但是有一点是不容置疑的，那就是他具有天才。在我看来，艺术中最令人感兴趣的就是艺术家的个性；如果艺术家赋有独特的性格，尽管他有一千个缺点，我也可以原谅。我料想，委拉斯凯兹①是个比埃尔•格列柯②更高超的画家，可是由于所见过多，却使我们感到他的绘画有些乏味。而那位克里特岛画家的作品却有一种肉欲和悲剧性的美，仿佛作为永恒的牺牲似地把自己灵魂的秘密呈献出来。一个艺术家——画家也好，诗人也好，音乐家也好，用他的崇高的或者美丽的作品把世界装点起来，满足了人们的审美意识，但这也同人类的性本能不无相似的地方，都有其粗野狂暴的一面。在把作品奉献给世人的同时，艺术家也把他个人的伟大才能呈现到你眼前。探索一个艺术家的秘密颇有些阅读侦探小说的迷人劲儿。这个奥秘同大自然极相似，其妙处就在于无法找到答案。思特里克兰德的最不足道的作品也使你模糊看到他的奇特、复杂、受着折磨的性格；那些不喜欢他的绘画的人之所以不能对他漠不关心，肯定是因为这个原因。也正是这一点，使得那么多人对他的生活和性格充满了好奇心和浓厚的兴趣。
①迪埃戈•罗德里盖斯•德•西尔瓦•委拉斯凯兹（1599—1660），西班牙画家。
②埃尔•格列柯（1541—1614？），西班牙画家，生于克里特岛。
直到思特里克兰德去世四年以后，莫利斯•胥瑞才写了那篇发表在《法兰西信使》上的文章，使这位不为人所知的画家不致湮没无闻。他的这篇文章打响了第一炮，很多怯于标新的作家这才踏着他的足迹走了下去。在很长一段时间内法国艺术评论界更没有哪个人享有比胥瑞更无可争辩的权威。胥瑞提出的论点不可能不给人以深刻的印象，看起来他对思特里克兰德的称许似乎有些过分，但后来舆论的裁决却证实了他评价的公正；而查理斯•思特里克兰德的声名便也在他所定的调子上不可动摇地建立起来了。思特里克兰德声名噪起，这在艺术史上实在是最富于浪漫主义味道的一个事例。但是我在这里并不想对查理斯•思特里克兰德的艺术作品有所评论，除非在这些作品涉及到画家性格的时候。我对某些画家的意见不敢苟同，他们傲慢地认为外行根本不懂得绘画，门外汉要表示对艺术的鉴赏，最好的方法就是免开尊口，大大方方地掏出支票簿。老实讲，把艺术看作只有名工巧匠才能完全理解的艺术技巧，其实是一种荒谬的误解。艺术是什么？艺术是感情的表露，艺术使用的是一种人人都能理解的语言。但是我也承认，艺术评论家如果对技巧没有实际知识，是很少能作出真正有价值的评论的；而我自己对绘画恰好是非常无知的。幸而在这方面我无庸冒任何风险，因为我的朋友爱德华•雷加特先生既是一位写文章的高手，又是一位深有造诣的画家，他在一本小书里①对查理斯•思特里克兰德的作品已经作了详尽的探索；这本书的优美文风也为我们树立了一个典范。很可惜，这种文风今天在英国远不如在法国那么时兴了。
①《一位当代画家，对查理斯•思特里克兰德绘画的评论》，爱尔兰皇家学院会员爱德华•雷加特着，1917年马丁•塞克尔出版。（作者注）
莫利斯•胥瑞在他那篇驰名的文章里简单地勾画了查理斯•思特里克兰德的生平；作者有意这样吊一下读者的胃口。他对艺术的热情毫不搀杂个人的好恶，他这篇文章的真正目的是唤起那些有头脑的人对一个极为独特的天才画家的注意力。但是胥瑞是一个善于写文章的老手，他不会不知道，只有引起读者“兴味”的文章才更容易达到目的。后来那些在思特里克兰德生前曾和他有过接触的人——有些人是在伦敦就认识他的作家，有些是在蒙特玛特尔咖啡座上和他会过面的画家——极其吃惊地发现，他们当初看作是个失败的画家，一个同无数落魄艺术家没有什么不同的画家，原来是个真正的天才，他们却交臂失之。从这时起，在法国和美国的一些杂志上就连篇累牍地出现了各式各类的文章：这个写对思特里克兰德的回忆，那个写对他作品的评述。结果是，这些文章更增加了思特里克兰德的声誉，挑起了、但却无法满足读者的好奇心。这个题目大受读者欢迎，魏特布瑞希特-罗特霍尔兹下了不少工夫，在他写的一篇洋洋洒洒的专题论文①里开列了一张篇目，列举出富有权威性的一些文章。
①《查理斯•思特里克兰德，生平与作品》，哲学博士雨果•魏特布瑞希特-罗特霍尔兹着，莱比锡1914年施威英格尔与汉尼施出版，原书德文。（作者注）
制造神话是人类的天性。对那些出类拔萃的人物，如果他们生活中有什么令人感到诧异或者迷惑不解的事件，人们就会如饥似渴地抓住不放，编造出种种神话，而且深信不疑，近乎狂热。这可以说是浪漫主义对平凡暗淡的生活的一种抗议。传奇中的一些小故事成为英雄通向不朽境界的最可靠的护照。瓦尔特•饶利爵士②之所以永远珍留在人们记忆里是因为他把披风铺在地上，让伊丽莎白女皇踏着走过去，而不是因为他把英国名字带给了许多过去人们从来没有发现的国土；一个玩世不恭的哲学家在想到这件事时肯定会哑然失笑的。讲到查理斯•思特里克兰德，生前知道他的人并不多。他树了不少敌人，但没有交下什么朋友。因此，那些给他写文章的人必须借助于活跃的想象以弥补贫乏的事实，看来也就不足为奇了。非常清楚，尽管人们对思特里克兰德生平的事迹知道得并不多，也尽够浪漫主义的文人从中找到大量铺陈敷衍的材料，他的生活中有不少离奇可怕的行径，他的性格里有不少荒谬绝伦的怪僻，他的命运中又不乏悲壮凄怆的遭遇。经过一段时间，从这一系列事情的演绎附会中便产生了一个神话，明智的历史学家对这种神话是不会贸然反对的。
②瓦尔特•饶利爵士（1552？—1618），英国历史学家及航海家。
罗伯特•思特里克兰德牧师偏偏不是这样一位明智的历史学家。他认为有关他父亲的后半生人们误解颇多，他公开申明自己写这部传记③就是为了“排除某些成为流传的误解”，这些谬种流传“给生者带来很大的痛苦”。谁都清楚，在外界传播的思特里克兰德生平轶事里有许多使一个体面的家庭感到难堪的事。我读这本传记的时候忍不住哑然失笑，但也暗自庆幸，幸好这本书写得实在枯燥乏味。思特里克兰德牧师在传记里刻划的是一个体贴的丈夫和慈祥的父亲，一个性格善良、作风勤奋、品行端正的君子。当代的教士在研究人们称之为《圣经》诠释这门学问中都学会了遮掩粉饰的惊人本领，但罗伯特•思特里克兰德牧师用以“解释”他父亲行状（这些开行动都是一个孝顺的儿子认为值得记住的）的那种精思敏辩，在时机成熟时肯定会导致他在教会中荣获显职的。我好象已经看到他那筋骨强健的小腿套上了主教的皮裹腿了。他做的是一件危险的，但或许是很勇敢的事，因为思特里克兰德之所以名传遐迩，在很大程度上要归功于人们普遍接受了的传说。他的艺术对很多人有那么大的魅力，或者是由于人们对他性格的嫌恶，或者是对他惨死的同情；而儿子的这部旨在为父亲遮羞掩丑的传记对于父亲的崇拜者却不啻当头浇了一盆冷水。思特里克兰德的最重要的一幅作品《萨玛利亚的女人》④九个月以前曾经卖给一位有名的收藏家。由于这位收藏家后来突然逝世，这幅画再度拍卖，又被克利斯蒂购去。这次拍卖正值思特里克兰德牧师的传记出版、人们议论纷纷之际，这幅名画的价格竟比九个月以前降低了二百三十五镑；这显然不是一件偶合。如果不是人们对神话的喜爱，叫他们对这个使他们的猎奇心大失所望的故事嗤之以鼻的话，只靠思特里克兰德个人的权威和独特也许无力挽回大局的。说也凑巧，没有过多久魏特布瑞希特-罗特霍尔兹博士的文章就问世了，艺术爱好者们的疑虑不安终于消除了。
③《思特里克兰德，生平与作品》，画家的儿子罗伯特•思特里克兰德撰写，1913年海因曼出版。（作者注）
④根据克利斯蒂藏画目录的描述，这幅画的内容是：一个裸体女人，社会岛的土人，躺在一条小溪边的草地上，背景是棕榈树、芭蕉等热带风景。60英寸×48英寸。（作者注）
魏特布瑞希特-罗特霍尔兹博士隶属的这一历史学派不只相信“人之初，性本恶”，而且认为其恶劣程度是远远超过人们的想象的；用不着说，比起那些把富有浪漫色彩的人物写成道貌岸然的君子的使人败兴的作家来，这一派历史学者的著作肯定能够给予读者更大的乐趣。对于我这样的读者，如果把安东尼和克莉奥佩特拉的关系只写作经济上的联盟，我是会觉得非常遗憾的；要想劝说我让我把泰伯利欧斯⑤看作是同英王乔治五世同样的一位毫无瑕疵的君主，也需要远比手头掌握的多得多的证据（谢天谢地，这种证据看来很难找到）。魏特布瑞希特-罗特霍尔兹博士在评论罗伯特•思特里克兰德牧师那部天真的传记时所用的词句，读起来很难叫人对这位不幸的牧师不感到同情。凡是这位牧师为了维护体面不便畅言的地方都被攻击为虚伪，凡是他铺陈赘述的章节则率直地被叫作谎言，作者对某些事情保持缄默则干脆被魏特布瑞希特-罗特霍尔兹斥之为背叛。作品中的这些缺陷，从一个传记作家的角度来看，固然应该受到指摘，但作为传记主人公的儿子倒也情有可原；倒霉的是，竟连盎格鲁-萨克逊民族也连带遭了殃，被魏特布瑞希特-罗特霍尔兹博士批评为假装正经、作势吓人、自命不凡、狡猾欺心，只会烹调倒人胃口的菜饭。讲到我个人的意见，我认为思特里克兰德牧师在驳斥外间深入人心的一种传述——关于他父母之间某些“不愉快”的事件时，实在不够慎重。他在传记里引证查理斯• 思特里克兰德从巴黎写的一封家信，说他父亲称呼自己的妻子为“了不起的女人”，而魏特布瑞希特-罗特霍尔兹却把原信复制出来；原来思特里克兰德牧师引证的这段原文是这样的：“叫上帝惩罚我的妻子吧！这个女人太了不起了，我真希望叫她下地狱。”在教会势力鼎盛的日子，它们并不是用这种方法对待不受欢迎的事实的。
⑤泰伯利欧斯•克劳迪乌斯•尼禄（公元前42—公元37），罗马皇帝。
魏特布瑞希特-罗特霍尔兹博士是查理斯•思特里克兰德的一位热心的崇拜者，如果他想为思特里克兰德涂脂抹粉本来是不会有什么危险的。但他的目光敏锐，一眼就望穿了隐含在一些天真无邪的行为下的可鄙的动机。他既是一个艺术研究者，又是一个心理——病理学家。他对一个人的潜意识了如指掌。没有哪个探索心灵秘密的人能够象他那样透过普通事物看到更深邃的意义。探索心灵秘密的人能够看到不好用语言表达出来的东西，心理病理学家却看到了根本不能表达的事物。我们看到这位学识渊深的作家如何热衷于搜寻出每一件使这位英雄人物丢脸的细节琐事，真是令人拍案叫绝。每当他列举出主人公一件冷酷无情或者卑鄙自私的例证，他的心就对他更增加一分同情。在他寻找到主人公某件为人遗忘的轶事用来嘲弄罗伯特•思特里克兰德牧帅的一片孝心时，他就象宗教法庭的法官审判异教徒那样乐得心花怒放。他写这篇文章的那种认真勤奋劲儿也着实令人吃惊。没有哪件细小的事情被他漏掉，如果查理斯•思特里克兰德有一笔洗衣账没有付清，这件事一定会被详细记录下来；如果他欠人家一笔借款没有偿还，这笔债务的每一个细节也绝对不会遗漏；这一点读者是完全可以放心的。