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The agony of it drove him up from the bed and out of the room。 He
went into the studio。 It was dark； for the curtains had been drawn over
the great window； and he pulled them quickly back； but a sob broke from
him as with a rapid glance he took in the place where he had been so
happy。 Nothing was changed here； either。 Strickland was indifferent to
his surroundings； and he had lived in the other's studio without thinking of
altering a thing。 It was deliberately artistic。 It represented Stroeve's
idea of the proper environment for an artist。 There were bits of old brocade
on the walls； and the piano was covered with a piece of silk； beautiful and
tarnished； in one corner was a copy of the Venus of Milo； and in another of
the Venus of the Medici。 Here and there was an Italian cabinet
surmounted with Delft； and here and there a bas…relief。 In a handsome
gold frame was a copy of Velasquez' Innocent X。； that Stroeve had made in
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Rome； and placed so as to make the most of their decorative effect were a
number of Stroeve's pictures； all in splendid frames。 Stroeve had always
been very proud of his taste。 He had never lost his appreciation for the
romantic atmosphere of a studio； and though now the sight of it was like a
stab in his heart； without thinking what he was at； he changed slightly the
position of a Louis XV。 table which was one of his treasures。 Suddenly he
caught sight of a canvas with its face to the wall。 It was a much larger one
than he himself was in the habit of using； and he wondered what it did
there。 He went over to it and leaned it towards him so that he could see
the painting。 It was a nude。 His heart began to beat quickly； for he
guessed at once that it was one of Strickland's pictures。 He flung it back
against the wall angrily what did he mean by leaving it there？ but his
movement caused it to fall； face downwards； on the ground。 No mater
whose the picture； he could not leave it there in the dust； and he raised it；
but then curiosity got the better of him。 He thought he would like to have a
proper look at it； so he brought it along and set it on the easel。 Then he
stood back in order to see it at his ease。
He gave a gasp。 It was the picture of a woman lying on a sofa； with
one arm beneath her head and the other along her body； one knee was
raised； and the other leg was stretched out。 The pose was classic。
Stroeve's head swam。 It was Blanche。 Grief and jealousy and rage seized
him； and he cried out hoarsely； he was inarticulate； he clenched his fists
and raised them threateningly at an invisible enemy。 He screamed at the
top of his voice。 He was beside himself。 He could not bear it。 That
was too much。 He looked round wildly for some instrument； he wanted
to hack the picture to pieces； it should not exist another minute。 He
could see nothing that would serve his purpose； he rummaged about his
painting things； somehow he could not find a thing； he was frantic。 At
last he came upon what he sought； a large scraper； and he pounced on it
with a cry of triumph。 He seized it as though it were a dagger； and ran to
the picture。
As Stroeve told me this he became as excited as when the incident
occurred； and he took hold of a dinner…knife on the table between us； and
brandished it。 He lifted his arm as though to strike； and then； opening his
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hand； let it fall with a clatter to the ground。 He looked at me with a
tremulous smile。 He did not speak。
〃Fire away；〃 I said。
〃I don't know what happened to me。 I was just going to make a great
hole in the picture； I had my arm all ready for the blow； when suddenly I
seemed to see it。〃
〃See what？〃
〃The picture。 It was a work of art。 I couldn't touch it。 I was afraid。〃
Stroeve was silent again； and he stared at me with his mouth open and
his round blue eyes starting out of his head。
〃It was a great； a wonderful picture。 I was seized with awe。 I had
nearly committed a dreadful crime。 I moved a little to see it better； and
my foot knocked against the scraper。 I shuddered。〃
I really felt something of the emotion that had caught him。 I was
strangely impressed。 It was as though I were suddenly transported into a
world in which the values were changed。 I stood by； at a loss； like a
stranger in a land where the reactions of man to familiar things are all
different from those he has known。 Stroeve tried to talk to me about the
picture； but he was incoherent； and I had to guess at what he meant。
Strickland had burst the bonds that hitherto had held him。 He had found；
not himself； as the phrase goes； but a new soul with unsuspected powers。
It was not only the bold simplification of the drawing which showed so
rich and so singular a personality； it was not only the painting； though the
flesh was painted with a passionate sensuality which had in it something
miraculous； it was not only the solidity； so that you felt extraordinarily the
weight of the body； there was also a spirituality； troubling and new； which
led the imagination along unsuspected ways； and suggested dim empty
spaces； lit only by the eternal stars； where the soul； all naked； adventured
fearful to the discovery of new mysteries。
If I am rhetorical it is because Stroeve was rhetorical。 （Do we not
know that man in moments of emotion expresses himself naturally in the
terms of a novelette？） Stroeve was trying to express a feeling which he
had never known before； and he did not know how to put it into common
terms。 He was like the mystic seeking to describe the ineffable。 But
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one fact he made clear to me； people talk of beauty lightly； and having no
feeling for words； they use that one carelessly； so that it loses its force； and
the thing it stands for； sharing its name with a hundred trivial objects； is
deprived of dignity。 They call beautiful a dress； a dog； a sermon； and when
they are face to face with Beauty cannot recognise it。 The false emphasis
with which they try to deck their worthless thoughts blunts their
susceptibilities。 Like the charlatan who counterfeits a spiritual force he
has sometimes felt； they lose the power they have abused。 But Stroeve；
the unconquerable buffoon； had a love and an understanding of beauty
which were as honest and sincere as was his own sincere and honest soul。
It meant to him what God means to the believer； and when he saw it he
was afraid。
〃What did you say to Strickland when you saw him？〃
〃I asked him to come with me to Holland。〃
I was dumbfounded。 I could only look at Stroeve in stupid
amazement。
〃We both loved Blanche。 There would have been room for him in my
mother's house。 I think the company of poor； simple people would have
done his soul a great good。 I think he might have learnt from them
something that would be very useful to him。〃
〃What did he say？〃
〃He smiled a little。 I suppose he thought me very silly。 He said he
had other fish to fry。〃
I could have wished that Strickland had used some other phrase to
indicate his refusal。
〃He gave me the picture of Blanche。〃
I wondered why Strickland had done that。 But I made no remark； and
for some time we kept silence。
〃What have you done with all your things？〃 I said at last。
〃I got a Jew in； and he gave me a round sum for the lot。 I'm taking my
pictures home with me。 Beside them I own nothing in the world now but
a box of clothes and a few books。〃
〃I'm glad you're going home；〃 I said。
I felt tha