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- Уильям Сомерсет Моэм
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- Стр. 148/193
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"
What
the
hell
do
you
mean
?
"
"
I
think
you
’
re
trying
to
say
something
,
I
don
’
t
quite
know
what
it
is
,
but
I
’
m
not
sure
that
the
best
way
of
saying
it
is
by
means
of
painting
.
"
When
I
imagined
that
on
seeing
his
pictures
I
should
get
a
clue
to
the
understanding
of
his
strange
character
I
was
mistaken
.
They
merely
increased
the
astonishment
with
which
he
filled
me
.
I
was
more
at
sea
than
ever
.
The
only
thing
that
seemed
clear
to
me
—
and
perhaps
even
this
was
fanciful
—
was
that
he
was
passionately
striving
for
liberation
from
some
power
that
held
him
.
But
what
the
power
was
and
what
line
the
liberation
would
take
remained
obscure
.
Each
one
of
us
is
alone
in
the
world
.
He
is
shut
in
a
tower
of
brass
,
and
can
communicate
with
his
fellows
only
by
signs
,
and
the
signs
have
no
common
value
,
so
that
their
sense
is
vague
and
uncertain
.
We
seek
pitifully
to
convey
to
others
the
treasures
of
our
heart
,
but
they
have
not
the
power
to
accept
them
,
and
so
we
go
lonely
,
side
by
side
but
not
together
,
unable
to
know
our
fellows
and
unknown
by
them
.
We
are
like
people
living
in
a
country
whose
language
they
know
so
little
that
,
with
all
manner
of
beautiful
and
profound
things
to
say
,
they
are
condemned
to
the
banalities
of
the
conversation
manual
.
Their
brain
is
seething
with
ideas
,
and
they
can
only
tell
you
that
the
umbrella
of
the
gardener
’
s
aunt
is
in
the
house
.
The
final
impression
I
received
was
of
a
prodigious
effort
to
express
some
state
of
the
soul
,
and
in
this
effort
,
I
fancied
,
must
be
sought
the
explanation
of
what
so
utterly
perplexed
me
.
It
was
evident
that
colours
and
forms
had
a
significance
for
Strickland
that
was
peculiar
to
himself
.
He
was
under
an
intolerable
necessity
to
convey
something
that
he
felt
,
and
he
created
them
with
that
intention
alone
.
He
did
not
hesitate
to
simplify
or
to
distort
if
he
could
get
nearer
to
that
unknown
thing
he
sought
.
Facts
were
nothing
to
him
,
for
beneath
the
mass
of
irrelevant
incidents
he
looked
for
something
significant
to
himself
.
It
was
as
though
he
had
become
aware
of
the
soul
of
the
universe
and
were
compelled
to
express
it
Though
these
pictures
confused
and
puzzled
me
,
I
could
not
be
unmoved
by
the
emotion
that
was
patent
in
them
;
and
,
I
knew
not
why
,
I
felt
in
myself
a
feeling
that
with
regard
to
Strickland
was
the
last
I
had
ever
expected
to
experience
.
I
felt
an
overwhelming
compassion
.
"
I
think
I
know
now
why
you
surrendered
to
your
feeling
for
Blanche
Stroeve
,
"
I
said
to
him
.
"
Why
?
"
"
I
think
your
courage
failed
.
The
weakness
of
your
body
communicated
itself
to
your
soul
.
I
do
not
know
what
infinite
yearning
possesses
you
,
so
that
you
are
driven
to
a
perilous
,
lonely
search
for
some
goal
where
you
expect
to
find
a
final
release
from
the
spirit
that
torments
you
.
I
see
you
as
the
eternal
pilgrim
to
some
shrine
that
perhaps
does
not
exist
.
I
do
not
know
to
what
inscrutable
Nirvana
you
aim
.
Do
you
know
yourself
?
Perhaps
it
is
Truth
and
Freedom
that
you
seek
,
and
for
a
moment
you
thought
that
you
might
find
release
in
Love
.
I
think
your
tired
soul
sought
rest
in
a
woman
’
s
arms
,
and
when
you
found
no
rest
there
you
hated
her
.
You
had
no
pity
for
her
,
because
you
have
no
pity
for
yourself
.
And
you
killed
her
out
of
fear
,
because
you
trembled
still
at
the
danger
you
had
barely
escaped
.
"
He
smiled
dryly
and
pulled
his
beard
.
