-
Главная
-
- Книги
-
- Авторы
-
- Уильям Сомерсет Моэм
-
- Луна и грош
-
- Стр. 149/193
Для того чтобы воспользоваться озвучкой предложений, необходимо
Войти или зарегистрироваться
Озвучка предложений доступна при наличии PRO-доступа
Купить PRO-доступ
"
You
are
a
dreadful
sentimentalist
,
my
poor
friend
.
"
A
week
later
I
heard
by
chance
that
Strickland
had
gone
to
Marseilles
.
I
never
saw
him
again
.
Looking
back
,
I
realise
that
what
I
have
written
about
Charles
Strickland
must
seem
very
unsatisfactory
.
I
have
given
incidents
that
came
to
my
knowledge
,
but
they
remain
obscure
because
I
do
not
know
the
reasons
that
led
to
them
.
The
strangest
,
Strickland
’
s
determination
to
become
a
painter
,
seems
to
be
arbitrary
;
and
though
it
must
have
had
causes
in
the
circumstances
of
his
life
,
I
am
ignorant
of
them
.
From
his
own
conversation
I
was
able
to
glean
nothing
.
If
I
were
writing
a
novel
,
rather
than
narrating
such
facts
as
I
know
of
a
curious
personality
,
I
should
have
invented
much
to
account
for
this
change
of
heart
.
I
think
I
should
have
shown
a
strong
vocation
in
boyhood
,
crushed
by
the
will
of
his
father
or
sacrificed
to
the
necessity
of
earning
a
living
;
I
should
have
pictured
him
impatient
of
the
restraints
of
life
;
and
in
the
struggle
between
his
passion
for
art
and
the
duties
of
his
station
I
could
have
aroused
sympathy
for
him
.
I
should
so
have
made
him
a
more
imposing
figure
.
Perhaps
it
would
have
been
possible
to
see
in
him
a
new
Prometheus
.
There
was
here
,
maybe
,
the
opportunity
for
a
modern
version
of
the
hero
who
for
the
good
of
mankind
exposes
himself
to
the
agonies
of
the
damned
.
It
is
always
a
moving
subject
.
On
the
other
hand
,
I
might
have
found
his
motives
in
the
influence
of
the
married
relation
.
There
are
a
dozen
ways
in
which
this
might
be
managed
.
A
latent
gift
might
reveal
itself
on
acquaintance
with
the
painters
and
writers
whose
society
his
wife
sought
;
or
domestic
incompatability
might
turn
him
upon
himself
;
a
love
affair
might
fan
into
bright
flame
a
fire
which
I
could
have
shown
smouldering
dimly
in
his
heart
.
I
think
then
I
should
have
drawn
Mrs
.
Strickland
quite
differently
.
I
should
have
abandoned
the
facts
and
made
her
a
nagging
,
tiresome
woman
,
or
else
a
bigoted
one
with
no
sympathy
for
the
claims
of
the
spirit
.
I
should
have
made
Strickland
’
s
marriage
a
long
torment
from
which
escape
was
the
only
possible
issue
.
I
think
I
should
have
emphasised
his
patience
with
the
unsuitable
mate
,
and
the
compassion
which
made
him
unwilling
to
throw
off
the
yoke
that
oppressed
him
.
I
should
certainly
have
eliminated
the
children
.
An
effective
story
might
also
have
been
made
by
bringing
him
into
contact
with
some
old
painter
whom
the
pressure
of
want
or
the
desire
for
commercial
success
had
made
false
to
the
genius
of
his
youth
,
and
who
,
seeing
in
Strickland
the
possibilities
which
himself
had
wasted
,
influenced
him
to
forsake
all
and
follow
the
divine
tyranny
of
art
.
I
think
there
would
have
been
something
ironic
in
the
picture
of
the
successful
old
man
,
rich
and
honoured
,
living
in
another
the
life
which
he
,
though
knowing
it
was
the
better
part
,
had
not
had
the
strength
to
pursue
.
The
facts
are
much
duller
.
Strickland
,
a
boy
fresh
from
school
,
went
into
a
broker
’
s
office
without
any
feeling
of
distaste
.
Until
he
married
he
led
the
ordinary
life
of
his
fellows
,
gambling
mildly
on
the
Exchange
,
interested
to
the
extent
of
a
sovereign
or
two
on
the
result
of
the
Derby
or
the
Oxford
and
Cambridge
Race
.
I
think
he
boxed
a
little
in
his
spare
time
.
On
his
chimney
-
piece
he
had
photographs
of
Mrs
.
Langtry
and
Mary
Anderson
.
He
read
Punch
and
the
Sporting
Times
.
He
went
to
dances
in
Hampstead
.
It
matters
less
that
for
so
long
I
should
have
lost
sight
of
him
.
The
years
during
which
he
was
struggling
to
acquire
proficiency
in
a
difficult
art
were
monotonous
,
and
I
do
not
know
that
there
was
anything
significant
in
the
shifts
to
which
he
was
put
to
earn
enough
money
to
keep
him
.
An
account
of
them
would
be
an
account
of
the
things
he
had
seen
happen
to
other
people
.
I
do
not
think
they
had
any
effect
on
his
own
character
.
He
must
have
acquired
experiences
which
would
form
abundant
material
for
a
picaresque
novel
of
modern
Paris
,
but
he
remained
aloof
,
and
judging
from
his
conversation
there
was
nothing
in
those
years
that
had
made
a
particular
impression
on
him
.
Perhaps
when
he
went
to
Paris
he
was
too
old
to
fall
a
victim
to
the
glamour
of
his
environment
.
Strange
as
it
may
seem
,
he
always
appeared
to
me
not
only
practical
,
but
immensely
matter
-
of
-
fact
.
I
suppose
his
life
during
this
period
was
romantic
,
but
he
certainly
saw
no
romance
in
it
.
It
may
be
that
in
order
to
realise
the
romance
of
life
you
must
have
something
of
the
actor
in
you
;
and
,
capable
of
standing
outside
yourself
,
you
must
be
able
to
watch
your
actions
with
an
interest
at
once
detached
and
absorbed
.
But
no
one
was
more
single
-
minded
than
Strickland
.
I
never
knew
anyone
who
was
less
self
-
conscious
.
But
it
is
unfortunate
that
I
can
give
no
description
of
the
arduous
steps
by
which
he
reached
such
mastery
over
his
art
as
he
ever
acquired
;
for
if
I
could
show
him
undaunted
by
failure
,
by
an
unceasing
effort
of
courage
holding
despair
at
bay
,
doggedly
persistent
in
the
face
of
self
-
doubt
,
which
is
the
artist
’
s
bitterest
enemy
,
I
might
excite
some
sympathy
for
a
personality
which
,
I
am
all
too
conscious
,
must
appear
singularly
devoid
of
charm
.
But
I
have
nothing
to
go
on
.
I
never
once
saw
Strickland
at
work
,
nor
do
I
know
that
anyone
else
did
.
He
kept
the
secret
of
his
struggles
to
himself
.
If
in
the
loneliness
of
his
studio
he
wrestled
desperately
with
the
Angel
of
the
Lord
he
never
allowed
a
soul
to
divine
his
anguish
.
