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.

坦白说，我刚认识司查尔时，一点也没觉察出他有任何异乎寻常之处。但现在看来，很少有人会否认他的伟大了。我所说的伟大，既非官运亨通的政客，亦非功成名就的军人。与其说这些人伟大，倒不如说他们所处的位置使然；事过境迁，这种伟大最终会沦落到很少有人问津的地步。离职卸任的国家元首往往会被人视为只不过是个夸夸其谈、能言善辩的演说家，而退役回家的将军也只不过是市廛闾巷中虎落平阳的温顺英雄。但司查尔的伟大名符其实。也许他的艺术并不合你的口味，但无论如何，你很难抵挡得住对他的艺术产生兴趣。他拨动你的心弦，俘获你的灵魂。他过去曾是被人奚落的对象，那个时代已经过去，为他辩护已不再被人视为乖张怪癖，赞美他也不再被视为刚愎任性。他的缺陷被人们所接受，和他的优点相映成趣，必不可少。尽管他在画坛的地位仍可能有待商榷，崇拜者对他的赞誉反复无常，也许并不亚于诋毁者对他的贬低那样变化莫测；但有一点毋庸置疑，那就是他天赋异禀。在我看来，艺术中最有趣的东西就是艺术家的个性；如果个性独特，我宁愿为其一千个缺陷而打抱不平。魏拉斯或许在绘画方面比葛埃尔更胜一筹，但因为魏拉斯的作品司空见惯，大家对他的钦佩程度也就变了味：而那个克里特人葛埃尔，一生好色放荡，命运悲惨，把自己灵魂的隐秘之处，像是当作一份活生生站立着的祭品奉献给了世人。一位艺术家——画家也好，诗人也好，音乐家也罢，他们通过对自己作品进行艺术升华或者美化装点，满足了人们的审美意识；但这与人类的性本能同宗同源，都含有野蛮粗鄙成分：他同时也把更伟大的礼物——艺术家本人——摆放在你面前。如同阅读一部侦探小说那样，探寻艺术家的秘密引人入胜。这是一个如同宇宙神话般的谜语，其优点就是没有谜底。司查尔最不值一提的作品暗示出一种不可思议、倍受折磨和错综复杂的个性；肯定因为这点，甚至对于那些不喜欢他绘画作品的人而言，看了他的画也不会无动于衷；也正是因为这点，才激发人们对他的生平和性格怀有好奇心并发生了兴趣。

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 which is a charming example of a style, for the most part, less happily cultivated in England than in France.

直到司查尔去世四年后，胡茂瑞在《法兰西信使》杂志上发表了那篇文章，才将这位被世人遗忘的无名画家拯救出来，披荆斩棘为接下来的各位作家开辟了一条新路，而这些作家，或多或少有些畏首畏尾，方敢沿着这条道路步其后尘。在很长一段时间内，法兰西没有一个评论家可以挑战胡茂瑞的权威，他所下的断言无法不给人留下深刻印象；这些断言过去看起来似乎夸大其词；但后人的种种评判给他的推断下了定论，司查尔的名气现在已经牢牢根植在他所写文章的字里行间。艺术史中有各种最具传奇色彩的轶闻趣事，司查尔的一举成名算得上其中一种。但我在此并不打算讨论司查尔的作品，除非触及到他的性格。某些画家目空一切，声称外行对绘画一无所知，对画作赏识的最好方式就是默默掏出支票本购买画作，对此观点我不敢苟同。这是一种荒诞可笑的误解，认为艺术只不过是一种手艺，只有工匠才能完全理解。艺术其实是情感的流露，而情感所使用的是一种人人都可理解的语言。但我承认，对技艺没有实际了解的评论家很少能够在这个问题上说出真正有价值的东西，而我对绘画一无所知。谢天谢地，我没有必要冒这个险，因为我的朋友赖爱德先生既是写作能手，也是令人钦佩的画家，他在一本小册子中全面讨论了司查尔的作品，其写作风格堪称典范，令人着迷。与法兰西相比，这种文风的养成，英格兰在很大程度上远不尽如人意。