Chapter 23 twenty-three

I saw Strickland often and sometimes played chess with him.His temper is good and bad.Sometimes he just sits there in a daze and doesn't say a word, and no one cares about him; other times he's in a better mood and just chatters with you.He couldn't say anything meaningful, but you couldn't help being struck by the venomous sarcasm he used; besides, he always said what was in his heart, without hiding anything.He didn't care a bit whether others could stand it; if he stabbed someone, he was very flattered.He was constantly being mean to Dirk Stroeve, so that Stroeve walked away in a huff, vowing never to speak to him again.But there was such a force in Strickland that the fat Dutchman could not help being attracted by it, and at last came running back, wagging his tail at him like a clumsy puppy, though he He knew very well in his heart that what greeted him would be a blow to the head that he was very afraid of.

I don't know why Strickland always kept affection for me.There is something special about our relationship.One day he asked me to borrow fifty francs. "It's really something I never dreamed of," I replied. "Why not?" "It's not something that amuses me." "I'm poor as hell, you know?" "I don't care." "Can't you care if I starve to death?" "Why should I care?" I asked back. He stared at me for a minute or two, pulling at his shaggy beard.I smiled at him. "What's so funny about you?" he said, with a look of exasperation in his eyes.

"You are so thoughtless. You never know how to owe others. No one owes you." "If I was kicked out and forced to hang myself because I couldn't pay the rent, wouldn't you feel uneasy?" "Not at all." He giggled. "You're talking big. If I do hang myself, you'll regret it forever." "You may wish to try it, and you will know whether I regret it or not." There was a smile in his eyes as he silently stirred his absinthe. "Do you want to play chess?" I asked him. "I have no objection." We started to arrange the chess pieces, and when they were done, he stared at the chessboard in front of him with a look of self-satisfaction.When you see that your soldiers and horses have entered the position and are about to start a big fight, you can't help but feel a sense of relief.

"Do you really think I'm going to lend you money?" I asked him. "I can't figure out why you wouldn't lend it to me." "You surprise me." "why?" "I'm disappointed to find that you're still human. I'd like you a little more if you weren't naive and tried to use my sympathy to impress me." "If you were impressed by me, I would despise you," he replied. "That's good." I laughed. We start playing chess.Both minds were absorbed by the current game of chess.After a game of chess, I said to him:

"Listen to me, if you are short of money, how about letting me see your paintings? If there is something I like, I will buy one from you." "To hell with you!" he said. He got up to go, but I stopped him. "You haven't paid the bill yet," I said with a smile. He scolded me, threw the money on the table and left. I did not see him for a few days after the incident, but one evening when I was sitting in the café reading the paper, Strickland came and sat down beside me. "So you didn't hang yourself," I said. "No. I've been asked to paint a picture. I'm doing a portrait of a retired plumber for two hundred francs."

"How did you get this deal?" "I was introduced by the woman who sold my bread. He told her he wanted someone to paint him. I must pay her twenty francs for the introduction." "What kind of person is it?" "It's remarkable. A big red face like a leg of lamb. There's a big mole on the right cheek with big long hair on it." Strickland was in a good mood that day, and when Dirk Stroeve came to sit with us, Strickland immediately attacked him with sarcasm.I admire the skill with which he used to find the sore spots of the unfortunate Dutchman.This time he used not the rapier of sarcasm, but the club of invective.His attack came very suddenly.Stroeve was caught off guard and completely defenseless.Like a frightened lamb, running around aimlessly, flustered and dizzy.Finally, teardrops rolled out of his eyes.The worst thing about it is that, though you hate Strickland so much, and though you think the play is terrible, you can't help laughing.Dirk Stroeve is one of those unfortunate people whose expressions of even the most sincere affection are comical.

But in spite of this, when I look back on my winter in Paris, Dirk Stroeve has my happiest recollection.There was a charm in his little family, and he and his wife were a picture that you would never forget; his innocent love for her made people feel refined and noble.Despite his comic demeanor, you couldn't help but be moved by the sincerity of his affection.I can understand his wife's reaction to him and I'm glad she's been very tender and caring towards him too.If she had had a sense of humour, she would have found it funny to see her husband enthroning her like an idol in this way; He moved.He was a faithful lover, and when she was old, when she had lost her rounded lines and graceful figure, she would still be a beauty in his eyes, as beautiful as ever.To him she will always be the most beautiful woman in the world.Their well-ordered life is peaceful and refined, and very pleasant.Their house has only one studio, one bedroom and a small kitchen.Mrs. Stroeve did all the housework herself; while Dirk was busy painting, she went to the market to buy things, made lunch, sewed clothes, and was busy all day long like an industrious ant.After dinner, she sat in her studio and continued her sewing while Dirk played some pieces that I suspect were difficult for her to understand.He played with a certain artistic level, but often with too much emotion, and he poured his honest, sentimental, and energetic soul into the music.

Their life looks like an idyll in some respects, with a unique beauty.The inevitable absurdity of Dirk Stroeve's words and deeds gave the pastoral a strange tone, a dissonance that could not be adjusted, but it only made the music more modern, A more human touch, like inserting a vulgar joke in a serious scene, intensifies the poignant quality of beauty.