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Dirk Stroeve, telling the story, had such a look of blank astonishment on his round, foolish face that it was almost impossible not to laugh.
说这个故事的时候，戴尔克·施特略夫的一张傻里傻气的胖脸蛋上流露着那么一种惊诧莫解的神情，不由得你看了不发笑。
I shouldn't have minded if he'd said my pictures were bad, but he said nothing—nothing.
“如果他说我画得不好我一点也不在乎，可是他什么都没说——一句话也没说。”
And you will tell the story, Dirk, Said his wife.
“你还挺得意地把这个故事讲给人家听，戴尔克，”他的妻子说。
It was lamentable that one was more amused by the ridiculous figure cut by the Dutchman than outraged by Strickland's brutal treatment of him.
可悲的是，不论是谁听了这个故事，首先会被这位荷兰人扮演的滑稽角色逗得发笑，而并不感到思特里克兰德这种粗鲁行为生气。
I hope I shall never see him again, said Mrs. Stroeve.
“我再也不想看到这个人了，”施特略夫太太说。
Stroeve smiled and shrugged his shoulders. He had already recovered his good-humour.
施特略夫笑起来，耸了耸肩膀。他的好性子已经恢复了。
The fact remains that he's a great artist, a very great artist.
“实际上，他是一个了不起的画家，非常了不起。”
Strickland? I exclaimed. "It can't be the same man."
“思特里克兰德？”我喊起来。“咱们说的不是一个人。”
A big fellow with a red beard. Charles Strickland. An Englishman.
“就是那个身材高大、生着一把红胡子的人。查理斯·思特里克兰德。一个英国人。”
He had no beard when I knew him, but if he has grown one it might well be red. The man I'm thinking of only began painting five years ago.
“我认识他的时候他没留胡子。但是如果留起胡子来，很可能是红色的。我说的这个人五年以前才开始学画。”
That's it. He's a great artist.
“就是这个人。他是个伟大的画家。”
Impossible.
“不可能。”
Have I ever been mistaken? Dirk asked me. "I tell you he has genius. I'm convinced of it. In a hundred years, if you and I are remembered at all, it will be because we knew Charles Strickland."
“我哪一次看走过眼？”戴尔克问我。“我告诉你他有天才。我有绝对把握。一百年以后，如果还有人记得咱们两个人，那是因为我们沾了认识查理斯·思特里克兰德的光儿。”
I was astonished, and at the same time I was very much excited. I remembered suddenly my last talk with him.
我非常吃惊，但与此同时我也非常兴奋。我忽然想起我最后一次同他谈话。
Where can one see his work? I asked. "Is he having any success? Where is he living?"
“在什么地方可以看到他的作品？”我问，“他有了点儿名气没有？他现在住在什么地方？”
No; he has no success. I don't think he's ever sold a picture. When you speak to men about him they only laugh. But I know he's a great artist. After all, they laughed at Manet. Corot never sold a picture. I don't know where he lives, but I can take you to see him. He goes to a cafe in the Avenue de Clichy at seven o'clock every evening. If you like we'll go there to-morrow.
“没有名气。我想他没有卖出过一幅画。你要是和人谈起他的画来，没有一个不笑他的。但是我知道他是个了不起的画家。他们还不是笑过马奈？柯罗也是一张画没有卖出去过。我不知道他住在什么地方，但是我可以带你去找到他。每天晚上七点钟他都到克利舍路一家咖啡馆去。你要是愿意的话，咱们明天就可以去。”
