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.
Maurice Huret in his famous article gave an outline of Charles Strickland's life which was well calculated to whet the appetites of the inquiring. With his disinterested passion for art, he had a real desire to call the attention of the wise to a talent which was in the highest degree original; but he was too good a journalist to be unaware that the "human interest" would enable him more easily to effect his purpose. And when such as had come in contact with Strickland in the past, writers who had known him in London, painters who had met him in the cafes of Montmartre, discovered to their amazement that where they had seen but an unsuccessful artist, like another, authentic genius had rubbed shoulders with them there began to appear in the magazines of France and America a succession of articles, the reminiscences of one, the appreciation of another, which added to Strickland's notoriety, and fed without satisfying the curiosity of the public. The subject was grateful, and the industrious Weitbrecht-Rotholz in his imposing monograph has been able to give a remarkable list of authorities.
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,其写作风格堪称令人着迷的典范。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。
Maurice Huret in his famous article gave an outline of Charles Strickland's life which was well calculated to whet the appetites of the inquiring. With his disinterested passion for art, he had a real desire to call the attention of the wise to a talent which was in the highest degree original; but he was too good a journalist to be unaware that the "human interest" would enable him more easily to effect his purpose. And when such as had come in contact with Strickland in the past, writers who had known him in London, painters who had met him in the cafes of Montmartre, discovered to their amazement that where they had seen but an unsuccessful artist, like another, authentic genius had rubbed shoulders with them there began to appear in the magazines of France and America a succession of articles, the reminiscences of one, the appreciation of another, which added to Strickland's notoriety, and fed without satisfying the curiosity of the public. The subject was grateful, and the industrious Weitbrecht-Rotholz in his imposing monograph has been able to give a remarkable list of authorities.
胡茂瑞在他的那篇雄文中对司查尔的生平勾勒出了一个轮廓,老谋深算地吊起了猎奇者的各种胃口。他怀着一股对艺术大公无私的激情,真切希望能够唤起睿智之士关注这样一位拥有最高级艺术创作天分的人才;但胡茂瑞作为一名新闻工作者,太会炒作,他并非不知道文章要有“人情味”,才会令他更容易达到目的的道理。从前接触过司查尔的人惊奇地发现,他们当初看到的只不过是一位尚未成功的艺人,与他人并无两样,原来竟是个真材实料的天才,这些人包括在伦敦认识他的作家,以及在蒙马特的那些咖啡馆中遇到过他的画家。司查尔与这些人在茫茫人海中擦肩而过之后,法兰西和美国的杂志上随即开始相继刊登一系列文章,不是对他的种种回忆,就是对他的大加赞赏,这些文章都提升了他并不光彩的名气,部分迎合但并未完全满足公众的好奇心。司查尔对此感恩戴德,而且魏若特通过不辞辛劳的努力,在他的那部专著中已经能够给出一份举世瞩目有关司查尔的权威资料清单。
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