2018م - 1444هـ
The Moon and Sixpence



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.