nded than Strickland. I never knew anyone who was less
self-conscious. But it is unfortunate that I can give no description of the arduous steps by which he reached
such mastery over his art as he ever acquired; for if I could show him undaunted by failureby an unceasing
effort of courage holding despair at baydoggedly persistent in the face of self-doubtwhich is the artist's
bitterest enemyI might excite some sympathy for a personality whichI am all too consciousmust appear
singularly devoid of charm. But I have nothing to go on. I never once saw Strickland at worknor do I know
that anyone else did. He kept the secret of his struggles to himself. If in the loneliness of his studio he wrestled
desperately with the Angel of the Lord he never allowed a soul to divine his anguish.
XLIII95
When I come to his connection with Blanche Stroeve I am exasperated by the fragmentariness of the facts at
my disposal. To give my story coherence I should describe the progress of their tragic unionbut I know
nothing of the three months during which they lived together. I do not know how they got on or what they
talked about. After allthere are twenty-four hours in the dayand the summits of emotion can only be reached
,
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