But the bed I made up for myself was sufficiently uncomfortable to give
me a wakeful night, and I thought a good deal of what the unlucky
Dutchman had told me. I was not so much puzzled by Blanche Stroeve’s
action, for I saw in that merely the result of a physical appeal. I do
not suppose she had ever really cared for her husband, and what I had
taken for love was no more than the feminine response to caresses and
comfort which in the minds of most women passes for it. It is a passive
feeling capable of being roused for any object, as the vine can grow on
any tree; and the wisdom of the world recognises its strength when it
urges a girl to marry the man who wants her with the assurance that
love will follow. It is an emotion made up of the satisfaction in
security, pride of property, the pleasure of being desired, the
gratification of a household, and it is only by an amiable vanity that
women ascribe to it spiritual value. It is an emotion which is
defenceless against passion. I suspected that Blanche Stroeve’s violent
dislike of Strickland had in it from the beginning a vague element of
sexual attraction. Who am I that I should seek to unravel the
mysterious intricacies of sex? Perhaps Stroeve’s passion excited
without satisfying that part of her nature, and she hated Strickland
because she felt in him the power to give her what she needed. I think
she was quite sincere when she struggled against her husband’s desire
to bring him into the studio; I think she was frightened of him, though
she knew not why; and I remembered how she had foreseen disaster. I
think in some curious way the horror which she felt for him was a
transference of the horror which she felt for herself because he so
strangely troubled her. His appearance was wild and uncouth; there was
aloofness in his eyes and sensuality in his mouth; he was big and
strong; he gave the impression of untamed passion; and perhaps she felt
in him, too, that sinister element which had made me think of those
wild beings of the world’s early history when matter, retaining its
early connection with the earth, seemed to possess yet a spirit of its
own. If he affected her at all, it was inevitable that she should love
or hate him. She hated him.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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