Nature had made him a butt, but had denied him insensibility. He writhed under the jokes, practical and otherwise, which were perpetually made at his expense, and yet never ceased, it seemed wilfully, to expose himself to them. He was constantly wounded, and yet his good-nature was such that he could not bear malice: the viper might sting him, but he never learned by experience, and had no sooner recovered from his pain than he tenderly placed it once more in his bosom. His life was a tragedy written in the terms of knockabout farce. Because I did not laugh at him he was grateful to me, and he used to pour into my sympathetic ear the long list of his troubles. The saddest thing about them was that they were grotesque, and the more pathetic they were, the more you wanted to laugh.
講到施特略夫，一方面造物主把他制造成一個笑料，另一方面又拒絕給他遲鈍的感覺。人們不停地拿他開玩笑，不論是善意的嘲諷或是惡作劇的挖苦都叫他痛苦不堪，但是他又從來不停止給人制造嘲弄的機會，倒好像他有意這樣做似的。他不斷地受人傷害，可是他的性格又是那么善良，從來不肯懷恨人；即便挨了毒蛇咬，也不懂得吸取經驗教訓，只要疼痛一過，又會心存憐憫地把蛇揣在懷里。他的生活好象是按照那種充滿打鬧的滑稽劇的格式寫的一出悲劇。因為我沒有嘲笑過他，所以他很感激我；他常常把自己的一連串煩惱傾注到我富于同情的耳朵里。最悲慘之點在于他受的這些委屈總是滑稽可笑的，這些事他講得越悲慘，你就越忍不住要笑出來。
But though so bad a painter, he had a very delicate feeling for art, and to go with him to picture-galleries was a rare treat. His enthusiasm was sincere and his criticism acute. He was catholic. He had not only a true appreciation of the old masters, but sympathy with the moderns. He was quick to discover talent, and his praise was generous. I think I have never known a man whose judgment was surer. And he was better educated than most painters. He was not, like most of them, ignorant of kindred arts, and his taste for music and literature gave depth and variety to his comprehension of painting. To a young man like myself his advice and guidance were of incomparable value.
但是施特略夫雖然是一個不高明的畫家，對藝術卻有敏銳的鑒賞力，同他一起參觀畫廊是一種很難得的享受。他的熱情是真實的，評論是深刻的。施特略夫是個天主教徒，他不僅對古典派的繪畫大師由衷贊賞，對于現代派畫家也頗表同情。他善于發掘有才能的新人，從不吝惜自己的贊譽。我認為在我見到的人中，再沒有誰比他的判斷更為中肯的了。他比大多數畫家都更有修養，也不象他們那樣對其他藝術那樣無知。他對音樂和文學的鑒賞力使他對繪畫的理解既深刻又不拘于一格。對于象我這樣的年輕人，他的誘導是極其可貴的。
When I left Rome I corresponded with him, and about once in two months received from him long letters in queer English, which brought before me vividly his spluttering, enthusiastic, gesticulating conversation. Some time before I went to Paris he had married an Englishwoman, and was now settled in a studio in Montmartre. I had not seen him for four years, and had never met his wife.
我離開羅馬后同他繼續有書信往來，每兩個月左右我就接到他用怪里怪氣的英語寫的一封長信。他談話時那種又急切又熱情、雙手揮舞的神情總是躍然紙上。在我去巴黎前不久，他同一個英國女人結了婚，在蒙特瑪特爾區一間畫室里安了家。我已經有四年沒有同他見面了，她的妻子我還從來沒見過。
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