the mysterious portrait-第9章

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against　himself；　and　ended　his　life　amid　the　most　horrible　sufferings。



〃Besides　these　two　instances　which　occurred　before　the　eyes　of　all　the

world；　stories　circulated　of　many　more　among　the　lower　classes；　nearly

all　of　which　had　tragic　endings。　Here　an　honest　sober　man　became　a

drunkard；　there　a　shopkeeper's　clerk　robbed　his　master；　again；　a

driver　who　had　conducted　himself　properly　for　a　number　of　years　cut

his　passenger's　throat　for　a　groschen。　It　was　impossible　that　such

occurrences；　related；　not　without　embellishments；　should　not　inspire　a

sort　of　involuntary　horror　amongst　the　sedate　inhabitants　of　Kolomna。

No　one　entertained　any　doubt　as　to　the　presence　of　an　evil　power　in

the　usurer。　They　said　that　he　imposed　conditions　which　made　the　hair

rise　on　one's　head；　and　which　the　miserable　wretch　never　afterward

dared　reveal　to　any　other　being；　that　his　money　possessed　a　strange

power　of　attraction；　that　it　grew　hot　of　itself；　and　that　it　bore

strange　marks。　And　it　is　worthy　of　remark；　that　all　the　colony　of

Kolomna；　all　these　poor　old　women；　small　officials；　petty　artists；　and

insignificant　people　whom　we　have　just　recapitulated；　agreed　that　it

was　better　to　endure　anything；　and　to　suffer　the　extreme　of　misery；

rather　than　to　have　recourse　to　the　terrible　usurer。　Old　women　were

even　found　dying　of　hunger；　who　preferred　to　kill　their　bodies　rather

than　lose　their　soul。　Those　who　met　him　in　the　street　experienced　an

involuntary　sense　of　fear。　Pedestrians　took　care　to　turn　aside　from

his　path；　and　gazed　long　after　his　tall；　receding　figure。　In　his　face

alone　there　was　sufficient　that　was　uncommon　to　cause　any　one　to

ascribe　to　him　a　supernatural　nature。　The　strong　features；　so　deeply

chiselled；　the　glowing　bronze　of　his　complexion；　the　incredible

thickness　of　his　brows；　the　intolerable；　terrible　eyeseverything

seemed　to　indicate　that　the　passions　of　other　men　were　pale　compared

to　those　raging　within　him。　My　father　stopped　short　every　time　he　met

him；　and　could　not　refrain　each　time　from　saying；　'A　devil；　a　perfect

devil！'　But　I　must　introduce　you　as　speedily　as　possible　to　my　father；

the　chief　character　of　this　story。



〃My　father　was　a　remarkable　man　in　many　respects。　He　was　an　artist　of

rare　ability；　a　self…taught　artist；　without　teachers　or　schools；

principles　and　rules；　carried　away　only　by　the　thirst　for　perfection；

and　treading　a　path　indicated　by　his　own　instincts；　for　reasons

unknown；　perchance；　even　to　himself。　Through　some　lofty　and　secret

instinct　he　perceived　the　presence　of　a　soul　in　every　object。　And　this

secret　instinct　and　personal　conviction　turned　his　brush　to　Christian

subjects；　grand　and　lofty　to　the　last　degree。　His　was　a　strong

character：　he　was　an　honourable；　upright；　even　rough　man；　covered　with

a　sort　of　hard　rind　without；　not　entirely　lacking　in　pride；　and　given

to　expressing　himself　both　sharply　and　scornfully　about　people。　He

worked　for　very　small　results；　that　is　to　say；　for　just　enough　to

support　his　family　and　obtain　the　materials　he　needed；　he　never；　under

any　circumstances；　refused　to　aid　any　one；　or　to　lend　a　helping　hand

to　a　poor　artist；　and　he　believed　with　the　simple；　reverent　faith　of

his　ancestors。　At　length；　by　his　unintermitting　labour　and

perseverance　in　the　path　he　had　marked　out　for　himself；　he　began　to

win　the　approbation　of　those　who　honoured　his　self…taught　talent。　They

gave　him　constant　orders　for　churches；　and　he　never　lacked　employment。



〃One　of　his　paintings　possessed　a　strong　interest　for　him。　I　no　longer

recollect　the　exact　subject：　I　only　know　that　he　needed　to　represent

the　Spirit　of　Darkness　in　it。　He　pondered　long　what　form　to　give　him：

he　wished　to　concentrate　in　his　face　all　that　weighs　down　and

oppresses　a　man。　In　the　midst　of　his　meditations　there　suddenly

occurred　to　his　mind　the　image　of　the　mysterious　usurer；　and　he

thought　involuntarily；　'That's　how　I　ought　to　paint　the　Devil！'

Imagine　his　amazement　when　one　day；　as　he　was　at　work　in　his　studio；

he　heard　a　knock　at　the　door；　and　directly　after　there　entered　that

same　terrible　usurer。



〃'You　are　an　artist？'　he　said　to　my　father　abruptly。



〃'I　am；'　answered　my　father　in　surprise；　waiting　for　what　should　come

next。



〃'Good！　Paint　my　portrait。　I　may　possibly　die　soon。　I　have　no

children；　but　I　do　not　wish　to　die　completely；　I　wish　to　live。　Can　you

paint　a　portrait　that　shall　appear　as　though　it　were　alive？'



〃My　father　reflected；　'What　could　be　better！　he　offers　himself　for　the

Devil　in　my　picture。'　He　promised。　They　agreed　upon　a　time　and　price；

and　the　next　day　my　father　took　palette　and　brushes　and　went　to　the

usurer's　house。　The　lofty　court…yard；　dogs；　iron　doors　and　locks；

arched　windows；　coffers；　draped　with　strange　covers；　and；　last　of　all；

the　remarkable　owner　himself；　seated　motionless　before　him；　all

produced　a　strange　impression　on　him。　The　windows　seemed　intentionally

so　encumbered　below　that　they　admitted　the　light　only　from　the　top。

'Devil　take　him；　how　well　his　face　is　lighted！'　he　said　to　himself；

and　began　to　paint　assiduously；　as　though　afraid　that　the　favourable

light　would　disappear。　'What　power！'　he　repeated　to　himself。　'If　I

only　accomplish　half　a　likeness　of　him；　as　he　is　now；　it　will　surpass

all　my　other　works：　he　will　simply　start　from　the　canvas　if　I　am　only

partly　true　to　nature。　What　remarkable　features！'　He　redoubled　his

energy；　and　began　himself　to　notice　how　some　of　his　sitter's　traits

were　making　their　appearance　on　the　canvas。



〃But　the　more　closely　he　approached　resemblance；　the　more　conscious　he

became　of　an　aggressive；　uneasy　feeling　which　he　could　not　explain　to

himself。　Notwithstanding　this；　he　set　himself　to　copy　with　literal

accuracy　every　trait　and　expression。　First　of　all；　however；　he　busied

himself　with　the　eyes。　There　was　so　much　force　in　those　eyes；　that　it

seemed　impossible　to　reproduce　them　exactly　as　they　were　in　nature。

But　he　resolved；　at　any　price；　to　seek　in　them　the　most　minute

characteristics　and　shades；　to　penetrate　their　secret。　As　soon；

however；　as　he　approached　them　in　resemblance；　and　began　to　redouble

his　exertions；　there　sprang　up　in　his　mind　such　a　terrible　feeling　of

repulsion；　of　inexplicable　expression；　that　he　was　forced　to　lay　aside

his　brush　for　a　while　and　begin　anew。　At　last　he　could　bear　it　no

longer：　he　felt　as　if　these　eyes　were　piercing　into　his　soul；　and

causing　intolerable　emotion。　On　the　second　and　third　days　this　grew

still　stronger。　It　became　horrible　to　him。　He　threw　down　his　brush；

and　declared　abruptly　that　he　could　paint　the　stranger　no　longer。　You

should　have　seen　how　the　terrible　usurer　changed　countenance　at　these

words。　He　threw　himself　at　his　feet；　and　besought　him　to　finish　the

portrait；　saying　that　his　fate　and　his　existence　depended　on　it；　that

he　had　already　caught　his　prominent　features；　that　if　he　could

reproduce　them　accurately；　his　life　would　be　preserved　in　his　portrait

in　a　supernatural　manner；　that　by　that　means　he　would　not　die

completely；　that　it　was　necessary　for　him　to　continue　to　exist　in　the

world。



〃My　father　was　frightened　by　these　words：　they　seemed　to　him　strange

and　terrible　to　such　a　degree；　that　he　threw　down　his　brushes　and

palette　and　rushed　headlong　from　the　room。



〃The　thought　of　it　troubled　him　all　day　and　all　night；　but　the　next

morning　he　received　the　portrait　from　the　usurer；　by　a　woman　who　was

the　only　creature　in　his　service；　and　who　announced　that　her　master

did　not　want　the　portrait；　and　would　pay　nothing　for　it；　and　had　sent

it　back。　On　the　evening　of　the　same　day　he　learned　that　the　usurer　was

dead；　and　that　preparations　were　in　progress　to　bury　him　according　to

the　rites　of　his　religion。　All　this　seemed　to　him　inexplicably

strange。　But　from　that　day　a　marked　change　showed　itself　in　his

character。　He　was　possessed　by　a　troubled；　uneasy　feeling；　of　which　he

was　unable　to　explain　the　cause；　and　he　soon　committed　a　deed　which　no

one　could　have　expected　of　him。　For　some　time　the　works　of　one　of　his

pupils　had　been　attracting　the　attention　of　a　small　circle　of

connoisseurs　and　amateurs。　My　father　had　perceived　his　talent；　and

manifested　a　particular　liking　for　him　in　consequence。　Suddenly　the

general　interest　in　him　and　talk　about　him　became　unendurable　to　my

father　who　grew　envious　of　him。　Finally；　to　complete　his　vexation；　he

learned　that　his　pupil　had　been　asked　to　paint　a　picture　for　a

recently　built　and　wealthy　church。　This　enraged　him。　'No；　I　will　not

permit　that　fledgling　to　triumph！'　said　he：　'it　is　early；　friend；　to

think　of　consigning　old　men　to　the　gutters。　I　still　have　powers；　God

be　praised！　We'll　soon　see　which　will　put　down　the　other。'



〃And　this　straightforward；　honourable　man　employed　intrigues　which　he

had　hitherto　abhorred。　He　finally　contrived　that　there　should　be　a

competition　for　the　picture　which　other　artists　were　permitted　to

enter　into。　Then　he　shut　himself　up　in　his　room；　and　grasped　his　brush

with　zeal。　It　seemed　as　if　he　were　striving　to　summon　all　his　strength

up　for　this　occasion。　And；　in　fact；　the　result　turned　out　to　be　one　of

his　best　works。　No　one　doubted　that　he　would　bear　off　the　palm。　The

pictures　were　placed　on　exhibition；　and　all　the　others　seemed　to　his

as　night　to　day。　But　of　a　sudden；　one　of　the　members　present；　an

ecclesiastical　personage　if　I　mistake　not；　made　a　remark　which

surprised　every　one。　'There　is　certainly　much　talent　in　this　artist's

picture；'　said　he；　'but　no　holiness　in　the　faces：　there　is　even；　on

the　contrary；　a　demoniacal　look　in　the　eyes；　as　though　some　evil

feeling　had　guided　the　artist's　hand。'　All　looked；　and　could　not　but

acknowledge　the　truth　of　these　words。　My　father　rushed　forward　to　his

picture；　as　though　to　verify　for　himself　this　offensive　remark；　and

perceived　with　horror　that　he　had　bestowed　the　usurer's　eyes　upon

nearly　all　the　figures。　They　had　such　a　diabolical　gaze　that　he

involuntarily　shuddered。　The　picture　was　rejected；　and　he　was　forced

to　hear；　to　his　indescribable　vexation；　that　the　palm　was　awarded　to

his　pupil。



〃It　is　impossible　to　describe　the　state　of　rage　in　which　he　returned

home。　He　almost　killed　my　mother；　he　drove　the　children　away；　broke

his　brushes　and　easels；　tore　down　the　usurer's　portrait　from　the　wall；

demanded　a　knife；　and　ordered　a　fire　to　be　built　in　the　chimney；

intending　to　cut　it　in　pieces　and　burn　it。　A　friend；　an　artist；　caught

him　in　the　act　as　he　entered　the　rooma　jolly　fellow；　always

satisfied　with　himself；　inflated　by　unattainable　wishes；　doing　daily

anything　that　came　to　hand；　and　taking　still　more　gaily　to　his　dinner

and　little　carouses。



〃'What　are　you　doing？　What　are　you　preparing　to　burn？'　he　asked；　and

stepped　up　to　the　portrait。　'Why；　this　is　one　of　your　very　best　works。

It　is　the　usurer　who　died　a　short　time　ago：　yes；　it　is　a　most　perfect

likeness。　You　did　not　stop　until　you　ha