the mysterious portrait-第12节

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

likeness。　You　did　not　stop　until　you　had　got　into　his　very　eyes。　Never

did　eyes　look　as　these　do　now。'



〃'Well；　I'll　see　how　they　look　in　the　fire！'　said　my　father；　making　a

movement　to　fling　the　portrait　into　the　grate。



〃'Stop；　for　Heaven's　sake！'　exclaimed　his　friend；　restraining　him：

'give　it　to　me；　rather；　if　it　offends　your　eyes　to　such　a　degree。'　My

father　resisted；　but　yielded　at　length；　and　the　jolly　fellow；　well

pleased　with　his　acquisition；　carried　the　portrait　home　with　him。



〃When　he　was　gone；　my　father　felt　more　calm。　The　burden　seemed　to　have

disappeared　from　his　soul　in　company　with　the　portrait。　He　was

surprised　himself　at　his　evil　feelings；　his　envy；　and　the　evident

change　in　his　character。　Reviewing　his　acts；　he　became　sad　at　heart；

and　not　without　inward　sorrow　did　he　exclaim；　'No；　it　was　God　who

punished　me！　my　picture；　in　fact；　was　meant　to　ruin　my　brother…man。　A

devilish　feeling　of　envy　guided　my　brush；　and　that　devilish　feeling

must　have　made　itself　visible　in　it。'



〃He　set　out　at　once　to　seek　his　former　pupil；　embraced　him　warmly；

begged　his　forgiveness；　and　endeavoured　as　far　as　possible　to　excuse

his　own　fault。　His　labours　continued　as　before；　but　his　face　was　more

frequently　thoughtful。　He　prayed　more；　grew　more　taciturn；　and

expressed　himself　less　sharply　about　people：　even　the　rough　exterior

of　his　character　was　modified　to　some　extent。　But　a　certain　occurrence

soon　disturbed　him　more　than　ever。　He　had　seen　nothing　for　a　long　time

of　the　comrade　who　had　begged　the　portrait　of　him。　He　had　already

decided　to　hunt　him　up；　when　the　latter　suddenly　made　his　appearance

in　his　room。　After　a　few　words　and　questions　on　both　sides；　he　said；

'Well；　brother；　it　was　not　without　cause　that　you　wished　to　burn　that

portrait。　Devil　take　it；　there's　something　horrible　about　it！　I　don't

believe　in　sorcerers；　but；　begging　your　pardon；　there's　an　unclean

spirit　in　it。'



〃'How　so？'　asked　my　father。



〃'Well；　from　the　very　moment　I　hung　it　up　in　my　room　I　felt　such

depressionjust　as　if　I　wanted　to　murder　some　one。　I　never　knew　in　my

life　what　sleeplessness　was；　but　I　suffered　not　from　sleeplessness

alone；　but　from　such　dreams！I　cannot　tell　whether　they　were　dreams；

or　what；　it　was　as　if　a　demon　were　strangling　one：　and　the　old　man

appeared　to　me　in　my　sleep。　In　short；　I　can't　describe　my　state　of

mind。　I　had　a　sensation　of　fear；　as　if　expecting　something　unpleasant。

I　felt　as　if　I　could　not　speak　a　cheerful　or　sincere　word　to　any　one：

it　was　just　as　if　a　spy　were　sitting　over　me。　But　from　the　very　hour

that　I　gave　that　portrait　to　my　nephew；　who　asked　for　it；　I　felt　as　if

a　stone　had　been　rolled　from　my　shoulders；　and　became　cheerful；　as　you

see　me　now。　Well；　brother；　you　painted　the　very　Devil！'



〃During　this　recital　my　father　listened　with　unswerving　attention；　and

finally　inquired；　'And　your　nephew　now　has　the　portrait？'



〃'My　nephew；　indeed！　he　could　not　stand　it！'　said　the　jolly　fellow：

'do　you　know；　the　soul　of　that　usurer　has　migrated　into　it；　he　jumps

out　of　the　frame；　walks　about　the　room；　and　what　my　nephew　tells　of

him　is　simply　incomprehensible。　I　should　take　him　for　a　lunatic；　if　I

had　not　undergone　a　part　of　it　myself。　He　sold　it　to　some　collector　of

pictures；　and　he　could　not　stand　it　either；　and　got　rid　of　it　to　some

one　else。'



〃This　story　produced　a　deep　impression　on　my　father。　He　grew　seriously

pensive；　fell　into　hypochondria；　and　finally　became　fully　convinced

that　his　brush　had　served　as　a　tool　of　the　Devil；　and　that　a　portion

of　the　usurer's　vitality　had　actually　passed　into　the　portrait；　and

was　now　troubling　people；　inspiring　diabolical　excitement；　beguiling

painters　from　the　true　path；　producing　the　fearful　torments　of　envy；

and　so　forth。　Three　catastrophes　which　occurred　afterwards；　three

sudden　deaths　of　wife；　daughter；　and　infant　son；　he　regarded　as　a

divine　punishment　on　him；　and　firmly　resolved　to　withdraw　from　the

world。



〃As　soon　as　I　was　nine　years　old；　he　placed　me　in　an　academy　of

painting；　and；　paying　all　his　debts；　retired　to　a　lonely　cloister；

where　he　soon　afterwards　took　the　vows。　There　he　amazed　every　one　by

the　strictness　of　his　life；　and　his　untiring　observance　of　all　the

monastic　rules。　The　prior　of　the　monastery；　hearing　of　his　skill　in

painting；　ordered　him　to　paint　the　principal　picture　in　the　church。

But　the　humble　brother　said　plainly　that　he　was　unworthy　to　touch　a

brush；　that　his　was　contaminated；　that　with　toil　and　great　sacrifice

must　he　first　purify　his　spirit　in　order　to　render　himself　fit　to

undertake　such　a　task。　He　increased　the　rigours　of　monastic　life　for

himself　as　much　as　possible。　At　last；　even　they　became　insufficient；

and　he　retired；　with　the　approval　of　the　prior；　into　the　desert；　in

order　to　be　quite　alone。　There　he　constructed　himself　a　cell　from

branches　of　trees；　ate　only　uncooked　roots；　dragged　about　a　stone　from

place　to　place；　stood　in　one　spot　with　his　hands　lifted　to　heaven；

from　the　rising　until　the　going　down　of　the　sun；　reciting　prayers

without　cessation。　In　this　manner　did　he　for　several　years　exhaust　his

body；　invigorating　it；　at　the　same　time；　with　the　strength　of　fervent

prayer。



〃At　length；　one　day　he　returned　to　the　cloister；　and　said　firmly　to

the　prior；　'Now　I　am　ready。　If　God　wills；　I　will　finish　my　task。'　The

subject　he　selected　was　the　Birth　of　Christ。　A　whole　year　he　sat　over

it；　without　leaving　his　cell；　barely　sustaining　himself　with　coarse

food；　and　praying　incessantly。　At　the　end　of　the　year　the　picture　was

ready。　It　was　a　really　wonderful　work。　Neither　prior　nor　brethren　knew

much　about　painting；　but　all　were　struck　with　the　marvellous　holiness

of　the　figures。　The　expression　of　reverent　humility　and　gentleness　in

the　face　of　the　Holy　Mother；　as　she　bent　over　the　Child；　the　deep

intelligence　in　the　eyes　of　the　Holy　Child；　as　though　he　saw　something

afar；　the　triumphant　silence　of　the　Magi；　amazed　by　the　Divine

Miracle；　as　they　bowed　at　his　feet：　and　finally；　the　indescribable

peace　which　emanated　from　the　whole　pictureall　this　was　presented

with　such　strength　and　beauty；　that　the　impression　it　made　was

magical。　All　the　brethren　threw　themselves　on　their　knees　before　it；

and　the　prior；　deeply　affected；　exclaimed；　'No；　it　is　impossible　for

any　artist；　with　the　assistance　only　of　earthly　art；　to　produce　such　a

picture：　a　holy；　divine　power　has　guided　thy　brush；　and　the　blessing

of　Heaven　rested　upon　thy　labour！'



〃By　that　time　I　had　completed　my　education　at　the　academy；　received

the　gold　medal；　and　with　it　the　joyful　hope　of　a　journey　to　Italythe

fairest　dream　of　a　twenty…year…old　artist。　It　only　remained　for　me　to

take　leave　of　my　father；　from　whom　I　had　been　separated　for　twelve

years。　I　confess　that　even　his　image　had　long　faded　from　my　memory。　I

had　heard　somewhat　of　his　grim　saintliness；　and　rather　expected　to

meet　a　hermit　of　rough　exterior；　a　stranger　to　everything　in　the

world；　except　his　cell　and　his　prayers；　worn　out；　tried　up；　by　eternal

fasting　and　penance。　But　how　great　was　my　surprise　when　a　handsome　old

man　stood　before　me！　No　traces　of　exhaustion　were　visible　on　his

countenance：　it　beamed　with　the　light　of　a　heavenly　joy。　His　beard；

white　as　snow；　and　his　thin；　almost　transparent　hair　of　the　same

silvery　hue；　fell　picturesquely　upon　his　breast；　and　upon　the　folds　of

his　black　gown；　even　to　the　rope　with　which　his　poor　monastic　garb　was

girded。　But　most　surprising　to　me　of　all　was　to　hear　from　his　mouth

such　words　and　thoughts　about　art　as；　I　confess；　I　long　shall　bear　in

mind；　and　I　sincerely　wish　that　all　my　comrades　would　do　the　same。



〃'I　expected　you；　my　son；'　he　said；　when　I　approached　for　his

blessing。　'The　path　awaits　you　in　which　your　life　is　henceforth　to

flow。　Your　path　is　puredesert　it　not。　You　have　talent：　talent　is　the

most　priceless　of　God's　giftsdestroy　it　not。　Search　out；　subject　all

things　to　your　brush；　but　in　all　see　that　you　find　the　hidden　soul；

and　most　of　all；　strive　to　attain　to　the　grand　secret　of　creation。

Blessed　is　the　elect　one　who　masters　that！　There　is　for　him　no　mean

object　in　nature。　In　lowly　themes　the　artist　creator　is　as　great　as　in

great　ones：　in　the　despicable　there　is　nothing　for　him　to　despise；　for

it　passes　through　the　purifying　fire　of　his　mind。　An　intimation　of

God's　heavenly　paradise　is　contained　for　the　artist　in　art；　and　by

that　alone　is　it　higher　than　all　else。　But　by　as　much　as　triumphant

rest　is　grander　than　every　earthly　emotion；　by　so　much　is　the　lofty

creation　of　art　higher　than　everything　else　on　earth。　Sacrifice

everything　to　it；　and　love　it　with　passionnot　with　the　passion

breathing　with　earthly　desire；　but　a　peaceful；　heavenly　passion。　It

cannot　plant　discord　in　the　spirit；　but　ascends；　like　a　resounding

prayer；　eternally　to　God。　But　there　are　moments；　dark　moments