the mysterious portrait-第4章

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of　a　nightmare；　the　raving　of　fever；　or　an　actual　apparition？　Striving

to　calm；　as　far　as　possible；　his　mental　tumult；　and　stay　the　wildly

rushing　blood；　which　beat　with　straining　pulses　in　every　vein；　he　went

to　the　window　and　opened　it。　The　cool　breeze　revived　him。　The

moonlight　lay　on　the　roofs　and　the　white　walls　of　the　houses；　though

small　clouds　passed　frequently　across　the　sky。　All　was　still：　from

time　to　time　there　struck　the　ear　the　distant　rumble　of　a　carriage。　He

put　his　head　out　of　the　window；　and　gazed　for　some　time。　Already　the

signs　of　approaching　dawn　were　spreading　over　the　sky。　At　last　he　felt

drowsy；　shut　to　the　window；　stepped　back；　lay　down　in　bed；　and　quickly

fell；　like　one　exhausted；　into　a　deep　sleep。



He　awoke　late；　and　with　the　disagreeable　feeling　of　a　man　who　has　been

half…suffocated　with　coal…gas：　his　head　ached　painfully。　The　room　was

dim：　an　unpleasant　moisture　pervaded　the　air；　and　penetrated　the

cracks　of　his　windows。　Dissatisfied　and　depressed　as　a　wet　cock；　he

seated　himself　on　his　dilapidated　divan；　not　knowing　what　to　do；　what

to　set　about；　and　at　length　remembered　the　whole　of　his　dream。　As　he

recalled　it；　the　dream　presented　itself　to　his　mind　as　so　oppressively

real　that　he　even　began　to　wonder　whether　it　were　a　dream；　whether

there　were　not　something　more　here；　whether　it　were　not　really　an

apparition。　Removing　the　sheet；　he　looked　at　the　terrible　portrait　by

the　light　of　day。　The　eyes　were　really　striking　in　their　liveliness；

but　he　found　nothing　particularly　terrible　about　them；　though　an

indescribably　unpleasant　feeling　lingered　in　his　mind。　Nevertheless；

he　could　not　quite　convince　himself　that　it　was　a　dream。　It　struck　him

that　there　must　have　been　some　terrible　fragment　of　reality　in　the

vision。　It　seemed　as　though　there　were　something　in　the　old　man's　very

glance　and　expression　which　said　that　he　had　been　with　him　that　night：

his　hand　still　felt　the　weight　which　had　so　recently　lain　in　it　as　if

some　one　had　but　just　snatched　it　from　him。　It　seemed　to　him　that；　if

he　had　only　grasped　the　roll　more　firmly；　it　would　have　remained　in

his　hand；　even　after　his　awakening。



〃My　God；　if　I　only　had　a　portion　of　that　money！〃　he　said；　breathing

heavily；　and　in　his　fancy；　all　the　rolls　of　coin；　with　their

fascinating　inscription；　〃1000　ducats；〃　began　to　pour　out　of　the

purse。　The　rolls　opened；　the　gold　glittered；　and　was　wrapped　up　again；

and　he　sat　motionless；　with　his　eyes　fixed　on　the　empty　air；　as　if　he

were　incapable　of　tearing　himself　from　such　a　sight；　like　a　child　who

sits　before　a　plate　of　sweets；　and　beholds；　with　watering　mouth；　other

people　devouring　them。



At　last　there　came　a　knock　on　the　door；　which　recalled　him

unpleasantly　to　himself。　The　landlord　entered　with　the　constable　of

the　district；　whose　presence　is　even　more　disagreeable　to　poor　people

than　is　the　presence　of　a　beggar　to　the　rich。　The　landlord　of　the

little　house　in　which　Tchartkoff　lived　resembled　the　other　individuals

who　own　houses　anywhere　in　the　Vasilievsky　Ostroff；　on　the　St。

Petersburg　side；　or　in　the　distant　regions　of　Kolomnaindividuals

whose　character　is　as　difficult　to　define　as　the　colour　of　a

threadbare　surtout。　In　his　youth　he　had　been　a　captain　and　a　braggart；

a　master　in　the　art　of　flogging；　skilful；　foppish；　and　stupid；　but　in

his　old　age　he　combined　all　these　various　qualities　into　a　kind　of　dim

indefiniteness。　He　was　a　widower；　already　on　the　retired　list；　no

longer　boasted；　nor　was　dandified；　nor　quarrelled；　but　only　cared　to

drink　tea　and　talk　all　sorts　of　nonsense　over　it。　He　walked　about　his

room；　and　arranged　the　ends　of　the　tallow　candles；　called　punctually

at　the　end　of　each　month　upon　his　lodgers　for　money；　went　out　into　the

street；　with　the　key　in　his　hand；　to　look　at　the　roof　of　his　house；

and　sometimes　chased　the　porter　out　of　his　den；　where　he　had　hidden

himself　to　sleep。　In　short；　he　was　a　man　on　the　retired　list；　who；

after　the　turmoils　and　wildness　of　his　life；　had　only　his

old…fashioned　habits　left。



〃Please　to　see　for　yourself；　Varukh　Kusmitch；〃　said　the　landlord；

turning　to　the　officer；　and　throwing　out　his　hands；　〃this　man　does　not

pay　his　rent；　he　does　not　pay。〃



〃How　can　I　when　I　have　no　money？　Wait；　and　I　will　pay。〃



〃I　can't　wait；　my　good　fellow；〃　said　the　landlord　angrily；　making　a

gesture　with　the　key　which　he　held　in　his　hand。　〃Lieutenant…Colonel

Potogonkin　has　lived　with　me　seven　years；　seven　years　already；　Anna

Petrovna　Buchmisteroff　rents　the　coach…house　and　stable；　with　the

exception　of　two　stalls；　and　has　three　household　servants：　that　is　the

kind　of　lodgers　I　have。　I　say　to　you　frankly；　that　this　is　not　an

establishment　where　people　do　not　pay　their　rent。　Pay　your　money　at

once；　please；　or　else　clear　out。〃



〃Yes；　if　you　rented　the　rooms；　please　to　pay；〃　said　the　constable；

with　a　slight　shake　of　the　head；　as　he　laid　his　finger　on　one　of　the

buttons　of　his　uniform。



〃Well；　what　am　I　to　pay　with？　that's　the　question。　I　haven't　a

groschen　just　at　present。〃



〃In　that　case；　satisfy　the　claims　of　Ivan　Ivanovitch　with　the　fruits

of　your　profession；〃　said　the　officer：　〃perhaps　he　will　consent　to

take　pictures。〃



〃No；　thank　you；　my　good　fellow；　no　pictures。　Pictures　of　holy

subjects；　such　as　one　could　hang　upon　the　walls；　would　be　well　enough；

or　some　general　with　a　star；　or　Prince　Kutusoff's　portrait。　But　this

fellow　has　painted　that　muzhik；　that　muzhik　in　his　blouse；　his　servant

who　grinds　his　colours！　The　idea　of　painting　his　portrait；　the　hog！

I'll　thrash　him　well：　he　took　all　the　nails　out　of　my　bolts；　the

scoundrel！　Just　see　what　subjects！　Here　he　has　drawn　his　room。　It

would　have　been　well　enough　had　he　taken　a　clean；　well…furnished　room；

but　he　has　gone　and　drawn　this　one；　with　all　the　dirt　and　rubbish　he

has　collected。　Just　see　how　he　has　defaced　my　room！　Look　for　yourself。

Yes；　and　my　lodgers　have　been　with　me　seven　years；　the

lieutenant…colonel；　Anna　Petrovna　Buchmisteroff。　No；　I　tell　you；　there

is　no　worse　lodger　than　a　painter：　he　lives　like　a　pigGod　have

mercy！〃



The　poor　artist　had　to　listen　patiently　to　all　this。　Meanwhile　the

officer　had　occupied　himself　with　examining　the　pictures　and　studies；

and　showed　that　his　mind　was　more　advanced　than　the　landlord's；　and

that　he　was　not　insensible　to　artistic　impressions。



〃Heh！〃　said　he；　tapping　one　canvas；　on　which　was　depicted　a　naked

woman；　〃this　subject　islively。　But　why　so　much　black　under　her　nose？

did　she　take　snuff？〃



〃Shadow；〃　answered　Tchartkoff　gruffly；　without　looking　at　him。



〃But　it　might　have　been　put　in　some　other　place：　it　is　too　conspicuous

under　the　nose；〃　observed　the　officer。　〃And　whose　likeness　is　this？〃

he　continued；　approaching　the　old　man's　portrait。　〃It　is　too　terrible。

Was　he　really　so　dreadful？　Ah！　why；　he　actually　looks　at　one！　What　a

thunder…cloud！　From　whom　did　you　paint　it？〃



〃Ah！　it　is　from　a〃　said　Tchartkoff；　but　did　not　finish　his　sentence：

he　heard　a　crack。　It　seems　that　the　officer　had　pressed　too　hard　on

the　frame　of　the　portrait；　thanks　to　the　weight　of　his　constable's

hands。　The　small　boards　at　the　side　caved　in；　one　fell　on　the　floor；

and　with　it　fell；　with　a　heavy　crash；　a　roll　of　blue　paper。　The

inscription　caught　Tchartkoff's　eye〃1000　ducats。〃　Like　a　madman；　he

sprang　to　pick　it　up；　grasped　the　roll；　and　gripped　it　convulsively　in

his　hand；　which　sank　with　the　weight。



〃Wasn't　there　a　sound　of　money？〃　inquired　the　officer；　hearing　the

noise　of　something　falling　on　the　floor；　and　not　catching　sight　of　it；

owing　to　the　rapidity　with　which　Tchartkoff　had　hastened　to　pick　it

up。



〃What　business　is　it　of　yours　what　is　in　my　room？〃



〃It's　my　business　because　you　ought　to　pay　your　rent　to　the　landlord

at　once；　because　you　have　money；　and　won't　pay；　that's　why　it's　my

business。〃



〃Well；　I　will　pay　him　to…day。〃



〃Well；　and　why　wouldn't　you　pay　before；　instead　of