the mysterious portrait-第9章

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reflected　in　the　lofty　grace　of　the　grouping；　the　art　of　Correggio；

breathing　from　the　finished　perfection　of　the　workmanship。　But　more

striking　than　all　else　was　the　evident　creative　power　in　the　artist's

mind。　The　very　minutest　object　in　the　picture　revealed　it；　he　had

caught　that　melting　roundness　of　outline　which　is　visible　in　nature

only　to　the　artist　creator；　and　which　comes　out　as　angles　with　a

copyist。　It　was　plainly　visible　how　the　artist；　having　imbibed　it　all

from　the　external　world；　had　first　stored　it　in　his　mind；　and　then

drawn　it　thence；　as　from　a　spiritual　source；　into　one　harmonious；

triumphant　song。　And　it　was　evident；　even　to　the　uninitiated；　how　vast

a　gulf　there　was　fixed　between　creation　and　a　mere　copy　from　nature。

Involuntary　tears　stood　ready　to　fall　in　the　eyes　of　those　who

surrounded　the　picture。　It　seemed　as　though　all　joined　in　a　silent

hymn　to　the　divine　work。



Motionless；　with　open　mouth；　Tchartkoff　stood　before　the　picture。　At

length；　when　by　degrees　the　visitors　and　critics　began　to　murmur　and

comment　upon　the　merits　of　the　work；　and　turning　to　him；　begged　him　to

express　an　opinion；　he　came　to　himself　once　more。　He　tried　to　assume

an　indifferent；　everyday　expression；　strove　to　utter　some　such

commonplace　remark　as；　〃Yes；　to　tell　the　truth；　it　is　impossible　to

deny　the　artist's　talent；　there　is　something　in　it；〃　but　the　speech

died　upon　his　lips；　tears　and　sobs　burst　forth　uncontrollably；　and　he

rushed　from　the　room　like　one　beside　himself。



In　a　moment　he　stood　in　his　magnificent　studio。　All　his　being；　all　his

life；　had　been　aroused　in　one　instant；　as　if　youth　had　returned　to

him；　as　if　the　dying　sparks　of　his　talent　had　blazed　forth　afresh。　The

bandage　suddenly　fell　from　his　eyes。　Heavens！　to　think　of　having

mercilessly　wasted　the　best　years　of　his　youth；　of　having

extinguished；　trodden　out　perhaps；　that　spark　of　fire　which；　cherished

in　his　breast；　might　perhaps　have　been　developed　into　magnificence　and

beauty；　and　have　extorted　too；　its　meed　of　tears　and　admiration！　It

seemed　as　though　those　impulses　which　he　had　known　in　other　days

re…awoke　suddenly　in　his　soul。



He　seized　a　brush　and　approached　his　canvas。　One　thought　possessed　him

wholly；　one　desire　consumed　him；　he　strove　to　depict　a　fallen　angel。

This　idea　was　most　in　harmony　with　his　frame　of　mind。　The　perspiration

started　out　upon　his　face　with　his　efforts；　but；　alas！　his　figures；

attitudes；　groups；　thoughts；　arranged　themselves　stiffly；

disconnectedly。　His　hand　and　his　imagination　had　been　too　long

confined　to　one　groove；　and　the　fruitless　effort　to　escape　from　the

bonds　and　fetters　which　he　had　imposed　upon　himself；　showed　itself　in

irregularities　and　errors。　He　had　despised　the　long；　wearisome　ladder

to　knowledge；　and　the　first　fundamental　law　of　the　future　great　man；

hard　work。　He　gave　vent　to　his　vexation。　He　ordered　all　his　later

productions　to　be　taken　out　of　his　studio；　all　the　fashionable；

lifeless　pictures；　all　the　portraits　of　hussars；　ladies；　and

councillors　of　state。



He　shut　himself　up　alone　in　his　room；　would　order　no　food；　and　devoted

himself　entirely　to　his　work。　He　sat　toiling　like　a　scholar。　But　how

pitifully　wretched　was　all　which　proceeded　from　his　hand！　He　was

stopped　at　every　step　by　his　ignorance　of　the　very　first　principles：

simple　ignorance　of　the　mechanical　part　of　his　art　chilled　all

inspiration　and　formed　an　impassable　barrier　to　his　imagination。　His

brush　returned　involuntarily　to　hackneyed　forms：　hands　folded

themselves　in　a　set　attitude；　heads　dared　not　make　any　unusual　turn；

the　very　garments　turned　out　commonplace；　and　would　not　drape

themselves　to　any　unaccustomed　posture　of　the　body。　And　he　felt　and

saw　this　all　himself。



〃But　had　I　really　any　talent？〃　he　said　at　length：　〃did　not　I　deceive

myself？〃　Uttering　these　words；　he　turned　to　the　early　works　which　he

had　painted　so　purely；　so　unselfishly；　in　former　days；　in　his　wretched

cabin　yonder　in　lonely　Vasilievsky　Ostroff。　He　began　attentively　to

examine　them　all；　and　all　the　misery　of　his　former　life　came　back　to

him。　〃Yes；〃　he　cried　despairingly；　〃I　had　talent：　the　signs　and　traces

of　it　are　everywhere　visible〃



He　paused　suddenly；　and　shivered　all　over。　His　eyes　encountered　other

eyes　fixed　immovably　upon　him。　It　was　that　remarkable　portrait　which

he　had　bought　in　the　Shtchukinui　Dvor。　All　this　time　it　had　been

covered　up；　concealed　by　other　pictures；　and　had　utterly　gone　out　of

his　mind。　Now；　as　if　by　design；　when　all　the　fashionable　portraits　and

paintings　had　been　removed　from　the　studio；　it　looked　forth；　together

with　the　productions　of　his　early　youth。　As　he　recalled　all　the

strange　events　connected　with　it；　as　he　remembered　that　this　singular

portrait　had　been；　in　a　manner；　the　cause　of　his　errors；　that　the

hoard　of　money　which　he　had　obtained　in　such　peculiar　fashion　had

given　birth　in　his　mind　to　all　the　wild　caprices　which　had　destroyed

his　talentmadness　was　on　the　point　of　taking　possession　of　him。　At

once　he　ordered　the　hateful　portrait　to　be　removed。



But　his　mental　excitement　was　not　thereby　diminished。　His　whole　being

was　shaken　to　its　foundation；　and　he　suffered　that　fearful　torture

which　is　sometimes　exhibited　when　a　feeble　talent　strives　to　display

itself　on　a　scale　too　great　for　it　and　cannot　do　so。　A　horrible　envy

took　possession　of　himan　envy　which　bordered　on　madness。　The　gall

flew　to　his　heart　when　he　beheld　a　work　which　bore　the　stamp　of

talent。　He　gnashed　his　teeth；　and　devoured　it　with　the　glare　of　a

basilisk。　He　conceived　the　most　devilish　plan　which　ever　entered　into

the　mind　of　man；　and　he　hastened　with　the　strength　of　madness　to　carry

it　into　execution。　He　began　to　purchase　the　best　that　art　produced　of

every　kind。　Having　bought　a　picture　at　a　great　price；　he　transported

it　to　his　room；　flung　himself　upon　it　with　the　ferocity　of　a　tiger；

cut　it；　tore　it；　chopped　it　into　bits；　and　stamped　upon　it　with　a　grin

of　delight。



The　vast　wealth　he　had　amassed　enabled　him　to　gratify　this　devilish

desire。　He　opened　his　bags　of　gold　and　unlocked　his　coffers。　No

monster　of　ignorance　ever　destroyed　so　many　superb　productions　of　art

as　did　this　raging　avenger。　At　any　auction　where　he　made　his

appearance；　every　one　despaired　at　once　of　obtaining　any　work　of　art。

It　seemed　as　if　an　angry　heaven　had　sent　this　fearful　scourge　into　the

world　expressly　to　destroy　all　harmony。　Scorn　of　the　world　was

expressed　in　his　countenance。　His　tongue　uttered　nothing　save　biting

and　censorious　words。　He　swooped　down　like　a　harpy　into　the　street：

and　his　acquaintances；　catching　sight　of　him　in　the　distance；　sought

to　turn　aside　and　avoid　a　meeting　with　him；　saying　that　it　poisoned

all　the　rest　of　the　day。



Fortunately　for　the　world　and　art；　such　a　life　could　not　last　long：

his　passions　were　too　overpowering　for　his　feeble　strength。　Attacks　of

madness　began　to　recur　more　frequently；　and　ended　at　last　in　the　most

frightful　illness。　A　violent　fever；　combined　with　galloping

consumption；　seized　upon　him　with　such　violence；　that　in　three　days

there　remained　only　a　shadow　of　his　former　self。　To　this　was　added

indications　of　hopeless　insanity。　Sometimes　several　men　were　unable　to

hold　him。　The　long…forgotten；　living　eyes　of　the　portrait　began　to

torment　him；　and　then　his　madness　became　dreadful。　All　the　people　who

surrounded　his　bed　seemed　to　him　horrible　portraits。　The　portrait

doubled　and　quadrupled　itself；　all　the　walls　seemed　hung　with

portraits；　which　fastened　their　living　eyes　upon　him；　portraits　glared

at　him　from　the　ceiling；　from　the　floor；　the　room　widened　and

lengthened　endlessly；　in　order　to　make　room　for　more　of　the　motionless

eyes。　The　doctor　who　had　undertaken　to　attend　him；　having　learned

something　of　his　strange　history；　strove　with　all　his　might　to　fathom

the　secret　connection　between　the　visions　of　his　fancy　and　the

occurrences　of　his　life；　but　without　the　slightest　s