the mysterious portrait-第1部分

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THE　MYSTERIOUS　PORTRAIT







PART　I



Nowhere　did　so　many　people　pause　as　before　the　little　picture…shop　in

the　Shtchukinui　Dvor。　This　little　shop　contained；　indeed；　the　most

varied　collection　of　curiosities。　The　pictures　were　chiefly

oil…paintings　covered　with　dark　varnish；　in　frames　of　dingy　yellow。

Winter　scenes　with　white　trees；　very　red　sunsets；　like　raging

conflagrations；　a　Flemish　boor；　more　like　a　turkey…cock　in　cuffs　than

a　human　being；　were　the　prevailing　subjects。　To　these　must　be　added　a

few　engravings；　such　as　a　portrait　of　Khozreff…Mirza　in　a　sheepskin

cap；　and　some　generals　with　three…cornered　hats　and　hooked　noses。

Moreover；　the　doors　of　such　shops　are　usually　festooned　with　bundles

of　those　publications；　printed　on　large　sheets　of　bark；　and　then

coloured　by　hand；　which　bear　witness　to　the　native　talent　of　the

Russian。



On　one　was　the　Tzarevna　Miliktrisa　Kirbitievna；　on　another　the　city　of

Jerusalem。　There　are　usually　but　few　purchasers　of　these　productions；

but　gazers　are　many。　Some　truant　lackey　probably　yawns　in　front　of

them；　holding　in　his　hand　the　dishes　containing　dinner　from　the

cook…shop　for　his　master；　who　will　not　get　his　soup　very　hot。　Before

them；　too；　will　most　likely　be　standing　a　soldier　wrapped　in　his

cloak；　a　dealer　from　the　old…clothes　mart；　with　a　couple　of　penknives

for　sale；　and　a　huckstress；　with　a　basketful　of　shoes。　Each　expresses

admiration　in　his　own　way。　The　muzhiks　generally　touch　them　with　their

fingers；　the　dealers　gaze　seriously　at　them；　serving　boys　and

apprentices　laugh；　and　tease　each　other　with　the　coloured　caricatures；

old　lackeys　in　frieze　cloaks　look　at　them　merely　for　the　sake　of

yawning　away　their　time　somewhere；　and　the　hucksters；　young　Russian

women；　halt　by　instinct　to　hear　what　people　are　gossiping　about；　and

to　see　what　they　are　looking　at。



At　the　time　our　story　opens；　the　young　painter；　Tchartkoff；　paused

involuntarily　as　he　passed　the　shop。　His　old　cloak　and　plain　attire

showed　him　to　be　a　man　who　was　devoted　to　his　art　with　self…denying

zeal；　and　who　had　no　time　to　trouble　himself　about　his　clothes。　He

halted　in　front　of　the　little　shop；　and　at　first　enjoyed　an　inward

laugh　over　the　monstrosities　in　the　shape　of　pictures。



At　length　he　sank　unconsciously　into　a　reverie；　and　began　to　ponder　as

to　what　sort　of　people　wanted　these　productions？　It　did　not　seem

remarkable　to　him　that　the　Russian　populace　should　gaze　with　rapture

upon　〃Eruslanoff　Lazarevitch；〃　on　〃The　Glutton〃　and　〃The　Carouser；〃　on

〃Thoma　and　Erema。〃　The　delineations　of　these　subjects　were　easily

intelligible　to　the　masses。　But　where　were　there　purchases　for　those

streaky；　dirty　oil…paintings？　Who　needed　those　Flemish　boors；　those

red　and　blue　landscapes；　which　put　forth　some　claims　to　a　higher　stage

of　art；　but　which　really　expressed　the　depths　of　its　degradation？　They

did　not　appear　the　works　of　a　self…taught　child。　In　that　case；　in

spite　of　the　caricature　of　drawing；　a　sharp　distinction　would　have

manifested　itself。　But　here　were　visible　only　simple　dullness；

steady…going　incapacity；　which　stood；　through　self…will；　in　the　ranks

of　art；　while　its　true　place　was　among　the　lowest　trades。　The　same

colours；　the　same　manner；　the　same　practised　hand；　belonging　rather　to

a　manufacturing　automaton　than　to　a　man！



He　stood　before　the　dirty　pictures　for　some　time；　his　thoughts　at

length　wandering　to　other　matters。　Meanwhile　the　proprietor　of　the

shop；　a　little　grey　man；　in　a　frieze　cloak；　with　a　beard　which　had　not

been　shaved　since　Sunday；　had　been　urging　him　to　buy　for　some　time；

naming　prices；　without　even　knowing　what　pleased　him　or　what　he

wanted。　〃Here；　I'll　take　a　silver　piece　for　these　peasants　and　this

little　landscape。　What　painting！　it　fairly　dazzles　one；　only　just

received　from　the　factory；　the　varnish　isn't　dry　yet。　Or　here　is　a

winter　scenetake　the　winter　scene；　fifteen　rubles；　the　frame　alone

is　worth　it。　What　a　winter　scene！〃　Here　the　merchant　gave　a　slight

fillip　to　the　canvas；　as　if　to　demonstrate　all　the　merits　of　the

winter　scene。　〃Pray　have　them　put　up　and　sent　to　your　house。　Where　do

you　live？　Here；　boy；　give　me　some　string！〃



〃Hold；　not　so　fast！〃　said　the　painter；　coming　to　himself；　and

perceiving　that　the　brisk　dealer　was　beginning　in　earnest　to　pack　some

pictures　up。　He　was　rather　ashamed　not　to　take　anything　after　standing

so　long　in　front　of　the　shop；　so　saying；　〃Here；　stop！　I　will　see　if

there　is　anything　I　want　here！〃　he　stooped　and　began　to　pick　up　from

the　floor；　where　they　were　thrown　in　a　heap；　some　worn；　dusty　old

paintings。　There　were　old　family　portraits；　whose　descendants；

probably　could　not　be　found　on　earth；　with　torn　canvas　and　frames

minus　their　gilding；　in　short；　trash。　But　the　painter　began　his

search；　thinking　to　himself；　〃Perhaps　I　may　come　across　something。〃　He

had　heard　stories　about　pictures　of　the　great　masters　having　been

found　among　the　rubbish　in　cheap　print…sellers'　shops。



The　dealer；　perceiving　what　he　was　about；　ceased　his　importunities；

and　took　up　his　post　again　at　the　door；　hailing　the　passers…by　with；

〃Hither；　friends；　here　are　pictures；　step　in；　step　in；　just　received

from　the　makers！〃　He　shouted　his　fill；　and　generally　in　vain；　had　a

long　talk　with　a　rag…merchant；　standing　opposite；　at　the　door　of　his

shop；　and　finally；　recollecting　that　he　had　a　customer　in　his　shop；

turned　his　back　on　the　public　and　went　inside。　〃Well；　friend；　have　you

chosen　anything？〃　said　he。　But　the　painter　had　already　been　standing

motionless　for　some　time　before　a　portrait　in　a　large　and　originally

magnificent　frame；　upon　which；　however；　hardly　a　trace　of　gilding　now

remained。



It　represented　an　old　man；　with　a　thin；　bronzed　face　and　high

cheek…bones；　the　features　seemingly　depicted　in　a　moment　of　convulsive

agitation。　He　wore　a　flowing　Asiatic　costume。　Dusty　and　defaced　as　the

portrait　was；　Tchartkoff　saw；　when　he　had　succeeded　in　removing　the

dirt　from　the　face；　traces　of　the　work　of　a　great　artist。　The　portrait

appeared　to　be　unfinished；　but　the　power　of　the　handling　was　striking。

The　eyes　were　the　most　remarkable　picture　of　all：　it　seemed　as　though

the　full　power　of　the　artist's　brush　had　been　lavished　upon　them。　They

fairly　gazed　out　of　the　portrait；　destroying　its　harmony　with　their

strange　liveliness。　When　he　carried　the　portrait　to　the　door；　the　eyes

gleamed　even　more　penetratingly。　They　produced　nearly　the　same

impression　on　the　public。　A　woman　standing　behind　him　exclaimed；　〃He

is　looking；　he　is　looking！〃　and　jumped　back。　Tchartkoff　experienced　an

unpleasant　feeling；　inexplicable　even　to　himself；　and　placed　the

portrait　on　the　floor。



〃Well；　will　you　take　the　portrait？〃　said　the　dealer。



〃How　much　is　it？〃　said　the　painter。



〃Why　chaffer　over　it？　give　me　seventy…five　kopeks。〃



〃No。〃



〃Well；　how　much　will　you　give？〃



〃Twenty　kopeks；〃　said　the　painter；　preparing　to　go。



〃What　a　price！　Why；　you　couldn't　buy　the　frame　for　that！　Perhaps　you

will　decide　to　purchase　to…morrow。　Sir；　sir；　turn　back！　Add　ten

kopeks。　Take　it；　take　it！　give　me　twenty　kopeks。　To　tell　the　truth；

you　are　my　only　customer　to…day；　and　that's　the　only　reason。〃



Thus　Tchartkoff　quite　unexpectedly　became　the　purchaser　of　the　old

portrait；　and　at　the　same　time　reflected；　〃Why　have　I　bought　it？　What

is　it　to　me？〃　But　there　was　nothing　to　be　done。　He　pulled　a

twenty…kopek　piece　from　his　pocket；　gave　it　to　the　merchant；　took　the

portrait　under　his　arm；　and　carried　it　home。　On　the　way　thither；　he

remembered　that　the　twenty…kopek　piece　he　had　given　for　it　was　his

last。　His　thoughts　at　once　became　gloomy。　Vexation　and　careless

indifference　took　possession　of　him　at　one　and　the　same　moment。　The

red　light　of　sunset　still　lingered　in　one　half　the　sky；　the　houses

facing　that　way　still　gleamed　with　its　warm　light；　and　meanwhile　the

cold　blue　light　of　the　moon　grew　brighter。　Light；　half…transparent

shadows　fell　in　bands　upon　the　ground。　The　painter　began　by　degrees　to

glance　up　at　the　sky；　flushed　with　a　transparent　light；　and　at　the

same　moment　from　his　mouth　fell　the　words；　〃What　a　delicate　tone！　What

a　nuisance！　Deuce　take　it！〃　Re…adjusting　the　portrait；　which　kept

slipping　from　under　his　arm；　he　quickened　his　pace。



Weary　and　bathed　in　perspiration；　he　dragged　himself　to　Vasilievsky

Ostroff。　With　difficulty　and　much　panting　he　made　his　way　up　the

stairs　flooded　with　soap…suds；　and　adorned　with　the　tracks　of　dogs　and

cats。　To　his　knock　there　was　no　answer：　there　was　no　one　at　home。　He

leaned　against　the　window；　and　disposed　himself　to　wait　patiently；

until　at　last　there　resounded　behind　him　the　footsteps　of　a　boy　in　a

blue　blouse；　his　servant；　model；　and　colour…grinder。　This　boy　was

called　Nikita；　and　spent　all　his　time　in　the　streets　when　his　master

was　not　at　home。　Nikita　tried　for　a　long　time　to　get　the　key　into　the

lock；　which　was　quite　invisible；　by　reason　of　the　darkness。



Finally　the　door　was　opened。　Tchartkoff　entered　his　ante…room；　which

was　intolerably　cold；　as　painters'　rooms　always　are；　which　fact；

however；　they　do　not　notice。　Without　giving　Nikita　his　coat；　he　went

on　into　his　studio；　a　large　room；　but　low；　fitted　up　with　all　sorts　of

artistic　rubbishplaster　hands；　canvases；　sketches　begun　and

discarded；　and　draperies　thrown　over　chairs。　Feeling　very　tired；　he

took　off　his　cloak；　placed　the　portrait　abstractedly　between　two　small

canvasses；　and　threw　himself　on　the　narrow　divan。　Having　stretched

himself　out；　he　finally　called　for　a　light。



〃There　are　no　candles；〃　said　Nikita。



〃What；　none？〃



〃And　there　were　none　last　night；〃　said　Nikita。　The　artist　recollected

that；　in　fact；　there　had　been　no　candles　the　previous　evening；　and

became　silent。　He　let　Nikita　take　his　coat　off；　and　put　on　his　old

worn　dressing…gown。



〃There　has　been　a　gentleman　here；〃　said　Nikita。



〃Yes；　he　came