the mysterious portrait-第3部分

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Asiatic　robe；　and　waited　for　what　it　would　do。　The　old　man　sat　down

almost　on　his　very　feet；　and　then　pulled　out　something　from　among　the

folds　of　his　wide　garment。　It　was　a　purse。　The　old　man　untied　it；　took

it　by　the　end；　and　shook　it。　Heavy　rolls　of　coin　fell　out　with　a　dull

thud　upon　the　floor。　Each　was　wrapped　in　blue　paper；　and　on　each　was

marked；　〃1000　ducats。〃　The　old　man　protruded　his　long；　bony　hand　from

his　wide　sleeves；　and　began　to　undo　the　rolls。　The　gold　glittered。

Great　as　was　the　artist's　unreasoning　fear；　he　concentrated　all　his

attention　upon　the　gold；　gazing　motionless；　as　it　made　its　appearance

in　the　bony　hands；　gleamed；　rang　lightly　or　dully；　and　was　wrapped　up

again。　Then　he　perceived　one　packet　which　had　rolled　farther　than　the

rest；　to　the　very　leg　of　his　bedstead；　near　his　pillow。　He　grasped　it

almost　convulsively；　and　glanced　in　fear　at　the　old　man　to　see　whether

he　noticed　it。



But　the　old　man　appeared　very　much　occupied：　he　collected　all　his

rolls；　replaced　them　in　the　purse；　and　went　outside　the　screen　without

looking　at　him。　Tchartkoff's　heart　beat　wildly　as　he　heard　the　rustle

of　the　retreating　footsteps　sounding　through　the　room。　He　clasped　the

roll　of　coin　more　closely　in　his　hand；　quivering　in　every　limb。

Suddenly　he　heard　the　footsteps　approaching　the　screen　again。

Apparently　the　old　man　had　recollected　that　one　roll　was　missing。　Lo！

again　he　looked　round　the　screen　at　him。　The　artist　in　despair　grasped

the　roll　with　all　his　strength；　tried　with　all　his　power　to　make　a

movement；　shriekedand　awoke。



He　was　bathed　in　a　cold　perspiration；　his　heart　beat　as　hard　as　it　was

possible　for　it　to　beat；　his　chest　was　oppressed；　as　though　his　last

breath　was　about　to　issue　from　it。　〃Was　it　a　dream？〃　he　said；　seizing

his　head　with　both　hands。　But　the　terrible　reality　of　the　apparition

did　not　resemble　a　dream。　As　he　woke；　he　saw　the　old　man　step　into　the

frame：　the　skirts　of　the　flowing　garment　even　fluttered；　and　his　hand

felt　plainly　that　a　moment　before　it　had　held　something　heavy。　The

moonlight　lit　up　the　room；　bringing　out　from　the　dark　corners　here　a

canvas；　there　the　model　of　a　hand：　a　drapery　thrown　over　a　chair；

trousers　and　dirty　boots。　Then　he　perceived　that　he　was　not　lying　in

his　bed；　but　standing　upright　in　front　of　the　portrait。　How　he　had

come　there；　he　could　not　in　the　least　comprehend。　Still　more　surprised

was　he　to　find　the　portrait　uncovered；　and　with　actually　no　sheet　over

it。　Motionless　with　terror；　he　gazed　at　it；　and　perceived　that　the

living；　human　eyes　were　fastened　upon　him。　A　cold　perspiration　broke

out　upon　his　forehead。　He　wanted　to　move　away；　but　felt　that　his　feet

had　in　some　way　become　rooted　to　the　earth。　And　he　felt　that　this　was

not　a　dream。　The　old　man's　features　moved；　and　his　lips　began　to

project　towards　him；　as　though　he　wanted　to　suck　him　in。　With　a　yell

of　despair　he　jumped　backand　awoke。



〃Was　it　a　dream？〃　With　his　heart　throbbing　to　bursting；　he　felt　about

him　with　both　hands。　Yes；　he　was　lying　in　bed；　and　in　precisely　the

position　in　which　he　had　fallen　asleep。　Before　him　stood　the　screen。

The　moonlight　flooded　the　room。　Through　the　crack　of　the　screen；　the

portrait　was　visible；　covered　with　the　sheet；　as　it　should　be；　just　as

he　had　covered　it。　And　so　that；　too；　was　a　dream？　But　his　clenched

fist　still　felt　as　though　something　had　been　held　in　it。　The　throbbing

of　his　heart　was　violent；　almost　terrible；　the　weight　upon　his　breast

intolerable。　He　fixed　his　eyes　upon　the　crack；　and　stared　steadfastly

at　the　sheet。　And　lo！　he　saw　plainly　the　sheet　begin　to　open；　as

though　hands　were　pushing　from　underneath；　and　trying　to　throw　it　off。

〃Lord　God；　what　is　it！〃　he　shrieked；　crossing　himself　in　despairand

awoke。



And　was　this；　too；　a　dream？　He　sprang　from　his　bed；　half…mad；　and

could　not　comprehend　what　had　happened　to　him。　Was　it　the　oppression

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