But he resolved, at any price, to seek in them the most minute characteristics and shades, to penetrate their secret.As soon, however, as he approached them in resemblance, and began to redouble his exertions, there sprang up in his mind such a terrible feeling of repulsion, of inexplicable expression, that he was forced to lay aside his brush for a while and begin anew.At last he could bear it no longer: he felt as if these eyes were piercing into his soul, and causing intolerable emotion.On the second and third days this grew still stronger.It became horrible to him.He threw down his brush, and declared abruptly that he could paint the stranger no longer.You should have seen how the terrible usurer changed countenance at these words.He threw himself at his feet, and besought him to finish the portrait, saying that his fate and his existence depended on it; that he had already caught his prominent features; that if he could reproduce them accurately, his life would be preserved in his portrait in a supernatural manner; that by that means he would not die completely; that it was necessary for him to continue to exist in the world.
"My father was frightened by these words: they seemed to him strange and terrible to such a degree, that he threw down his brushes and palette and rushed headlong from the room.
"The thought of it troubled him all day and all night; but the next morning he received the portrait from the usurer, by a woman who was the only creature in his service, and who announced that her master did not want the portrait, and would pay nothing for it, and had sent it back.On the evening of the same day he learned that the usurer was dead, and that preparations were in progress to bury him according to the rites of his religion.All this seemed to him inexplicably strange.But from that day a marked change showed itself in his character.He was possessed by a troubled, uneasy feeling, of which he was unable to explain the cause; and he soon committed a deed which no one could have expected of him.For some time the works of one of his pupils had been attracting the attention of a small circle of connoisseurs and amateurs.My father had perceived his talent, and manifested a particular liking for him in consequence.Suddenly the general interest in him and talk about him became unendurable to my father who grew envious of him.Finally, to complete his vexation, he learned that his pupil had been asked to paint a picture for a recently built and wealthy church.This enraged him.'No, I will not permit that fledgling to triumph!' said he: 'it is early, friend, to think of consigning old men to the gutters.I still have powers, God be praised! We'll soon see which will put down the other.'
"And this straightforward, honourable man employed intrigues which he had hitherto abhorred.He finally contrived that there should be a competition for the picture which other artists were permitted to enter into.Then he shut himself up in his room, and grasped his brush with zeal.It seemed as if he were striving to summon all his strength up for this occasion.And, in fact, the result turned out to be one of his best works.No one doubted that he would bear off the palm.The pictures were placed on exhibition, and all the others seemed to his as night to day.But of a sudden, one of the members present, an ecclesiastical personage if I mistake not, made a remark which surprised every one.'There is certainly much talent in this artist's picture,' said he, 'but no holiness in the faces: there is even, on the contrary, a demoniacal look in the eyes, as though some evil feeling had guided the artist's hand.' All looked, and could not but acknowledge the truth of these words.My father rushed forward to his picture, as though to verify for himself this offensive remark, and perceived with horror that he had bestowed the usurer's eyes upon nearly all the figures.They had such a diabolical gaze that he involuntarily shuddered.The picture was rejected; and he was forced to hear, to his indescribable vexation, that the palm was awarded to his pupil.
"It is impossible to describe the state of rage in which he returned home.He almost killed my mother, he drove the children away, broke his brushes and easels, tore down the usurer's portrait from the wall, demanded a knife, and ordered a fire to be built in the chimney, intending to cut it in pieces and burn it.A friend, an artist, caught him in the act as he entered the room--a jolly fellow, always satisfied with himself, inflated by unattainable wishes, doing daily anything that came to hand, and taking still more gaily to his dinner and little carouses.
"'What are you doing? What are you preparing to burn?' he asked, and stepped up to the portrait.'Why, this is one of your very best works.
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.Adevilish feeling of envy guided my brush, and that devilish feeling must have made itself visible in it.'
