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to those raging within him。 My father stopped short every time he met
him； and could not refrain each time from saying； 'A devil； a perfect
devil！' But I must introduce you as speedily as possible to my father；
the chief character of this story。
〃My father was a remarkable man in many respects。 He was an artist of
rare ability； a self…taught artist； without teachers or schools；
principles and rules； carried away only by the thirst for perfection；
and treading a path indicated by his own instincts； for reasons
unknown； perchance； even to himself。 Through some lofty and secret
instinct he perceived the presence of a soul in every object。 And this
secret instinct and personal conviction turned his brush to Christian
subjects； grand and lofty to the last degree。 His was a strong
character： he was an honourable； upright； even rough man； covered with
a sort of hard rind without； not entirely lacking in pride； and given
to expressing himself both sharply and scornfully about people。 He
worked for very small results； that is to say； for just enough to
support his family and obtain the materials he needed； he never； under
any circumstances； refused to aid any one； or to lend a helping hand
to a poor artist； and he believed with the simple； reverent faith of
his ancestors。 At length； by his unintermitting labour and
perseverance in the path he had marked out for himself； he began to
win the approbation of those who honoured his self…taught talent。 They
gave him constant orders for churches； and he never lacked employment。
〃One of his paintings possessed a strong interest for him。 I no longer
recollect the exact subject： I only know that he needed to represent
the Spirit of Darkness in it。 He pondered long what form to give him：
he wished to concentrate in his face all that weighs down and
oppresses a man。 In the midst of his meditations there suddenly
occurred to his mind the image of the mysterious usurer； and he
thought involuntarily； 'That's how I ought to paint the Devil！'
Imagine his amazement when one day； as he was at work in his studio；
he heard a knock at the door； and directly after there entered that
same terrible usurer。
〃'You are an artist？' he said to my father abruptly。
〃'I am；' answered my father in surprise； waiting for what should come
next。
〃'Good！ Paint my portrait。 I may possibly die soon。 I have no
children； but I do not wish to die completely； I wish to live。 Can you
paint a portrait that shall appear as though it were alive？'
〃My father reflected； 'What could be better！ he offers himself for the
Devil in my picture。' He promised。 They agreed upon a time and price；
and the next day my father took palette and brushes and went to the
usurer's house。 The lofty court…yard； dogs； iron doors and locks；
arched windows； coffers； draped with strange covers； and； last of all；
the remarkable owner himself； seated motionless before him； all
produced a strange impression on him。 The windows seemed intentionally
so encumbered below that they admitted the light only from the top。
'Devil take him； how well his face is lighted！' he said to himself；
and began to paint assiduously； as though afraid that the favourable
light would disappear。 'What power！' he repeated to himself。 'If I
only accomplish half a likeness of him； as he is now； it will surpass
all my other works： he will simply start from the canvas if I am only
partly true to nature。 What remarkable features！' He redoubled his
energy； and began himself to notice how some of his sitter's traits
were making their appearance on the canvas。
〃But the more closely he approached resemblance； the more conscious he
became of an aggressive； uneasy feeling which he could not explain to
himself。 Notwithstanding this； he set himself to copy with literal
accuracy every trait and expression。 First of all； however； he busied
himself with the eyes。 There was so much force in those eyes； that it
seemed impossible to reproduce them exactly as they were in nature。
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 rooma 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