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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。 A
devilish feeling of envy guided my brush； and that devilish feeling
must have made itself visible in it。'
〃He set out at once to seek his former pupil； embraced him warmly；
begged his forgiveness； and endeavoured as far as possible to excuse
his own fault。 His labours continued as before； but his face was more
frequently thoughtful。 He prayed more； grew more taciturn； and
expressed himself less sharply about people： even the rough exterior
of his character was modified to some extent。 But a certain occurrence
soon disturbed him more than ever。 He had seen nothing for a long time
of the comrade who had begged the portrait of him。 He had already
decided to hunt him up； when the latter suddenly made his appearance
in his room。 After a few words and questions on both sides； he said；
'Well； brother； it was not without cause that you wished to burn that
portrait。 Devil take it； there's something horrible about it！ I don't
believe in sorcerers； but； begging your pardon； there's an unclean
spirit in it。'
〃'How so？' asked my father。
〃'Well； from the very moment I hung it up in my room I felt such
depressionjust as if I wanted to murder some one。 I never knew in my
life what sleeplessness was； but I suffered not from sleeplessness
alone； but from such dreams！I cannot tell whether they were dreams；
or what； it was as if a demon were strangling one： and the old man
appeared to me in my sleep。 In short； I can't describe my state of
mind。 I had a sensation of fear； as if expecting something unpleasant。
I felt as if I could not speak a cheerful or sincere word to any one：
it was just as if a spy were sitting over me。 But from the very hour
that I gave that portrait to my nephew； who asked for it； I felt as if
a stone had been rolled from my shoulders； and became cheerful； as you
see me now。 Well； brother； you painted the very Devil！'
〃During this recital my father listened with unswerving attention； and
finally inquired； 'And your nephew now has the portrait？'
〃'My nephew； indeed！ he could not stand it！' said the jolly fellow：
'do you know； the soul of that usurer has migrated into it； he jumps
out of the frame； walks about the room； and what my nephew tells of
him is simply incomprehensible。 I should take him for a lunatic； if I
had not undergone a part of it myself。 He sold it to some collector of
pictures； and he could not stand it either； and got rid of it to some
one else。'
〃This story produced a deep impression on my father。 He grew seriously
pensive； fell into hypochondria； and finally became fully convinced
that his brush had served as a tool of the Devil； and that a portion
of the usurer's vitality had actually passed into the portrait； and
was now troubling people； inspiring diabolical excitement； beguiling
painters from the true path； producing the fearful torments of envy；
and so forth。 Three catastrophes which occurred afterwards； three
sudden deaths of wife； daughter； and infant son； he regarded as a
divine punishment on him； and firmly resolved to withdraw from the
world。
〃As soon as I was nine years old； he placed me in an academy of
painting； and； paying all his debts； retired to a lonely cloister；
where he soon afterwards took the vows。 There he amazed every one by
the strictness of his life； and his untiring observance of all the
monastic rules。 The prior of the monastery； hearing of his skill in
painting； ordered him to paint the principal picture in the church。
But the humble brother said plainly that he was unworthy to touch a
brush； that his was contaminated； that with toil and great sacrifice
must he first purify his spirit in order to render himself fit to
undertake such a task。 He increased the rigours of monastic life for
himself as much as possible。 At last； even they became insufficient；
and he retired； with the approval of the prior； into the desert； in
order to be quite alone。 There he constructed himself a cell from
branches of trees； ate only uncooked roots； dragged about a stone from
place to place； stood in one spot with his hands lifted to heaven；
from the rising until the going down of the sun； reciting prayers
without cessation。 In this manner did he for several years exhaust his
body； invigorating it； at the same time； with the strength of fervent
prayer。
〃At length； one day he returned to the cloister； and said firmly to
the prior； 'Now I am ready。 If God wills； I will finish my task。' The
subject he selected was the Birth of Christ。 A whole year he sat over
it； without leaving his cell； barely sustaining himself with coarse
food； and praying incessantly。 At the end of the year the picture was
ready。 It was a really wonderful work。 Neither prior nor brethren knew
much about painting； but all were struck with the marvellous holiness
of the figures。 The expression of reverent humility and gentleness in
the face of the Holy Mother； as she bent over the Child； the deep
intelligence in the eyes of the Holy Child； as though he saw something
afar； the triumphant silence of the Magi； amazed by the Divine
Miracle； as they bowed at his feet： and finally； the indescribable
peace which emanated from the whole pictureall this was presented
with such strength and beauty； that the impression it made was
magical。 All the brethren threw themselves on their knees before it；
and the prior； deeply affected； exclaimed； 'No； it is impossible for
any artist； with the assistance only of earthly art； to produce such a
picture： a holy； divine power has guided thy brush； and the blessing
of Heaven rested upon thy labour！'
〃By that time I had completed my education at the academy； received
the gold medal； and with it the joyful hope of a journey to Italythe
fairest dream of a twenty…year…old artist。 It only remained for me to
take leave of my father； from whom I had been separated for twelve
years。 I confess that even his image had long faded from my memory。 I
had heard somewhat of his grim saintliness； and rather expected to
meet a hermit of rough exterior； a stranger to everything in the
world； except his cell and his prayers； worn out； tried up； by eternal
fasting and penance。 But how great was my surprise when a handsome old
man stood before me！ No traces of exhaustion were visible on his
countenance： it beamed with the light of a heavenly joy。 His beard；
white as snow； and his thin； almost transparent hair of the same
silvery hue； fell picturesquely upon his breast； and upon the folds of
his black gown； even to the rope with which his poor monastic garb was
girded。 But most surprising to me of all was to hear from his mouth
such words and thoughts about art as； I confess； I long shall bear in
mind； and I sincerely wish that all my comrades would do the same。
〃'I expected you； my son；' he said； when I approached for his
blessing。 'The path awaits you in which your life is henceforth to
flow。 Your path is puredesert it not。 You have talent： talent is the
most priceless of God's giftsdestroy it not。 Search out； subject all
things to your brush； but in all see that you find the hidden soul；
and most of all； strive to attain to the grand secret of creation。
Blessed is the elect one who masters that！ There is for him no mean
object in nature。 In lowly themes the artist creator is as great as in
great ones： in the despicable there is nothing for him to despise； for
it passes through the purifying fire of his mind。 An intimation of
God's heavenly paradise is contained for the artist in art； and by
that alone is it higher than all else。 But by as much as triumphant
rest is grander than every earthly emotion； by so much is the lofty
creation of art higher than everything else on earth。 Sacrifice
everything to it； and love it with passionnot with the passion
breathing with earthly desire； but a peaceful； heavenly passion。 It
cannot plant discord in the spirit； but ascends； like a resounding
prayer； eternally to God。 But there are moments； dark moments