The Picture Page #3

"The Picture" is a poignant short story by Russian author Aleksandr Kuprin that explores themes of art, beauty, and the complex relationships between individuals. The narrative centers around a painting that captivates the protagonist, leading him to reflect on his own experiences and emotions. Through vivid descriptions and deep psychological insight, Kuprin delves into the power of art to evoke memory and desire, ultimately illuminating the profound connection between life and artistic expression. The story serves as a meditation on the nature of human perception and the lasting impact of aesthetic encounters.

• Novel

								

Added to that, he fell in again with his old regimental friends, and
then he let himself go altogether. However, he didn't stay long in
Petersburg, for he was quickly forced to leave the city against his
will. It was all because of some horses.

V

He was having supper one evening with his officer friends in one of
the most fashionable restaurants. They had had very much to drink,
champagne above all. Suddenly the talk turned on horses--it's well
known to be an eternal subject of conversation with officers--as to
who owned the most spirited team in Petersburg. One Cossack--I don't
remember his name, I only know that he was one of the reigning princes
in the Caucasus--said that at that time the most spirited horses were
a pair of black stallions belonging to ----, and he named a lady in an
extremely high position.

"They are not horses," said he, "but wild things. It's only Ilya who
can manage them, and they won't allow themselves to be out-distanced."

But Prince Andrey laughed at this.

"I'd pass them with my bays."

"No, you wouldn't," said the Cossack.

"Yes, I would."

"You wouldn't race them."

"Yes, I would."

"Well, in that case," said the Cossack, "we'll lay a wager about it at
once."

And the wager was laid. It was agreed that if Prince Andrey were put
to shame he should give the Cossack his pair of bay horses, and with
them a sledge and a carriage with silver harness, and if the prince got
in front of Ilya's team, then the Cossack would buy up all the tickets
in the theatre for an opera when Madame Barba was to sing, so that
they could walk about in the gallery and not allow anyone else in the
theatre. At that time Madame Barba had captivated all the beau-monde.

Very well, then. On the next day, when the prince woke up, he ordered
the bay horses to be put into the carriage. The horses were not very
much to look at, hairy country horses, but they were sufficiently fast
goers; the most important thing about them was that they liked to get
in front of other horses, and they were exceptionally long-winded.

As soon as his companions saw that the prince was really in earnest
about the matter, they tried to dissuade him. "Give up this wager,"
urged they, "you can't escape getting into some trouble over it." But
the prince would not listen, and ordered his coachman, Bartholomew, to
be called.

The coachman, Bartholomew, was a gloomy and, so to speak, absent-minded
man. God had endowed him with such extraordinary strength that he could
even stop a troika when the horses were going at full gallop. The
horses would fall back on their hind legs. He drank terribly, had no
liking for conversation with anyone, and, though he adored the prince
with all his soul, he was rude and supercilious towards him, so that
he sometimes had to receive a flogging. The prince called Bartholomew
to him and said: "Do you think, Bartholomew, you could race another
pair of horses with our bays?"

"Which pair?" asked Bartholomew.

The prince told him which horses they were. Bartholomew scratched the
back of his head.

"I know that pair," he said, "and I know Ilya, their driver, pretty
well. He's a dangerous man. However, if your Excellency wishes it, we
can race them. Only, if the bay horses are ruined, don't be angry."

"Very well," said the prince. "And now, how much vodka shall we pour
down your throat?"

But Bartholomew wouldn't have any vodka.

"I can't manage the horses if I'm drunk," said he.

The prince got in the carriage, and they started. They took up their
position at the end of the Nevsky Prospect, and waited. It was known
beforehand that the important personage would drive out at midday. And
so it happened. At twelve o'clock the pair of black horses were seen.
Ilya was driving, and the lady was in the sledge.

The prince let them just get in front, and then he said to the coachman:

"Drive away!"

Bartholomew let the horses go. As soon as Ilya heard the tramping of
the horses behind, he turned round; the lady looked round also. Ilya
gave his horses the reins, and Bartholomew also whipped up his. But the
owner of the blacks was a woman of an ardent and fearless temperament,
and she had a passion for horses. She said to Ilya, "Don't dare to let
that scoundrel pass us!"

What began to happen then I can't describe. Both the coachmen and
the horses were as if mad; the snow rose up above them in clouds as
they raced along. At first the blacks seemed to be gaining, but they
couldn't last out for a long time, they got tired. The prince's horses
went ahead. Near the railway station, Prince Andrey jumped out of his
carriage, and the personage threatened him angrily with her finger.

Next day the governor of Petersburg--His Serene Highness Prince
Suvorof--sent for the prince, and said to him:

"You must leave Petersburg at once, prince. If you're not punished and
made an example of, it's only because the lady whom you treated in
such a daring fashion yesterday has a great partiality for bold and
desperate characters. And she knows also about your wager. But don't
put your foot in Petersburg again, and thank the Lord that you've got
off so cheaply."

But, gentlemen, I've been gossiping about Prince Andrey and I haven't
yet touched on what I promised to tell you. However, I'm soon coming
to the end of my story. And, though it has been in rather a disjointed
fashion, I have described the personality of the prince as best I can.

VI

After his famous race the prince went off to Moscow, and there
continued to behave as he had done in Petersburg, only on a larger
scale. At one time the whole town talked of nothing but his caprices.
And it was there that something happened to him which caused all the
folks at Pneestcheva to mock. A woman came into his life.

But I must tell you what sort of a woman she was. A queen of women!
There are none like her in these days. Of a most marvellous beauty....
She had formerly been an actress, then she had married a merchant
millionaire, and when he died--she didn't want to marry anyone
else--she said that she preferred to be free.

What specially attracted the prince to her was her carelessness. She
didn't wish to know anyone, neither rich nor illustrious people, and
she seemed to think nothing of her own great wealth. As soon as Prince
Andrey saw her he fell in love with her. He was used to having women
run after him, and so he had very little respect for them. But in this
case the lady paid him no special attention at all. She was gay and
affable, she accepted his bouquets and his presents, but directly he
spoke of his feelings she laughed at him. The prince was stung by this
treatment. He nearly went out of his mind.

Once the prince went with Marya Gavrilovna--that was the lady's
name--to the Yar, to hear some gipsy singers. The party numbered
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