The Picture Page #4

"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

								

fifteen. At that time the prince was surrounded and fawned upon by
a whole crowd of hangers-on--his Belonogof company, as he called
them--his own name was Belonogof. They were all seated at a table
drinking wine, and the gipsies were singing and dancing. Suddenly,
Marya Gavrilovna wanted to smoke. She took a packetoska--the sort of
twisted straw cigarette they used to smoke in those days--and looked
round for a light. The prince noticed this, and in a moment he pulled
out a bank-note for a thousand roubles, lighted it at a candle and
handed it to her. Everybody in the company exclaimed; the gipsies even
stopped singing, and their eyes gleamed with greed. And then someone
at a neighbouring table said, not very loudly, but with sufficient
distinctness, "Fool!"

The prince jumped up as if he had been shot. At the other table sat
a small sickly-looking man, who looked straight at the prince in the
calmest manner possible. The prince went over to him at once.

"How dare you call me a fool? Who are you?"

The little man regarded him very coolly.

"I," said he, "am the artist Rozanof. And I called you a fool because,
with that money you burnt just to show off, you might have paid for the
support of four sick people in the hospital for a whole year."

Everybody sat and waited for what would happen. The unrestrained
character of the prince was well known. Would he at once chastise
the little man, or call him out to a duel, or simply order him to be
whipped?

But, after a little silence, the prince suddenly turned to the artist
with these unexpected words:

"You're quite right, Mr. Rozanof. I did indeed act as a fool before
this crowd. But now if you don't at once give me your hand, and accept
five thousand roubles for the Marinskaya Hospital, I shall be deeply
offended."

And Rozanof answered: "I'll take the money, and I'll give you my hand
with equal pleasure."

Then Marya Gavrilovna whispered to the prince, "Ask the artist to come
and talk to us, and send away these friends of yours."

The prince turned politely to Rozanof and begged him to join them, and
then he turned to the officers and said,  "Be off with you!"

VII

From that time the prince and Rozanof were bound together in a close
friendship. They couldn't spend a day without seeing one another.
Either the artist came to visit the prince or Prince Andrey went to see
the artist. Rozanof was living then in two rooms on the fourth floor
of a house in Mestchanskaya Street--one he used as a studio, the other
was his bedroom. The prince invited the artist to come and live with
him, but Rozanof refused. "You are very dear to me," said he, "but in
wealthy surroundings I might be idle and forget my art." So he wouldn't
make any change.

They were interested in everything that concerned one another. Rozanof
would begin to talk of painting, of various pictures, of the lives of
great artists--and the prince would listen and not utter a word. Then
afterwards he would tell about his adventures in wild countries, and
the artist's eyes would glisten.

"Wait a little," he would say. "I think I shall soon paint a great
picture. Then I shall have plenty of money, and we'll go abroad
together."

"But why do you want money?" asked the prince. "If you like, we can go
to-morrow. Everything I have I will share with you."

But the artist remained firm.

"No, wait a little," said he. "I'll paint the picture and then we can
talk about it."

There was a real friendship between them. It was even marvellous--for
Rozanof had such an influence over the prince that he restrained him
from many of the impetuous and thoughtless actions to which, with his
fiery temperament, he was specially prone.

VIII

The prince's love for Marya Gavrilovna did not become less, it even
increased in fervency, but he had no success with the lady. He pressed
his hands to his heart, and went down on his knees to her many times,
but she had only one answer for him: "But what can I do if I don't love
you?" "Well, don't love me," said the prince; "perhaps you will love
me by and by, but I can't be happy without you." Then she would say,
"I'm very sorry for you, but I can't help your unhappiness." "You love
someone else, perhaps," said the prince. "Perhaps I love someone else,"
said she, and she laughed.

The prince grew very sad about it. He would lie at home on the sofa,
gloomy and silent, turn his face to the wall, and even refuse to take
any food. Everybody in the house went about on tip-toe.... One day
Rozanof called when the prince was in this state, and he too looked
out of sorts. He came into the prince's room, said "Good morning,"
and nothing more. They were both silent. At length the artist pulled
himself together and said to the prince, "Listen, Andrey Lvovitch. I'm
very sorry that with my friendly hand I have got to deal you a blow."

The prince, who was lying with his face to the wall, said, "Please come
straight to the point without any introduction."

Then the artist explained what he meant.

"Marya Gavrilovna is going to live with me as my wife," said he.

"You're going out of your mind," said the prince.

"No," said the artist, "I'm not going out of my mind. I have loved
Marya Gavrilovna for a long time, but I never dared tell her so. But
to-day she said to me: 'Why do we hide things from one another? I've
seen for a long time that you love me, and I also love you. I won't
marry you, but we can live together....'"

The artist told the whole story, and the prince lay on the sofa neither
moving nor saying a word. Rozanof sat there and looked at him, and
presently he went quietly away.

IX

However, after a week, the prince overcame his feelings, though it
cost him a good deal, for his hair had begun to turn grey. He went to
Rozanof and said:

"I see love can't be forced, but I don't want to lose my only friend
for the sake of a woman."

Rozanof put his arms about his friend and wept. And Marya Gavrilovna
gave him her hand--she was there at the time--and said:

"I admire you very much, Andrey Lvovitch, and I also want to be your
friend."

Then the prince was quite cheered up, and his face brightened. "Confess
now," said he, "if Rozanof hadn't called me a fool that time in the
Yar, you wouldn't have fallen in love with him?"

She only smiled.

"That's very probable," said she.

Then, in another week, something else happened. Prince Andrey came in
one day, dull and absent-minded. He spoke of one thing and another, but
always as if he had some persistent idea in the background. The artist,
who knew his character, asked what was the matter.

"Oh, nothing," said the prince.
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