In it were ducats, all new, and bright as fire.Almost beside himself, he sat down beside the pile of gold, still asking himself, "Is not this all a dream?" There were just a thousand in the roll, the exterior of which was precisely like what he had seen in his dream.He turned them over, and looked at them for some minutes.His imagination recalled up all the tales he had heard of hidden hoards, cabinets with secret drawers, left by ancestors for their spendthrift descendants, with firm belief in the extravagance of their life.He pondered this:
"Did not some grandfather, in the present instance, leave a gift for his grandchild, shut up in the frame of a family portrait?" Filled with romantic fancies, he began to think whether this had not some secret connection with his fate? whether the existence of the portrait was not bound up with his own, and whether his acquisition of it was not due to a kind of predestination?
He began to examine the frame with curiosity.On one side a cavity was hollowed out, but concealed so skilfully and neatly by a little board, that, if the massive hand of the constable had not effected a breach, the ducats might have remained hidden to the end of time.On examining the portrait, he marvelled again at the exquisite workmanship, the extraordinary treatment of the eyes.They no longer appeared terrible to him; but, nevertheless, each time he looked at them a disagreeable feeling involuntarily lingered in his mind.
"No," he said to himself, "no matter whose grandfather you were, I'll put a glass over you, and get you a gilt frame." Then he laid his hand on the golden pile before him, and his heart beat faster at the touch.
"What shall I do with them?" he said, fixing his eyes on them."Now Iam independent for at least three years: I can shut myself up in my room and work.I have money for colours now; for food and lodging--no one will annoy and disturb me now.I will buy myself a first-class lay figure, I will order a plaster torso, and some model feet, I will have a Venus.I will buy engravings of the best pictures.And if I work three years to satisfy myself, without haste or with the idea of selling, I shall surpass all, and may become a distinguished artist."Thus he spoke in solitude, with his good judgment prompting him; but louder and more distinct sounded another voice within him.As he glanced once more at the gold, it was not thus that his twenty-two years and fiery youth reasoned.Now everything was within his power on which he had hitherto gazed with envious eyes, had viewed from afar with longing.How his heart beat when he thought of it! To wear a fashionable coat, to feast after long abstinence, to hire handsome apartments, to go at once to the theatre, to the confectioner's, to...other places; and seizing his money, he was in the street in a moment.
First of all he went to the tailor, was clothed anew from head to foot, and began to look at himself like a child.He purchased perfumes and pomades; hired the first elegant suite of apartments with mirrors and plateglass windows which he came across in the Nevsky Prospect, without haggling about the price; bought, on the impulse of the moment, a costly eye-glass; bought, also on the impulse, a number of neckties of every description, many more than he needed; had his hair curled at the hairdresser's; rode through the city twice without any object whatever; ate an immense quantity of sweetmeats at the confectioner's; and went to the French Restaurant, of which he had heard rumours as indistinct as though they had concerned the Empire of China.There he dined, casting proud glances at the other visitors, and continually arranging his curls in the glass.There he drank a bottle of champagne, which had been known to him hitherto only by hearsay.The wine rather affected his head; and he emerged into the street, lively, pugnacious, and ready to raise the Devil, according to the Russian expression.He strutted along the pavement, levelling his eye-glass at everybody.On the bridge he caught sight of his former professor, and slipped past him neatly, as if he did not see him, so that the astounded professor stood stock-still on the bridge for a long time, with a face suggestive of a note of interrogation.
All his goods and chattels, everything he owned, easels, canvas, pictures, were transported that same evening to his elegant quarters.
He arranged the best of them in conspicuous places, threw the worst into a corner, and promenaded up and down the handsome rooms, glancing constantly in the mirrors.An unconquerable desire to take the bull by the horns, and show himself to the world at once, had arisen in his mind.He already heard the shouts, "Tchartkoff! Tchartkoff! Tchartkoff paints! What talent Tchartkoff has!" He paced the room in a state of rapture.
