at 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 pure--desert it not. You have talent: talent is the most priceless
of God's gifts--destroy 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
passion--not 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--' He paused, and I observed that his bright face
darkened, as though some cloud crossed it for a moment. 'There is one
incident of my life,' he said. 'Up to this moment, I cannot understand
what that terrible being was of whom I painted a likeness. It was
certainly some diabolical apparition. I know that the world denies the
existence of the Devil, and therefore I will not spea