The Vizier of the Two-Horned Alexander | Page 9

place a century or two before."
"Then you never had your portrait painted," I remarked.
"Oh, yes, I have," he replied. "Toward the close of the thirteenth
century I was living in Florence, being at that time married to a lady of
wealthy family, and she insisted upon my having my portrait painted by
Cimabue, who, as you know, was the master of Giotto. After my wife's
death I departed from Florence, leaving behind me the impression that I
intended soon to return; and I would have been glad to take the portrait
with me, but I had no opportunity. It was in 1503 that I went back to
Florence, and as soon as I could I visited the stately mansion where I
had once lived, and there in the gallery still hung the portrait. This was
an unsatisfactory discovery, for I might wish at some future time to
settle again in Florence, and I had hoped that the portrait had faded, or
that it had been destroyed; but Cimabue painted too well, and his work
was then held in high value, without regard to his subject. Finding
myself entirely alone in the gallery, I cut that picture from its frame. I
concealed it under my cloak, and when I reached my lodging I utterly
destroyed it. I did not feel that I was committing any crime in doing
this; I had ordered and paid for the painting, and I felt that I had a right
to do what I pleased with it."
"I don't see how you can help having your picture taken in these days,"
I said; "even if you refuse to go to a photographer's, you can't escape
the kodak people. You have a striking presence."

"Oh, I can't get away from photographers," he answered. "I have had a
number of pictures taken, at the request of my wife and other people. It
is impossible to avoid it, and that is one of the reasons why I am now
telling you my story. What is the other point about which you wished to
ask me?"
"I cannot comprehend," I answered, "how you should ever have found
yourself poor and obliged to work. I should say that a man who had
lived so long would have accumulated, in one way or another, immense
wealth, inexhaustible treasures."
[Illustration: "'I CUT THAT PICTURE FROM ITS FRAME.'"]
"Oh, yes," said he, with a smile; "Monte Cristo, and all that sort of
thing. Your notion is a perfectly natural one, but I assure you, Mr.
Randolph, that it is founded upon a mistake. Over and over and over
again I have amassed wealth; but I have not been able to retain it
permanently, and often I have suffered for the very necessaries of life. I
have been hungry, knowing that I could never starve. The explanation
of this state of things is simple enough: I would trade; I would
speculate; I would marry an heiress; I would become rich; for many
years I would enjoy my possessions. Then the time would come when
people said: 'Who owns these houses?' 'To whom belongs this money in
the banks?' 'These properties were purchased in our great-grandfathers'
times; the accounts in the banks were opened long before our oldest
citizens were born. Who is it who is making out leases and drawing
checks?' I have employed all sorts of subterfuges in order to retain my
property, but I have always found that to prove my continued identity I
should have to acknowledge my immortality; and in that case, of course,
I should have been adjudged a lunatic, and everything would have been
taken from me. So I generally managed, before the time arrived when it
was actually necessary for me to do so, to turn my property, as far as
possible, into money, and establish myself in some other place as a
stranger. But there were times when I was obliged to hurry from my
home and take nothing with me. Then I knew misery.
"It was during the period of one of my greatest depressions that I met
with a monk who was afterward St. Bruno, and I joined the Carthusian

monastery which he founded in Calabria. In the midst of their
asceticism, their seclusion, and their silence I hoped that I might be
asked no questions, and need tell no lies; I hoped that I might be
allowed to live as long as I pleased without disturbance; but I found no
such immunity. When Bruno died, and his successor had followed him
into the grave, it was proposed that I should be the next prior; but this
would not have suited me at all. I had employed all my time in
engrossing books, but the duties of a prior were not for me, so I