by Edgar Allan Poe

THE chateau into which my valet had ventured forcible entrance, rather than permit me, in my desperately wounded condition, night open air, was one piles of commingled gloom and grandeur frowned Appennines, not less than fancy of Mrs Radcliffe To all appearance it temporarily and very lately abandoned We established ourselves in smallest and least sumptuously furnished apartments It lay in remote turret building Its decorations were rich, yet tattered and antique Its walls were hung with tapestry and bedecked with manifold and multiform armorial trophies, together with an unusually great number of very spirited modern paintings in frames of rich golden arabesque paintings, which depended walls in their main surfaces, but in nooks which the bizarre architecture chateau rendered necessary -- paintings my incipient delirium, perhaps, had caused me deep interest; I bade Pedro to close the heavy shutters room -- since already night -- to light the tongues of tall candelabrum which stood head bed -- and to throw open far and wide the fringed curtains of black velvet which enveloped the bed itself I wished all this done that resign myself, to sleep, alternately contemplation pictures, perusal of small volume which found pillow, and which purported to criticise and describe them

Long -- long -- and devoutly, devotedly I gazed Rapidly and gloriously the hours flew by deep midnight came The position candelabrum displeased me, and outreaching my hand with difficulty, rather than disturb my slumbering valet, I placed it so throw its rays more fully book

But the action produced an effect altogether unanticipated The rays numerous candles (for there were many) now fell within niche room which had hitherto been thrown into deep shade by bed-posts I thus saw in vivid light picture all unnoticed before It portrait of young girl just ripening into womanhood I glanced painting hurriedly, and then closed my eyes Why not at first apparent even to my own perception But while my lids remained thus shut, I ran over in my mind my reason for so shutting them an impulsive movement to gain time for thought -- sure that my vision deceived me -- to calm and subdue my fancy for more sober and more certain gaze In very I again looked fixedly painting

That I now saw aright and doubt; first flashing candles upon that canvas had seemed to dissipate the dreamy stupor stealing over my senses, and to startle me at once into waking life

The portrait, already said, of young girl mere head and shoulders, done in technically termed vignette manner; much style favorite heads of Sully The arms, the bosom, and even the ends radiant hair melted imperceptibly vague yet deep shadow which formed the back-ground whole The frame was oval, richly gilded and filigreed in Moresque As thing of art nothing more admirable painting itself But it neither the execution work, nor the immortal beauty countenance, which had so suddenly and so vehemently moved me Least of all, could it that my fancy, shaken from its half slumber, had mistaken the head of living person at once peculiarities design, vignetting, and frame, instantly dispelled such idea -- prevented even its momentary entertainment Thinking earnestly upon these points, I remained, for an hour perhaps, half sitting, half reclining, with my vision riveted portrait , satisfied true secret effect, I fell back bed I had found the spell picture in an absolute life-likeliness of expression, which, at first startling, finally confounded, subdued, and appalled me With deep and reverent awe I replaced the candelabrum in its former position The cause deep agitation being thus shut from view, I sought eagerly the volume which discussed the paintings and their histories Turning number which designated the oval portrait, I there read the vague and quaint words which follow:

"She was maiden of rarest beauty, and not more lovely than full of glee And evil hour when she saw, and loved, and wedded the painter He, passionate, studious, austere, and having already bride Art; she maiden of rarest beauty, and not more lovely than full of glee; all light and smiles, and frolicsome young fawn; loving and cherishing all things; hating only the Art her rival; dreading only the pallet and brushes and other untoward instruments which deprived her countenance of her lover thus terrible thing lady to hear the painter speak desire to portray even his young bride But she was humble and obedient, and sat meekly for many weeks dark, high turret-chamber where the light dripped pale canvas only from overhead But he, the painter, took glory work, which went on from hour to hour, and from day to day And passionate, and wild, and moody man, who became lost in reveries; see light which fell so ghastly lone turret withered the health spirits bride, who pined visibly to all but him Yet she smiled on and still on, uncomplainingly, because she saw painter (who had high renown) took fervid and burning pleasure task, and wrought day and night to depict her who so loved him, yet who grew daily more dispirited and weak And in sooth some who beheld the portrait spoke resemblance in low words, as of mighty marvel, and proof not less power painter than deep love for her whom he depicted so surpassingly well But , labor drew nearer to its conclusion, there were admitted none turret; painter had grown wild ardor work, and turned his eyes from canvas merely, even to regard the countenance wife And see tints which he spread canvas were drawn cheeks of her who sate beside him And when many weeks bad passed, and but little remained , save one brush mouth and one tint eye, the spirit lady again flickered up flame socket lamp And then the brush was given, and then the tint was placed; and, moment, the painter stood entranced work which he had wrought; but next, while he yet gazed, he grew tremulous and very pallid, and aghast, and crying with loud voice, ' indeed Life itself ! ' turned suddenly to regard his beloved: -- She was dead ! "