the works of edgar allan poe-1-第66章
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to the left； and we are whirling dizzily； in immense concentric
circles； round and round the borders of a gigantic amphitheatre； the
summit of whose walls is lost in the darkness and the distance。 But
little time will be left me to ponder upon my destiny the circles
rapidly grow small we are plunging madly within the grasp of the
whirlpool and amid a roaring； and bellowing； and thundering of
ocean and of tempest； the ship is quivering； oh God！ and going
down。
NOTE。 The 〃MS。 Found in a Bottle；〃 was originally published in
1831； and it was not until many years afterwards that I became
acquainted with the maps of Mercator； in which the ocean is
represented as rushing； by four mouths； into the （northern） Polar
Gulf； to be absorbed into the bowels of the earth； the Pole itself
being represented by a black rock； towering to a prodigious height。
~~~ End of Text ~~~
The Oval Portrait
THE chateau into which my valet had ventured to make forcible
entrance； rather than permit me； in my desperately wounded condition；
to pass a night in the open air； was one of those piles of commingled
gloom and grandeur which have so long frowned among the Appennines；
not less in fact than in the fancy of Mrs。 Radcliffe。 To all
appearance it had been temporarily and very lately abandoned。 We
established ourselves in one of the smallest and least sumptuously
furnished apartments。 It lay in a remote turret of the 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。 In these
paintings； which depended from the walls not only in their main
surfaces； but in very many nooks which the bizarre architecture of
the chateau rendered necessary in these paintings my incipient
delirium； perhaps； had caused me to take deep interest； so that I
bade Pedro to close the heavy shutters of the room since it was
already night to light the tongues of a tall candelabrum which
stood by the head of my 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 I might resign myself； if not to sleep； at
least alternately to the contemplation of these pictures； and the
perusal of a small volume which had been found upon the pillow； and
which purported to criticise and describe them。
Long long I read and devoutly； devotedly I gazed。 Rapidly and
gloriously the hours flew by and the deep midnight came。 The position
of the candelabrum displeased me； and outreaching my hand with
difficulty； rather than disturb my slumbering valet； I placed it so
as to throw its rays more fully upon the book。
But the action produced an effect altogether unanticipated。 The rays
of the numerous candles （for there were many） now fell within a niche
of the room which had hitherto been thrown into deep shade by one of
the bed…posts。 I thus saw in vivid light a picture all unnoticed
before。 It was the portrait of a young girl just ripening into
womanhood。 I glanced at the painting hurriedly； and then closed my
eyes。 Why I did this was 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。 It was an impulsive movement to
gain time for thought to make sure that my vision had not deceived
me to calm and subdue my fancy for a more sober and more certain
gaze。 In a very few moments I again looked fixedly at the painting。
That I now saw aright I could not and would not doubt； for the first
flashing of the candles upon that canvas had seemed to dissipate the
dreamy stupor which was stealing over my senses； and to startle me at
once into waking life。
The portrait； I have already said； was that of a young girl。 It was a
mere head and shoulders； done in what is technically termed a
vignette manner； much in the style of the favorite heads of Sully。
The arms； the bosom； and even the ends of the radiant hair melted
imperceptibly into the vague yet deep shadow which formed the
back…ground of the whole。 The frame was oval； richly gilded and
filigreed in Moresque。 As a thing of art nothing could be more
admirable than the painting itself。 But it could have been neither
the execution of the work； nor the immortal beauty of the
countenance； which had so suddenly and so vehemently moved me。 Least
of all； could it have been that my fancy； shaken from its half
slumber； had mistaken the head for that of a living person。 I saw at
once that the peculiarities of the design； of the vignetting； and of
the frame； must have instantly dispelled such idea must have
prevented even its momentary entertainment。 Thinking earnestly upon
these points； I remained； for an hour perhaps； half sitting； half
reclining； with my vision riveted upon the portrait。 At length；
satisfied with the true secret of its effect； I fell back within the
bed。 I had found the spell of the 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 of my deep
agitation being thus shut from view； I sought eagerly the volume
which discussed the paintings and their histories。 Turning to the
number which designated the oval portrait； I there read the vague and
quaint words which follow：
〃She was a maiden of rarest beauty； and not more lovely than full of
glee。 And evil was the hour when she saw； and loved； and wedded the
painter。 He； passionate； studious； austere； and having already a
bride in his Art； she a maiden of rarest beauty； and not more lovely
than full of glee； all light and smiles； and frolicsome as the young
fawn； loving and cherishing all things； hating only the Art which was
her rival； dreading only the pallet and brushes and other untoward
instruments which deprived her of the countenance of her lover。 It
was thus a terrible thing for this lady to hear the painter speak of
his desire to portray even his young bride。 But she was humble and
obedient； and sat meekly for many weeks in the dark； high
turret…chamber where the light dripped upon the pale canvas only from
overhead。 But he； the painter； took glory in his work； which went on
from hour to hour； and from day to day。 And be was a passionate； and
wild； and moody man； who became lost in reveries； so that he would
not see that the light which fell so ghastly in that lone turret
withered the health and the spirits of his bride； who pined visibly
to all but him。 Yet she smiled on and still on； uncomplainingly；
because she saw that the painter （who had high renown） took a fervid
and burning pleasure in his 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 of its resemblance in
low words； as of a mighty marvel； and a proof not less of the power
of the painter than of his deep love for her whom he depicted so
surpassingly well。 But at length； as the labor drew nearer to its
conclusion； there were admitted none into the turret； for the painter
had grown wild with the ardor of his work； and turned his eyes from
canvas merely； even to regard the countenance of his wife。 And he
would not see that the tints which he spread upon the canvas were
drawn from the cheeks of her who sate beside him。 And when many weeks
bad passed； and but little remained to do； save one brush upon the
mouth and one tint upon the eye； the spirit of the lady again
flickered up as the flame within the socket of the lamp。 And then the
brush was given； and then the tint was placed； and； for one moment；
the painter stood entranced before the work which he had wrought； but
in the next； while he yet gazed； he grew tremulous and very pallid；
and aghast； and crying with a loud voice； 'This is indeed Life
itself！' turned suddenly to regard h
