the works of edgar allan poe-1-第59节

按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！


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　his　beloved：　　She　was　dead！





End　of　The　Works　of　Edgar　Allan　Poe　V。　1