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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/9204-0.txt b/9204-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..ce9926d --- /dev/null +++ b/9204-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,955 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Prophetic Pictures (From “Twice Told +Tales”), by Nathaniel Hawthorne + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Prophetic Pictures (From “Twice Told Tales”) + +Author: Nathaniel Hawthorne + +Release Date: November, 2005 [EBook #9204] +First Posted: August 23, 2003 +Last Updated: December 14, 2016 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PROPHETIC PICTURES *** + + + + +Produced by David Widger + + + + + + + + + + TWICE TOLD TALES + + THE PROPHETIC PICTURES + + By Nathaniel Hawthorne + + +[This story was suggested by an anecdote of Stuart, related in Dunlap’s +History of the Arts of Design,--a most entertaining book to the general +reader, and a deeply interesting one, we should think, to the artist.] + + +“But this painter!” cried Walter Ludlow, with animation. “He not only +excels in his peculiar art, but possesses vast acquirements in all other +learning and science. He talks Hebrew with Dr. Mather, and gives +lectures in anatomy to Dr. Boylston. In a word, he will meet the best +instructed man among us, on his own ground. Moreover, he is a polished +gentleman,--a citizen of the world,--yes, a true cosmopolite; for he will +speak like a native of each clime and country on the globe, except our +own forests, whither he is now going. Nor is all this what I most admire +in him.” + +“Indeed!” said Elinor, who had listened with a woman’s interest to the +description of such a man. “Yet this is admirable enough.” + +“Surely it is,” replied her lover, “but far less so than his natural gift +of adapting himself to every variety of character, insomuch that all +men--and all women too, Elinor--shall find a mirror of themselves in this +wonderful painter. But the greatest wonder is yet to be told.” + +“Nay, if he have more wonderful attributes than these,” said Elinor, +laughing, “Boston is a perilous abode for the poor gentleman. Are you +telling one of a painter, or a wizard?” + +“In truth,” answered he, “that question might be asked much more +seriously than you suppose. They say that he paints not merely a man’s +features, but his mind and heart. He catches the secret sentiments and +passions, and throws them upon the canvas, like sunshine,--or perhaps, in +the portraits of dark-souled men, like a gleans of infernal fire. It is +an awful gift,” added Walter, lowering his voice from its tone of +enthusiasm. “I shall be almost afraid to sit to him.” + +“Walter, are you in earnest?” exclaimed Elinor. + +“For Heaven’s sake, dearest Elinor, do not let him paint the look which +you now wear,” said her lover, smiling, though rather perplexed. “There: +it is passing away now, but when you spoke, you seemed frightened to +death, and very sad besides. What were you thinking of?” + +“Nothing, nothing,” answered Elinor, hastily. “You paint my face with +your own fantasies. Well, come for me to-morrow, and we will visit this +wonderful artist.” + +But when the young man had departed, it cannot be denied that a +remarkable expression was again visible on the fair and youthful face of +his mistress. It was a sad and anxious look, little in accordance with +what should have been the feelings of a maiden on the eve of wedlock. +Yet Walter Ludlow was the chosen of her heart. + +“A look!” said Elinor to herself. “No wonder that it startled him, if it +expressed what I sometimes feel. I know, by my own experience, how +frightful a look may be. But it was all fancy. I thought nothing of it +at the time,--I have seen nothing of it since,--I did but dream it.” + +And she busied herself about the embroidery of a ruff, in which she meant +that her portrait should be taken. + +The painter, of whom they had been speaking, was not one of those native +artists, who, at a later period than this, borrowed their colors from the +Indians, and manufactured their pencils of the furs of wild beasts. +Perhaps, if he could have revoked his life and prearranged his destiny, +he might have chosen to belong to that school without a master, in the +hope of being at least original, since there were no works of art to +imitate, nor rules to follow. But he had been born and educated in +Europe. People said, that he had studied the grandeur or beauty of +conception, and every touch of the master hand, in all the most famous +pictures, in cabinets and galleries, and on the walls of churches, till +there was nothing more for his powerful mind to learn. + +Art could add nothing to its lessons, but Nature might. He had therefore +visited a world, whither none of his professional brethren had preceded +him, to feast his eyes on visible images, that were noble and +picturesque, yet had never been transferred to canvas. America was too +poor to afford other temptations to an artist of eminence, though many of +the colonial gentry, on the painter’s arrival, had expressed a wish to +transmit their lineaments to posterity, by means of his skill. Whenever +such proposals were made, he fixed his piercing eyes on the applicant, +and seemed to look him through and through. If he beheld only a sleek +and comfortable visage, though there were a gold-laced coat to adorn the +picture, and golden guineas to pay for it, he civilly rejected the task +and the reward. But if the face were the index of anything uncommon, in +thought, sentiment, or experience; or if he met a beggar in the street, +with a white beard and a furrowed brow; or if sometimes a child happened +to look up and smile; he would exhaust all the art on them, that he +denied to wealth. + +Pictorial skill being so rare in the colonies, the painter became an +object of general curiosity. If few or none could appreciate the +technical merit of his productions, yet there were points in regard to +which the opinion of the crowd was as valuable as the refined judgment of +the amateur. He watched the effect that each picture produced on such +untutored beholders, and derived profit from their remarks, while they +would as soon have thought of instructing Nature herself, as him who +seemed to rival her. Their admiration, it must be owned, was tinctured +with the prejudices of the age and country. Some deemed it an offence +against the Mosaic law, and even a presumptuous mockery of the Creator, +to bring into existence such lively images of his creatures. Others, +frightened at the art which could raise phantoms at will, and keep the +form of the dead among the living, were inclined to consider the painter +as a magician, or perhaps the famous Black Man, of old witch times, +plotting mischief in a new guise. These foolish fancies were more than +half believed among the mob. Even in superior circles, his character was +invested with a vague awe, partly rising like smoke-wreaths from the +popular superstitious, but chiefly caused by the varied knowledge and +talents which he made subservient to his profession. + +Being on the eve of marriage, Walter Ludlow and Elinor were eager to +obtain their portraits, as the first of what, they doubtless hoped, would +be a long series of family pictures. The day after the conversation +above recorded, they visited the painter’s rooms. A servant ushered them +into an apartment, where, though the artist himself was not visible, +there were personages whom they could hardly forbear greeting with +reverence. They knew, indeed, that the whole assembly were but pictures, +yet felt it impossible to separate the idea of life and intellect from +such striking counterfeits. Several of the portraits were known to them, +either as distinguished characters of the day, or their private +acquaintances. There was Governor Burnett, looking as if he had just +received an undutiful communication from the House of Representatives, +and were inditing a most sharp response. Mr. Cooke hung beside the ruler +whom he opposed, sturdy, and somewhat puritanical, as befitted a popular +leader. The ancient lady of Sir William Phipps eyed them from the wall, +in ruff and farthingale, an imperious old dame, not unsuspected of +witchcraft. John Winslow, then a very young man, wore the expression of +warlike enterprise, which long afterwards made him a distinguished +general. Their personal friends were recognized at a glance. In most of +the pictures, the whole mind and character were brought out on the +countenance, and concentrated into a single look, so that, to speak +paradoxically, the originals hardly resembled themselves so strikingly as +the portraits did. + +Among these modern worthies, there were two old bearded saints, who had +almost vanished into the darkening canvas. There was also a pale, but +unfaded Madonna, who had perhaps been worshipped in Rome, and now +regarded the lovers with such a mild and holy look, that they longed to +worship too. + +“How singular a thought,” observed Walter Ludlow, “that this beautiful +face has been beautiful for above two hundred years! O, if all beauty +would endure so well! Do you not envy her, Elinor?” + +“If earth were heaven, I might,” she replied. “But where all things +fade, how miserable to be the one that could not fade!” + +“This dark old St. Peter has a fierce and ugly scowl, saint though he +be,” continued Walter. “He troubles me. But the Virgin looks kindly at +us.” + +“Yes; but very sorrowfully, methinks,” said Elinor. + +The easel stood beneath these three old pictures, sustaining one that had +been recently commenced. After a little inspection, they began to +recognize the features of their own minister, the Rev. Dr. Colman, +growing into shape and life, as it were, out of a cloud. + +“Kind old man!” exclaimed Elinor. “He gazes at me, as if he were about +to utter a word of paternal advice.” + +“And at me,” said Walter, “as if he were about to shake his head and +rebuke me for some suspected iniquity. But so does the original. I +shall never feel quite comfortable under his eye, till we stand before +him to be married.” + +They now heard a footstep on the floor, and turning, beheld the painter, +who had been some moments in the room, and had listened to a few of their +remarks. He was a middle-aged man, with a countenance well worthy of his +own pencil. Indeed, by the picturesque, though careless arrangement of +his rich dress, and, perhaps, because his soul dwelt always among painted +shapes, he looked somewhat like a portrait himself. His visitors were +sensible of a kindred between the artist and his works, and felt as if +one of the pictures had stepped from the canvas to salute them. + +Walter Ludlow, who was slightly known to the painter, explained the +object of their visit. While he spoke, a sunbeam was falling athwart his +figure and Elinor’s, with so happy an effect, that they also seemed +living pictures of youth and beauty, gladdened by bright fortune. The +artist was evidently struck. + +“My easel is occupied for several ensuing days, and my stay in Boston +must be brief,” said he, thoughtfully; then, after an observant glance, +he added, “but your wishes shall be gratified, though I disappoint the +Chief Justice and Madam Oliver. I must not lose this opportunity, for +the sake of painting a few ells of broadcloth and brocade.” + +The painter expressed a desire to introduce both their portraits into one +picture, and represent them engaged in some appropriate action. This +plan would have delighted the lovers, but was necessarily rejected, +because so large a space of canvas would have been unfit for the room +which it was intended to decorate. Two half-length portraits were +therefore fixed upon. After they had taken leave, Walter Ludlow asked +Elinor, with a smile, whether she knew what an influence over their fates +the painter was about to acquire. + +“The old women of Boston affirm,” continued he, “that after he has once +got possession of a person’s face and figure, he may paint him in any act +or situation whatever,--and the picture will be prophetic. Do you +believe it?” + +“Not quite,” said Elinor, smiling. “Yet if he has such magic, there is +something so gentle in his manner, that I am sure he will use it well.” + +It was the painter’s choice to proceed with both the portraits at the +same time, assigning as a reason, in the mystical language which he +sometimes used, that the faces threw light upon each other. Accordingly, +he gave now a touch to Walter, and now to Elinor, and the features of one +and the other began to start forth so vividly, that it appeared as if his +triumphant art would actually disengage them from the canvas. Amid the +rich light and deep shade, they beheld their phantom selves. But, though +the likeness promised to be perfect, they were not quite satisfied with +the expression; it seemed more vague than in most of the painter’s works. +He, however, was satisfied with the prospect of success, and being much +interested in the lovers, employed his leisure moments, unknown to them, +in making a crayon sketch of their two figures. During their sittings, +he engaged them in conversation, and kindled up their faces with +characteristic traits, which, though continually varying, it was his +purpose to combine and fix. At length he announced, that at their next +visit both the portraits would be ready for delivery. + +“If my pencil will but be true to my conception, in the few last touches +which I meditate,” observed he, “these two pictures will be my very best +performances. Seldom, indeed, has an artist such subjects.” + +While speaking, he still bent his penetrative eye upon them, nor withdrew +it till they had reached the bottom of the stairs. + +Nothing, in the whole circle of human vanities, takes stronger hold of +the imagination, than this affair of having a portrait painted. Yet why +should it be so? The looking-glass, the polished globes of the andirons, +the mirror-like water, and all other reflecting surfaces, continually +present us with portraits, or rather ghosts, of ourselves, which we +glance at, and straightway forget them. But we forget them, only because +they vanish. It is the idea of duration--of earthly immortality--that +gives such a mysterious interest to our own portraits. Walter and Elinor +were not insensible to this feeling, and hastened to the painter’s room, +punctually at the appointed hour, to meet those pictured shapes, which +were to be their representatives with posterity. The sunshine flashed +after them into the apartment, but left it somewhat gloomy, as they +closed the door. + +Their eyes were immediately attracted to their portraits, which rested +against the farthest wall of the room. At the first glance, through the +dim light and the distance, seeing themselves in precisely their natural +attitudes, and with all the air that they recognized so well, they +uttered a simultaneous exclamation of delight. + +“There we stand,” cried Walter, “enthusiastically, fixed in sunshine +forever! No dark passions can gather on our faces!” + +“No,” said Elinor, more calmly; “no dreary change can sadden us.” + +This was said while they were approaching, and had yet gained only an +imperfect view of the pictures. The painter, after saluting them, busied +himself at a table in completing a crayon sketch, leaving his visitors to +form their own judgment as to his perfected labors. At intervals, he +sent a glance from beneath his deep eyebrows, watching their countenances +in profile, with his pencil suspended over the sketch. They had now +stood some moments, each in front of the other’s picture, contemplating +it with entranced attention, but without uttering a word. At length, +Walter stepped forward,--then back,--viewing Elinor’s portrait in various +lights, and finally spoke. + +“Is there not a change?” said he, in a doubtful and meditative tone. +“Yes; the perception of it grows more vivid, the longer I look. It is +certainly the same picture that I saw yesterday; the dress,--the +features,--all are the same; and yet something is altered.” + +“Is then the picture less like than it was yesterday?” inquired the +painter, now drawing near, with irrepressible interest. + +“The features are perfect, Elinor,” answered Walter, “and, at the first +glance, the expression seemed also hers. But, I could fancy that the +portrait has changed countenance, while I have been looking at it. The +eyes are fixed on mine with a strangely sad and anxious expression. Nay, +it is grief and terror! Is this like Elinor?” + +“Compare the living face with the pictured one,” said the painter. + +Walter glanced sidelong at his mistress, and started. Motionless and +absorbed--fascinated as it were--in contemplation of Walter’s portrait, +Elinor’s face had assumed precisely the expression of which he had just +been complaining. Had she practised for whole hours before a mirror, she +could not have caught the look so successfully. Had the picture itself +been a mirror, it could not have thrown back her present aspect, with +stronger and more melancholy truth. She appeared quite unconscious of +the dialogue between the artist and her lover. + +“Elinor,” exclaimed Walter, in amazement, “what change has come over +you?” + +She did not hear him, nor desist from her fixed gaze, till he seized her +hand, and thus attracted her notice; then, with a sudden tremor, she +looked from the picture to the face of the original. + +“Do you see no change in your portrait?” asked she. + +“In mine?--None!” replied Walter, examining it. “But let me see! Yes; +there is a slight change,--an improvement, I think, in the picture, +though none in the likeness. It has a livelier expression than +yesterday, as if some bright thought were flashing from the eyes, and +about to be uttered from the lips. Now that I have caught the look, +it becomes very decided.” + +While he was intent on these observations, Elinor turned to the painter. +She regarded him with grief and awe, and felt that he repaid her with +sympathy and commiseration, though wherefore she could but vaguely guess. + +“That look!” whispered she, and shuddered. “How came it there?” + +“Madam,” said the painter, sadly, taking her hand, and leading her +apart, “in both these pictures, I have painted what I saw. The +artist--the true artist--must look beneath the exterior. It is his +gift--his proudest but often a melancholy one--to see the inmost soul, +and by a power indefinable even to himself to make it glow or darken +upon the canvas, in glances that express the thought and sentiment of +years. Would that I might convince myself of error in the present +instance!” + +They had now approached the table, on which were heads in chalk, hands +almost as expressive as ordinary faces, ivied church-towers, thatched +cottages, old thunder-stricken trees, Oriental and antique costume, and +all such picturesque vagaries of an artist’s idle moments. Turning them +over, with seeming carelessness, a crayon sketch of two figures was +disclosed. + +“If I have failed,” continued he, “if your heart does not see itself +reflected in your own portrait, if you have no secret cause to trust my +delineation of the other, it is not yet too late to alter them. I might +change the action of these figures too. But would it influence the +event?” + +He directed her notice to the sketch. A thrill ran through Elinor’s +frame; a shriek was upon her lips; but she stifled it, with the +self-command that becomes habitual to all, who hide thoughts of fear and +anguish within their bosoms. Turning from the table, she perceived that +Walter had advanced near enough to have seen the sketch, though she could +not determine whether it had caught his eye. + +“We will not have the pictures altered,” said she, hastily. “If mine is +sad, I shall but look the gayer for the contrast.” + +“Be it so,” answered the painter, bowing. “May your griefs be such +fanciful ones, that only your picture may mourn for them! For your +joys,--may they be true and deep, and paint themselves upon this lovely +face till it quite belie my art!” + +After the marriage of Walter and Elinor, the pictures formed the two most +splendid ornaments of their abode. They hung side by side, separated by +a narrow panel, appearing to eye each other constantly, yet always +returning the gaze of the spectator. Travelled gentlemen, who professed +a knowledge of such subjects, reckoned these among the most admirable +specimens of modern portraiture; while common observers compared them +with the originals, feature by feature, and were rapturous in praise of +the likeness. But it was on a third class--neither travelled +connoisseurs nor common observers, but people of natural sensibility--that +the pictures wrought their strongest effect. Such persons might +gaze carelessly at first, but, becoming interested, would return day +after day, and study these painted faces like the pages of a mystic +volume. Walter Ludlow’s portrait attracted their earliest notice. In +the absence of himself and his bride, they sometimes disputed as to the +expression which the painter had intended to throw upon the features; all +agreeing that there was a look of earnest import, though no two explained +it alike. There was less diversity of opinion in regard to Elinor’s +picture. They differed, indeed, in their attempts to estimate the nature +and depth of the gloom that dwelt upon her face, but agreed that it was +gloom, and alien from the natural temperament of their youthful friend. +A certain fanciful person announced, as the result of much scrutiny, that +both these pictures were parts of one design, and that the melancholy +strength of feeling, in Elinor’s countenance, bore reference to the more +vivid emotion, or, as he termed it, the wild passion, in that of Walter. +Though unskilled in the art, he even began a sketch, in which the action +of the two figures was to correspond with their mutual expression. + +It was whispered among friends, that, day by day, Elinor’s face was +assuming a deeper shade of pensiveness, which threatened soon to render +her too true a counterpart of her melancholy picture. Walter, on the +other hand, instead of acquiring the vivid look which the painter had +given him on the canvas, became reserved and downcast, with no outward +flashes of emotion, however it might be smouldering within. In course of +time, Elinor hung a gorgeous curtain of purple silk, wrought with +flowers, and fringed with heavy golden tassels, before the pictures, +under pretence that the dust would tarnish their lines, or the light din +them. It was enough. Her visitors felt, that the massive folds of the +silk must never be withdrawn, nor the portraits mentioned in her +presence. + +Time wore on; and the painter came again. He had been far enough to the +north to see the silver cascade of the Crystal Hills, and to look over +the vast round of cloud and forest, from the summit of New England’s +loftiest mountain. But he did not profane that scene by the mockery of +his art. He had also lain in a canoe on the bosom of Lake George, making +his soul the mirror of its loveliness and grandeur, till not a picture in +the Vatican was more vivid than his recollection. He had gone with the +Indian hunters to Niagara, and there, again, had flung his hopeless +pencil down the precipice, feeling that he could as soon paint the roar, +as aught else that goes to make up the wondrous cataract. In truth, it +was seldom his impulse to copy natural scenery, except as a framework for +the delineations of the human form and face, instinct with thought, +passion, or suffering. With store of such, his adventurous ramble had +enriched him; the stern dignity of Indian chiefs; the dusky loveliness of +Indian girls; the domestic life of wigwams; the stealthy march; the +battle beneath gloomy pine-trees; the frontier fortress with its +garrison; the anomaly of the old French partisan, bred in courts, but +grown gray in shaggy deserts;--such were the scenes and portraits that he +had sketched. The glow of perilous moments; flashes of wild feeling; +struggles of fierce power; love, hate, grief, frenzy; in a word, all the +worn-out heart of the old earth had been revealed to him under a new +form. His portfolio was filled with graphic illustrations of the volume +of his memory, which genius would transmute into its own substance, and +imbue with immortality. He felt that the deep wisdom in his art, which +he had sought so far, was found. + +But, amid stern or lovely nature, in the perils of the forest, or its +overwhelming peacefulness, still there had been two phantoms, the +companions of his way. Like all other men around whom an engrossing +purpose wreathes itself, he was insulated from the mass of human kind. +He had no aim,--no pleasure,--no sympathies,--but what were ultimately +connected with his art. + +Though gentle in manner, and upright in intent and fiction, he did not +possess kindly feelings; his heart was cold; no living creature could be +brought near enough to keep him warm. For these two beings, however, he +had felt, in its greatest intensity, the sort of interest which always +allied him to the subjects of his pencil. He had pried into their souls +with his keenest insight, and pictured the result upon their features, +with his utmost skill, so as barely to fall short of that standard which +no genius ever reached, his own severe conception. He had caught from +the duskiness of the future--at least, so he fancied--a fearful secret, +and had obscurely revealed it on the portraits. So much of himself--of +his imagination and all other powers--had been lavished on the study of +Walter and Elinor, that he almost regarded them as creations of his own, +like the thousands with which he had peopled the realms of Picture. +Therefore did they flit through the twilight of the woods, hover on the +mist of waterfalls, look forth from the mirror of the lake, nor melt away +in the noontide sun. They haunted his pictorial fancy, not as mockeries +of life, nor pale goblins of the dead, but in the guise of portraits, +each with the unalterable expression which his magic had evoked from the +caverns of the soul. He could not recross the Atlantic, till he had +again beheld the originals of those airy pictures. + +“O glorious Art!” thus mused the enthusiastic painter, as he trod the +street. “Thou art the image of the Creator’s own. The innumerable +forms, that wander in nothingness, start into being at thy beck. The +dead live again. Thou recallest them to their old scenes, and givest +their gray shadows the lustre of a better life, at once earthly and +immortal. Thou snatchest back the fleeting moments of History. With +thee, there is no Past; for, at thy touch, all that is great becomes +forever present; and illustrious men live through long ages, in the +visible performance of the very deeds which made thorn what they are. O +potent Art! as thou bringest the faintly revealed Past to stand in that +narrow strip of sunlight, which we call Now, canst thou summon the +shrouded Future to meet her there? Have I not achieved it? Am I not thy +Prophet?” + +Thus, with a proud, yet melancholy fervor, did he almost cry aloud, as he +passed through the toilsome street, among people that knew not of his +reveries, nor could understand nor care for them. It is not good for man +to cherish a solitary ambition. Unless there be those around him, by +whose example be may regulate himself, his thoughts, desires, and hopes +will become extravagant, and he the semblance, perhaps the reality, of a +madman. Reading other bosoms, with an acuteness almost preternatural, +the painter failed to see the disorder of his own. + +“And this should be the house,” said he, looking up and down the front, +before he knocked. “Heaven help my brains! That picture! Methinks it +will never vanish. Whether I look at the windows or the door, there it +is framed within them, painted strongly, and glowing in the richest +tints--the faces of the portraits--the figures and action of the sketch!” + +He knocked. + +“The Portraits! Are they within?” inquired he, of the domestic; then +recollecting himself,--“your master and mistress! Are they at home?” + +“They are, sir,” said the servant, adding, as he noticed that picturesque +aspect of which the painter could never divest himself, “and the +Portraits too!” + +The guest was admitted into a parlor, communicating by a central door +with an interior room of the same size. As the first apartment was +empty, he passed to the entrance of the second, within which his eyes +were greeted by those living personages, as well as their pictured +representatives, who had long been the objects of so singular an +interest. He involuntarily paused on the threshold. + +They had not perceived his approach. Walter and Elinor were standing +before the portraits, whence the former had just flung back the rich and +voluminous folds of the silken curtain, holding its golden tassel with +one hand, while the other grasped that of his bride. The pictures, +concealed for months, gleamed forth again in undiminished splendor, +appearing to throw a sombre light across the room, rather than to be +disclosed by a borrowed radiance. That of Elinor had been almost +prophetic. A pensiveness, and next a gentle sorrow, had successively +dwelt upon her countenance, deepening, with the lapse of time, into a +quiet anguish. A mixture of affright would now have made it the very +expression of the portrait. Walter’s face was moody and dull, or +animated only by fitful flashes, which left a heavier darkness for their +momentary illumination. He looked from Elinor to her portrait, and +thence to his own, in the contemplation of which he finally stood +absorbed. + +The painter seemed to hear the step of Destiny approaching behind him, on +its progress towards its victims. A strange thought darted into his +mind. Was not his own the form in which that destiny had embodied +itself, and he a chief agent of the coming evil which he had +foreshadowed? + +Still, Walter remained silent before the picture, communing with it, as +with his own heart, and abandoning himself to the spell of evil +influence, that the painter had cast upon the features. Gradually his +eyes kindled; while as Elinor watched the increasing wildness of his +face, her own assumed a look of terror; and when at last he turned upon +her, the resemblance of both to their portraits was complete. + +“Our fate is upon us!” howled Walter.--“Die!” + +Drawing a knife, he sustained her, as she was sinking to the ground, and +aimed it at her bosom. In the action and in the look and attitude of +each, the painter beheld the figures of his sketch. The picture, with +all its tremendous coloring, was finished. + +“Hold, madman!” cried he, sternly. + +He had advanced from the door, and interposed himself between the +wretched beings, with the same sense of power to regulate their destiny, +as to alter a scene upon the canvas. He stood like a magician, +controlling the phantoms which he had evoked. + +“What!” muttered Walter Ludlow, as he relapsed from fierce excitement +into silent gloom. “Does Fate impede its own decree?” + +“Wretched lady!” said the painter. “Did I not warn you?” + +“You did,” replied Elinor, calmly, as her terror gave place to the quiet +grief which it had disturbed. “But--I loved him!” + +Is there not a deep moral in the tale? Could the result of one, or all +our deeds, be shadowed forth and set before us, some would call it Fate, +and hurry onward, others be swept along by their passionate desires, and +none be turned aside by the PROPHETIC PICTURES. + + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Prophetic Pictures (From “Twice +Told Tales”), by Nathaniel Hawthorne + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PROPHETIC PICTURES *** + +***** This file should be named 9204-0.txt or 9204-0.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/9/2/0/9204/ + +Produced by David Widger + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Prophetic Pictures (From "Twice Told Tales") + +Author: Nathaniel Hawthorne + +Release Date: November, 2005 [EBook #9204] +First Posted: August 23, 2003 +Last Updated: December 14, 2016 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PROPHETIC PICTURES *** + + + + +Produced by David Widger + + + + + +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h3> + TWICE TOLD TALES<br /> + </h3> + <h2> + THE PROPHETIC PICTURES<br /> + </h2> + <h3> + By Nathaniel Hawthorne<br /> + </h3> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p class="noindent"> + [This story was suggested by an anecdote of Stuart, related in Dunlap’s + History of the Arts of Design,—a most entertaining book to the + general reader, and a deeply interesting one, we should think, to the + artist.] + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p> + “But this painter!” cried Walter Ludlow, with animation. “He not only + excels in his peculiar art, but possesses vast acquirements in all other + learning and science. He talks Hebrew with Dr. Mather, and gives lectures + in anatomy to Dr. Boylston. In a word, he will meet the best instructed + man among us, on his own ground. Moreover, he is a polished gentleman,—a + citizen of the world,—yes, a true cosmopolite; for he will speak + like a native of each clime and country on the globe, except our own + forests, whither he is now going. Nor is all this what I most admire in + him.” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed!” said Elinor, who had listened with a woman’s interest to the + description of such a man. “Yet this is admirable enough.” + </p> + <p> + “Surely it is,” replied her lover, “but far less so than his natural gift + of adapting himself to every variety of character, insomuch that all men—and + all women too, Elinor—shall find a mirror of themselves in this + wonderful painter. But the greatest wonder is yet to be told.” + </p> + <p> + “Nay, if he have more wonderful attributes than these,” said Elinor, + laughing, “Boston is a perilous abode for the poor gentleman. Are you + telling one of a painter, or a wizard?” + </p> + <p> + “In truth,” answered he, “that question might be asked much more seriously + than you suppose. They say that he paints not merely a man’s features, but + his mind and heart. He catches the secret sentiments and passions, and + throws them upon the canvas, like sunshine,—or perhaps, in the + portraits of dark-souled men, like a gleans of infernal fire. It is an + awful gift,” added Walter, lowering his voice from its tone of enthusiasm. + “I shall be almost afraid to sit to him.” + </p> + <p> + “Walter, are you in earnest?” exclaimed Elinor. + </p> + <p> + “For Heaven’s sake, dearest Elinor, do not let him paint the look which + you now wear,” said her lover, smiling, though rather perplexed. “There: + it is passing away now, but when you spoke, you seemed frightened to + death, and very sad besides. What were you thinking of?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing, nothing,” answered Elinor, hastily. “You paint my face with your + own fantasies. Well, come for me to-morrow, and we will visit this + wonderful artist.” + </p> + <p> + But when the young man had departed, it cannot be denied that a remarkable + expression was again visible on the fair and youthful face of his + mistress. It was a sad and anxious look, little in accordance with what + should have been the feelings of a maiden on the eve of wedlock. Yet + Walter Ludlow was the chosen of her heart. + </p> + <p> + “A look!” said Elinor to herself. “No wonder that it startled him, if it + expressed what I sometimes feel. I know, by my own experience, how + frightful a look may be. But it was all fancy. I thought nothing of it at + the time,—I have seen nothing of it since,—I did but dream + it.” + </p> + <p> + And she busied herself about the embroidery of a ruff, in which she meant + that her portrait should be taken. + </p> + <p> + The painter, of whom they had been speaking, was not one of those native + artists, who, at a later period than this, borrowed their colors from the + Indians, and manufactured their pencils of the furs of wild beasts. + Perhaps, if he could have revoked his life and prearranged his destiny, he + might have chosen to belong to that school without a master, in the hope + of being at least original, since there were no works of art to imitate, + nor rules to follow. But he had been born and educated in Europe. People + said, that he had studied the grandeur or beauty of conception, and every + touch of the master hand, in all the most famous pictures, in cabinets and + galleries, and on the walls of churches, till there was nothing more for + his powerful mind to learn. + </p> + <p> + Art could add nothing to its lessons, but Nature might. He had therefore + visited a world, whither none of his professional brethren had preceded + him, to feast his eyes on visible images, that were noble and picturesque, + yet had never been transferred to canvas. America was too poor to afford + other temptations to an artist of eminence, though many of the colonial + gentry, on the painter’s arrival, had expressed a wish to transmit their + lineaments to posterity, by means of his skill. Whenever such proposals + were made, he fixed his piercing eyes on the applicant, and seemed to look + him through and through. If he beheld only a sleek and comfortable visage, + though there were a gold-laced coat to adorn the picture, and golden + guineas to pay for it, he civilly rejected the task and the reward. But if + the face were the index of anything uncommon, in thought, sentiment, or + experience; or if he met a beggar in the street, with a white beard and a + furrowed brow; or if sometimes a child happened to look up and smile; he + would exhaust all the art on them, that he denied to wealth. + </p> + <p> + Pictorial skill being so rare in the colonies, the painter became an + object of general curiosity. If few or none could appreciate the technical + merit of his productions, yet there were points in regard to which the + opinion of the crowd was as valuable as the refined judgment of the + amateur. He watched the effect that each picture produced on such + untutored beholders, and derived profit from their remarks, while they + would as soon have thought of instructing Nature herself, as him who + seemed to rival her. Their admiration, it must be owned, was tinctured + with the prejudices of the age and country. Some deemed it an offence + against the Mosaic law, and even a presumptuous mockery of the Creator, to + bring into existence such lively images of his creatures. Others, + frightened at the art which could raise phantoms at will, and keep the + form of the dead among the living, were inclined to consider the painter + as a magician, or perhaps the famous Black Man, of old witch times, + plotting mischief in a new guise. These foolish fancies were more than + half believed among the mob. Even in superior circles, his character was + invested with a vague awe, partly rising like smoke-wreaths from the + popular superstitious, but chiefly caused by the varied knowledge and + talents which he made subservient to his profession. + </p> + <p> + Being on the eve of marriage, Walter Ludlow and Elinor were eager to + obtain their portraits, as the first of what, they doubtless hoped, would + be a long series of family pictures. The day after the conversation above + recorded, they visited the painter’s rooms. A servant ushered them into an + apartment, where, though the artist himself was not visible, there were + personages whom they could hardly forbear greeting with reverence. They + knew, indeed, that the whole assembly were but pictures, yet felt it + impossible to separate the idea of life and intellect from such striking + counterfeits. Several of the portraits were known to them, either as + distinguished characters of the day, or their private acquaintances. There + was Governor Burnett, looking as if he had just received an undutiful + communication from the House of Representatives, and were inditing a most + sharp response. Mr. Cooke hung beside the ruler whom he opposed, sturdy, + and somewhat puritanical, as befitted a popular leader. The ancient lady + of Sir William Phipps eyed them from the wall, in ruff and farthingale, an + imperious old dame, not unsuspected of witchcraft. John Winslow, then a + very young man, wore the expression of warlike enterprise, which long + afterwards made him a distinguished general. Their personal friends were + recognized at a glance. In most of the pictures, the whole mind and + character were brought out on the countenance, and concentrated into a + single look, so that, to speak paradoxically, the originals hardly + resembled themselves so strikingly as the portraits did. + </p> + <p> + Among these modern worthies, there were two old bearded saints, who had + almost vanished into the darkening canvas. There was also a pale, but + unfaded Madonna, who had perhaps been worshipped in Rome, and now regarded + the lovers with such a mild and holy look, that they longed to worship + too. + </p> + <p> + “How singular a thought,” observed Walter Ludlow, “that this beautiful + face has been beautiful for above two hundred years! O, if all beauty + would endure so well! Do you not envy her, Elinor?” + </p> + <p> + “If earth were heaven, I might,” she replied. “But where all things fade, + how miserable to be the one that could not fade!” + </p> + <p> + “This dark old St. Peter has a fierce and ugly scowl, saint though he be,” + continued Walter. “He troubles me. But the Virgin looks kindly at us.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; but very sorrowfully, methinks,” said Elinor. + </p> + <p> + The easel stood beneath these three old pictures, sustaining one that had + been recently commenced. After a little inspection, they began to + recognize the features of their own minister, the Rev. Dr. Colman, growing + into shape and life, as it were, out of a cloud. + </p> + <p> + “Kind old man!” exclaimed Elinor. “He gazes at me, as if he were about to + utter a word of paternal advice.” + </p> + <p> + “And at me,” said Walter, “as if he were about to shake his head and + rebuke me for some suspected iniquity. But so does the original. I shall + never feel quite comfortable under his eye, till we stand before him to be + married.” + </p> + <p> + They now heard a footstep on the floor, and turning, beheld the painter, + who had been some moments in the room, and had listened to a few of their + remarks. He was a middle-aged man, with a countenance well worthy of his + own pencil. Indeed, by the picturesque, though careless arrangement of his + rich dress, and, perhaps, because his soul dwelt always among painted + shapes, he looked somewhat like a portrait himself. His visitors were + sensible of a kindred between the artist and his works, and felt as if one + of the pictures had stepped from the canvas to salute them. + </p> + <p> + Walter Ludlow, who was slightly known to the painter, explained the object + of their visit. While he spoke, a sunbeam was falling athwart his figure + and Elinor’s, with so happy an effect, that they also seemed living + pictures of youth and beauty, gladdened by bright fortune. The artist was + evidently struck. + </p> + <p> + “My easel is occupied for several ensuing days, and my stay in Boston must + be brief,” said he, thoughtfully; then, after an observant glance, he + added, “but your wishes shall be gratified, though I disappoint the Chief + Justice and Madam Oliver. I must not lose this opportunity, for the sake + of painting a few ells of broadcloth and brocade.” + </p> + <p> + The painter expressed a desire to introduce both their portraits into one + picture, and represent them engaged in some appropriate action. This plan + would have delighted the lovers, but was necessarily rejected, because so + large a space of canvas would have been unfit for the room which it was + intended to decorate. Two half-length portraits were therefore fixed upon. + After they had taken leave, Walter Ludlow asked Elinor, with a smile, + whether she knew what an influence over their fates the painter was about + to acquire. + </p> + <p> + “The old women of Boston affirm,” continued he, “that after he has once + got possession of a person’s face and figure, he may paint him in any act + or situation whatever,—and the picture will be prophetic. Do you + believe it?” + </p> + <p> + “Not quite,” said Elinor, smiling. “Yet if he has such magic, there is + something so gentle in his manner, that I am sure he will use it well.” + </p> + <p> + It was the painter’s choice to proceed with both the portraits at the same + time, assigning as a reason, in the mystical language which he sometimes + used, that the faces threw light upon each other. Accordingly, he gave now + a touch to Walter, and now to Elinor, and the features of one and the + other began to start forth so vividly, that it appeared as if his + triumphant art would actually disengage them from the canvas. Amid the + rich light and deep shade, they beheld their phantom selves. But, though + the likeness promised to be perfect, they were not quite satisfied with + the expression; it seemed more vague than in most of the painter’s works. + He, however, was satisfied with the prospect of success, and being much + interested in the lovers, employed his leisure moments, unknown to them, + in making a crayon sketch of their two figures. During their sittings, he + engaged them in conversation, and kindled up their faces with + characteristic traits, which, though continually varying, it was his + purpose to combine and fix. At length he announced, that at their next + visit both the portraits would be ready for delivery. + </p> + <p> + “If my pencil will but be true to my conception, in the few last touches + which I meditate,” observed he, “these two pictures will be my very best + performances. Seldom, indeed, has an artist such subjects.” + </p> + <p> + While speaking, he still bent his penetrative eye upon them, nor withdrew + it till they had reached the bottom of the stairs. + </p> + <p> + Nothing, in the whole circle of human vanities, takes stronger hold of the + imagination, than this affair of having a portrait painted. Yet why should + it be so? The looking-glass, the polished globes of the andirons, the + mirror-like water, and all other reflecting surfaces, continually present + us with portraits, or rather ghosts, of ourselves, which we glance at, and + straightway forget them. But we forget them, only because they vanish. It + is the idea of duration—of earthly immortality—that gives such + a mysterious interest to our own portraits. Walter and Elinor were not + insensible to this feeling, and hastened to the painter’s room, punctually + at the appointed hour, to meet those pictured shapes, which were to be + their representatives with posterity. The sunshine flashed after them into + the apartment, but left it somewhat gloomy, as they closed the door. + </p> + <p> + Their eyes were immediately attracted to their portraits, which rested + against the farthest wall of the room. At the first glance, through the + dim light and the distance, seeing themselves in precisely their natural + attitudes, and with all the air that they recognized so well, they uttered + a simultaneous exclamation of delight. + </p> + <p> + “There we stand,” cried Walter, “enthusiastically, fixed in sunshine + forever! No dark passions can gather on our faces!” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Elinor, more calmly; “no dreary change can sadden us.” + </p> + <p> + This was said while they were approaching, and had yet gained only an + imperfect view of the pictures. The painter, after saluting them, busied + himself at a table in completing a crayon sketch, leaving his visitors to + form their own judgment as to his perfected labors. At intervals, he sent + a glance from beneath his deep eyebrows, watching their countenances in + profile, with his pencil suspended over the sketch. They had now stood + some moments, each in front of the other’s picture, contemplating it with + entranced attention, but without uttering a word. At length, Walter + stepped forward,—then back,—viewing Elinor’s portrait in + various lights, and finally spoke. + </p> + <p> + “Is there not a change?” said he, in a doubtful and meditative tone. “Yes; + the perception of it grows more vivid, the longer I look. It is certainly + the same picture that I saw yesterday; the dress,—the features,—all + are the same; and yet something is altered.” + </p> + <p> + “Is then the picture less like than it was yesterday?” inquired the + painter, now drawing near, with irrepressible interest. + </p> + <p> + “The features are perfect, Elinor,” answered Walter, “and, at the first + glance, the expression seemed also hers. But, I could fancy that the + portrait has changed countenance, while I have been looking at it. The + eyes are fixed on mine with a strangely sad and anxious expression. Nay, + it is grief and terror! Is this like Elinor?” + </p> + <p> + “Compare the living face with the pictured one,” said the painter. + </p> + <p> + Walter glanced sidelong at his mistress, and started. Motionless and + absorbed—fascinated as it were—in contemplation of Walter’s + portrait, Elinor’s face had assumed precisely the expression of which he + had just been complaining. Had she practised for whole hours before a + mirror, she could not have caught the look so successfully. Had the + picture itself been a mirror, it could not have thrown back her present + aspect, with stronger and more melancholy truth. She appeared quite + unconscious of the dialogue between the artist and her lover. + </p> + <p> + “Elinor,” exclaimed Walter, in amazement, “what change has come over you?” + </p> + <p> + She did not hear him, nor desist from her fixed gaze, till he seized her + hand, and thus attracted her notice; then, with a sudden tremor, she + looked from the picture to the face of the original. + </p> + <p> + “Do you see no change in your portrait?” asked she. + </p> + <p> + “In mine?—None!” replied Walter, examining it. “But let me see! Yes; + there is a slight change,—an improvement, I think, in the picture, + though none in the likeness. It has a livelier expression than yesterday, + as if some bright thought were flashing from the eyes, and about to be + uttered from the lips. Now that I have caught the look, it becomes very + decided.” + </p> + <p> + While he was intent on these observations, Elinor turned to the painter. + She regarded him with grief and awe, and felt that he repaid her with + sympathy and commiseration, though wherefore she could but vaguely guess. + </p> + <p> + “That look!” whispered she, and shuddered. “How came it there?” + </p> + <p> + “Madam,” said the painter, sadly, taking her hand, and leading her apart, + “in both these pictures, I have painted what I saw. The artist—the + true artist—must look beneath the exterior. It is his gift—his + proudest but often a melancholy one—to see the inmost soul, and by a + power indefinable even to himself to make it glow or darken upon the + canvas, in glances that express the thought and sentiment of years. Would + that I might convince myself of error in the present instance!” + </p> + <p> + They had now approached the table, on which were heads in chalk, hands + almost as expressive as ordinary faces, ivied church-towers, thatched + cottages, old thunder-stricken trees, Oriental and antique costume, and + all such picturesque vagaries of an artist’s idle moments. Turning them + over, with seeming carelessness, a crayon sketch of two figures was + disclosed. + </p> + <p> + “If I have failed,” continued he, “if your heart does not see itself + reflected in your own portrait, if you have no secret cause to trust my + delineation of the other, it is not yet too late to alter them. I might + change the action of these figures too. But would it influence the event?” + </p> + <p> + He directed her notice to the sketch. A thrill ran through Elinor’s frame; + a shriek was upon her lips; but she stifled it, with the self-command that + becomes habitual to all, who hide thoughts of fear and anguish within + their bosoms. Turning from the table, she perceived that Walter had + advanced near enough to have seen the sketch, though she could not + determine whether it had caught his eye. + </p> + <p> + “We will not have the pictures altered,” said she, hastily. “If mine is + sad, I shall but look the gayer for the contrast.” + </p> + <p> + “Be it so,” answered the painter, bowing. “May your griefs be such + fanciful ones, that only your picture may mourn for them! For your joys,—may + they be true and deep, and paint themselves upon this lovely face till it + quite belie my art!” + </p> + <p> + After the marriage of Walter and Elinor, the pictures formed the two most + splendid ornaments of their abode. They hung side by side, separated by a + narrow panel, appearing to eye each other constantly, yet always returning + the gaze of the spectator. Travelled gentlemen, who professed a knowledge + of such subjects, reckoned these among the most admirable specimens of + modern portraiture; while common observers compared them with the + originals, feature by feature, and were rapturous in praise of the + likeness. But it was on a third class—neither travelled connoisseurs + nor common observers, but people of natural sensibility—that the + pictures wrought their strongest effect. Such persons might gaze + carelessly at first, but, becoming interested, would return day after day, + and study these painted faces like the pages of a mystic volume. Walter + Ludlow’s portrait attracted their earliest notice. In the absence of + himself and his bride, they sometimes disputed as to the expression which + the painter had intended to throw upon the features; all agreeing that + there was a look of earnest import, though no two explained it alike. + There was less diversity of opinion in regard to Elinor’s picture. They + differed, indeed, in their attempts to estimate the nature and depth of + the gloom that dwelt upon her face, but agreed that it was gloom, and + alien from the natural temperament of their youthful friend. A certain + fanciful person announced, as the result of much scrutiny, that both these + pictures were parts of one design, and that the melancholy strength of + feeling, in Elinor’s countenance, bore reference to the more vivid + emotion, or, as he termed it, the wild passion, in that of Walter. Though + unskilled in the art, he even began a sketch, in which the action of the + two figures was to correspond with their mutual expression. + </p> + <p> + It was whispered among friends, that, day by day, Elinor’s face was + assuming a deeper shade of pensiveness, which threatened soon to render + her too true a counterpart of her melancholy picture. Walter, on the other + hand, instead of acquiring the vivid look which the painter had given him + on the canvas, became reserved and downcast, with no outward flashes of + emotion, however it might be smouldering within. In course of time, Elinor + hung a gorgeous curtain of purple silk, wrought with flowers, and fringed + with heavy golden tassels, before the pictures, under pretence that the + dust would tarnish their lines, or the light din them. It was enough. Her + visitors felt, that the massive folds of the silk must never be withdrawn, + nor the portraits mentioned in her presence. + </p> + <p> + Time wore on; and the painter came again. He had been far enough to the + north to see the silver cascade of the Crystal Hills, and to look over the + vast round of cloud and forest, from the summit of New England’s loftiest + mountain. But he did not profane that scene by the mockery of his art. He + had also lain in a canoe on the bosom of Lake George, making his soul the + mirror of its loveliness and grandeur, till not a picture in the Vatican + was more vivid than his recollection. He had gone with the Indian hunters + to Niagara, and there, again, had flung his hopeless pencil down the + precipice, feeling that he could as soon paint the roar, as aught else + that goes to make up the wondrous cataract. In truth, it was seldom his + impulse to copy natural scenery, except as a framework for the + delineations of the human form and face, instinct with thought, passion, + or suffering. With store of such, his adventurous ramble had enriched him; + the stern dignity of Indian chiefs; the dusky loveliness of Indian girls; + the domestic life of wigwams; the stealthy march; the battle beneath + gloomy pine-trees; the frontier fortress with its garrison; the anomaly of + the old French partisan, bred in courts, but grown gray in shaggy deserts;—such + were the scenes and portraits that he had sketched. The glow of perilous + moments; flashes of wild feeling; struggles of fierce power; love, hate, + grief, frenzy; in a word, all the worn-out heart of the old earth had been + revealed to him under a new form. His portfolio was filled with graphic + illustrations of the volume of his memory, which genius would transmute + into its own substance, and imbue with immortality. He felt that the deep + wisdom in his art, which he had sought so far, was found. + </p> + <p> + But, amid stern or lovely nature, in the perils of the forest, or its + overwhelming peacefulness, still there had been two phantoms, the + companions of his way. Like all other men around whom an engrossing + purpose wreathes itself, he was insulated from the mass of human kind. He + had no aim,—no pleasure,—no sympathies,—but what were + ultimately connected with his art. + </p> + <p> + Though gentle in manner, and upright in intent and fiction, he did not + possess kindly feelings; his heart was cold; no living creature could be + brought near enough to keep him warm. For these two beings, however, he + had felt, in its greatest intensity, the sort of interest which always + allied him to the subjects of his pencil. He had pried into their souls + with his keenest insight, and pictured the result upon their features, + with his utmost skill, so as barely to fall short of that standard which + no genius ever reached, his own severe conception. He had caught from the + duskiness of the future—at least, so he fancied—a fearful + secret, and had obscurely revealed it on the portraits. So much of himself—of + his imagination and all other powers—had been lavished on the study + of Walter and Elinor, that he almost regarded them as creations of his + own, like the thousands with which he had peopled the realms of Picture. + Therefore did they flit through the twilight of the woods, hover on the + mist of waterfalls, look forth from the mirror of the lake, nor melt away + in the noontide sun. They haunted his pictorial fancy, not as mockeries of + life, nor pale goblins of the dead, but in the guise of portraits, each + with the unalterable expression which his magic had evoked from the + caverns of the soul. He could not recross the Atlantic, till he had again + beheld the originals of those airy pictures. + </p> + <p> + “O glorious Art!” thus mused the enthusiastic painter, as he trod the + street. “Thou art the image of the Creator’s own. The innumerable forms, + that wander in nothingness, start into being at thy beck. The dead live + again. Thou recallest them to their old scenes, and givest their gray + shadows the lustre of a better life, at once earthly and immortal. Thou + snatchest back the fleeting moments of History. With thee, there is no + Past; for, at thy touch, all that is great becomes forever present; and + illustrious men live through long ages, in the visible performance of the + very deeds which made thorn what they are. O potent Art! as thou bringest + the faintly revealed Past to stand in that narrow strip of sunlight, which + we call Now, canst thou summon the shrouded Future to meet her there? Have + I not achieved it? Am I not thy Prophet?” + </p> + <p> + Thus, with a proud, yet melancholy fervor, did he almost cry aloud, as he + passed through the toilsome street, among people that knew not of his + reveries, nor could understand nor care for them. It is not good for man + to cherish a solitary ambition. Unless there be those around him, by whose + example be may regulate himself, his thoughts, desires, and hopes will + become extravagant, and he the semblance, perhaps the reality, of a + madman. Reading other bosoms, with an acuteness almost preternatural, the + painter failed to see the disorder of his own. + </p> + <p> + “And this should be the house,” said he, looking up and down the front, + before he knocked. “Heaven help my brains! That picture! Methinks it will + never vanish. Whether I look at the windows or the door, there it is + framed within them, painted strongly, and glowing in the richest tints—the + faces of the portraits—the figures and action of the sketch!” + </p> + <p> + He knocked. + </p> + <p> + “The Portraits! Are they within?” inquired he, of the domestic; then + recollecting himself,—“your master and mistress! Are they at home?” + </p> + <p> + “They are, sir,” said the servant, adding, as he noticed that picturesque + aspect of which the painter could never divest himself, “and the Portraits + too!” + </p> + <p> + The guest was admitted into a parlor, communicating by a central door with + an interior room of the same size. As the first apartment was empty, he + passed to the entrance of the second, within which his eyes were greeted + by those living personages, as well as their pictured representatives, who + had long been the objects of so singular an interest. He involuntarily + paused on the threshold. + </p> + <p> + They had not perceived his approach. Walter and Elinor were standing + before the portraits, whence the former had just flung back the rich and + voluminous folds of the silken curtain, holding its golden tassel with one + hand, while the other grasped that of his bride. The pictures, concealed + for months, gleamed forth again in undiminished splendor, appearing to + throw a sombre light across the room, rather than to be disclosed by a + borrowed radiance. That of Elinor had been almost prophetic. A + pensiveness, and next a gentle sorrow, had successively dwelt upon her + countenance, deepening, with the lapse of time, into a quiet anguish. A + mixture of affright would now have made it the very expression of the + portrait. Walter’s face was moody and dull, or animated only by fitful + flashes, which left a heavier darkness for their momentary illumination. + He looked from Elinor to her portrait, and thence to his own, in the + contemplation of which he finally stood absorbed. + </p> + <p> + The painter seemed to hear the step of Destiny approaching behind him, on + its progress towards its victims. A strange thought darted into his mind. + Was not his own the form in which that destiny had embodied itself, and he + a chief agent of the coming evil which he had foreshadowed? + </p> + <p> + Still, Walter remained silent before the picture, communing with it, as + with his own heart, and abandoning himself to the spell of evil influence, + that the painter had cast upon the features. Gradually his eyes kindled; + while as Elinor watched the increasing wildness of his face, her own + assumed a look of terror; and when at last he turned upon her, the + resemblance of both to their portraits was complete. + </p> + <p> + “Our fate is upon us!” howled Walter.—“Die!” + </p> + <p> + Drawing a knife, he sustained her, as she was sinking to the ground, and + aimed it at her bosom. In the action and in the look and attitude of each, + the painter beheld the figures of his sketch. The picture, with all its + tremendous coloring, was finished. + </p> + <p> + “Hold, madman!” cried he, sternly. + </p> + <p> + He had advanced from the door, and interposed himself between the wretched + beings, with the same sense of power to regulate their destiny, as to + alter a scene upon the canvas. He stood like a magician, controlling the + phantoms which he had evoked. + </p> + <p> + “What!” muttered Walter Ludlow, as he relapsed from fierce excitement into + silent gloom. “Does Fate impede its own decree?” + </p> + <p> + “Wretched lady!” said the painter. “Did I not warn you?” + </p> + <p> + “You did,” replied Elinor, calmly, as her terror gave place to the quiet + grief which it had disturbed. “But—I loved him!” + </p> + <p> + Is there not a deep moral in the tale? Could the result of one, or all our + deeds, be shadowed forth and set before us, some would call it Fate, and + hurry onward, others be swept along by their passionate desires, and none + be turned aside by the PROPHETIC PICTURES. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Prophetic Pictures (From “Twice +Told Tales”), by Nathaniel Hawthorne + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PROPHETIC PICTURES *** + +***** This file should be named 9204-h.htm or 9204-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/9/2/0/9204/ + +Produced by David Widger + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Prophetic Pictures (From "Twice Told Tales") + +Author: Nathaniel Hawthorne + +Posting Date: November 27, 2010 [EBook #9204] +Release Date: November, 2005 +First Posted: August 23, 2003 +Last Updated: February 5, 2007 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PROPHETIC PICTURES *** + + + + +Produced by David Widger + + + + + + + + + + TWICE TOLD TALES + + THE PROPHETIC PICTURES + + By Nathaniel Hawthorne + + +[This story was suggested by an anecdote of Stuart, related in Dunlap's +History of the Arts of Design,--a most entertaining book to the general +reader, and a deeply interesting one, we should think, to the artist.] + + +"But this painter!" cried Walter Ludlow, with animation. "He not only +excels in his peculiar art, but possesses vast acquirements in all other +learning and science. He talks Hebrew with Dr. Mather, and gives +lectures in anatomy to Dr. Boylston. In a word, he will meet the best +instructed man among us, on his own ground. Moreover, he is a polished +gentleman,--a citizen of the world,--yes, a true cosmopolite; for he will +speak like a native of each clime and country on the globe, except our +own forests, whither he is now going. Nor is all this what I most admire +in him." + +"Indeed!" said Elinor, who had listened with a woman's interest to the +description of such a man. "Yet this is admirable enough." + +"Surely it is," replied her lover, "but far less so than his natural gift +of adapting himself to every variety of character, insomuch that all +men--and all women too, Elinor--shall find a mirror of themselves in this +wonderful painter. But the greatest wonder is yet to be told." + +"Nay, if he have more wonderful attributes than these," said Elinor, +laughing, "Boston is a perilous abode for the poor gentleman. Are you +telling one of a painter, or a wizard?" + +"In truth," answered he, "that question might be asked much more +seriously than you suppose. They say that he paints not merely a man's +features, but his mind and heart. He catches the secret sentiments and +passions, and throws them upon the canvas, like sunshine,--or perhaps, in +the portraits of dark-souled men, like a gleans of infernal fire. It is +an awful gift," added Walter, lowering his voice from its tone of +enthusiasm. "I shall be almost afraid to sit to him." + +"Walter, are you in earnest?" exclaimed Elinor. + +"For Heaven's sake, dearest Elinor, do not let him paint the look which +you now wear," said her lover, smiling, though rather perplexed. "There: +it is passing away now, but when you spoke, you seemed frightened to +death, and very sad besides. What were you thinking of?" + +"Nothing, nothing," answered Elinor, hastily. "You paint my face with +your own fantasies. Well, come for me to-morrow, and we will visit this +wonderful artist." + +But when the young man had departed, it cannot be denied that a +remarkable expression was again visible on the fair and youthful face of +his mistress. It was a sad and anxious look, little in accordance with +what should have been the feelings of a maiden on the eve of wedlock. +Yet Walter Ludlow was the chosen of her heart. + +"A look!" said Elinor to herself. "No wonder that it startled him, if it +expressed what I sometimes feel. I know, by my own experience, how +frightful a look may be. But it was all fancy. I thought nothing of it +at the time,--I have seen nothing of it since,--I did but dream it." + +And she busied herself about the embroidery of a ruff, in which she meant +that her portrait should be taken. + +The painter, of whom they had been speaking, was not one of those native +artists, who, at a later period than this, borrowed their colors from the +Indians, and manufactured their pencils of the furs of wild beasts. +Perhaps, if he could have revoked his life and prearranged his destiny, +he might have chosen to belong to that school without a master, in the +hope of being at least original, since there were no works of art to +imitate, nor rules to follow. But he had been born and educated in +Europe. People said, that he had studied the grandeur or beauty of +conception, and every touch of the master hand, in all the most famous +pictures, in cabinets and galleries, and on the walls of churches, till +there was nothing more for his powerful mind to learn. + +Art could add nothing to its lessons, but Nature might. He had therefore +visited a world, whither none of his professional brethren had preceded +him, to feast his eyes on visible images, that were noble and +picturesque, yet had never been transferred to canvas. America was too +poor to afford other temptations to an artist of eminence, though many of +the colonial gentry, on the painter's arrival, had expressed a wish to +transmit their lineaments to posterity, by means of his skill. Whenever +such proposals were made, he fixed his piercing eyes on the applicant, +and seemed to look him through and through. If he beheld only a sleek +and comfortable visage, though there were a gold-laced coat to adorn the +picture, and golden guineas to pay for it, he civilly rejected the task +and the reward. But if the face were the index of anything uncommon, in +thought, sentiment, or experience; or if he met a beggar in the street, +with a white beard and a furrowed brow; or if sometimes a child happened +to look up and smile; he would exhaust all the art on them, that he +denied to wealth. + +Pictorial skill being so rare in the colonies, the painter became an +object of general curiosity. If few or none could appreciate the +technical merit of his productions, yet there were points in regard to +which the opinion of the crowd was as valuable as the refined judgment of +the amateur. He watched the effect that each picture produced on such +untutored beholders, and derived profit from their remarks, while they +would as soon have thought of instructing Nature herself, as him who +seemed to rival her. Their admiration, it must be owned, was tinctured +with the prejudices of the age and country. Some deemed it an offence +against the Mosaic law, and even a presumptuous mockery of the Creator, +to bring into existence such lively images of his creatures. Others, +frightened at the art which could raise phantoms at will, and keep the +form of the dead among the living, were inclined to consider the painter +as a magician, or perhaps the famous Black Man, of old witch times, +plotting mischief in a new guise. These foolish fancies were more than +half believed among the mob. Even in superior circles, his character was +invested with a vague awe, partly rising like smoke-wreaths from the +popular superstitious, but chiefly caused by the varied knowledge and +talents which he made subservient to his profession. + +Being on the eve of marriage, Walter Ludlow and Elinor were eager to +obtain their portraits, as the first of what, they doubtless hoped, would +be a long series of family pictures. The day after the conversation +above recorded, they visited the painter's rooms. A servant ushered them +into an apartment, where, though the artist himself was not visible, +there were personages whom they could hardly forbear greeting with +reverence. They knew, indeed, that the whole assembly were but pictures, +yet felt it impossible to separate the idea of life and intellect from +such striking counterfeits. Several of the portraits were known to them, +either as distinguished characters of the day, or their private +acquaintances. There was Governor Burnett, looking as if he had just +received an undutiful communication from the House of Representatives, +and were inditing a most sharp response. Mr. Cooke hung beside the ruler +whom he opposed, sturdy, and somewhat puritanical, as befitted a popular +leader. The ancient lady of Sir William Phipps eyed them from the wall, +in ruff and farthingale, an imperious old dame, not unsuspected of +witchcraft. John Winslow, then a very young man, wore the expression of +warlike enterprise, which long afterwards made him a distinguished +general. Their personal friends were recognized at a glance. In most of +the pictures, the whole mind and character were brought out on the +countenance, and concentrated into a single look, so that, to speak +paradoxically, the originals hardly resembled themselves so strikingly as +the portraits did. + +Among these modern worthies, there were two old bearded saints, who had +almost vanished into the darkening canvas. There was also a pale, but +unfaded Madonna, who had perhaps been worshipped in Rome, and now +regarded the lovers with such a mild and holy look, that they longed to +worship too. + +"How singular a thought," observed Walter Ludlow, "that this beautiful +face has been beautiful for above two hundred years! O, if all beauty +would endure so well! Do you not envy her, Elinor?" + +"If earth were heaven, I might," she replied. "But where all things +fade, how miserable to be the one that could not fade!" + +"This dark old St. Peter has a fierce and ugly scowl, saint though he +be," continued Walter. "He troubles me. But the Virgin looks kindly at +us." + +"Yes; but very sorrowfully, methinks," said Elinor. + +The easel stood beneath these three old pictures, sustaining one that had +been recently commenced. After a little inspection, they began to +recognize the features of their own minister, the Rev. Dr. Colman, +growing into shape and life, as it were, out of a cloud. + +"Kind old man!" exclaimed Elinor. "He gazes at me, as if he were about +to utter a word of paternal advice." + +"And at me," said Walter, "as if he were about to shake his head and +rebuke me for some suspected iniquity. But so does the original. I +shall never feel quite comfortable under his eye, till we stand before +him to be married." + +They now heard a footstep on the floor, and turning, beheld the painter, +who had been some moments in the room, and had listened to a few of their +remarks. He was a middle-aged man, with a countenance well worthy of his +own pencil. Indeed, by the picturesque, though careless arrangement of +his rich dress, and, perhaps, because his soul dwelt always among painted +shapes, he looked somewhat like a portrait himself. His visitors were +sensible of a kindred between the artist and his works, and felt as if +one of the pictures had stepped from the canvas to salute them. + +Walter Ludlow, who was slightly known to the painter, explained the +object of their visit. While he spoke, a sunbeam was falling athwart his +figure and Elinor's, with so happy an effect, that they also seemed +living pictures of youth and beauty, gladdened by bright fortune. The +artist was evidently struck. + +"My easel is occupied for several ensuing days, and my stay in Boston +must be brief," said he, thoughtfully; then, after an observant glance, +he added, "but your wishes shall be gratified, though I disappoint the +Chief Justice and Madam Oliver. I must not lose this opportunity, for +the sake of painting a few ells of broadcloth and brocade." + +The painter expressed a desire to introduce both their portraits into one +picture, and represent them engaged in some appropriate action. This +plan would have delighted the lovers, but was necessarily rejected, +because so large a space of canvas would have been unfit for the room +which it was intended to decorate. Two half-length portraits were +therefore fixed upon. After they had taken leave, Walter Ludlow asked +Elinor, with a smile, whether she knew what an influence over their fates +the painter was about to acquire. + +"The old women of Boston affirm," continued he, "that after he has once +got possession of a person's face and figure, he may paint him in any act +or situation whatever,--and the picture will be prophetic. Do you +believe it?" + +"Not quite," said Elinor, smiling. "Yet if he has such magic, there is +something so gentle in his manner, that I am sure he will use it well." + +It was the painter's choice to proceed with both the portraits at the +same time, assigning as a reason, in the mystical language which he +sometimes used, that the faces threw light upon each other. Accordingly, +he gave now a touch to Walter, and now to Elinor, and the features of one +and the other began to start forth so vividly, that it appeared as if his +triumphant art would actually disengage them from the canvas. Amid the +rich light and deep shade, they beheld their phantom selves. But, though +the likeness promised to be perfect, they were not quite satisfied with +the expression; it seemed more vague than in most of the painter's works. +He, however, was satisfied with the prospect of success, and being much +interested in the lovers, employed his leisure moments, unknown to them, +in making a crayon sketch of their two figures. During their sittings, +he engaged them in conversation, and kindled up their faces with +characteristic traits, which, though continually varying, it was his +purpose to combine and fix. At length he announced, that at their next +visit both the portraits would be ready for delivery. + +"If my pencil will but be true to my conception, in the few last touches +which I meditate," observed he, "these two pictures will be my very best +performances. Seldom, indeed, has an artist such subjects." + +While speaking, he still bent his penetrative eye upon them, nor withdrew +it till they had reached the bottom of the stairs. + +Nothing, in the whole circle of human vanities, takes stronger hold of +the imagination, than this affair of having a portrait painted. Yet why +should it be so? The looking-glass, the polished globes of the andirons, +the mirror-like water, and all other reflecting surfaces, continually +present us with portraits, or rather ghosts, of ourselves, which we +glance at, and straightway forget them. But we forget them, only because +they vanish. It is the idea of duration--of earthly immortality--that +gives such a mysterious interest to our own portraits. Walter and Elinor +were not insensible to this feeling, and hastened to the painter's room, +punctually at the appointed hour, to meet those pictured shapes, which +were to be their representatives with posterity. The sunshine flashed +after them into the apartment, but left it somewhat gloomy, as they +closed the door. + +Their eyes were immediately attracted to their portraits, which rested +against the farthest wall of the room. At the first glance, through the +dim light and the distance, seeing themselves in precisely their natural +attitudes, and with all the air that they recognized so well, they +uttered a simultaneous exclamation of delight. + +"There we stand," cried Walter, "enthusiastically, fixed in sunshine +forever! No dark passions can gather on our faces!" + +"No," said Elinor, more calmly; "no dreary change can sadden us." + +This was said while they were approaching, and had yet gained only an +imperfect view of the pictures. The painter, after saluting them, busied +himself at a table in completing a crayon sketch, leaving his visitors to +form their own judgment as to his perfected labors. At intervals, he +sent a glance from beneath his deep eyebrows, watching their countenances +in profile, with his pencil suspended over the sketch. They had now +stood some moments, each in front of the other's picture, contemplating +it with entranced attention, but without uttering a word. At length, +Walter stepped forward,--then back,--viewing Elinor's portrait in various +lights, and finally spoke. + +"Is there not a change?" said he, in a doubtful and meditative tone. +"Yes; the perception of it grows more vivid, the longer I look. It is +certainly the same picture that I saw yesterday; the dress,--the +features,--all are the same; and yet something is altered." + +"Is then the picture less like than it was yesterday?" inquired the +painter, now drawing near, with irrepressible interest. + +"The features are perfect, Elinor," answered Walter, "and, at the first +glance, the expression seemed also hers. But, I could fancy that the +portrait has changed countenance, while I have been looking at it. The +eyes are fixed on mine with a strangely sad and anxious expression. Nay, +it is grief and terror! Is this like Elinor?" + +"Compare the living face with the pictured one," said the painter. + +Walter glanced sidelong at his mistress, and started. Motionless and +absorbed--fascinated as it were--in contemplation of Walter's portrait, +Elinor's face had assumed precisely the expression of which he had just +been complaining. Had she practised for whole hours before a mirror, she +could not have caught the look so successfully. Had the picture itself +been a mirror, it could not have thrown back her present aspect, with +stronger and more melancholy truth. She appeared quite unconscious of +the dialogue between the artist and her lover. + +"Elinor," exclaimed Walter, in amazement, "what change has come over +you?" + +She did not hear him, nor desist from her fixed gaze, till he seized her +hand, and thus attracted her notice; then, with a sudden tremor, she +looked from the picture to the face of the original. + +"Do you see no change in your portrait?" asked she. + +"In mine?--None!" replied Walter, examining it. "But let me see! Yes; +there is a slight change,--an improvement, I think, in the picture, +though none in the likeness. It has a livelier expression than +yesterday, as if some bright thought were flashing from the eyes, and +about to be uttered from the lips. Now that I have caught the look, +it becomes very decided." + +While he was intent on these observations, Elinor turned to the painter. +She regarded him with grief and awe, and felt that he repaid her with +sympathy and commiseration, though wherefore she could but vaguely guess. + +"That look!" whispered she, and shuddered. "How came it there?" + +"Madam," said the painter, sadly, taking her hand, and leading her +apart, "in both these pictures, I have painted what I saw. The +artist--the true artist--must look beneath the exterior. It is his +gift--his proudest but often a melancholy one--to see the inmost soul, +and by a power indefinable even to himself to make it glow or darken +upon the canvas, in glances that express the thought and sentiment of +years. Would that I might convince myself of error in the present +instance!" + +They had now approached the table, on which were heads in chalk, hands +almost as expressive as ordinary faces, ivied church-towers, thatched +cottages, old thunder-stricken trees, Oriental and antique costume, and +all such picturesque vagaries of an artist's idle moments. Turning them +over, with seeming carelessness, a crayon sketch of two figures was +disclosed. + +"If I have failed," continued he, "if your heart does not see itself +reflected in your own portrait, if you have no secret cause to trust my +delineation of the other, it is not yet too late to alter them. I might +change the action of these figures too. But would it influence the +event?" + +He directed her notice to the sketch. A thrill ran through Elinor's +frame; a shriek was upon her lips; but she stifled it, with the +self-command that becomes habitual to all, who hide thoughts of fear and +anguish within their bosoms. Turning from the table, she perceived that +Walter had advanced near enough to have seen the sketch, though she could +not determine whether it had caught his eye. + +"We will not have the pictures altered," said she, hastily. "If mine is +sad, I shall but look the gayer for the contrast." + +"Be it so," answered the painter, bowing. "May your griefs be such +fanciful ones, that only your picture may mourn for them! For your +joys,--may they be true and deep, and paint themselves upon this lovely +face till it quite belie my art!" + +After the marriage of Walter and Elinor, the pictures formed the two most +splendid ornaments of their abode. They hung side by side, separated by +a narrow panel, appearing to eye each other constantly, yet always +returning the gaze of the spectator. Travelled gentlemen, who professed +a knowledge of such subjects, reckoned these among the most admirable +specimens of modern portraiture; while common observers compared them +with the originals, feature by feature, and were rapturous in praise of +the likeness. But it was on a third class--neither travelled +connoisseurs nor common observers, but people of natural sensibility--that +the pictures wrought their strongest effect. Such persons might +gaze carelessly at first, but, becoming interested, would return day +after day, and study these painted faces like the pages of a mystic +volume. Walter Ludlow's portrait attracted their earliest notice. In +the absence of himself and his bride, they sometimes disputed as to the +expression which the painter had intended to throw upon the features; all +agreeing that there was a look of earnest import, though no two explained +it alike. There was less diversity of opinion in regard to Elinor's +picture. They differed, indeed, in their attempts to estimate the nature +and depth of the gloom that dwelt upon her face, but agreed that it was +gloom, and alien from the natural temperament of their youthful friend. +A certain fanciful person announced, as the result of much scrutiny, that +both these pictures were parts of one design, and that the melancholy +strength of feeling, in Elinor's countenance, bore reference to the more +vivid emotion, or, as he termed it, the wild passion, in that of Walter. +Though unskilled in the art, he even began a sketch, in which the action +of the two figures was to correspond with their mutual expression. + +It was whispered among friends, that, day by day, Elinor's face was +assuming a deeper shade of pensiveness, which threatened soon to render +her too true a counterpart of her melancholy picture. Walter, on the +other hand, instead of acquiring the vivid look which the painter had +given him on the canvas, became reserved and downcast, with no outward +flashes of emotion, however it might be smouldering within. In course of +time, Elinor hung a gorgeous curtain of purple silk, wrought with +flowers, and fringed with heavy golden tassels, before the pictures, +under pretence that the dust would tarnish their lines, or the light din +them. It was enough. Her visitors felt, that the massive folds of the +silk must never be withdrawn, nor the portraits mentioned in her +presence. + +Time wore on; and the painter came again. He had been far enough to the +north to see the silver cascade of the Crystal Hills, and to look over +the vast round of cloud and forest, from the summit of New England's +loftiest mountain. But he did not profane that scene by the mockery of +his art. He had also lain in a canoe on the bosom of Lake George, making +his soul the mirror of its loveliness and grandeur, till not a picture in +the Vatican was more vivid than his recollection. He had gone with the +Indian hunters to Niagara, and there, again, had flung his hopeless +pencil down the precipice, feeling that he could as soon paint the roar, +as aught else that goes to make up the wondrous cataract. In truth, it +was seldom his impulse to copy natural scenery, except as a framework for +the delineations of the human form and face, instinct with thought, +passion, or suffering. With store of such, his adventurous ramble had +enriched him; the stern dignity of Indian chiefs; the dusky loveliness of +Indian girls; the domestic life of wigwams; the stealthy march; the +battle beneath gloomy pine-trees; the frontier fortress with its +garrison; the anomaly of the old French partisan, bred in courts, but +grown gray in shaggy deserts;--such were the scenes and portraits that he +had sketched. The glow of perilous moments; flashes of wild feeling; +struggles of fierce power; love, hate, grief, frenzy; in a word, all the +worn-out heart of the old earth had been revealed to him under a new +form. His portfolio was filled with graphic illustrations of the volume +of his memory, which genius would transmute into its own substance, and +imbue with immortality. He felt that the deep wisdom in his art, which +he had sought so far, was found. + +But, amid stern or lovely nature, in the perils of the forest, or its +overwhelming peacefulness, still there had been two phantoms, the +companions of his way. Like all other men around whom an engrossing +purpose wreathes itself, he was insulated from the mass of human kind. +He had no aim,--no pleasure,--no sympathies,--but what were ultimately +connected with his art. + +Though gentle in manner, and upright in intent and fiction, he did not +possess kindly feelings; his heart was cold; no living creature could be +brought near enough to keep him warm. For these two beings, however, he +had felt, in its greatest intensity, the sort of interest which always +allied him to the subjects of his pencil. He had pried into their souls +with his keenest insight, and pictured the result upon their features, +with his utmost skill, so as barely to fall short of that standard which +no genius ever reached, his own severe conception. He had caught from +the duskiness of the future--at least, so he fancied--a fearful secret, +and had obscurely revealed it on the portraits. So much of himself--of +his imagination and all other powers--had been lavished on the study of +Walter and Elinor, that he almost regarded them as creations of his own, +like the thousands with which he had peopled the realms of Picture. +Therefore did they flit through the twilight of the woods, hover on the +mist of waterfalls, look forth from the mirror of the lake, nor melt away +in the noontide sun. They haunted his pictorial fancy, not as mockeries +of life, nor pale goblins of the dead, but in the guise of portraits, +each with the unalterable expression which his magic had evoked from the +caverns of the soul. He could not recross the Atlantic, till he had +again beheld the originals of those airy pictures. + +"O glorious Art!" thus mused the enthusiastic painter, as he trod the +street. "Thou art the image of the Creator's own. The innumerable +forms, that wander in nothingness, start into being at thy beck. The +dead live again. Thou recallest them to their old scenes, and givest +their gray shadows the lustre of a better life, at once earthly and +immortal. Thou snatchest back the fleeting moments of History. With +thee, there is no Past; for, at thy touch, all that is great becomes +forever present; and illustrious men live through long ages, in the +visible performance of the very deeds which made thorn what they are. O +potent Art! as thou bringest the faintly revealed Past to stand in that +narrow strip of sunlight, which we call Now, canst thou summon the +shrouded Future to meet her there? Have I not achieved it? Am I not thy +Prophet?" + +Thus, with a proud, yet melancholy fervor, did he almost cry aloud, as he +passed through the toilsome street, among people that knew not of his +reveries, nor could understand nor care for them. It is not good for man +to cherish a solitary ambition. Unless there be those around him, by +whose example be may regulate himself, his thoughts, desires, and hopes +will become extravagant, and he the semblance, perhaps the reality, of a +madman. Reading other bosoms, with an acuteness almost preternatural, +the painter failed to see the disorder of his own. + +"And this should be the house," said he, looking up and down the front, +before he knocked. "Heaven help my brains! That picture! Methinks it +will never vanish. Whether I look at the windows or the door, there it +is framed within them, painted strongly, and glowing in the richest +tints--the faces of the portraits--the figures and action of the sketch!" + +He knocked. + +"The Portraits! Are they within?" inquired he, of the domestic; then +recollecting himself,--"your master and mistress! Are they at home?" + +"They are, sir," said the servant, adding, as he noticed that picturesque +aspect of which the painter could never divest himself, "and the +Portraits too!" + +The guest was admitted into a parlor, communicating by a central door +with an interior room of the same size. As the first apartment was +empty, he passed to the entrance of the second, within which his eyes +were greeted by those living personages, as well as their pictured +representatives, who had long been the objects of so singular an +interest. He involuntarily paused on the threshold. + +They had not perceived his approach. Walter and Elinor were standing +before the portraits, whence the former had just flung back the rich and +voluminous folds of the silken curtain, holding its golden tassel with +one hand, while the other grasped that of his bride. The pictures, +concealed for months, gleamed forth again in undiminished splendor, +appearing to throw a sombre light across the room, rather than to be +disclosed by a borrowed radiance. That of Elinor had been almost +prophetic. A pensiveness, and next a gentle sorrow, had successively +dwelt upon her countenance, deepening, with the lapse of time, into a +quiet anguish. A mixture of affright would now have made it the very +expression of the portrait. Walter's face was moody and dull, or +animated only by fitful flashes, which left a heavier darkness for their +momentary illumination. He looked from Elinor to her portrait, and +thence to his own, in the contemplation of which he finally stood +absorbed. + +The painter seemed to hear the step of Destiny approaching behind him, on +its progress towards its victims. A strange thought darted into his +mind. Was not his own the form in which that destiny had embodied +itself, and he a chief agent of the coming evil which he had +foreshadowed? + +Still, Walter remained silent before the picture, communing with it, as +with his own heart, and abandoning himself to the spell of evil +influence, that the painter had cast upon the features. Gradually his +eyes kindled; while as Elinor watched the increasing wildness of his +face, her own assumed a look of terror; and when at last he turned upon +her, the resemblance of both to their portraits was complete. + +"Our fate is upon us!" howled Walter.--"Die!" + +Drawing a knife, he sustained her, as she was sinking to the ground, and +aimed it at her bosom. In the action and in the look and attitude of +each, the painter beheld the figures of his sketch. The picture, with +all its tremendous coloring, was finished. + +"Hold, madman!" cried he, sternly. + +He had advanced from the door, and interposed himself between the +wretched beings, with the same sense of power to regulate their destiny, +as to alter a scene upon the canvas. He stood like a magician, +controlling the phantoms which he had evoked. + +"What!" muttered Walter Ludlow, as he relapsed from fierce excitement +into silent gloom. "Does Fate impede its own decree?" + +"Wretched lady!" said the painter. "Did I not warn you?" + +"You did," replied Elinor, calmly, as her terror gave place to the quiet +grief which it had disturbed. "But--I loved him!" + +Is there not a deep moral in the tale? Could the result of one, or all +our deeds, be shadowed forth and set before us, some would call it Fate, +and hurry onward, others be swept along by their passionate desires, and +none be turned aside by the PROPHETIC PICTURES. + + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Prophetic Pictures (From "Twice +Told Tales"), by Nathaniel Hawthorne + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PROPHETIC PICTURES *** + +***** This file should be named 9204.txt or 9204.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/9/2/0/9204/ + +Produced by David Widger + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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Do not change or edit the +header without written permission. + +Please read the "legal small print," and other information about the +eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file. Included is +important information about your specific rights and restrictions in +how the file may be used. You can also find out about how to make a +donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**EBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*****These EBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers***** + + + +Title: The Prophetic Pictures (From "Twice Told Tales") + +Author: Nathaniel Hawthorne + +Release Date: Nov, 2005 [EBook #9204] +[This file was first posted on August 23, 2003] +[Last updated on February 5, 2007] + + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + + + + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, THE PROPHETIC PICTURES *** + + + + +This eBook was produced by David Widger [widger@cecomet.net] + + + + + + TWICE TOLD TALES + + THE PROPHETIC PICTURES + + By Nathaniel Hawthorne + + +[This story was suggested by an anecdote of Stuart, related in Dunlap's +History of the Arts of Design,--a most entertaining book to the general +reader, and a deeply interesting one, we should think, to the artist,] + +"But this painter!" cried Walter Ludlow, with animation. "He not only +excels in his peculiar art, but possesses vast acquirements in all other +learning and science. He talks Hebrew with Dr. Mather, and gives +lectures in anatomy to Dr. Boylston. In a word, he will meet the best +instructed man among us, on his own ground. Moreover, he is a polished +gentleman,--a citizen of the world,--yes, a true cosmopolite; for he will +speak like a native of each clime and country on the globe, except our +own forests, whither he is now going. Nor is all this what I most admire +in him." + +"Indeed!" said Elinor, who had listened with a woman's interest to the +description of such a man. "Yet this is admirable enough." + +"Surely it is," replied her lover, "but far less so than his natural gift +of adapting himself to every variety of character, insomuch that all men +--and all women too, Elinor--shall find a mirror of themselves in this +wonderful painter. But the greatest wonder is yet to be told." + +"Nay, if he have more wonderful attributes than these," said Elinor, +laughing, "Boston is a perilous abode for the poor gentleman. Are you +telling one of a painter, or a wizard?" + +"In truth," answered he, "that question might be asked much more +seriously than you suppose. They say that he paints not merely a man's +features, but his mind and heart. He catches the secret sentiments and +passions, and throws them upon the canvas, like sunshine,--or perhaps, in +the portraits of dark-souled men, like a gleans of infernal fire. It is +an awful gift," added Walter, lowering his voice from its tone of +enthusiasm. "I shall be almost afraid to sit to him." + +"Walter, are you in earnest?" exclaimed Elinor. + +"For Heaven's sake, dearest Elinor, do not let him paint the look which +you now wear," said her lover, smiling, though rather perplexed. "There: +it is passing away now, but when you spoke, you seemed frightened to +death, and very sad besides. What were you thinking of?" + +"Nothing, nothing," answered Elinor, hastily. "You paint my face with +your own fantasies. Well, come for me to-morrow, and we will visit this +wonderful artist." + +But when the young man had departed, it cannot be denied that a +remarkable expression was again visible on the fair and youthful face of +his mistress. It was a sad and anxious look, little in accordance with +what should have been the feelings of a maiden on the eve of wedlock. +Yet Walter Ludlow was the chosen of her heart. + +"A look!" said Elinor to herself. "No wonder that it startled him, if it +expressed what I sometimes feel. I know, by my own experience, how +frightful a look may be. But it was all fancy. I thought nothing of it +at the time,--I have seen nothing of it since,--I did but dream it." + +And she busied herself about the embroidery of a ruff, in which she meant +that her portrait should be taken. + +The painter, of whom they had been speaking, was not one of those native +artists, who, at a later period than this, borrowed their colors from the +Indians, and manufactured their pencils of the furs of wild beasts. +Perhaps, if he could have revoked his life and prearranged his destiny, +he might have chosen to belong to that school without a master, in the +hope of being at least original, since there were no works of art to +imitate, nor rules to follow. But he had been born and educated in +Europe. People said, that he had studied the grandeur or beauty of +conception, and every touch of the master hand, in all the most famous +pictures, in cabinets and galleries, and on the walls of churches, till +there was nothing more for his powerful mind to learn. + +Art could add nothing to its lessons, but Nature might. He had therefore +visited a world, whither none of his professional brethren had preceded +him, to feast his eyes on visible images, that were noble and +picturesque, yet had never been transferred to canvas. America was too +poor to afford other temptations to an artist of eminence, though many of +the colonial gentry, on the painter's arrival, had expressed a wish to +transmit their lineaments to posterity, by means of his skill. Whenever +such proposals were made, he fixed his piercing eyes on the applicant, +and seemed to look him through and through. If he beheld only a sleek +and comfortable visage, though there were a gold-laced coat to adorn the +picture, and golden guineas to pay for it, he civilly rejected the task +and the reward. But if the face were the index of anything uncommon, in +thought, sentiment, or experience; or if he met a beggar in the street, +with a white beard and a furrowed brow; or if sometimes a child happened +to look up and smile; he would exhaust all the art on them, that he +denied to wealth. + +Pictorial skill being so rare in the colonies, the painter became an +object of general curiosity. If few or none could appreciate the +technical merit of his productions, yet there were points in regard to +which the opinion of the crowd was as valuable as the refined judgment of +the amateur. He watched the effect that each picture produced on such +untutored beholders, and derived profit from their remarks, while they +would as soon have thought of instructing Nature herself, as him who +seemed to rival her. Their admiration, it must be owned, was tinctured +with the prejudices of the age and country. Some deemed it an offence +against the Mosaic law, and even a presumptuous mockery of the Creator, +to bring into existence such lively images of his creatures. Others, +frightened at the art which could raise phantoms at will, and keep the +form of the dead among the living, were inclined to consider the painter +as a magician, or perhaps the famous Black Man, of old witch times, +plotting mischief in a new guise. These foolish fancies were more than +half believed among the mob. Even in superior circles, his character was +invested with a vague awe, partly rising like smoke-wreaths from the +popular superstitious, but chiefly caused by the varied knowledge and +talents which he made subservient to his profession. + +Being on the eve of marriage, Walter Ludlow and Elinor were eager to +obtain their portraits, as the first of what, they doubtless hoped, would +be a long series of family pictures. The day after the conversation +above recorded, they visited the painter's rooms. A servant ushered them +into an apartment, where, though the artist himself was not visible, +there were personages whom they could hardly forbear greeting with +reverence. They knew, indeed, that the whole assembly were but pictures, +yet felt it impossible to separate the idea of life and intellect from +such striking counterfeits. Several of the portraits were known to them, +either as distinguished characters of the day, or their private +acquaintances. There was Governor Burnett, looking as if he had just +received an undutiful communication from the House of Representatives, +and were inditing a most sharp response. Mr. Cooke hung beside the ruler +whom he opposed, sturdy, and somewhat puritanical, as befitted a popular +leader. The ancient lady of Sir William Phipps eyed them from the wall, +in ruff and farthingale, an imperious old dame, not unsuspected of +witchcraft. John Winslow, then a very young man, wore the expression of +warlike enterprise, which long afterwards made him a distinguished +general. Their personal friends were recognized at a glance. In most of +the pictures, the whole mind and character were brought out on the +countenance, and concentrated into a single look, so that, to speak +paradoxically, the originals hardly resembled themselves so strikingly as +the portraits did. + +Among these modern worthies, there were two old bearded saints, who had +almost vanished into the darkening canvas. There was also a pale, but +unfaded Madonna, who had perhaps been worshipped in Rome, and now +regarded the lovers with such a mild and holy look, that they longed to +worship too. + +"How singular a thought," observed Walter Ludlow, "that this beautiful +face has been beautiful for above two hundred years! O, if all beauty +would endure so well! Do you not envy her, Elinor?" + +"If earth were heaven, I might," she replied. "But where all things +fade, how miserable to be the one that could not fade!" + +"This dark old St. Peter has a fierce and ugly scowl, saint though he +be," continued Walter. "He troubles me. But the Virgin looks kindly at +us." + +"Yes; but very sorrowfully, methinks," said Elinor. + +The easel stood beneath these three old pictures, sustaining one that had +been recently commenced. After a little inspection, they began to +recognize the features of their own minister, the Rev. Dr. Colman, +growing into shape and life, as it were, out of a cloud. + +"Kind old man!" exclaimed Elinor. "He gazes at me, as if he were about +to utter a word of paternal advice." + +"And at me," said Walter, "as if he were about to shake his head and +rebuke me for some suspected iniquity. But so does the original. I +shall never feel quite comfortable under his eye, till we stand before +him to be married." + +They now heard a footstep on the floor, and turning, beheld the painter, +who had been some moments in the room, and had listened to a few of their +remarks. He was a middle-aged man, with a countenance well worthy of his +own pencil. Indeed, by the picturesque, though careless arrangement of +his rich dress, and, perhaps, because his soul dwelt always among painted +shapes, he looked somewhat like a portrait himself. His visitors were +sensible of a kindred between the artist and his works, and felt as if +one of the pictures had stepped from the canvas to salute them. + +Walter Ludlow, who was slightly known to the painter, explained the +object of their visit. While he spoke, a sunbeam was falling athwart his +figure and Elinor's, with so happy an effect, that they also seemed +living pictures of youth and beauty, gladdened by bright fortune. The +artist was evidently struck. + +"My easel is occupied for several ensuing days, and my stay in Boston +must be brief," said he, thoughtfully; then, after an observant glance, +he added, "but your wishes shall be gratified, though I disappoint the +Chief Justice and Madam Oliver. I must not lose this opportunity, for +the sake of painting a few ells of broadcloth and brocade." + +The painter expressed a desire to introduce both their portraits into one +picture, and represent them engaged in some appropriate action. This +plan would have delighted the lovers, but was necessarily rejected, +because so large a space of canvas would have been unfit for the room +which it was intended to decorate. Two half-length portraits were +therefore fixed upon. After they had taken leave, Walter Ludlow asked +Elinor, with a smile, whether she knew what an influence over their fates +the painter was about to acquire. + +"The old women of Boston affirm," continued he, "that after he has once +got possession of a person's face and figure, he may paint him in any act +or situation whatever,--and the picture will be prophetic. Do you +believe it?" + +"Not quite," said Elinor, smiling. "Yet if he has such magic, there is +something so gentle in his manner, that I am sure he will use it well." + +It was the painter's choice to proceed with both the portraits at the +same time, assigning as a reason, in the mystical language which he +sometimes used, that the faces threw light upon each other. Accordingly, +he gave now a touch to Walter, and now to Elinor, and the features of one +and the other began to start forth so vividly, that it appeared as if his +triumphant art would actually disengage them from the canvas. Amid the +rich light and deep shade, they beheld their phantom selves. But, though +the likeness promised to be perfect, they were not quite satisfied with +the expression; it seemed more vague than in most of the painter's works. +He, however, was satisfied with the prospect of success, and being much +interested in the lovers, employed his leisure moments, unknown to them, +in making a crayon sketch of their two figures. During their sittings, +he engaged them in conversation, and kindled up their faces with +characteristic traits, which, though continually varying, it was his +purpose to combine and fix. At length he announced, that at their next +visit both the portraits would be ready for delivery. + +"If my pencil will but be true to my conception, in the few last touches +which I meditate," observed he, "these two pictures will be my very best +performances. Seldom, indeed, has an artist such subjects." + +While speaking, he still bent his penetrative eye upon them, nor withdrew +it till they had reached the bottom of the stairs. + +Nothing, in the whole circle of human vanities, takes stronger hold of +the imagination, than this affair of having a portrait painted. Yet why +should it be so? The looking-glass, the polished globes of the andirons, +the mirror-like water, and all other reflecting surfaces, continually +present us with portraits, or rather ghosts, of ourselves, which we +glance at, and straightway forget them. But we forget them, only because +they vanish. It is the idea of duration--of earthly immortality--that +gives such a mysterious interest to our own portraits. Walter and Elinor +were not insensible to this feeling, and hastened to the painter's room, +punctually at the appointed hour, to meet those pictured shapes, which +were to be their representatives with posterity. The sunshine flashed +after them into the apartment, but left it somewhat gloomy, as they +closed the door. + +Their eyes were immediately attracted to their portraits, which rested +against the farthest wall of the room. At the first glance, through the +dim light and the distance, seeing themselves in precisely their natural +attitudes, and with all the air that they recognized so well, they +uttered a simultaneous exclamation of delight. + +"There we stand," cried Walter, "enthusiastically, fixed in sunshine +forever! No dark passions can gather on our faces!" + +"No," said Elinor, more calmly; "no dreary change can sadden us." + +This was said while they were approaching, and had yet gained only an +imperfect view of the pictures. The painter, after saluting them, busied +himself at a table in completing a crayon sketch, leaving his visitors to +form their own judgment as to his perfected labors. At intervals, he +sent a glance from beneath his deep eyebrows, watching their countenances +in profile, with his pencil suspended over the sketch. They had now +stood some moments, each in front of the other's picture, contemplating +it with entranced attention, but without uttering a word. At length, +Walter stepped forward,--then back,--viewing Elinor's portrait in various +lights, and finally spoke. + +"Is there not a change?" said he, in a doubtful and meditative tone. +"Yes; the perception of it grows more vivid, the longer I look. It is +certainly the same picture that I saw yesterday; the dress,--the +features,--all are the same; and yet something is altered." + +"Is then the picture less like than it was yesterday?" inquired the +painter, now drawing near, with irrepressible interest. + +"The features are perfect, Elinor," answered Walter, "and, at the first +glance, the expression seemed also hers. But, I could fancy that the +portrait has changed countenance, while I have been looking at it. The +eyes are fixed on mine with a strangely sad and anxious expression. Nay, +it is grief and terror! Is this like Elinor?" + +"Compare the living face with the pictured one," said the painter. + +Walter glanced sidelong at his mistress, and started. Motionless and +absorbed--fascinated as it were--in contemplation of Walter's portrait, +Elinor's face had assumed precisely the expression of which he had just +been complaining. Had she practised for whole hours before a mirror, she +could not have caught the look so successfully. Had the picture itself +been a mirror, it could not have thrown back her present aspect, with +stronger and more melancholy truth. She appeared quite unconscious of +the dialogue between the artist and her lover. + +"Elinor," exclaimed Walter, in amazement, "what change has come over +you?" + +She did not hear him, nor desist from her fixed gaze, till he seized her +hand, and thus attracted her notice; then, with a sudden tremor, she +looked from the picture to the face of the original. + +"Do you see no change in your portrait?" asked she. + +"In mine?--None!" replied Walter, examining it. "But let me see! Yes; +there is a slight change,--an improvement, I think, in the picture, +though none in the likeness. It has a livelier expression than +yesterday, as if some bright thought were flashing from the eyes, and +about to be uttered from the lips. Now that I have caught the look, +it becomes very decided." + +While he was intent on these observations, Elinor turned to the painter. +She regarded him with grief and awe, and felt that he repaid her with +sympathy and commiseration, though wherefore she could but vaguely guess. + +"That look!" whispered she, and shuddered. "How came it there?" + +"Madam," said the painter, sadly, taking her hand, and leading her +apart, "in both these pictures, I have painted what I saw. The artist-- +the true artist--must look beneath the exterior. It is his gift--his +proudest but often a melancholy one--to see the inmost soul, and by a +power indefinable even to himself to make it glow or darken upon the +canvas, in glances that express the thought and sentiment of years. +Would that I might convince myself of error in the present instance!" + +They had now approached the table, on which were heads in chalk, hands +almost as expressive as ordinary faces, ivied church-towers, thatched +cottages, old thunder-stricken trees, Oriental and antique costume, and +all such picturesque vagaries of an artist's idle moments. Turning them +over, with seeming carelessness, a crayon sketch of two figures was +disclosed. + +"If I have failed," continued he, "if your heart does not see itself +reflected in your own portrait, if you have no secret cause to trust my +delineation of the other, it is not yet too late to alter them. I might +change the action of these figures too. But would it influence the +event?" + +He directed her notice to the sketch. A thrill ran through Elinor's +frame; a shriek was upon her lips; but she stifled it, with the self- +command that becomes habitual to all, who hide thoughts of fear and +anguish within their bosoms. Turning from the table, she perceived that +Walter had advanced near enough to have seen the sketch, though she could +not determine whether it had caught his eye. + +"We will not have the pictures altered," said she, hastily. "If mine is +sad, I shall but look the gayer for the contrast." + +"Be it so," answered the painter, bowing. "May your griefs be such +fanciful ones, that only your picture may mourn for them! For your +joys,--may they be true and deep, and paint themselves upon this lovely +face till it quite belie my art!" + +After the marriage of Walter and Elinor, the pictures formed the two most +splendid ornaments of their abode. They hung side by side, separated by +a narrow panel, appearing to eye each other constantly, yet always +returning the gaze of the spectator. Travelled gentlemen, who professed +a knowledge of such subjects, reckoned these among the most admirable +specimens of modern portraiture; while common observers compared them +with the originals, feature by feature, and were rapturous in praise of +the likeness. But it was on a third class--neither travelled +connoisseurs nor common observers, but people of natural sensibility-- +that the pictures wrought their strongest effect. Such persons might +gaze carelessly at first, but, becoming interested, would return day +after day, and study these painted faces like the pages of a mystic +volume. Walter Ludlow's portrait attracted their earliest notice. In +the absence of himself and his bride, they sometimes disputed as to the +expression which the painter had intended to throw upon the features; all +agreeing that there was a look of earnest import, though no two explained +it alike. There was less diversity of opinion in regard to Elinor's +picture. They differed, indeed, in their attempts to estimate the nature +and depth of the gloom that dwelt upon her face, but agreed that it was +gloom, and alien from the natural temperament of their youthful friend. +A certain fanciful person announced, as the result of much scrutiny, that +both these pictures were parts of one design, and that the melancholy +strength of feeling, in Elinor's countenance, bore reference to the more +vivid emotion, or, as he termed it, the wild passion, in that of Walter. +Though unskilled in the art, he even began a sketch, in which the action +of the two figures was to correspond with their mutual expression. + +It was whispered among friends, that, day by day, Elinor's face was +assuming a deeper shade of pensiveness, which threatened soon to render +her too true a counterpart of her melancholy picture. Walter, on the +other hand, instead of acquiring the vivid look which the painter had +given him on the canvas, became reserved and downcast, with no outward +flashes of emotion, however it might be smouldering within. In course of +time, Elinor hung a gorgeous curtain of purple silk, wrought with +flowers, and fringed with heavy golden tassels, before the pictures, +under pretence that the dust would tarnish their lines, or the light din +them. It was enough. Her visitors felt, that the massive folds of the +silk must never be withdrawn, nor the portraits mentioned in her +presence. + +Time wore on; and the painter came again. He had been far enough to the +north to see the silver cascade of the Crystal Hills, and to look over +the vast round of cloud and forest, from the summit of New England's +loftiest mountain. But he did not profane that scene by the mockery of +his art. He had also lain in a canoe on the bosom of Lake George, making +his soul the mirror of its loveliness and grandeur, till not a picture in +the Vatican was more vivid than his recollection. He had gone with the +Indian hunters to Niagara, and there, again, had flung his hopeless +pencil down the precipice, feeling that he could as soon paint the roar, +as aught else that goes to make up the wondrous cataract. In truth, it +was seldom his impulse to copy natural scenery, except as a framework for +the delineations of the human form and face, instinct with thought, +passion, or suffering. With store of such, his adventurous ramble had +enriched him; the stern dignity of Indian chiefs; the dusky loveliness of +Indian girls; the domestic life of wigwams; the stealthy march; the +battle beneath gloomy pine-trees; the frontier fortress with its +garrison; the anomaly of the old French partisan, bred in courts, but +grown gray in shaggy deserts;--such were the scenes and portraits that he +had sketched. The glow of perilous moments; flashes of wild feeling; +struggles of fierce power; love, hate, grief, frenzy; in a word, all the +worn-out heart of the old earth had been revealed to him under a new +form. His portfolio was filled with graphic illustrations of the volume +of his memory, which genius would transmute into its own substance, and +imbue with immortality. He felt that the deep wisdom in his art, which +he had sought so far, was found. + +But, amid stern or lovely nature, in the perils of the forest, or its +overwhelming peacefulness, still there had been two phantoms, the +companions of his way. Like all other men around whom an engrossing +purpose wreathes itself, he was insulated from the mass of human kind. +He had no aim,--no pleasure,--no sympathies,--but what were ultimately +connected with his art. + +Though gentle in manner, and upright in intent and fiction, he did not +possess kindly feelings; his heart was cold; no living creature could be +brought near enough to keep him warm. For these two beings, however, he +had felt, in its greatest intensity, the sort of interest which always +allied him to the subjects of his pencil. He had pried into their souls +with his keenest insight, and pictured the result upon their features, +with his utmost skill, so as barely to fall short of that standard which +no genius ever reached, his own severe conception. He had caught from +the duskiness of the future--at least, so he fancied--a fearful secret, +and had obscurely revealed it on the portraits. So much of himself--of +his imagination and all other powers--had been lavished on the study of +Walter and Elinor, that he almost regarded them as creations of his own, +like the thousands with which he had peopled the realms of Picture. +Therefore did they flit through the twilight of the woods, hover on the +mist of waterfalls, look forth from the mirror of the lake, nor melt away +in the noontide sun. They haunted his pictorial fancy, not as mockeries +of life, nor pale goblins of the dead, but in the guise of portraits, +each with the unalterable expression which his magic had evoked from the +caverns of the soul. He could not recross the Atlantic, till he had +again beheld the originals of those airy pictures. + +"O glorious Art!" thus mused the enthusiastic painter, as he trod the +street. "Thou art the image of the Creator's own. The innumerable +forms, that wander in nothingness, start into being at thy beck. The +dead live again. Thou recallest them to their old scenes, and givest +their gray shadows the lustre of a better life, at once earthly and +immortal. Thou snatchest back the fleeting moments of History. With +thee, there is no Past; for, at thy touch, all that is great becomes +forever present; and illustrious men live through long ages, in the +visible performance of the very deeds which made thorn what they are. O +potent Art! as thou bringest the faintly revealed Past to stand in that +narrow strip of sunlight, which we call Now, canst thou summon the +shrouded Future to meet her there? Have I not achieved it? Am I not thy +Prophet?" + +Thus, with a proud, yet melancholy fervor, did he almost cry aloud, as he +passed through the toilsome street, among people that knew not of his +reveries, nor could understand nor care for them. It is not good for man +to cherish a solitary ambition. Unless there be those around him, by +whose example be may regulate himself, his thoughts, desires, and hopes +will become extravagant, and he the semblance, perhaps the reality, of a +madman. Reading other bosoms, with an acuteness almost preternatural, +the painter failed to see the disorder of his own. + +"And this should be the house," said he, looking up and down the front, +before he knocked. "Heaven help my brains! That picture! Methinks it +will never vanish. Whether I look at the windows or the door, there it +is framed within them, painted strongly, and glowing in the richest +tints--the faces of the portraits--the figures and action of the sketch!" + +He knocked. + +"The Portraits! Are they within?" inquired he, of the domestic; then +recollecting himself,--"your master and mistress! Are they at home?" + +"They are, sir," said the servant, adding, as he noticed that picturesque +aspect of which the painter could never divest himself, "and the +Portraits too!" + +The guest was admitted into a parlor, communicating by a central door +with an interior room of the same size. As the first apartment was +empty, he passed to the entrance of the second, within which his eyes +were greeted by those living personages, as well as their pictured +representatives, who had long been the objects of so singular an +interest. He involuntarily paused on the threshold. + +They had not perceived his approach. Walter and Elinor were standing +before the portraits, whence the former had just flung back the rich and +voluminous folds of the silken curtain, holding its golden tassel with +one hand, while the other grasped that of his bride. The pictures, +concealed for months, gleamed forth again in undiminished splendor, +appearing to throw a sombre light across the room, rather than to be +disclosed by a borrowed radiance. That of Elinor had been almost +prophetic. A pensiveness, and next a gentle sorrow, had successively +dwelt upon her countenance, deepening, with the lapse of time, into a +quiet anguish. A mixture of affright would now have made it the very +expression of the portrait. Walter's face was moody and dull, or +animated only by fitful flashes, which left a heavier darkness for their +momentary illumination. He looked from Elinor to her portrait, and +thence to his own, in the contemplation of which he finally stood +absorbed. + +The painter seemed to hear the step of Destiny approaching behind him, on +its progress towards its victims. A strange thought darted into his +mind. Was not his own the form in which that destiny had embodied +itself, and he a chief agent of the coming evil which he had +foreshadowed? + +Still, Walter remained silent before the picture, communing with it, as +with his own heart, and abandoning himself to the spell of evil +influence, that the painter had cast upon the features. Gradually his +eyes kindled; while as Elinor watched the increasing wildness of his +face, her own assumed a look of terror; and when at last he turned upon +her, the resemblance of both to their portraits was complete. + +"Our fate is upon us!" howled Walter.--"Die!" + +Drawing a knife, he sustained her, as she was sinking to the ground, and +aimed it at her bosom. In the action and in the look and attitude of +each, the painter beheld the figures of his sketch. The picture, with +all its tremendous coloring, was finished. + +"Hold, madman!" cried he, sternly. + +He had advanced from the door, and interposed himself between the +wretched beings, with the same sense of power to regulate their destiny, +as to alter a scene upon the canvas. He stood like a magician, +controlling the phantoms which he had evoked. + +"What!" muttered Walter Ludlow, as he relapsed from fierce excitement +into silent gloom. "Does Fate impede its own decree?" + +"Wretched lady!" said the painter. "Did I not warn you?" + +"You did," replied Elinor, calmly, as her terror gave place to the quiet +grief which it had disturbed. "But--I loved him!" + +Is there not a deep moral in the tale? Could the result of one, or all +our deeds, be shadowed forth and set before us, some would call it Fate, +and hurry onward, others be swept along by their passionate desires, and +none be turned aside by the PROPHETIC PICTURES. + + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, THE PROPHETIC PICTURES *** +By Nathaniel Hawthorne + +***** This file should be named haw3110.txt or haw3110.zip ******* + +Corrected EDITIONS of our etexts get a new NUMBER, haw3111.txt +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, haw3110a.txt + +This eBook was produced by David Widger [widger@cecomet.net] + +Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US +unless a copyright notice is included. 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