The Oval Portrait

Read for you by Chiquito Crasto, Birmingham, Alabama.

The Oval Portrait by Edgar Allan Poe.

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The Oval Portrait by Edgar Allan Poe.

The chateau into which my valet had ventured to make forcible entrance, rather than permit me in my desperately wounded condition to pass a night in the open air, was one of those piles of commingled gloom and grandeur which have so long frowned among the Apennines, not less in fact than in the fancy of Mrs. Radcliffe.

To all appearance it had been temporarily and very lately abandoned.

End of The Secret of Kralitz by Henry Kuttner.

The Oval Portrait by Edgar Allan Poe.

This is a LibriVox recording.

All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain.

For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org.

The Oval Portrait by Edgar Allan Poe.

The chateau into which my valet had ventured to make forceful entrance rather than permit me in my desperately wounded condition to pass a night in the open air was one of the piles of commingled gloom and grandeur which have so long frowned among the Apennines, not less in fact than in the fancy of Mrs. Radcliffe.

To all appearance, it had been temporarily and very lately abandoned.

For more information and to find out how you can volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org.

This is The Oval Portrait by Edgar Allan Poe.

The chateau into which my valet had ventured to make forcible entrance, rather than permit me, in my desperately wounded condition, to pass a night in the open air, was one of those piles of commingled gloom and grandeur which have so long frowned among the Apennines, not less, in fact, than in the fancy of Mrs. Radcliffe.

To all appearance, it had been temporarily and very lately abandoned.

Its decorations were rich, yet tattered and antique.

Its walls were hung with tapestry and bedecked with manifold and multiform memorial trophies, together with an unusually great number of very spirited modern paintings and frames of rich golden arabesque.

in these paintings which depended from the walls not only in their main surfaces but in very many nooks which the bizarre architecture of the chteau rendered necessary in these paintings my incipient delirium perhaps had caused me to take deep interest so that i bade pager close the heavy shutters of the room since it was already night to light the tongues of a tall candelabrum which stood by the head of my bed and to throw open far and wide the fringed curtains of black velvet which enveloped the bed itself i wished all this done that i might resign myself if not to sleep at least alternately to the contemplation of these pictures and the perusal of a small volume which had been found upon the pillow and which purported to criticise and describe them long long i read and devoutly devotedly i gazed rapidly and gloriously the hours flew by and the deep midnight came the position of the candelabrum displeased me and outreaching my hand with difficulty rather than to stir my slumbering valet i placed it so as to throw its rays more fully upon the book but the action produced an effect altogether unanticipated the rays of the numerous candles for there were many now fell within a niche of the room which had hitherto been thrown into deep shade by one of the bed-posts i thus saw in vivid light a picture all unnoticed before it was the portrait of a young girl just ripening into womanhood i glanced at the painting hurriedly and then closed my eyes why i did this was not at first apparent even to my own perception but while my lids remained thus shut i ran over in my mind my reason for so shutting them it was an impulsive movement to gain time for thought to make sure that my vision had not deceived me to calm and subdue my fancy for a more sober and more certain gaze in a very few moments i again looked fixedly at the painting that i now saw aright i could not and would not doubt for the first flashing of the candles upon that canvas had seemed to dissipate the dreamy stupor which was stealing over my senses and to startle me at once into waking life the portrait i have already said was that of a young girl it was a mere head and shoulders done in what is technically termed a vignette manner much in the style of the favourite heads of sully the arms the bosom and even the hands of the radiant hair melted imperceptibly into the vague yet deep shadow which formed the background of the whole the frame was oval richly gilded and filigreed and moreesque as a thing of art nothing could be more admirable than the painting itself but it could have been neither the execution of the work nor the immortal beauty of the countenance which had so suddenly and so vehemently moved me least of all it could have been that my fancy shaken from its half slumber had mistaken the head for that of a living person i saw at once that the peculiarities of the design of the vignetting of the frame must have instantly dispelled such idea must have prevented even its momentary entertainment thinking earnestly upon these points i remained for an hour perhaps half sitting half reclining with my vision riveted upon the portrait at length satisfied with the true secret of its effect i fell back within the bed i had found the spell of the picture in an absolute life-likeliness of expression which at first startling finally confounded subdued and appalled me with deep and reverent awe i replaced the candelabrum in its former position the cause of my deep agitation being thus shut from view i sought eagerly the volume which discussed the paintings and their histories turning to the number which designated the oval portrait i read there the vague and quaint words which follow she was a maiden of rarest beauty and not more lovely than full of glee and evil was the hour when she saw and loved and wedded the painter he passionate studious austere and having already a bride in his art she a maiden of rarest beauty and not more lovely than full of glee all light and smiles and frolicsome as the young fawn loving and cherishing of all things hating only the art which was her rival dreading only the palette and brushes and other untoward instruments which deprived her of the countenance of her lover it was just a terrible thing for this lady to hear the painter speak of his desire to portray even his young bride but she was humble and obedient and sat meekly for many weeks in the dark high turret chamber where the light dripped upon the pale canvas only from overhead but he the painter took glory in his work which went on from hour to hour and from day to day and he was a passionate and wild and moody man who became lost in reveries so that he would not see that the light which fell so ghastly in that lone turret withered the health and the spirits of his bride who pined visibly to all but him yet she smiled on and still on uncomplainingly because she saw that the painter who had high renown took a fervent and burning pleasure in his task and wrought day and night to depict her who so loved him yet who grew daily more dispirited and weak and in sooth some who beheld the portrait spoke of its resemblance in low words as of a mighty marvel and approved not less of the power of the painter than of his deep love for her whom he depicted so surpassingly well But at length, as the labour drew nearer to its conclusion, there were admitted none into the turret, for the painter had grown wild with the ardour of his work, and turned his eyes from canvas merely even to regard the countenance of his wife.

And he would not see that the tints which he spread upon the canvas were drawn from the cheeks of her who sate beside him.

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This is The Oval Portrait by Edgar Allan Poe.

The chateau into which my valet had ventured to make forcible entrance, rather than permit me, in my desperately wounded condition, to pass a night in the open air, was one of those piles of commingled gloom and grandeur which have so long frowned among the Apennines, not less, in fact, than in the fancy of Mrs. Radcliffe.

To all appearance it had been temporarily and very lately abandoned.

Its decorations were rich, yet tattered and antique.

Its walls were hung with tapestry and bedecked with manifold and multiform memorial trophies, together with an unusually great number of very spirited modern paintings and frames of rich golden arabesque.

in these paintings which depended from the walls not only in their main surfaces but in very many nooks which the bizarre architecture of the chateau rendered necessary in these paintings my incipient delirium perhaps had caused me to take deep interest so that i bade peter close the heavy shutters of the room since it was already night to light the tongues of a tall candelabrum which stood by the head of my bed and to throw open far and wide the fringed curtains of black velvet which enveloped the bed itself i wished all this done that i might resign myself if not to sleep at least alternately to the contemplation of these pictures and the perusal of a small volume which had been found upon the pillow and which purported to criticise and describe them long long i read and devoutly devotedly i gazed rapidly and gloriously the hours flew by and the deep midnight came the position of the candelabrum displeased me and outreaching my hand with difficulty rather than to stir my slumbering valet i placed it so as to throw its rays more fully upon the book but the action produced an effect altogether unanticipated the rays of the numerous candles for there were many now fell within a niche of the room which had hitherto been thrown into deep shade by one of the bed-posts i thus saw in vivid light a picture all unnoticed before it was the portrait of a young girl just ripening into womanhood i glanced at the painting hurriedly and then closed my eyes why i did this was not at first apparent even to my own perception but while my lids remained thus shut i ran over in my mind my reason for so shutting them it was an impulsive movement to gain time for thought to make sure that my vision had not deceived me to calm and subdue my fancy for a more sober and more certain gaze in a very few moments i again looked fixedly at the painting that i now saw aright i could not and would not doubt for the first flashing of the candles upon that canvas had seemed to dissipate the dreamy stupor which was stealing over my senses and to startle me at once into waking life the portrait i have already said was that of a young girl it was a mere head and shoulders done in what is technically termed a vignette manner much in the style of the favourite heads of sully the arms the bosom and even the hands of the radiant hair melted imperceptibly into the vague yet deep shadow which formed the background of the whole the frame was oval richly gilded and filigreed and moreesque as a thing of art nothing could be more admirable than the painting itself but it could have been neither the execution of the work nor the immortal beauty of the countenance which had so suddenly and so vehemently moved me least of all it could have been that my fancy shaken from its half slumber had mistaken the head for that of a living person i saw at once that the peculiarities of the design of the vignetting of the frame must have instantly dispelled such idea must have prevented even its momentary entertainment thinking earnestly upon these points i remained for an hour perhaps half sitting half reclining with my vision riveted upon the portrait at length satisfied with the true secret of its effect i fell back within the bed i had found the spell of the picture in an absolute life-likeliness of expression which at first startling finally confounded subdued and appalled me with deep and reverent awe i replaced the candelabrum in its former position the cause of my deep agitation being thus shut from view i sought eagerly the volume which discussed the paintings and their histories turning to the number which designated the oval portrait i read there the vague and quaint words which follow she was a maiden of rarest beauty and not more lovely than full of glee and evil was the hour when she saw and loved and wedded the painter he passionate studious austere and having already a bride in his art she a maiden of rarest beauty and not more lovely than full of glee all light and smiles and frolicsome as the young fawn loving and cherishing of all things hating only the art which was her rival dreading only the palette and brushes and other untoward instruments which deprived her of the countenance of her lover it was just a terrible thing for this lady to hear the painter speak of his desire to portray even his young bride but she was humble and obedient and sat meekly for many weeks in the dark high turret chamber where the light dripped upon the pale canvas only from overhead but he the painter took glory in his work which went on from hour to hour and from day to day and he was a passionate and wild and moody man who became lost in reveries so that he would not see that the light which fell so ghastly in that lone turret withered the health and spirits of his bride who pined visibly to all but him yet she smiled on and still on uncomplainingly because she saw that the painter who had high renown took a fervent and burning pleasure in his task and wrought day and night to depict her who so loved him yet who grew daily more dispirited and weak and in sooth some who beheld the portrait spoke of its resemblance in low words as of a mighty marvel and approved not less of the power of the painter than of his deep love for her whom he depicted so surpassingly well but at length as the labour drew nearer to its conclusion there were admitted none into the turret for the painter had grown wild with the ardour of his work and turned his eyes from canvas merely even to regard the countenance of his wife and he would not see that the tints which he spread upon the canvas were drawn from the cheeks of her who sate beside him and when many weeks had passed and but little remained to do save one brush upon the mouth and one tint upon the eye the spirit of the lady again flickered up as the flame within the socket of the lamp and then the brush was given and then the tint was placed and for one moment the painter stood entranced before the work which he had wrought but in the next while he yet gazed he grew tremulous and very pallid and aghast and crying with a loud voice this is indeed life itself turned suddenly to regard his beloved she was dead the oval portrait by edgar allan poe

THE PHANTOM COACH by Amelia B. Edwards.

I knew I knew that no coffin had ever been placed unoccupied in the tombs and I read upon the stone sarcophagus at my feet the inscription that made my doom known to me my own name Franz twenty-first baron Kralitz End of The Secret of Kralitz by Henry Kuttner

The Oval Portrait by Edgar Allan Poe This is a LibriVox recording.

All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain.

For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org.

The Oval Portrait by Edgar Allan Poe The chateau into which my valet had ventured to make forceful entrance rather than permit me, in my desperately wounded condition, to pass a night in the open air, was one of the piles of commingled gloom and grandeur which have so long frowned among the Apennines, not less, in fact, than in the fancy of Mrs. Radcliffe.

To all appearance it had been temporarily and very lately abandoned.

We established ourselves into one of the smallest and least sumptuously furnished apartments.

With deep and reverent awe I replaced the candelabrum in its former position.

End of The Alchemist.

The Oval Portrait by Edgar Allan Poe.

This is a LibriVox recording.

All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain.

For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by J. Kyle Sullivan.

The Oval Portrait by Edgar Allan Poe.

The chateau into which my valet had ventured to make forcible entrance rather than permit me, in my desperately wounded condition, to pass a night in the open air, was one of those piles of commingled gloom and grandeur which have so long frowned upon the Apennines, not less in fact than in the fancy of Mrs. Radcliffe.

To all appearance it had been temporarily and very lately abandoned.

I think of all my favorite Poe stories.

I think one of my, if not my favorite is the oval portrait, which I think we covered on this podcast many years

ago.

Um, oval portrait has such a huge frame that the actual story in it is much smaller than the frame itself

here.

Well, actually, you know, I think we're getting off track here, but let me, I need to remind you the oval portrait is in fact about almost divided in half.

The first half is a front frame, uh, The second half is an excerpt from a book being read by someone in a tower.

And there is no return to the front frame.

Read for you by Chiquito Crasto, Birmingham, Alabama.

The Oval Portrait by Edgar Allan Poe.

This is a LibriVox recording.

All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain.

For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org.

The Oval Portrait by Edgar Allan Poe.

The chateau into which my valet had ventured to make forcible entrance, rather than permit me in my desperately wounded condition to pass a night in the open air, was one of those piles of commingled gloom and grandeur which have so long frowned among the Apennines, not less in fact than in the fancy of Mrs. Radcliffe.

To all appearance it had been temporarily and very lately abandoned.