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. We established ourselves in one of the smallest and least sumptuously furnished
apartments. It lay in a remote turret of the building. Its decorations were rich, yet tattered and
antique. Its walls were hung with tapestry and bedecked with manifold and multiform armorial
trophies, together with an unusually great number of very spirited modern paintings in frames of
rich golden arabesque. In these paintings, which depended from the walls not only in their main
surfaces, but in very many nooks which the bizarre architecture of the chateau rendered necessary
-- in these paintings my incipient delirium, perhaps, had caused me to take deep interest; so that I
bade Pedro to close the heavy shutters of the room -- since it was already night -- to light the
tongues of a tall candelabrum which stood by the head of my bed -- and to throw open far and
wide the fringed curtains of black velvet which enveloped the bed itself. I wished all this done that
I might resign myself, if not to sleep, at least alternately to the contemplation of these pictures, and
the perusal of a small volume which had been found upon the pillow, and which purported to
criticize and describe them.

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

But the action produced an effect altogether unanticipated. The rays of the numerous
candles (for there were many) now fell within a niche of the room which had hitherto been thrown
into deep shade by one of the bed-posts. I thus saw in vivid light a picture all unnoticed before. It
was the portrait of a young girl just ripening into womanhood. I glanced at the painting hurriedly,
and then closed my eyes. Why I did this was not at first apparent even to my own perception. But
while my lids remained thus shut, I ran over in my mind my reason for so shutting them. It was an
impulsive movement to gain time for thought -- to make sure that my vision had not deceived me
-- to calm and subdue my fancy for a more sober and more certain gaze. In a very few moments I
again looked fixedly at the painting.
 That I now saw aright I could not and would not doubt; for the first flashing of the candles
upon that canvas had seemed to dissipate the dreamy stupor which was stealing over my senses,
and to startle me at once into waking life.

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

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

Introduction

Characters

 Narrator
→ Wounded man who takes refuge with his valet in an abandoned chateau in Italy. As he
settles into an apartment, he believes he is beginning to develop symptoms of delirium as a
result of his injury.

 Pedro
→ Narrator's valet.

 Woman in the Portrait

 Painter
→ Famous artist and husband of the woman in the portrait. He is so obsessed with his work
that he ignores his wife. When painting her portrait, he sees her as an object to be captured on
canvas, not as a woman who yearns for his love.

Setting
The sky grew dark, and this wounded guy should not rest outside. An apartment in
Apennine with rich designs yet it was antique, there are many paintings you could see in that,
nearly midnight, the shutters of the room were closed, thus it is midnight, yet the position of the
candelabrum disturbed the wounded one, thus making the candelabrum move to its pleasure.

Rising Action
The candelabrum was fixed, and in that, something became visible, a painting, which is
oval, it contains a young lady nearing womanhood, the one who saw it at first glance wants to be
sure, he closed his eyes, making sure that it was, and making sure that his eyed didn’t deceived
him, he looked fixedly, and he was sure it was.

Climax
Now he saw the painting for sure, he looked, at the painting in whole, it was really a
young beautiful lady, the guy fell back in bed, and changed the candelabrum’s position to its
former one, thus making the words of the painter visible, it says that the painting’s object is a
maiden of the rarest beauty, yet in an hour, this is the only mistake she made, in marrying the
painter, this painter was very, a painter, indeed, he wants to paint even his wife, and the art, the
art would be the only rival the maiden has, yet she loves her husband so much, for many weeks
she sat in front of her husband, and many more weeks past by…
Denouement
The art, is drawing near to its conclusion, in many more weeks, now the little task is just
to paint the mouth and the eye of the maiden, so having the masterpiece done, looked at it, very
glad the painter was, yet…

Ending
The painter turned to his wife, and the sudden event was, the death of his beloved wife.

Theme

 Obsession
→ The artist becomes so engrossed in his work that he completely ignores his wife. Pining
for his love, she dies.

 Fatal Love
→ Like a moth attracted to a flame, the young lady is attracted to an artist who burns with
passion. But his passion is for his work, not for her. Nevertheless, she remains at his side—in
the glow of his fire, as it were—and dies.

 Submissiveness
→ The book the narrator reads says the young lady “was humble and obedient, and sat
meekly [for the painting] for many weeks in the dark, high turret-chamber.” Even though her
husband regards her as a mere object—like a bowl of fruit or a flower—“she smiled on and
still on, uncomplainingly.”

Moral Lesson

 In accomplishing your master piece, indeed you need to sacrifice a little bit, yet, be
knowledgeable on what is really important for you, don’t let the single piece ruin your
important piece, don’t sacrifice it all, just a little bit, don’t be obsessed on side dishes, you
should give attention to your main dish!