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.
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