“Thefeaturesareperfect，Elinor。”answeredWalter，“and，atthe
firstglance，theexpressionseemedalsohers。But，Icouldfancythat
theportraithaschangedcountenance，whileIhavebeenlookingatit。
Theeyesarefixedonminewithastrangelysadandanxious
expression。Nay，itisgriefandterror！IsthislikeElinor？”
“Comparethelivingfacewiththepicturedone。”saidthepainter。
Walterglancedsidelongathismistress，andstarted。Motionless
andabsorbed-fascinated，asitwere-incontemplationofWalter’s
portrait，Elinor’sfacehadassumedpreciselytheexpressionof
whichhehadjustbeencomplaining。Hadshepractisedforwhole
hoursbeforeamirror，shecouldnothavecaughtthelookso
successfully。Hadthepictureitselfbeenamirror，itcouldnot
havethrownbackherpresentaspectwithstrongerandmore
melancholytruth。Sheappearedquiteunconsciousofthedialogue
betweentheartistandherlover。
“Elinor。”exclaimedWalter，inamazement，“whatchangehascome
overyou？”
Shedidnothearhim，nordesistfromherfixedgaze，tillhe
seizedherhand，andthusattractedhernotice；then，withasudden
tremor，shelookedfromthepicturetothefaceoftheoriginal。
“Doyouseenochangeinyourportrait？”askedshe。
“Inmine？None！”repliedWalter，examiningit。“Butletmesee！
Yes；thereisaslightchange-animprovement，Ithink，inthe
picture，thoughnoneinthelikeness。Ithasalivelierexpression
thanyesterday，asifsomebrightthoughtwereflashingfromtheeyes，
andabouttobeutteredfromthelips。NowthatIhavecaughtthe
look，itbecomesverydecided。”
Whilehewasintentontheseobservations，Elinorturnedtothe
painter。Sheregardedhimwithgriefandawe，andfeltthathe
repaidherwithsympathyandcommiseration，thoughwherefore，she
couldbutvaguelyguess。
“Thatlook！”whisperedshe，andshuddered。“Howcameitthere？”
“Madam。”saidthepainter，sadly，takingherhand，andleading
herapart，“inboththesepictures，IhavepaintedwhatIsaw。The
artist-thetrueartist-mustlookbeneaththeexterior。Itishis
gift-hisproudest，butoftenamelancholyone-toseetheinmost
soul，and，byapowerindefinableeventohimself，tomakeitglow
ordarkenuponthecanvas，inglancesthatexpressthethoughtand
sentimentofyears。WouldthatImightconvincemyselfoferrorinthe
presentinstance！”
Theyhadnowapproachedthetable，onwhichwereheadsinchalk，
handsalmostasexpressiveasordinaryfaces，iviedchurchtowers，
thatchedcottages，oldthunder-strickentrees，Orientalandantique
costume，andallsuchpicturesquevagariesofanartist’sidle
moments。Turningthemover，withseemingcarelessness，acrayonsketch
oftwofigureswasdisclosed。
“IfIhavefailed。”continuedhe，“ifyourheartdoesnotsee
itselfreflectedinyourownportrait-ifyouhavenosecretcause
totrustmydelineationoftheother-itisnotyettoolateto
alterthem。Imightchangetheactionofthesefigurestoo。But
woulditinfluencetheevent？”
Hedirectedhernoticetothesketch。AthrillranthroughElinor’s
frame；ashriekwasuponherlips；butshestifledit，withthe
self-commandthatbecomeshabitualtoallwhohidethoughtsoffear
andanguishwithintheirbosoms。Turningfromthetable，sheperceived
thatWalterhadadvancednearenoughtohaveseenthesketch，though
shecouldnotdeterminewhetherithadcaughthiseye。
“Wewillnothavethepicturesaltered。”saidshe，hastily。“If
mineissad，Ishallbutlookthegayerforthecontrast。”
“Beitso。”answeredthepainter，bowing。“Mayyourgriefsbe
suchfancifulonesthatonlyyourpicturemaymournforthem！Foryour
joys-maytheybetrueanddeep，andpaintthemselvesuponthislovely
facetillitquitebeliemyart！”
AfterthemarriageofWalterandElinor，thepicturesformedthe
twomostsplendidornamentsoftheirabode。Theyhungsidebyside，
separatedbyanarrowpanel，appearingtoeyeeachotherconstantly，
yetalwaysreturningthegazeofthespectator。Travelledgentlemen，
whoprofessedaknowledgeofsuchsubjects，reckonedtheseamongthe
mostadmirablespecimensofmodernportraiture；whilecommonobservers
comparedthemwiththeoriginals，featurebyfeature，andwere
rapturousinpraiseofthelikeness。Butitwasonathirdclass-
neithertravelledconnoisseursnorcommonobservers，butpeopleof
naturalsensibility-thatthepictureswroughttheirstrongesteffect。
Suchpersonsmightgazecarelesslyatfirst，but，becominginterested，
wouldreturndayafterday，andstudythesepaintedfaceslikethe
pagesofamysticvolume。WalterLudlow’sportraitattractedtheir
earliestnotice。Intheabsenceofhimselfandhisbride，they
sometimesdisputedastotheexpressionwhichthepainterhadintended
tothrowuponthefeatures；allagreeingthattherewasalookof
earnestimport，thoughnotwoexplaineditalike。Therewasless
diversityofopinioninregardtoElinor’spicture。Theydiffered，
indeed，intheirattemptstoestimatethenatureanddepthofthe
gloomthatdweltuponherface，butagreedthatitwasgloom，and
alienfromthenaturaltemperamentoftheiryouthfulfriend。Acertain
fancifulpersonannounced，astheresultofmuchscrutiny，thatboth
thesepictureswerepartsofonedesign，andthatthemelancholy
strengthoffeeling，inElinor’scountenance，borereferencetothe
morevividemotion，or，ashetermedit，thewildpassion，inthat
ofWalter。Thoughunskilledintheart，heevenbeganasketch，in
whichtheactionofthetwofigureswastocorrespondwiththeir
mutualexpression。
Itwaswhisperedamongfriendsthat，daybyday，Elinor’sface
wasassumingadeepershadeofpensiveness，whichthreatenedsoonto
renderhertootrueacounterpartofhermelancholypicture。Walter，
ontheotherhand，insteadofacquiringthevividlookwhichthe
painterhadgivenhimonthecanvas，becamereservedanddowncast，
withnooutwardflashesofemotion，howeveritmightbesmouldering
within。Incourseoftime，Elinorhungagorgeouscurtainofpurple
silk，wroughtwithflowersandfringedwithheavygoldentassels，
beforethepictures，underpretencethatthedustwouldtarnish
theirhues，orthelightdimthem。Itwasenough。Hervisitorsfelt，
thatthemassivefoldsofthesilkmustneverbewithdrawn，northe
portraitsmentionedinherpresence。
Timeworeon；andthepaintercameagain。Hehadbeenfarenoughto
thenorthtoseethesilvercascadeoftheCrystalHills，andto
lookoverthevastroundofcloudandforestfromthesummitofNew
England’sloftiestmountain。Buthedidnotprofanethatsceneby
themockeryofhisart。Hehadalsolaininacanoeonthebosomof
LakeGeorge，makinghissoulthemirrorofitslovelinessand
grandeur，tillnotapictureintheVaticanwasmorevividthanhis
recollection。HehadgonewiththeIndianhunterstoNiagara，and
there，again，hadflunghishopelesspencildowntheprecipice，
feelingthathecouldassoonpainttheroar，asaughtelsethat
goestomakeupthewondrouscataract。Intruth，itwasseldomhis
impulsetocopynaturalscenery，exceptasaframeworkforthe
delineationsofthehumanformandface，instinctwiththought，
passion，orsuffering。Withstoreofsuchhisadventurousramblehad
enrichedhim：thesterndignityofIndianchiefs；theduskyloveliness
ofIndiangirls；thedomesticlifeofwigwams；thestealthymarch；the
battlebeneathgloomypine-trees；thefrontierfortresswithits
garrison；theanomalyoftheoldFrenchpartisan，bredincourts，
butgrowngrayinshaggydeserts；suchwerethescenesandportraits
thathehadsketched。Theglowofperilousmoments；flashesofwild
feeling；strugglesoffiercepower-love，hate，grief，frenzy；ina
word，alltheworn-outheartoftheoldearthhadbeenrevealedtohim
underanewform。Hisportfoliowasfilledwithgraphic
illustrationsofthevolumeofhismemory，whichgeniuswould
transmuteintoitsownsubstance，andimbuewithimmortality。He
feltthatthedeepwisdominhisart，whichhehadsoughtsofar，
wasfound。
Butamidsternorlovelynature，intheperilsoftheforestorits
overwhelmingpeacefulness，stilltherehadbeentwophantoms，the
companionsofhisway。Likeallothermenaroundwhomanengrossing
purposewreathesitself，hewasinsulatedfromthemassofhumankind。
Hehadnoaim-nopleasure-nosympathies-butwhatwereultimately
connectedwithhisart。Thoughgentleinmanneranduprightin
intentandaction，hedidnotpossesskindlyfeelings；hisheartwas
cold；nolivingcreaturecouldbebroughtnearenoughtokeephim
warm。Forthesetwobeings，however，hehadfelt，initsgreatest
intensity，thesortofinterestwhichalwaysalliedhimtothe
subjectsofhispencil。Hehadpriedintotheirsoulswithhiskeenest
insight，andpicturedtheresultupontheirfeatureswithhisutmost
skill，soasbarelytofallshortofthatstandardwhichnogenius
everreached，hisownsevereconception。Hehadcaughtfromthe
duskinessofthefuture-atleast，sohefancied-afearfulsecret，
andhadobscurelyrevealeditontheportraits。Somuchofhimself-of
hisimaginationandallotherpowers-hadbeenlavishedonthestudy
ofWalterandElinor，thathealmostregardedthemascreationsofhis
own，likethethousandswithwhichhehadpeopledtherealmsof
Picture。Thereforedidtheyflitthroughthetwilightofthewoods，
hoveronthemistofwaterfalls，lookforthfromthemirrorofthe
lake，normeltawayinthenoontidesun。Theyhauntedhispictorial
fancy，notasmockeriesoflife，norpalegoblinsofthedead，but
intheguiseofportraits，eachwiththeunalterableexpression
whichhismagichadevokedfromthecavernsofthesoul。Hecould
notrecrosstheAtlantictillhehadagainbeheldtheoriginalsof
thoseairypictures。
“OgloriousArt！”thusmusedtheenthusiasticpainterashetrod
thestreet，thouarttheimageoftheCreator’sown。Theinnumerable
forms，thatwanderinnothingness，startintobeingatthybeck。The
deadliveagain。Thourecallestthemtotheiroldscenes，andgivest
theirgrayshadowsthelustreofabetterlife，atonceearthlyand
immortal。ThousnatchestbackthefleetingmomentsofHistory。With
theethereisnoPast，for，atthytouch，allthatisgreatbecomes
foreverpresent；andillustriousmenlivethroughlongages，inthe
visibleperformanceoftheverydeedswhichmadethemwhattheyare。O
potentArt！asthoubringestthefaintlyrevealedPasttostandin
thatnarrowstripofsunlight，whichwecallNow，canstthousummon
theshroudedFuturetomeetherthere？HaveInotachievedit？AmI
notthyProphet？”
Thus，withaproud，yetmelancholyfervor，didhealmostcryaloud，
ashepassedthroughthetoilsomestreet，amongpeoplethatknewnot
ofhisreveries，norcouldunderstandnorcareforthem。Itisnot
goodformantocherishasolitaryambition。Unlesstherebethose
aroundhimbywhoseexamplehemayregulatehimself，histhoughts，
desires，andhopeswillbecomeextravagant，andhethesemblance，
perhapsthereality，ofamadman。Readingotherbosomswithan
acutenessalmostpreternatural，thepainterfailedtoseethedisorder
ofhisown。
“Andthisshouldbethehouse。”saidhe，lookingupanddownthe
front，beforeheknocked。“Heavenhelpmybrains！Thatpicture！
Methinksitwillnevervanish。WhetherIlookatthewindowsorthe
door，thereitisframedwithinthem，paintedstrongly，andglowingin
therichesttints-thefacesoftheportraits-thefiguresand
actionofthesketch！”
Heknocked。
“ThePortraits！Aretheywithin？”inquiredheofthedomestic；then
recollectinghimself-“yourmasterandmistress！Aretheyathome？”
“Theyare，sir。”saidtheservant，adding，ashenoticedthat
picturesqueaspectofwhichthepaintercouldneverdivesthimself，
“andthePortraitstoo！”
