Este relato narra la historia de un hombre herido que pasa la noche en un castillo abandonado recientemente. El castillo era suntuoso y estaba decorado con hermosos tapices y cuadros. El hombre coge un pequeño libro que encuentra debajo de la almohada en el que hay una breve descripción de los cuadros y las obras de arte. Se fija en un retrato oval de una señora y procede a leer su historia.

A man seeks shelter for the night in an abandoned chateau. While he is in bed he notices a painting on the wall of a girl. He is captivated by it, and reads about it in a book, which tells the sad tale of the painting.

This was a short, gripping, and fascinating read. Another interesting story by Poe. ( )

Since there are dozens of reviews already posted here, in the spirit of freshness I will focus on how Edgar Allan Poe uses this tale to convey the power of art and aesthetic experience for both artist and viewer. Below are my observations along with several of the author’s quotes.

The narrator enters a room situated in a remote turret of a Italian mountain chateau, a room filled with tapestry and trophies “together with an unusually great number of very spirited modern paintings, in frames of rich golden arabesque.” This framing of works of art is no accident – by its very nature, art is a world apart; no matter how realistic, what is contained within the frame requires a viewer’s attention and imagination to be seen properly.

“Long – long I read – and devoutly, devoutly I gazed.” The act of devotion traditionally appertains to religion, but, for such art aficionados of the nineteenth century as the narrator, in a very real sense, art took the place of religion. And, similar to religious and mystical experience, his art gazing evaporates the everyday experience of time. He tells us, “Rapidly and gloriously the hours flew by and the deep midnight came.”

The narrator’s experience reflects what many eighteenth and nineteenth century philosophers such as Immanuel Kant, Frederick Schiller and Arthur Schopenhauer refer to as "the disinterested state," a mind-set whereby we transcend the muck and grime of our petty, self-preoccupied day-to-day concerns and soar to the crystal clear psychic sky of universal beauty.

Then the narrator’s attention turns more directly to the oval portrait and he spends an hour riveted on what he sees, such riveted attention moving him to intense emotional and psychological depths. We read, “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.”

This is the potency one encounters when totally committing to the art object; in his case being, in turn, startled, confounded, subdued and appalled, states made all the more vivid by the rarefied, ethereal air of aesthetic experience; indeed, his senses and neurological pathways are washed clean and opened like floodgates for the expressive force of the lifelike portrait of the artist’s young, beautiful wife. Additionally, the mood set by the candles of the candelabra and the dark night only adds to the piquancy of his astonishing experience.

When the narrator turns to the page discussing this painting and its history, we read along about a “passionate, wild and moody man" taking glory in his work, an artist who painted day and night over many weeks and who “took a fervid and burning pleasure in his task." However, the artist’s obsession in conferring life to his painting has a price: the more alive and vital his painting, the more life is drained from his tender, young wife, a process the artist, in his obsessive fervor, completely fails to register. This transference of energy crescendos with the final brush stroke - the painting springs fully to life at the exact moment of his young wife’s death.

So, what are we to make of this tale? Is the painter an evil man as some reviewers might suggest? Any reader who has been touched by the muse and participates in the creative life of art, music or literature knows there are sacrifices to be made, usually sacrifices made by the creative artist himself or herself but there are times when others are impacted, either willingly or unwillingly.

Where do we draw the line? We certainly don’t want to live in a flat, vapid, humdrum artless world but should such sacrifices be made as in Poe’s tale? How we answer this question is a telling sign of who we are as individuals and who we are collectively as a society.

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poe's stories always gives me the creeps and yet that does not seem to be enough to steer clear from them.he is brilliant! ( )

poe's stories always gives me the creeps and yet that does not seem to be enough to steer clear from them.he is brilliant! ( )