Nathaniel Hawthorne
Nathaniel Hawthorne · Tiếng Anh
Nathaniel Hawthorne's haunting allegory from Twice-Told Tales (1837), suggested by an anecdote of Gilbert Stuart.
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Nathaniel Hawthorne's haunting allegory from Twice-Told Tales (1837), suggested by an anecdote of Gilbert Stuart. A European master painter arrives in colonial Boston with a gift few have understood — he paints not faces, but souls. The young lovers Walter Ludlow and Elinor sit for their portraits on the eve of their wedding, eager to leave likenesses for posterity. The artist works in silent intensity, his keen eye penetrating beneath the surface, and when the canvases are revealed, the lovers see something more than themselves: Elinor's face shadowed with quiet anguish, Walter's marked by a fitful, smoldering wildness. A secret crayon sketch hidden among studio drawings shows two figures, and a knife. Years later, when the painter returns from wandering among Indian villages and the Crystal Hills, he finds the prophecy ripening. Hawthorne weaves Mosaic law, Salem witch-time superstition, and the artist's solitary ambition into a meditation on whether knowing our fate can ever turn us aside from it.
Nathaniel Hawthorne · Tiếng Anh
Nathaniel Hawthorne's haunting allegory from Twice-Told Tales (1837), suggested by an anecdote of Gilbert Stuart.
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TWICE TOLD TALES THE PROPHETIC PICTURES By Nathaniel Hawthorne [This story was suggested by an anecdote of Stuart, related in Dunlap’s History of the Arts of Design,—a most entertaining book to the general reader, and a deeply interesting one, we should think, to the artist.] “But this painter!” cried Walter Ludlow, with animation. “He not only excels in his peculiar art, but possesses vast acquirements in al
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Nathaniel Hawthorne's haunting allegory from Twice-Told Tales (1837), suggested by an anecdote of Gilbert Stuart. A European master painter arrives in colonial Boston with a gift few have understood — he paints not faces, but souls. The young lovers Walter Ludlow and Elinor sit for their portraits on the eve of their wedding, eager to leave likenesses for posterity. The artist works in silent intensity, his keen eye penetrating beneath the surface, and when the canvases are revealed, the lovers see something more than themselves: Elinor's face shadowed with quiet anguish, Walter's marked by a fitful, smoldering wildness. A secret crayon sketch hidden among studio drawings shows two figures, and a knife. Years later, when the painter returns from wandering among Indian villages and the Crystal Hills, he finds the prophecy ripening. Hawthorne weaves Mosaic law, Salem witch-time superstition, and the artist's solitary ambition into a meditation on whether knowing our fate can ever turn us aside from it.
Nathaniel Hawthorne
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