The eyes of the portraits are watching you, seeming to follow you no matter where you go.… It’s such a classic scene in horror that we see this moment parodied in nearly every sitcom or children’s cartoon that has a haunted house episode. But where did this trope come from? To an extent, it’s inspired by an actual artistic phenomenon—an optical illusion called “ubiquitous gaze,” in which the artist’s use of perspective makes the subject appear to be looking at the viewer, no matter what angle the viewer approaches it from. In Gothic literature, however, a supernatural explanation is more likely. In fact, in several classic works, the portraits do quite a bit more than merely follow you with their eyes. Below are a few of my favorite examples of portraits and tapestries that come to life:
The Castle of Otranto by Horace Walpole
Like many tropes in the Gothic genre, this one was kicked right off in the very first Gothic novel, Horace Walpole’s The Castle of Otranto (1764). In a pivotal scene in the story, the villainous Lord Manfred declares his intention to force himself on the innocent Isabella when a strange sight distracts him: the portrait of Manfred’s grandfather on the wall behind Isabella heaves a deep sigh, then gets up and walks out of his picture frame, gesturing for Manfred to follow. At first Manfred assumes this is the work of devils, but it would seem the portrait is in fact inhabited by the spirit of his grandfather. Don Ricardo was the original usurper of Otranto, bringing a curse upon his family line by murdering the castle’s true lord and forging his will. The portrait’s “grave and melancholy air” suggests that the spirit of Don Ricardo remains haunted by guilt over this crime. Perhaps that guilt is why Don Ricardo interrupts his grandson before Manfred, too, can commit a crime he’ll never be able to undo. Unfortunately for Manfred, this intervention from his ancestor is not enough to stop the fulfillment of the old family curse.
This helpful but haunted portrait likely served as the seed of inspiration for the later examples discussed below, and maybe even (directly or indirectly) for the walking, talking portraits in fantasy stories like Harry Potter.
“Metzengerstein” by Edgar Allan Poe
Never heard of this Poe story? Neither had I until a few years ago. “Metzengerstein: A Tale in Imitation of the German” was the first of Poe’s short stories to be published, in 1832, but it’s rarely included in collections of Poe’s works today. It is, perhaps, not one of Poe’s best stories, but it is his most traditionally Gothic. You can see how Poe was experimenting with classic tropes and modes of story-telling from older Gothic novels before developing the unique style he would ultimately become known for. “Metzengerstein” seems to borrow several elements directly from Otranto: a character who is the last in his family line, a prophecy that predicts the downfall of that family, and a moving image of an ancestor that seems to prefigure this impending doom. The image in this case, however, is not a painted portrait but a woven tapestry—an artefact even more emblematic of the medieval period, which fascinated the early Gothicists. In “Metzengerstein,” the orphaned Frederick, Baron Metzengerstein, has inherited at a young age his title, his family’s vast wealth, and a centuries-old grudge against the neighboring Berlifitzing family. One day, while studying a tapestry depicting the various triumphs of his ancestors, Frederick is captivated by a scene showing one such ancestor killing a Berlifitzing opponent, while the dying man’s horse looks on. When Frederick glances away for a moment, he looks back to find that the horse has moved its head to glare straight at him with rage in its eyes, seeming to vow vengeance for its fallen master. Sure enough, Frederick’s doom is ultimately brought about by a horse resembling the one in the tapestry.
Once again, we are invited to consider whether this may be a demonic phenomenon—this certainly seems suggested by the horse’s association with fire, its “fiery” red color, and the fact that others even refer to it as a “devil.” The opening paragraphs of the story, though, present us with another theory: metempsychosis. This Greek term refers to the philosophy that after death, one’s soul might transmigrate and be reincarnated into another body, whether animal or human. Perhaps, then, this horse contains the soul of the dead Berlifitzing from the tapestry, returned to take revenge on the descendant of his murderer.
The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde
Of course, the most famous portrait in Gothic literature is the titular painting in Oscar Wilde’s The Picture of Dorian Gray (1890). Like the tapestry in “Metzengerstein,” the way in which this portrait comes to life is a bit subtler than the ghostly portrait in Otranto that gets up and walks out of its frame. It seems to only change while no one is looking, and the differences are hardly noticeable at first. When Basil Hallward initially paints the portrait, it perfectly captures the beauty of young Dorian Gray. Then one day, Dorian notices that the lips of the portrait have taken on a slightly cruel expression. As time goes on, the portrait ages and becomes even more evil of aspect, while Dorian himself remains young and beautiful. By the end of the novel, the portrait’s fingers are speckled with the blood that is metaphorically on Dorian’s hands. Unlike the two examples discussed above, this portrait is not haunted by some long-deceased ancestor, but rather seems to have become a repository for Dorian’s own soul. As with the others, though, there is also a suggestion of the demonic: when Dorian first laid eyes on the portrait, he made a “devil’s bargain,” impulsively offering to give his soul in exchange for holding onto the youth and beauty depicted in the portrait. It would seem that some infernal power facilitated his wish.
“The Canterville Ghost” by Oscar Wilde
The Picture of Dorian Gray isn’t the only of Oscar Wilde’s works to engage with this trope, however. In fact, we can see it several years earlier in Wilde’s short Gothic parody “The Canterville Ghost” (1887). Like “Meztengerstein,” this story features a medieval-style tapestry and the figures it depicts are even more lively than Otranto’s ghostly portrait. Not only do they move about in plain sight of one of the characters, they even speak! I’ve discussed “The Canterville Ghost” at length in another post, but in short, the tale uses the trappings of a ghost story for the sake of humorous satire. A rather theatrical ghost named Sir Simon finds his haunting career stalled when a practical-minded American family moves into his estate and shenanigans ensue. The ending of the story, however, is surprisingly earnest. The family’s daughter, Virginia, meets with the ghost in his favorite refuge, the Tapestry Room, and feels compassion for his plight. She agrees to travel with him to the Garden of Death and pray to the angel there for mercy, so that he might finally rest. At this declaration, the little huntsmen embroidered on the tapestry spring to life, blowing their horns and calling for Virginia to “go back!” Luckily for Virginia, these tapestry figures are not prophetic, and the doom they seem to fear does not come to pass. There is a prophecy associated with the estate, but it is a rare happy one, proclaiming that a child will succeed in bringing peace to the estate of Canterville through her innocence and compassion. And so Virginia does, returning successfully from the Garden of Death after putting Sir Simon’s soul to rest. There are no demonic dealings here, and the only haunting is the ghost of Sir Simon. The animated tapestry is merely Gothic set-dressing, brought to life by the sincere desire to protect the innocent Virginia from harm.
Have you come across any other animate portraits or tapestries in Gothic literature? What do you think of the examples discussed here? Share your thoughts in the comments!