The Painter's Dream: Written for the Evening Gazette

The Painter's Dream1Written for the Evening Gazette Louisa M. Alcott In this story Alcott rewrites, and significantly expands, her first published work of fiction "The Rival Painters: A Tale of Rome." One notices two main differences that result from the additions here. First, in a general sense, the story spends more time on the development of the artist, rather than the dramatic episode of rivalry. Second, the artist's mother becomes even more of a primary focus. As Monika Elbert writes of the prior story, "The Rival Painters," the "maternal image is endowed with almost magical powers; this cautionary tale seems to suggest that greatness comes to those who obey and revere their mothers."2 But in this version, Alcott adds yet more maternal magic: a long introductory section in which the mother convinces a customer to help her son start on his career—the mother as not just figure but precipitating force—and Alcott adds the titular, phantasmic dream sequence at the story's end. If one might further propose to read the story as an autobiographical kunstlerroman, then it is nothing if not a direct homage and honoring of Alcott's own mother's support for her career. [End Page 187] Click for larger view View full resolution The first page of "The Painter's Dream." Image courtesy of the Microtext Collection, Boston Public Library. ________ Moonlight was shining over Florence and midnight silence brooded there unbroken, save by the low murmur of the Arno,3 as it glided to the sea, singing a pleasant lullaby to the lazzaroni, dreaming on the bare stones, as peacefully as if in palaces. But though sleep seemed reigning there, from the window of a poor dwelling just without the city a light shone steadily hour after hour. The room within was dark and low, but peopled with imaginary forms of purest beauty, by the busy brain of the pale faced boy who sat there, with a rude brush and palette in his hand, toiling secretly by night to body forth the images that haunted him by day, and robbed him of his needful rest. [End Page 188] Heart and soul were in the work, and, chime after chime fell unheeded on his ear; but all his labor seemed in vain, for still the unskilful hand and poor materials, mocked his efforts to give life and color to the form so beautiful in fancy; and at length with an exclamation of bitter disappointment he flung his brush away, and dropping his head upon his arms, wept with boyish passion and abandon. A figure, that had stood unseen in the shadow of a distant doorway, now came out into the light, and a woman still beautiful though no longer young, stole to his side, and putting her arms about him said tenderly, as she caressed with motherly pride the handsome head upon her bosom, "Dear child, why did you seek to hide this from me? Did you think a mother's eye was blind to your pale cheek, and the growing sadness that has changed my light hearted boy into a silent dreamy youth? Forgive me that I have learned your secret against your will, and let me share your trouble if I cannot lighten it. Confide in me, my Angelo." "Nay, mother! you have cares enough without my adding to the burden," replied the boy dashing off his tears and trying to speak lightly, though his smile was very faint as he timidly showed his work, saying, "I was endeavoring to paint the dearest, loveliest, face I know, and see how miserably I have failed." The mother's sight grew very dim, as she looked, for the face was her own. Rude and imperfect as it was, the spirit of love had guided the hand of the untutored boy, for the tender smile was on the lips, the clear light in the melancholy eyes, and the dark hair touched with silver, lay upon the tranquil brow, almost as life-like as the real face looking on it with such wondering joy and pride. The boy watched her with a quick flutter at his heart, and when she drew him...