Discovery of the portrait of Mircalla Karnstein

The discovery of the portrait of Mircalla, Countess Karnstein, is a pivotal moment in Sheridan Le Fanu's Carmilla, where the arrival of restored family paintings from Gratz reveals a startling likeness to the enigmatic guest Carmilla, deepening the mystery of her identity and foreshadowing the supernatural revelations to come.

The Arrival of the Paintings

One evening, a grave, dark-faced son of the picture cleaner arrived from Gratz, the little capital of Styria, with a horse and cart laden with two large packing cases filled with pictures. This was a journey of ten leagues, and whenever a messenger arrived from Gratz, the household would crowd about him in the hall to hear the news. The arrival created quite a sensation in the secluded schloss. The cases remained in the hall while the messenger was taken charge of by the servants until he had eaten his supper. Then, with assistants and armed with hammer, ripping chisel, and turnscrew, he met the family in the hall, where they had assembled to witness the unpacking.

Carmilla sat looking listlessly on while one after another the old pictures, nearly all portraits, which had undergone the process of renovation, were brought to light. Laura's mother was of an old Hungarian family, and most of these pictures, which were about to be restored to their places, had come to them through her. Laura's father held a list in his hand, from which he read as the artist rummaged out the corresponding numbers. The pictures were not necessarily very good, but they were undoubtedly very old, and some of them very curious. They had, for the most part, the merit of being seen by Laura for the first time, for the smoke and dust of time had all but obliterated them.

The Revelation of the Portrait

Laura's father then mentioned a picture he had not yet seen, in one corner of which was the name 'Marcia Karnstein' and the date '1698'. He was curious to see how it had turned out. Laura remembered it as a small picture, about a foot and a half high and nearly square, without a frame, but so blackened by age that she could not make it out. The artist now produced it with evident pride. It was quite beautiful, startling, and seemed to live. It was the effigy of Carmilla!

Laura exclaimed, "Carmilla, dear, here is an absolute miracle. Here you are, living, smiling, ready to speak, in this picture. Isn't it beautiful, Papa? And see, even the little mole on her throat." Her father laughed and said, "Certainly it is a wonderful likeness," but he looked away and seemed but little struck by it, going on to talk to the picture cleaner, who was also something of an artist, discoursing with intelligence about the portraits. Laura, however, was more and more lost in wonder the more she looked at the picture.

The Name and the Karnstein Connection

Laura asked her father if she could hang the picture in her room, and he consented, smiling, saying he was glad she thought it so like. Carmilla did not acknowledge this pretty speech, did not seem to hear it; she was leaning back in her seat, her fine eyes under their long lashes gazing on Laura in contemplation, and she smiled in a kind of rapture.

Laura then read the name in the corner more plainly: it was not Marcia, but Mircalla, Countess Karnstein, with a little coronet over and underneath A.D. 1698. Carmilla languidly remarked, "I am descended from the Karnsteins; that is, mamma was." Laura's father added that the family were ruined in some civil wars long ago, and the ruins of the castle were only about three miles away. Carmilla found this interesting, but quickly turned the conversation to the beauty of the moonlight, suggesting a ramble round the court.

The Moonlit Ramble and Its Aftermath

As they walked out upon the pavement, each with her arm about the other's waist, Carmilla whispered about the night she came, and asked if Laura was glad she came. Laura answered, "Delighted, dear Carmilla." Carmilla murmured with a sigh, drawing her arm closer about Laura's waist and letting her head sink upon Laura's shoulder, "How romantic you are, Carmilla," Laura said. "Whenever you tell me your story, it will be made up chiefly of some one great romance." Carmilla kissed her silently. Laura then asked if Carmilla had ever been in love, and Carmilla whispered, "I have been in love with no one, and never shall, unless it should be with you."

In the moonlight, Carmilla looked beautiful, shy and strange, hiding her face in Laura's neck and hair with tumultuous sighs that seemed almost to sob, pressing a trembling hand. She murmured, "Darling, darling, I live in you; and you would die for me, I love you so." Laura started from her, and Carmilla's face became colorless and apathetic, asking drowsily if there was a chill in the air, and if she had been dreaming. Laura, alarmed, suggested she take some wine, and Carmilla agreed, saying she was better now. She added, "Let us look again for a moment; it is the last time, perhaps, I shall see the moonlight with you."

Laura began to fear Carmilla might have been stricken with the strange epidemic that had invaded the country, but Carmilla reassured her, saying she was quite well again, only a little weakness. The remainder of the evening passed without any recurrence of what Laura called her infatuations—her crazy talk and looks that embarrassed and even frightened her. But that night an event occurred that gave Laura's thoughts quite a new turn and seemed to startle even Carmilla's languid nature into momentary energy.