J. Sheridan Le Fanu's Schalken the Painter: A Detailed Summary and a Literary Analysis

Godfried Schalcken (SHOLL-kin), the Dutch master painter who studied under Gerrit Dou (a leading pupil of Rembrandt), was a difficult and volatile figure—famed not only for his skill but for his irascibility, aloofness, and misanthropic temperament. Yet his art resonates uncannily with the world of J. Sheridan Le Fanu. Both men trafficked in chiaroscuro—both visually and morally—crafting atmospheres where velvety darkness dominates, pierced only by fragile shafts of gleaming, uncertain light. In both Schalcken’s canvases and Le Fanu’s prose, this light never triumphs; it merely outlines the vulnerability of youth, innocence, or beauty before it is swallowed back into obscurity.

Their shared aesthetic merges eroticism and menace, sensuality and decay, virtue and corruption. Schalcken's portraits of women, painted by flickering candlelight, are studies in ambivalence: the women glow with warmth and softness, yet seem suspended in a liminal space between invitation and threat. Their smirks and half-lidded eyes ask the viewer a question: are they emerging into our world, or beckoning us into theirs? These images, like Le Fanu’s fiction, evoke not safety but seduction—one whose end lies not in consummation, but in perdition.

II.

What makes “Schalken the Painter” such a compelling bridge between art and literature is the way it translates Schalcken’s visual grammar—the language of candlelight, shadow, and secrecy—into a haunting meditation on moral compromise and the silences of complicity. The story is not simply concerned with fear in the supernatural sense, but with the creeping dread that arises from betrayal, passivity, and the cost of looking away.

At its heart is a central tension between surface and substance, between the soft light of appearances and the brooding depth of reality. Just as Schalcken’s paintings create illusion through delicate handling of light, the story’s characters dwell in a society that values surface—reputation, wealth, propriety—over substance—character, empathy, and courage. This is where Le Fanu’s gothic sensibilities shine: horror emerges not merely from specters or curses, but from the erosion of ethical integrity, from the moral darkness that thickens when individuals choose silence over resistance.

Like a painting in which only one part is illuminated, leaving the rest to imagination, the story constantly invites the reader to peer into the shadows—not just for ghosts, but for truths that polite society chooses to ignore. In this way, the tale becomes a disturbing portrait of the costs of acquiescence: how people, like artists, may render only what they wish to show, while hiding the deeper terrors beneath a varnish of civility.

III.

It’s no surprise that Le Fanu chose Schalcken as the namesake and symbolic core of one of his darkest tales.

While the author explored similar themes in works like Ultor de Lacy, Carmilla, and Laura Silver Bell—stories that center on beautiful women who serve as both victims and agents of supernatural horror—none carry quite the same mix of aesthetic elegance and moral horror as Schalken the Painter. It is widely considered one of Le Fanu’s four most enduring ghost stories, and—alongside Carmilla—the only one adapted for the screen. More than just a ghost story, it is a searing fable about greed, exploitation, and the way power protects itself. Set during the opulent Golden Age of Dutch culture, the story uses temporal and geographic distance to offer a sharp Victorian critique of privilege, patriarchy, and moral cowardice.

Like Shakespeare, who displaced his social commentary into ancient Rome or Renaissance Italy, Le Fanu locates his most cutting insights in a foreign, historical setting—but his targets are all too familiar: the selfish guardians who barter innocence for status, the social structures that silence the weak, and the women sacrificed for the vanity of men. The tale’s final image—a candlelit portrait of a woman with an ambiguous, haunting smile—is emblematic of Schalcken and Le Fanu alike: a study in contrasts, where beauty hides corruption, and light reveals only enough to unnerve. Her twisted grin is not just coquettish or sly—it is a cipher of trauma, eroticism, revenge, and damnation.

SUMMARY

Le Fanu begins by musing on the historic Schalken’s life: that he was a Dutch painter who was closely associated with the court of King William (the Dutch prince who helped overthrow his father-in-law in 1688 – beloved by Irish Protestants like the Le Fanus but viewed as an opportunistic oppressor by most Irishmen, as Le Fanu well understood). Schalken, he muses was remembered as a moody, haunted man known for his foul manners and ambiguous portraiture: chiaroscuro paintings which often blended the amorous with the sinister.

His subjects were frequently women surrounded by shadow, their hands and faces dimly illuminated by the candles they carry, eyes speaking wryly of unspoken thoughts, smiles twisted into suggestive grins. They are simultaneously gentle and alluring – a velvet blend of innocence and innuendo. Money -- and its relationship to sex -- prominently feature in these paintings where men tempt blushing girls with necklaces and coins in dark chambers lit only by flickering candles. Prostitution is the subtext of many of these pictures, and the tangled, complex psychology of money and sex are ubiquitous throughout his work.

The narrator explains that a friend of his owns just such a painting – a strange painting. In it we see a beautiful girl holding a brass, antique lamp aloft and gazing intriguingly at the viewer (who takes the place of the true subject of her leer), her mouth twisted into an arch smile. She is wearing a strange white robe and her head is draped in a habit or veil. Perhaps most bizarre, in the background – dimly lit by a coal fire – we see a self-portrait of Schalken staring agape over the woman’s shoulder. His hand is on his sword and his attitude one of defensive attack. The painting is so mesmerizing that the narrator insisted on knowing its subject and was told the following story by his friend, who had it passed onto him from the his great-grandfather, who heard it from the painter’s own lips.

As a young man Schalken apprenticed under the master painter Gerard Douw (or "Gerrit Dou" (1613 - 1675), himself a famous student of Rembrandt). Douw, like Schalken, would be remembered for his use of shadow and light, and as his best pupil, Schalken was devoted to his master. Even more so, it would seem, he was devoted to his beautiful, sixteen-year-old niece and ward, Rose. The student and ward shared a romantic understanding, but Schalken’s great insecurity was his lack of fortune, and rather than ruin his chances (romantically and professionally) by marrying the girl without an established career, the two pined for each other while he worked for her uncle hoping to make a break.

One day, in the late afternoon, Schalken was the only student left in the studio where he struggled over a painting of the Temptation of Saint Anthony. Finding it difficult to make heads or tails of it in the ruddy light, he “damned” the subject, the saint, and the devil with a grumbling oath, only to realize that he was not alone – or at least had ceased to be as soon as he uttered the curse. There, in the gloom, a large, old man in a luxurious cloak and hat was standing, gathered up in the murk just a few feet behind him. While Schalken could not see his face, he could hear his message: he -- the illustrious Mynheer Vanderhausen of Rotterdam -- requested an audience with Douw – at the same time and place the following evening – concerning "matters of weight". Before he can reply, Vanderhausen turns around and -- with "quick but silent steps" -- disappears. The apprentice goes to the window to watch the grandee exit the door and walk down street, but he has vanished.

...

Douw was notoriously cheap, and although he is suspicious of a prank, he agrees to partake in what he assumes to be a commission. When the three men meet, however – with Schalken acting as Douw’s assistant – the true nature is revealed to be an offer of marriage to young Rose. The enigmatic Vanderhausen seems to have caught a glimpse of her at the cathedral in Rotterdam and has fallen in love. He is offering a staggering sum of gold for her hand -- an amount which he has brought with him in a moldy, worm-eaten chest. Douw is shocked at the idea that his niece marry a stranger without any say, but the gold calls to him, and only asks for a short time to consider. Vanderhausen refuses: "not one hour." Schalken, who had been sent away to have the coins appraised before Rose was even mentioned, is not aware of Vanderhausen's romantic intentions until it is too late.

Vanderhausen's massive dowry for the girl is very unusual. Ordinarily the guardian delivered the dowry to the couple as the woman’s inheritance (making the transaction much less like prostitution than Vanderhausen’s arrangement). This is a big selling point and Douw is convinced of his merit as a provider for Rose (something Schalken could never hope to be). For six thousand rijks dollars, Douw signs a contract and hands Rose over the grim stranger. Vanderhausen – who has managed to remain hidden among the shadows of the room, leaving his face still unseen – departs and vanishes from view. Schalken is brokenhearted: he wishes he could speak up for Rose, but his financial insecurity unmans him into submissive silence.

Rose, also, is crushed, but is too dutiful to either defy her uncle or expose her lover’s secret, and agrees to meet the bridegroom at dinner. The three are sitting at a table when Vanderhausen enters and are immediately horrorstruck: his bulging, unblinking eyes are fixed in a sightless stare – saucer-like and muddy white. His cadaverous, blue skin, carefully covered throat, and wrenched mouth remind them of a hanged corpse, with his twisted black lips barely cover two wolfish, yellow fangs. Douw notes that his chest does not rise and that his motions are stiff and unnatural ("as if the limbs were guided and directed by a spirit unused to the management of bodily machinery"), and his expression is violently insane, as Le Fanu gravely notes: "The character of the face was malignant, even satanic, to the last degree; and, indeed, such a combination of horror could hardly be accounted for, except by supposing the corpse of some atrocious malefactor, which had long hung blackening upon the gibbet, to have at length become the habitation of a demon—the frightful sport of Satanic possession." Rose is reminded of a frightening statue she once saw at the cathedral in Rotterdam. All three are certain that he cannot be a living man, and after a half hour of near silence (during which he never blinks or breathes), the old man bids them good evening.

Despite all three’s reservations, the wedding proceeds: Schalken is too embarrassed of his poverty, Rose too submissive to the men in her life, and Douw too afraid of offending his new benefactor. They drive off in a carriage bound for Rotterdam, but just before arrives at the city, it is stopped by a party of strange men in old-fashioned clothes carrying a litter. The bridal couple leave the carriage and enter the litter which the odd-looking servants carry off into the dark. Inside the coachmen find a sack of gold for their troubles.

...

Rose is not seen again for months. In the meantime, Schalken’s career booms (partly buoyed by his increasingly erotic style), and Douw’s moods worsen. The two console one another their shared loss, and are doing so one dark night when the door bursts open and Rose stands before them – in the flesh. She is wearing a strange white robe (reminiscent of a burial shroud), and is pathetically haggard and worn. She begs for three things emphatically: food, wine, and a parson, crying out that her soul’s salvation depends on eating food, drinking wine, and speaking with a minister. Over and over she mutters that “the dead and the living can never become one – God has forbidden it,” and makes strange allusions to blasphemy and the grave. When given food, she ravenously wolfs it down like a starving dog, tearing at the meat with her bony hands, and sloppily gulping down wine.

As they wait for the minister, Schalken escorts his beloved to a bedroom where he hopes she will rest. She is frightened of the deep shadows, however, sensing Vanderhausen in the oppressive gloom which only worsens when the candle blows out. Rose begs for more light and not to be left alone. Schalken ignores half of the request by stepping out to get a lamp, and the door slams shut behind him. Rose’s heart-rending wails shake the house and culminate in a loud splash. By the time Schalken can force the door open, he finds the room empty, the window open, and rings of water spreading in the canal below, as if some ponderous weight had been dropped into it...

Years later Schalken is a successful maestro of the brush with money and fame but no love in his life. He finds himself roaming the cathedral in Rotterdam one dreary afternoon following his father’s funeral there, becoming lost in the building’s labyrinthine basements. Overcome by melancholy, he falls asleep, but is awoken by a light tap on his shoulder. Looking up, he sees Rose – dressed in a white robe and veil, holding an antique lamp (which illuminates her mischievous smile), and beckoning him to follow her. More curious than afraid, he follows the figure through silent hallways, down stairs -- deeper into the basement -- and at last into a gloomy stone room where a four-poster bed stands front and center with its funereal, black curtains drawn.

Flashing him a twisted smile, Rose pulls the curtain back and stares at the bed where Vanderhausen sits – unblinking, unbreathing, bolt upright – waiting for her. Schalken faints at the sight and awakens the next morning in a stone vault with a large, black coffin front and center. He returns home a shaken, haunted man, and immediately paints the picture owned by the narrator’s great-grandfather. For the rest of his life, motifs of love, money, lust, and lechery would dominate his paintings – often through the symbolism of a girl gazing through candlelight with a mischievous smirk and knowing eyes…

ANALYSIS

The core mystery of “Schalken the Painter” revolves around the ambiguous figure of Vanderhausen—who or what exactly he is, why he abducts Rose, and what ultimately becomes of her. Vanderhausen’s character defies easy categorization, embodying an unsettling blend of the supernatural and the corporeal. He does not breathe or blink, his eyes sometimes suggested to be painted shut, reinforcing a sense of unnaturalness or death. He moves with an urgent haste, as if bound by a grim deadline, and displays access to wealth and status that contrasts sharply with the moldy, decayed chest he presents—an object evocative of something buried alongside the dead.

Vanderhausen’s ghastly appearance—blue corpse-like skin, black lips, bulging white eyes, yellowed fangs, and cadaverous thinness—further blurs the line between the living and the dead. Intriguingly, he resembles a wooden statue from a church where Rose first encounters him, a statue that itself seems to evoke fear and awe, but whose nature—whether funerary effigy, demon, or biblical figure—is left deliberately ambiguous.

His awkwardly dated ruff may conceal a noose mark, a subtle hint at a hanged man returned from the grave. Vanderhausen is carried by strange, perhaps undead servants, and maintains his power over Rose by depriving her of wine, food, and religious comfort. His final chilling appearance—sitting bolt upright in the room where Schalken’s father’s corpse lies—cements his role as a figure suspended between life and death. This composite of clues invites interpretations that range from a revenant of a hanged criminal to a vampire-like demon, or a ghostly aristocrat, but always one who wields corrupting, predatory power.

II.

Two dominant readings emerge from these elements. The first, supported by Le Fanu’s own 1880 edition, views Vanderhausen as the animated corpse of a hanged malefactor possessed by a demon, a macabre echo of the gibbet’s dark legacy.

Another interpretation sees him as a living statue brought to dreadful life by unholy lust, a theory dramatized in a 1950s radio adaptation that renamed the story “The Wooden Ghost.” More modern critics read Vanderhausen as a proto-vampire figure—an aristocratic predator whose fangs, seductive power, and possessiveness mark him as a direct precursor to Dracula rather than Carmilla. Alternatively, some regard the story as a traditional ghost tale, with Vanderhausen the spirit of a wealthy patron whose corrupt influence haunts the church and its inhabitants.

Regardless of the supernatural taxonomy, Vanderhausen embodies the classic horror trope of the Demon Lover—a wealthy, sinister figure who abducts and ensnares an innocent woman, exploiting the failings of her male protectors.

This archetype recurs in Victorian and Gothic literature, from Dickens’s “To Be Read at Dusk” to Benson’s “The Face,” and across Le Fanu’s own oeuvre. While the trope might appear sexist—reducing women to powerless objects—it often serves as a critique of Victorian patriarchy, exposing how families commodified daughters for wealth and social standing, despite the often ruinous consequences. Vanderhausen is a sort of Bluebeard figure, but unlike the original tale where rescue is possible, Rose is left entirely to the mercy of her cold, self-interested male guardians.

III.

This story unfolds in a society fundamentally shaped and dominated by men, and Rose’s tragedy highlights the failure of male guardianship and virtue. Her guardian, dazzled by Vanderhausen’s wealth, abandons her without resistance, and her fiancé, fearful of offending his patron, fails to intervene or rescue her. Rather than a classic damsel in distress, Rose is a victim of male neglect and moral weakness.

Critics have often pointed out Le Fanu’s recurring motif of absent or abusive father figures, and “Schalken” is saturated with this theme: the guardian Douw, the artist’s father Cornelius, and even the ostensibly liberal Vanderhausen all fail Schalken in various ways, leaving a void where masculine honor and protection should reside.

This absence of moral and heroic male authority allows Vanderhausen’s malignant influence to flourish unchecked. Rose’s final spectral appearance—draped in a garment evoking a wedding dress, burial shroud, and nun’s habit simultaneously—powerfully symbolizes her fate as both bride and victim, caught between life and death, purity and corruption.

Her twisted, almost coquettish grin as she lures Schalken toward the bed hints at a dark secret, a perverse invitation that blurs the boundaries between seduction and horror. This scene reveals the true nature of her fate—entwined with the dead in a grotesque, erotic union that leaves Schalken paralyzed by the unimaginable horror he witnesses.

IV.

Le Fanu’s handling of eroticism here is remarkable, especially given the prudish sensibilities of his era. The story strongly implies a macabre sexual relationship between Rose and Vanderhausen, linking physical intimacy with spiritual corruption. Victorian readers, well-versed in the symbolic unity that sex represented, would have grasped the full horror of a union with a possessed corpse.

The 1979 film adaptation makes this explicit: Rose, removing her nightgown and mounting Vanderhausen’s cadaver, enacts a disturbing, desperate desire that speaks volumes about her enslavement. Rose’s rage and blame are directed at Schalken, symbolizing a condemnation of male passivity and betrayal.

Vanderhausen is not just a supernatural villain but a representation of unchecked greed and domination—his wealth and sinister charm excuse his monstrous acts, mirroring how society often overlooks moral failings in the powerful. The story critiques how virtue and innocence can be commodified and sacrificed for material gain, even by those who care. Douw’s failure to protect Rose, despite genuine affection, underscores the tragic ambiguity of the tale’s moral center.

Le Fanu’s prose contrasts sanctity and carnality, wealth and poverty, life and death, to explore how social and economic power corrupts the most intimate and sacred bonds. Ultimately, Rose’s “marriage” to Vanderhausen—a dark pact between purity and decay—is what haunts the reader’s imagination. The story leaves us with a lingering image of a flickering candle and a sinister, knowing smile—both erotic and horrifying—before plunging us back into darkness and uncertainty.

You can read the original story HERE!

And you can find our annotated and illustrated collection of Le Fanu's best ghost stories HERE!

AND you can watch the slow-burning, atmospheric 1979 adaptation of "Schalken the Painter" HERE!