Villette

thus receiving an impartial impression of their appearance. But the impression was hardly felt and not fixed, before the consciousness that I faced a great mirror, filling a compartment between two pillars, dispelled it: the party was our own party. Thus for the first, and perhaps only time in my life, I enjoyed the ›giftie‹ of seeing myself as others see me. No need to dwell on the result. It brought a jar of discord, a pang of regret; it was not flattering, yet, after all, I ought to be thankful: it might have been worse.
    At last, we were seated in places commanding a good general view of that vast and dazzling, but warm and cheerful hall. Already it was filled, and filled with a splendid assemblage. I do not know that the women were very beautiful, but their dresses were so perfect; and foreigners, even such as are ungraceful in domestic privacy, seem to possess the art of appearing graceful in public: however blunt and boisterous those every-day and home movements connected with peignoir and papillotes, there is a slide, a bend, a carriage of the head and arms, a mien of the mouth and eyes, kept nicely in reserve for gala use – always brought out with the grande toilette, and duly put on with the ›parure.‹
    Some fine forms there were here and there, models of a peculiar style of beauty; a style, I think, never seen in England: a solid, firm-set, sculptural style. These shapes have no angles: a caryatid in marble is almost as flexible; a Phidian goddess is not more perfect in a certain still and stately sort. They have such features as the Dutch painters give to their madonnas: low-country classic features, regular but round, straight but stolid; and for their depth of expressionless calm, of passionless peace, a polar snow-field could alone offer a type. Women of this order need no ornament, and they seldom wear any; the smooth hair, closely braided, supplies a sufficient contrast to the smoother cheek and brow; the dress cannot be too simple; the rounded arm and perfect neck require neither bracelet nor chain.
    With one of these beauties I once had the honour and rapture to be perfectly acquainted: the inert force of the deep, settled love she bore herself, was wonderful; it could only be surpassed by her proud impotency to care for any other living thing. Of blood, her cool veins conducted no flow; placid lymph filled and almost obstructed her arteries.
    Such a Juno as I have described, sat full in our view – a sort of mark for all eyes, and quite conscious that so she was, but proof to the magnetic influence of gaze or glance: cold, rounded, blonde, and beauteous, as the white column, capitalled with gilding, which rose at her side.
    Observing that Dr. John's attention was much drawn towards her, I entreated him in a low voice »for the love of heaven to shield well his heart. You need not fall in love with
that
lady,« I said, »because, I tell you before-hand, you might die at her feet, and she would not love you again.«
    »Very well,« said he, »and how do you know that the spectacle of her grand insensibility might not with me be the strongest stimulus to homage? The sting of desperation is, I think, a wonderful irritant to my emotions: but (shrugging his shoulders) you know nothing about these things; I'll address myself to my mother. Mama, I'm in a dangerous way.«
    »As if that interested me!« said Mrs. Bretton.
    »Alas! the cruelty of my lot!« responded her son. »Never man had a more unsentimental mother than mine: she never seems to think that such a calamity can befall her as a daughter-in-law.«
    »If I don't, it is not for want of having that same calamity held over my head: you have threatened me with it for the last ten years. ›Mama, I am going to be married soon!‹ was the cry before you were well out of jackets.«
    »But, mother, one of these days it will be realized. All of a sudden, when you think you are most secure, I shall go forth like Jacob or Esau, or any other patriarch, and take me a wife: perhaps of these which are of the daughters of the land.«
    »At your peril, John Graham! that is all.«
    »This mother of mine means me to be an old bachelor. What a jealous old lady it is! But now just look at that splendid creature in the pale blue satin dress, and hair of paler brown, with ›reflets satinés‹ as those of her robe. Would you not feel proud, mama, if I were to bring that goddess home some day, and introduce her to you as Mrs. Bretton, junior?«
    »You will