made her debut two years later at an obscure
boulevard theatre. At
fifteen, neither beauty nor
talent exist; a woman is simply all
promise.
She was now twenty-eight,--the age at which the beauties of a French
woman are in their glory. Painters particularly admired the lustre of
her white shoulders, tinted with olive tones about the nape of the
neck, and
wonderfully firm and polished, so that the light shimmered
over them as it does on watered silk. When she turned her head, superb
folds formed about her neck, the
admiration of sculptors. She carried
on this
triumphant neck the small head of a Roman
empress, the
delicate, round, and self-willed head of Pompeia, with features of
elegant correctness, and the smooth
forehead of a woman who drives all
care away and all
reflection, who yields easily, but is
capable of
balking like a mule, and in
capable at such times of listening to
reason. That
forehead, turned, as it were, with one cut of the chisel,
brought out the beauty of the golden hair, which was raised in front,
after the Roman fashion, in two equal masses, and twisted up behind
the head to
prolong the line of the neck, and
enhance that whiteness
by its beautiful color. Black and
delicate eyebrows, drawn by a
Chinese brush, en
circled the soft eyelids, which were threaded with
rosy fibres. The pupils of the eyes,
extremely bright, though striped
with brown rays, gave to her glance the cruel fixity of a beast of
prey, and betrayed the cold maliciousness of the courtesan. The eyes
were gray, fringed with black lashes,--a
charmingcontrast, which made
their expression of calm and contemplative voluptuousness the more
observable; the
circle round the eyes showed marks of
fatigue, but the
artistic manner in which she could turn her eyeballs, right and left,
or up and down, to observe, or seem to mediate, the way in which she
could hold them fixed, casting out their vivid fire without moving her
head, without
taking from her face its
absolute immovability (a
manoeuvre
learned upon the stage), and the vivacity of their glance,
as she looked about a theatre in search of a friend, made her eyes the
most terrible, also the softest, in short, the most
extraordinary eyes
in the world. Rouge had destroyed by this time the diaphanous tints of
her cheeks, the flesh of which was still
delicate; but although she
could no longer blush or turn pale, she had a thin nose with rosy,
passionate nostrils, made to express irony,--the mocking irony of
Moliere's women-servants. Her sensual mouth,
expressive of sarcasm and
love of dissipation, was adorned with a deep
furrow that united the
upper lip with the nose. Her chin, white and rather fat, betrayed the
violence of
passion. Her hands and arms were
worthy of a sovereign.
But she had one ineradicable sign of low birth,--her foot was short
and fat. No inherited quality ever caused greater
distress. Florine
had tried everything, short of amputation, to get rid of it. The feet
were
obstinate, like the Breton race from which she came; they
resisted all
treatment. Florine now wore long boots stuffed with
cotton, to give length, and the
semblance of an instep. Her figure was
of
mediumheight, threatened with corpulence, but still well-balanced,
and well-made.
Morally, she was an adept in all the attitudinizing, quarrelling,
alluring, and cajoling of her business; and she gave to those actions
a savor of their own by playing childlike
innocence, and slipping in
among her artless speeches
philosophical malignities. Apparently
ignorant and giddy, she was very strong on money-matters and
commercial law,--for the reason that she had gone through so much
misery before attaining to her present
precarious success. She had
come down, story by story, from the
garret to the first floor, through
so many vicissitudes! She knew life, from that which begins in Brie
cheese and ends at pineapples; from that which cooks and washes in the