I must talk to you still, my dear Eloisa, of your portrait; no longer, however, in that rapturous strain which the first sight of it inspired; and with which you yourself were so much affected; but, on the contrary, with the regret of a man deceived by false hopes, and whom nothing can recompense for what he has lost. Your portrait, like yourself, is both graceful and beautiful; it is also a tolerable likeness, and is painted by the hand of a master; but to be satisfied with it I ought never to have known you.
The first fault I find in it is, that it resembles you, and yet is not yourself; that it has your likeness, and is insensible. In vain the painter thought to copy your features; where is that sweetness of sentiment that enlivens them, and without which, regular and beautiful as they are, they are nothing? your heart, Eloisa, no painting can imitate. This defect, I own, should be attributed to the imperfection of the art; but it is the fault of the artist not to have been exact in every thing that depended on himself. He has, for instance, brought the hair too forward on the temples, which gives the forehead a less agreeable and delicate air. He has also forgotten two or three little veins, seen through the transparent skin in winding branches of purple, resembling those on the Iris we once stood admiring in the gardens ofClarens. The colouring of the cheeks is also too near the eyes, and is not softened into that glowing blush of the rose toward the lower part of the face, which distinguishes the lovely original. One would take it for an artificialrouge, plastered on like the carmine of the French ladies. Nor is this defect a small one, as it makes the eyes appear less soft, and its looks more bold.
But pray what has he done with those dimples, wherein the little cupids lurk at the corners of your mouth; and which in my fortunate days I used to stifle with kisses? he has not given half their beauty to these charming lips. He has not given the mouth that agreeable serious turn, which changing in an instant into a smile, ravishes the heart with inconceivable enchantment, inspires it with an instantaneous rapture which no words can express. It is true, your portrait cannot pass from the serious to a smile. This is, alas! the very thing of which I complain. To paint all your charms you should be drawn every instant of your life.
But to pass over the injustice the painter has done you, in overlooking your beauties, he has done you more, in having omitted your defects. He has left out that almost imperceptible mole under your right eye, as well as that on the right side of your neck. He has not——heavens! was the man a statue? he has forgot the little scar under your lip; he has made your hair and eyebrows of the same colour: which they are not. Your eye-brows are more upon the chestnut, and your hair rather of the ash-colour.
Bionda testa occhi azurri e bruno ciglio.
He has made the lower part of the face exactly oval; not observing the small hollow between your cheeks and chin, which makes their out-lines less regular and more agreeable. These are the most palpable defects, but he has omitted several others, for which I owe him no goodwill: for I am not only in love with your beauties, but with Eloisa herself, just as she is. If you would not be obliged for any charm to the pencil, I would not have you lose by it the smallest defect; my heart can never be affected by charms that are not your own.
As to the drapery, I shall take the more notice of it, as, whether in a dishabille or otherwise, I have always seen you dressed with more taste than you are in the portrait: the head-dress is too large; you will say it is composed only of flowers. That's true; but there are too many. Don't you remember the ball, at which you were dressed like a country girl, and your cousin told me I danced like a philosopher? You had then no other head-dress than your long tresses, turned up and fastened at top with a golden bodkin, in the manner of the villagers of Berne. No, the sun glittering in all its radiance displays not half that lustre, with which you then engaged the eyes and hearts of the beholders; and there is no one who saw you that day, that can ever forget you during his whole life. It is thus, my Eloisa, your head ought to have been dressed. It is your charming hair that should adorn your face, and not those spreading roses. Tell my cousin, for I discover her choice and direction, that the flowers with which she has thus covered and profaned your tresses, are in no better taste than those she gathers inAdonis. One might overlook them did they serve as an ornament to beauty, but I cannot permit them to hide it.
With respect to the bust, it is singular that a lover should be more nice in this particular than a father; but, to say the truth, I think you are too carelessly dressed. The portrait of Eloisa should be modest as herself. These hidden charms should be sacred to love. You say the painter drew them from his imagination. I believe it; indeed, I believe it. Had he caught the least glimpse of thine, his eyes would have gazed on them for ever, but his hand would not have attempted to paint them: why was it necessary the rash artist should form them in imagination? this was not only an offence against decency, but I will maintain it also to be want of taste. Yes, your countenance is too modest to support the disorder of your breast; it is plain that one of these objects ought to hinder the other from being seen: it is the privilege of love alone to see both together, and when its glowing hand uncovers the charms that modesty conceals, the sweet confusion of your eyes shews that you forget not that you expose them.
Such are the criticisms that a continual attention has occasioned me to make on your portrait: in consequence of which I have formed a design to alter it, agreeable to my own taste. I have communicated my intentions to an able master, and from what he has already done, I hope to see you soon more like yourself. For fear of spoiling the picture, however, we try our alterations first on a copy, which I have made him take; and make them in the original only when we are quite sure of their effect. Although I design but indifferently, my artist cannot help admiring the subtilty of my observations, but he does not know that love, who dictates them, is a greater master than he. I seem to him also sometimes very whimsical: he tells me I am the first lover that ever chose to hide objects which others think cannot be too much exposed; and when I answer him, it is in order to have a full view of you, that I dress you up with so much care, he stares at me, as if he thought me a fool. Ah! my Eloisa, how much more affecting would be your portrait, if I could but find out the means to display it in your mind, as well as your face; to paint at once your modesty and your charms! what would not the latter gain by such an amendment! at present those only are seen which the painter imagined, and the ravished spectator thinks them such as they are. I know not what secret enchantment is about your person, but every thing that touches you seems to partake of its virtue: one need only perceive the corner of your garment to revere the wearer of it. One perceives in your dress how the veil of the graces affords a covering to the model of beauty; and the taste of your modest apparel displays to the mind all those charms it conceals.
This book comes from：m.funovel.com。