Women -- France -- History -- 19th century -- Fiction; Working class women -- France -- Fiction
Germinie was ugly. Her hair, of so dark a chestnut that it seemed black,
curled and twisted in unruly waves, in little stiff, rebellious locks,
which escaped and stood up all over her head, despite the pomade upon
her shiny _bandeaux_. Her smooth, narrow, swelling brow protruded above
the shadow of the deep sockets in which her eyes were buried and sunken
to such a depth as almost to denote disease; small, bright, sparkling
eyes they were, made to seem smaller and brighter by a constant girlish
twinkle that softened and lighted up their laughter. They were neither
brown eyes nor blue eyes, but were of an undefinable, changing gray, a
gray that was not a color, but a light! Emotion found expression therein
in the flame of fever, pleasure in the flashing rays of a sort of
intoxication, passion in phosphorescence. Her short, turned-up nose,
with large, dilated, palpitating nostrils, was one of those noses of
which the common people say that it rains inside: upon one side, at the
corner of the eye was a thick, swollen blue vein. The square head of the
Lorraine race was emphasized in her broad, high, prominent cheek-bones,
which were well-covered with the traces of small-pox. The most
noticeable defect in her face was the too great distance between the
nose and mouth. This lack of proportion gave an almost apish character
to the lower part of the head, where the expansive mouth, with white
teeth and full lips that looked as if they had been crushed, they were
so flat, smiled at you with a strange, vaguely irritating smile.
Her _decollete_ dress disclosed her neck, the upper part of her breast,
her shoulders and her white back, presenting a striking contrast to her
swarthy face. It was a lymphatic sort of whiteness, the whiteness, at
once unhealthy and angelic, of flesh in which there is no life. She had
let her arms fall by her sides--round, smooth arms with a pretty dimple
at the elbow. Her wrists were delicate; her hands, which did not betray
the servant, were embellished with a lady's fingernails. And lazily,
with graceful sloth, she allowed her indolent figure to curve and
sway;--a figure that a garter might span, and that was made even more
slender to the eye by the projection of the hips and the curve of the
hoops that gave the balloon-like roundness to her skirt;--an impossible
waist, absurdly small but adorable, like everything in woman that
offends one's sense of proportion by its diminutiveness.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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