That person was a woman. No man would have torn himself from the comfort
of a morning nap to listen to a minstrel in a jacket; none but a maid
awakes to songs of love. Not only was this woman a maid, but she was an
old maid. When she had opened her blinds with the furtive motion of
the bat, she looked in all directions, but saw nothing, and only heard,
faintly, the flying footfalls of the lad. Can there be anything more
dreadful than the matutinal apparition of an ugly old maid at her
window? Of all the grotesque sights which amuse the eyes of travellers
in country towns, that is the most unpleasant. It is too repulsive to
laugh at. This particular old maid, whose ear was so keen, was denuded
of all the adventitious aids, of whatever kind, which she employed as
embellishments; her false front and her collarette were lacking; she
wore that horrible little bag of black silk on which old women insist
on covering their skulls, and it was now revealed beneath the night-cap
which had been pushed aside in sleep. This rumpled condition gave a
menacing expression to the head, such as painters bestow on witches.
The temples, ears, and nape of the neck, were disclosed in all their
withered horror,--the wrinkles being marked in scarlet lines that
contrasted with the would-be white of the bed-gown which was tied round
her neck by a narrow tape. The gaping of this garment revealed a breast
to be likened only to that of an old peasant woman who cares nothing
about her personal ugliness. The fleshless arm was like a stick on which
a bit of stuff was hung. Seen at her window, this spinster seemed
tall from the length and angularity of her face, which recalled the
exaggerated proportions of certain Swiss heads. The character of their
countenance--the features being marked by a total want of harmony--was
that of hardness in the lines, sharpness in the tones; while an
unfeeling spirit, pervading all, would have filled a physiognomist
with disgust. These characteristics, fully visible at this moment, were
usually modified in public by a sort of commercial smile,--a bourgeois
smirk which mimicked good-humor; so that persons meeting with this old
maid might very well take her for a kindly woman. She owned the house
on shares with her brother. The brother, by-the-bye, was sleeping so
tranquilly in his own chamber that the orchestra of the Opera-house
could not have awakened him, wonderful as its diapason is said to be.
The old maid stretched her neck out of the window, twisted it, and
raised her cold, pale-blue little eyes, with their short lashes set in
lids that were always rather swollen, to the attic window, endeavoring
to see Pierrette. Perceiving the uselessness of that attempt, she
retreated into her room with a movement like that of a tortoise which
draws in its head after protruding it from its carapace. The blinds
were then closed, and the silence of the street was unbroken except by
peasants coming in from the country, or very early persons moving about.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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