She loved me, for I well remember her suffering when she
first could feel my faults, and knew one part of the exquisite veil
rent away--how she wished to stay apart and weep the whole day.
These thoughts were suggested by a large engraving representing Madame
Recamier in her boudoir. I have so often thought over the intimacy
between her and Madame de Stael.
Madame Recamier is half-reclining on a sofa; she is clad in white
drapery, which clings very gracefully to her round, but
elegantly-slender form; her beautiful neck and arms are bare; her hair
knotted up so as to show the contour of her truly-feminine head to
great advantage. A book lies carelessly on her lap; one hand yet holds
it at the place where she left off reading; her lovely face is turned
towards us; she appears to muse on what she has been reading. When we
see a woman in a picture with a book, she seems to be doing precisely
that for which she was born; the book gives such an expression of
purity to the female figure. A large window, partially veiled by a
white curtain, gives a view of a city at some little distance. On one
side stand the harp and piano; there are just books enough for a
lady's boudoir.
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