gularity. Their form, however, is not
hard, but softened by the sentimentality which is suffused
over them like a veil of sorrow. The forehead is not high, and
the delicious chestnut-brown curly hair falls parted down to
the shoulders. Her eyes are somewhat dim, at least they are
not bright, and their fire may have been extinguished by many
tears, or may have passed into her works, which have spread
their flaming brands over the whole world, illumined many a
comfortless prison, but perhaps also fatally set on fire many
a temple of innocence. The authoress of "Lelia" has quiet,
soft eyes, which remind one neither of Sodom nor of Gomorrah.
She has neither an emancipated aquiline nose nor a witty
little snub nose. It is just an ordinary straight nose. A good-
natured smile plays usually around her mouth, but it is not
very attractive; the somewhat hanging under-lip betrays
fatigued sensuality. The chin is full and plump, but
nevertheless beautifully proportioned. Also her shoulders are
beautiful, nay, magnificent. Likewise her arms and hands,
which, like her feet, are small. Let other contemporaries
describe the charms of her bosom, I confess my incompetence.
The rest of her bodily frame seems to be somewhat too stout,
at least too short. Only her head bears the impress of
ideality; it reminds one of the noblest remains of Greek art,
and in this respect one of our friends could compare the
beautiful woman to the marble statue of the Venus of Milo,
which stands in one of the lower rooms of the Louvre. Yes, she
is as beautiful as the Venus of Milo; she even surpasses the
latter in many respects: she is, for instance, very much
younger. The physiognomists who maintain that the voice of man
reveals his character most unmistakably would be much at a
loss if they were called upon to detect George Sand's
extraordinary depth of feeling [Innigkeit] in her voice. The
latter is dull and faded, without sonority, but soft and
agreeable. The naturalness of her speaking lends it some
charm. Of vocal talent she exhibits not a trace! George Sand
sings at best with the bravura of a beautiful grisette who has
not yet breakfasted or happens not to be in good voice. The
organ of George Sand has as little brilliancy as what she
says. She has nothing whatever of the sparkling esprit of her
countrywomen, but also nothing of their talkativeness. The
cause of this ta