y struck. She was the daughter of Madame de Saconai, whom I had
known at Berne. I do not know her after history, but the impression she
made on me has never been effaced. Nothing in nature has ever exercised
such a powerful influence over me as a pretty face, even if it be a
child's.

The Beautiful, as I have been told, is endowed with this power of
attraction; and I would fain believe it, since that which attracts me is
necessarily beautiful in my eyes, but is it so in reality? I doubt it,
as that which has influenced me has not influenced others. The universal
or perfect beauty does not exist, or it does not possess this power. All
who have discussed the subject have hesitated to pronounce upon it, which
they would not have done if they had kept to the idea of form. According
to my ideas, beauty is only form, for that which is not beautiful is that
which has no form, and the deformed is the opposite of the 'pulchrum' and
'formosum'.

We are right to seek for the definitions of things, but when we have them
to hand in the words; why should we go farther? If the word 'forma' is
Latin, we should seek for the Latin meaning and not the French, which,
however, often uses 'deforme' or 'difforme' instead of 'laid', ugly,
without people's noticing that its opposite should be a word which
implies the existence of form; and this can only be beauty. We should
note that 'informe' in French as well as in Latin means shapeless, a body
without any definite appearance.

We will conclude, then, that it is the beauty of woman which has always
exercised an irresistible sway over me, and more especially that beauty
which resides in the face. It is there the power lies, and so true is
that, that the sphinxes of Rome and Versailles almost make me fall in
love with them though, the face excepted, they are deformed in every
sense of the word. In looking at the fine proportions of their faces one
forgets their deformed bodies. What, then, is beauty? We know not; and
when we attempt to define it or to enumerate its qualities we become like
Socrates, we hesitate. The only thing that our minds can seize is the
effect produced by it, and that which charms, ravishes, and makes me in
love, I call beauty. It is something that can be seen with the eyes, and
for my eyes I speak. If they had a voice they would speak better than I,
but probably in the same sense.

No painter has surpassed Raphael in the beauty of the figures which his
divine penci