Thus, as she was very fond of painting, she had a sort of parlour, which was at the same time a salon, library, and studio. It was arranged with perfect taste, and here she preferred to receive. According to the way she felt, her toilet, or the events of the day, by means of shades and a clever combination of old stained glass windows, the room would be more or less lighted, and with the most admirable and poetical knowledge of light and shade and the many intelligent resources of artistically opposed colourings.
For example, if she were nervous and pale, and all clothed in white, her beautiful brown hair with its golden gloss arranged in bandeaux, if she happened to be seated in a half light, which fell from above, and threw great shadows in the apartment, you should have seen how this dim light, falling on her fair forehead, her pale pink cheeks, and her ivory throat, left all the rest of her face in a marvellous half-tone. Nothing could be lovelier to look at than such a white and vapoury figure, shining in soft light upon a very dark background.
Then, besides this, carefully arranged light would glitter here and there like sparks of fire, on the gilded carving of an armchair, on the glossy folds of some piece of satin, on the tortoise-shell and mother-of-pearl of a piece of furniture, or on the polished surface of the porcelain vases that were filled with flowers. The light thus distributed not only gave the appearance of a charming picture to this elegant figure, but to all its surrounding accessories. This manner of lighting an apartment pleased me very much, because it coincided with my own ideas, for, if there is anything shocking, it is the complete ignorance, or the deplorable neglect architects show in this matter.
Thus, without taking into consideration the style or the epoch, or, if a woman is concerned, her appearance or the type of her beauty, an architect thinks he has done everything, and has done it to perfection, when, by means of two or three enormous windows, ten feet high, he has thrown a dazzling sheet of light from every side of a room, enough to blind one. Now in this prodigal and unskilful way light is neutralised, and loses its effect; it neither shows off pictures, materials, nor sculptures, because, shining indifferently on all, it gives value to none.
In a word, as résumé, it seems to me that an apartment—not a place of reception, but of intimacy—should be lighted with as careful study, as much art, as though it were a picture.
Therefore, a great many things must be sacrificed in the shadow and the half-tone, in order to bring out the high lights. Then the eye and the mind are refreshed and rested, as they gaze with pleasure, love, and a sort of poetic contemplation, on such an interior.
It is a real picture, a living picture, that we admire as though it were painted on canvas.
But it needs a certain elevation of the mind, a certain instinctive ideality, perhaps an exaggerated sense of the beautiful, to cultivate this domestic art, and find in it the constant sources of meditative enjoyment, which are incomprehensible to most people.
If I insist upon speaking of this peculiarity, it is because I was much pleased with this similarity in Madame de Pënâfiel's tastes with my own, and it showed her coquetry in such a way that I loved her to adoration.
I remember that nothing angered me more than the rudeness of all the men of her acquaintance, who were all perfectly furious on the subject of what they called her intolerable and hateful coquetry. It was, they said, with strange ill-nature, it was a ridiculous pretension on her part, a sort of wager that she had made with herself, to be always gracious and charming. Never was she to be seen unless she was exquisitely dressed; all was prearranged and studied out, from the dim light to the colouring of the curtains, which harmonised with her complexion as though she expected to clothe herself with them. And then, oh, horror! on her writing-table there were natural flowers in a vase, and, could you believe it? they were chosen to match the colour of her hair, as though she meant to wear a head-dress of natural flowers! But that was not all. She had a foot as small as a child's, the finest arms that ever were seen, and an exquisite hand. Well, was it not intolerable? No one could help noticing and admiring her foot, her arm, or her hand, for she was so clever that these charms were always in evidence. It was odious, scandalous, not to be put up with.