There was a small picture hanging in the room; and I took the light to
examine it. I do not know why I could not sleep. Perhaps it was the
excitement of travel.
The gilded frame, massive and richly moulded, inclosed one of the
strangest paintings I had ever seen, a woman's head lying on a velvet
pillow, one arm raised and one bare shoulder with part of a beautiful
bosom relieved against a dark background. As I said, the painting was
small. The young woman was evidently reclining upon her right side; but
only her head, elevated upon the velvet pillow, her white throat, one
beautiful arm and part of the bosom was visible.
With consummate art the painter had contrived that the spectator should
feel as though leaning over the edge of the couch--not visible in
the picture--so as to bring his face close to the beautiful face on
the pillow. It was one of the most charming heads a human being ever
dreamed of; such a delicate bloom on the cheeks;--such a soft, humid
light in the half-closed eyes;--such sun-bright hair;--such carnation
lips;--such an oval outline! And all this relieved against a deep black
background. In the lobe of the left ear I noticed a curious earring--a
tiny Cupid wrought in black jet, suspending himself by his bow, which
he held by each end, as if trying to pull it away from the tiny gold
chain which fettered it to the beautiful ear, delicate and faintly rosy
as a seashell. What a strange earring it was! I wondered if the black
Cupid presided over unlawful loves, unblest amours!
But the most curious thing about the picture was the attitude and
aspect of the beautiful woman. Her head, partly thrown back, with
half-closed eyes and tender smile, seemed to be asking a kiss. The
lips pouted expectantly. I almost fancied I could feel her perfumed
breath. Under the rounded arm I noticed a silky floss of bright hair in
tiny curls. The arm was raised as if to be flung about the neck of the
person from whom the kiss was expected. I was astonished by the art of
the painter. No photograph could have rendered such effects, however
delicately colored; no photograph could have reproduced the gloss of
the smooth shoulder, the veins, the smallest details! But the picture
had a curious fascination. It produced an effect upon me as if I were
looking at living beauty, a rosy and palpitating reality. Under the
unsteady light of the lamp I once fancied that I saw the lips move, the
eyes glisten! The head seemed to advance itself out of the canvas as
though to be kissed. Perhaps it was very foolish; but I could not help
kissing it--not once but a hundred times; and then I suddenly became
frightened. Stories of bleeding statues and mysterious pictures and
haunted tapestry came to my mind; and alone in a strange house and a
strange city I felt oddly nervous. I placed the light on the table and
went to bed.
But it was impossible to sleep. Whenever I began to doze a little, I
saw the beautiful head on the pillow close beside me--the same smile,
the same lips, the golden hair, the silky floss under the caressing
arm. I rose, dressed myself, lit a pipe, blew out the light, and smoked
in the dark, until the faint blue tints of day stole in through the
windows. Afar off I saw the white teeth of the Sierra flush rosily, and
heard the rumbling of awakening traffic.
"Las cinco menos quarto, señor," cried the servant as he knocked upon
my door--"tiempo para levantarse."
Before leaving I asked the landlord about the picture.