Section 197. COMING TO TERMS⁠[1].

Section 197. COMING TO TERMS⁠[1].

One of the most distinguished artists in Paris⁠[2] painted for a lady occupying a brilliant position in society her portrait⁠[3], with⁠[4] the intention of placing it in an exhibition afterwards. The lady, although a long time celebrated for her beauty⁠[5], had arrived at that age⁠[6] which is seldom admitted (fifty years), but⁠[7] endeavoured to conceal it through cosmetics, and showed herself as beautiful and captivating as in her younger days [= years]. Paris is full of resources, and ointments are to be obtained there⁠[8] to heal the wounds of time.

Our heroine had her portrait taken⁠[9] in the most graceful attitude; splendidly dressed, and leaning on an arm-chair, she looked smiling into the glass, which should return⁠[10] her the most amiable compliments. The painter made⁠[11] a most striking likeness, but this was a great mistake—a flattering one was expected⁠[12], and the lady subsequently⁠[13] declared that she did not recognise herself (App. § 28) in this painting, and the portrait was left on the painter’s hands⁠[14]. The artist, feeling himself hurt in his pride, was too good a philosopher to keep a portrait worth three thousand francs quietly on his hands⁠[15], and an idea of vengeance presented itself to his mind⁠[16], which he put into execution at once.

A short time before the day fixed for⁠[17] the opening of the art-exhibition at the Louvre⁠[18], the lady was secretly informed that her portrait was ornamented with certain accessories rather compromising her⁠[19]. She went immediately to the artist. There was the portrait! It was the same striking likeness certainly; but the painter had thinned the hair, and the lady so faithfully painted⁠[20] held in her hand two large tresses of false hair. On the toilet table were several small bottles, labelled thus⁠[21]: “White-Wash,” “Vegetable Red,” “Cosmetic⁠[22], to efface wrinkles,” “Lotion, to dye the hair in a minute⁠[23].”

“It is abominable,” said the lady, greatly excited.

“Of what do you complain?” coolly replied the artist. “Did you not declare (S. 48, N. 2, and App. § 28) that it was not your portrait? You are right, it is a mere fancy sketch⁠[24], and as such I shall send it to the exhibition.”

“What, Sir, do you intend to exhibit this painting?”

“Certainly⁠[25], Madam; but as a cabinet picture⁠[26], since the catalogue will indicate it under the title of ‘The Coquette of Fifty Years.’”

At this the lady fainted, but soon recovered, and then paid at once for the portrait⁠[27]. The accessories were effaced⁠[28] in her presence, the portrait was restored to its original state, and the three thousand francs were transferred⁠[29] to the purse of the painter.—The Young Ladies’ Journal.