"He was not plain. You see that we men also cannot answer affirmatively when such a question is put to us regarding one of our own sex. He was of tall, slender form, as one who had suddenly shot up, who moved and gestured daintily, I might say coquettishly, always à quatre épingles;[1] regular features, rather long and pale; light blonde, almost golden hair, friséd in little locks; a very high and noble forehead, a straight nose, very light blue eyes, a beautifully proportioned mouth, and round chin. His traits had in them something vague, devoid of character or milk-like, and in this milk-face there often curled sweet-sourly an expression of pain. This anguished look supplied in Bellini's face the want of wit and spirit,[2] but it was a pain without depth; it shone dimly and without poetry in his eyes, and quivered without passion on his lips. This flat, insipid suffering seemed to be affected by the young maestro after a bygone fashion. His hair was curled in such a dreamy-visionary, melancholy manner, his clothes fitted his dainty form so yearningly and sentimentally, he carried his little bamboo cane so idyllically, that he always reminded me of those young, old-fashioned lovers whom we see in rococo-shepherd plays acting affectedly with ribboned crooks and light-
