I - 17 A Little Girl

A Little Girl

Sitting on a grassy grave, beneath one of the windows of the church, was a little girl.(1) With her head bent back(2) she was gazing up at the sky and  singing,  while  one  of  her  little  hands  was  pointing  to  a  tiny  cloud that  hovered  like  a  golden  feather  above  her  head.  The  sun,  which  had suddenly become very bright, shining on her glossy hair, gave it a metallic luster,  and  it  was  difficult  to  say  what  was  the  color,  dark  bronze  or black. So completely absorbed was she in watching the cloud to which her strange  song  or  incantation  seemed  addr0ssed,  that  she  did  not  observe me when I rose and went towards her.(3) Over her head, high up in the blue, a lark that was soaring towards' the same gauzy cloud was singing, as if in  rivalry(4).  As  I  slowly  approached  the  child,  I  could  see  by  her forehead,  which,  in  the  sunshine  seemed  like  a  globe  of  pearl,  and especially by her complexion, that she was uncommonly lovely. Her eyes, which at one moment seemed blue-gray, at another violet(5), were shaded by long black lashes, curving backward in a most peculiar way, and these matched in hue her eyebrows, and the tress- es that were tossed about her tender throat and were quivering in the sunlight. All this I did not take in(6)  at  once;  for  at  first  I  could see nothing  but  those  quivering, glittering,  changeful  eyes  turned  up  into  my  face.  Gradually  the  other features, especially the sensitive full-lipped mouth, grew upon me as I stood silently gazing. Here seemed to me a more perfect beauty than  had ever come to me in my loveliest dreams of beauty. Yet it was not her beauty so  much  as  the  look  she  gave  me  that  fascinated  me,  melted  me.(7)