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A Portrait
Short story
- GenresShort Stories
Unknown Binding
2 people want to read
About the author
Guy de Maupassant
7,565 books3,070 followersHenri René Albert Guy de Maupassant was a popular 19th-century French writer. He is one of the fathers of the modern short story. A protege of Flaubert, Maupassant's short stories are characterized by their economy of style and their efficient effortless dénouement. He also wrote six short novels. A number of his stories often denote the futility of war and the innocent civilians who get crushed in it - many are set during the Franco-Prussian War of the 1870s.
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Displaying 1 - 4 of 4 reviews
March 8, 2023
Guy de Maupassant's "A Portrait" is a short story about the curiosity of why a gentleman is very amiable and comfortable personality.
Story in short - Milial is not considered a handsome man yet he is able to attract many.
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Highlight (Yellow) | Location 24125
“Hello! there’s Milial!” said somebody near me. I looked at the man who had been pointed out as I had been wishing for a long time to meet this Don Juan. He was no longer young. His gray hair looked a little like those fur bonnets worn by certain Northern peoples, and his long beard, which fell down over his chest, had also somewhat the appearance of fur. He was talking to a lady, leaning toward her, speaking in a low voice and looking at her with an expression full of respect and tenderness. I knew his life, or at least as much as was known of it. He had loved madly several times, and there had been certain tragedies with which his name had been connected. When I spoke to women who were the loudest in his praise, and asked them whence came this power, they always answered, after thinking for a while: “I don’t know — he has a certain charm about him.”
Highlight (Yellow) | Location 24132
He was certainly not handsome. He had none of the elegance that we ascribe to conquerors of feminine hearts. I wondered what might be his hid den charm. Was it mental? I never had heard of a clever saying of his. In his glance? Perhaps. Or in his voice? The voices of some beings have a certain irresistible attraction, almost suggesting the flavor of things good to eat. One is hungry for them, and the sound of their words penetrates us like a dainty morsel. A friend was passing. I
Highlight (Yellow) | Location 24135
asked him: “Do you know Monsieur Milial?” “Yes.” “Introduce us.” A minute later we were shaking hands and talking in the doorway. What he said was correct, agreeable to hear; it contained no irritable thought. The voice was sweet, soft, caressing, musical; but I had heard others much more attractive, much more moving. One listened to him with pleasure, just as one would look at a pretty little brook. No tension of the mind was necessary in order to follow him, no hidden meaning aroused curiosity, no expectation awoke interest. His conversation was rather restful, but it did not awaken in one either a desire to answer, to contradict or to approve, and it was as easy to answer him as it was to listen to him. The response came to the lips of its own accord, as soon as he had finished talking, and phrases turned toward him as if he had naturally aroused them. One thought soon struck me. I had known him for a quarter of
❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌spoiler alert
The puzzle to Milial's charm displayed by a portrait of Milial's mother who died young. Her portrait is not only captivating by charming.
Highlight (Yellow) | Location 24143
an hour, and it seemed as if he were already one of my old friends, that I had known all about him for a long time; his face, his gestures, his voice, his ideas. Suddenly, after a few minutes of conversation, he seemed already to be installed in my intimacy. All constraint disappeared between us, and, had he so desired, I might have confided in him as one confides only in old friends. Certainly there was some mystery about him. Those barriers that are closed between most people and
Highlight (Yellow) | Location 24146
that are lowered with time when sympathy, similar tastes, equal intellectual culture and constant intercourse remove constraint — those barriers seemed not to exist between him and me, and no doubt this was the case between him and all people, both men and women, whom fate threw in his path. After half an hour we parted, promising to see each other often, and he gave me his address after inviting me to take luncheon with him in two days.
Highlight (Yellow) | Location 24150
I forgot what hour he had stated, and I arrived too soon; he was not yet home. A correct and silent domestic showed me into a beautiful, quiet, softly lighted parlor. I felt comfortable there, at home. How often I have noticed the influence of apartments on the character and on the mind! There are some which make one feel foolish; in others, on the contrary, one always feels lively. Some make us sad, although well lighted and decorated in light-colored furniture; others cheer us up, although hung with sombre material. Our eye, like our heart, has its likes and dislikes, of which it does not inform us, and which it secretly imposes on our temperament. The harmony of furniture, walls, the style of an ensemble, act immediately on our mental state, just as the air from the woods, the sea or the mountains modifies our physical natures. I sat down on a cushion- covered divan and felt myself suddenly carried and supported by these little silk bags of feathers, as if the outline of my body had been marked out beforehand on this couch. Then I looked about. There was nothing striking about the room; every-where were beautiful and modest things, simple and rare furniture, Oriental curtains which did not seem to come from a department store but from the interior of a harem; and exactly opposite me hung the portrait of a woman. It was a portrait of medium size, showing the head and the upper part of the body, and the hands, which were holding a book. She was
Highlight (Yellow) | Location 24160
young, bareheaded; ribbons were woven in her hair; she was smiling sadly. Was it because she was bareheaded, was it merely her natural expression? I never have seen a portrait of a lady which seemed so much in its place as that one in that dwelling. Of all those I knew I have seen nothing like that one. All those that I know are on exhibition, whether the lady be dressed in her gaudiest gown, with an attractive headdress and a look which shows that she is posing first of all before the artist and then before those
Highlight (Yellow) | Location 24164
who will look at her or whether they have taken a comfortable attitude in an ordinary gown. Some are standing majestically in all their beauty, which is not at all natural to them in life. All of them have something, a flower or, a jewel, a crease in the dress or a curve of the lip, which one feels to have been placed there for effect by the artist. Whether they wear a hat or merely their hair one can immediately notice that they are not entirely natural. Why? One cannot say without knowing them, but the effect is there. They seem
Highlight (Yellow) | Location 24168
to be calling somewhere, on people whom they wish to please and to whom they wish to appear at their best advantage; and they have studied their attitudes, sometimes modest, Sometimes haughty. What could one say about this one? She was at home and alone. Yes, she was alone, for she was smiling as one smiles when thinking in solitude of something sad or sweet, and not as one smiles when one is being watched. She seemed so much alone and so much at home that she made the whole large apartment
Highlight (Yellow) | Location 24171
seem absolutely empty. She alone lived in it, filled it, gave it life. Many people might come in and converse, laugh, even sing; she would still be alone with a solitary smile, and she alone would give it life with her pictured gaze. That look also was unique. It fell directly on me, fixed and caressing, without seeing me. All portraits know that they are being watched, and they answer with their eyes, which see, think, follow us without leaving us, from the very moment we enter the apartment they
Highlight (Yellow) | Location 24175
inhabit. This one did not see me; it saw nothing, although its look was fixed directly on me. I remembered the surprising verse of Baudelaire: And your eyes, attractive as those of a portrait. They did indeed attract me in an irresistible manner; those painted eyes which had lived, or which were perhaps still living, threw over me a strange, powerful spell. Oh, what an infinite and tender charm, like a passing breeze, like a dying sunset of lilac rose and blue, a little sad like the approaching night,
Highlight (Yellow) | Location 24179
which comes behind the sombre frame and out of those impenetrable eyes! Those eyes, created by a few strokes from a brush, hide behind them the mystery of that which seems to be and which does not exist, which can appear in the eyes of a woman, which can make love blossom within us. The door opened and M. Milial entered. He excused himself for being late. I excused myself for being ahead of time. Then I said: “Might I ask you who is this lady?”
Highlight (Yellow) | Location 24182
He answered: “That is my mother. She died very young.” Then I understood whence came the inexplicable attraction of this man.
Story in short - Milial is not considered a handsome man yet he is able to attract many.
➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖
Highlight (Yellow) | Location 24125
“Hello! there’s Milial!” said somebody near me. I looked at the man who had been pointed out as I had been wishing for a long time to meet this Don Juan. He was no longer young. His gray hair looked a little like those fur bonnets worn by certain Northern peoples, and his long beard, which fell down over his chest, had also somewhat the appearance of fur. He was talking to a lady, leaning toward her, speaking in a low voice and looking at her with an expression full of respect and tenderness. I knew his life, or at least as much as was known of it. He had loved madly several times, and there had been certain tragedies with which his name had been connected. When I spoke to women who were the loudest in his praise, and asked them whence came this power, they always answered, after thinking for a while: “I don’t know — he has a certain charm about him.”
Highlight (Yellow) | Location 24132
He was certainly not handsome. He had none of the elegance that we ascribe to conquerors of feminine hearts. I wondered what might be his hid den charm. Was it mental? I never had heard of a clever saying of his. In his glance? Perhaps. Or in his voice? The voices of some beings have a certain irresistible attraction, almost suggesting the flavor of things good to eat. One is hungry for them, and the sound of their words penetrates us like a dainty morsel. A friend was passing. I
Highlight (Yellow) | Location 24135
asked him: “Do you know Monsieur Milial?” “Yes.” “Introduce us.” A minute later we were shaking hands and talking in the doorway. What he said was correct, agreeable to hear; it contained no irritable thought. The voice was sweet, soft, caressing, musical; but I had heard others much more attractive, much more moving. One listened to him with pleasure, just as one would look at a pretty little brook. No tension of the mind was necessary in order to follow him, no hidden meaning aroused curiosity, no expectation awoke interest. His conversation was rather restful, but it did not awaken in one either a desire to answer, to contradict or to approve, and it was as easy to answer him as it was to listen to him. The response came to the lips of its own accord, as soon as he had finished talking, and phrases turned toward him as if he had naturally aroused them. One thought soon struck me. I had known him for a quarter of
❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌spoiler alert
The puzzle to Milial's charm displayed by a portrait of Milial's mother who died young. Her portrait is not only captivating by charming.
Highlight (Yellow) | Location 24143
an hour, and it seemed as if he were already one of my old friends, that I had known all about him for a long time; his face, his gestures, his voice, his ideas. Suddenly, after a few minutes of conversation, he seemed already to be installed in my intimacy. All constraint disappeared between us, and, had he so desired, I might have confided in him as one confides only in old friends. Certainly there was some mystery about him. Those barriers that are closed between most people and
Highlight (Yellow) | Location 24146
that are lowered with time when sympathy, similar tastes, equal intellectual culture and constant intercourse remove constraint — those barriers seemed not to exist between him and me, and no doubt this was the case between him and all people, both men and women, whom fate threw in his path. After half an hour we parted, promising to see each other often, and he gave me his address after inviting me to take luncheon with him in two days.
Highlight (Yellow) | Location 24150
I forgot what hour he had stated, and I arrived too soon; he was not yet home. A correct and silent domestic showed me into a beautiful, quiet, softly lighted parlor. I felt comfortable there, at home. How often I have noticed the influence of apartments on the character and on the mind! There are some which make one feel foolish; in others, on the contrary, one always feels lively. Some make us sad, although well lighted and decorated in light-colored furniture; others cheer us up, although hung with sombre material. Our eye, like our heart, has its likes and dislikes, of which it does not inform us, and which it secretly imposes on our temperament. The harmony of furniture, walls, the style of an ensemble, act immediately on our mental state, just as the air from the woods, the sea or the mountains modifies our physical natures. I sat down on a cushion- covered divan and felt myself suddenly carried and supported by these little silk bags of feathers, as if the outline of my body had been marked out beforehand on this couch. Then I looked about. There was nothing striking about the room; every-where were beautiful and modest things, simple and rare furniture, Oriental curtains which did not seem to come from a department store but from the interior of a harem; and exactly opposite me hung the portrait of a woman. It was a portrait of medium size, showing the head and the upper part of the body, and the hands, which were holding a book. She was
Highlight (Yellow) | Location 24160
young, bareheaded; ribbons were woven in her hair; she was smiling sadly. Was it because she was bareheaded, was it merely her natural expression? I never have seen a portrait of a lady which seemed so much in its place as that one in that dwelling. Of all those I knew I have seen nothing like that one. All those that I know are on exhibition, whether the lady be dressed in her gaudiest gown, with an attractive headdress and a look which shows that she is posing first of all before the artist and then before those
Highlight (Yellow) | Location 24164
who will look at her or whether they have taken a comfortable attitude in an ordinary gown. Some are standing majestically in all their beauty, which is not at all natural to them in life. All of them have something, a flower or, a jewel, a crease in the dress or a curve of the lip, which one feels to have been placed there for effect by the artist. Whether they wear a hat or merely their hair one can immediately notice that they are not entirely natural. Why? One cannot say without knowing them, but the effect is there. They seem
Highlight (Yellow) | Location 24168
to be calling somewhere, on people whom they wish to please and to whom they wish to appear at their best advantage; and they have studied their attitudes, sometimes modest, Sometimes haughty. What could one say about this one? She was at home and alone. Yes, she was alone, for she was smiling as one smiles when thinking in solitude of something sad or sweet, and not as one smiles when one is being watched. She seemed so much alone and so much at home that she made the whole large apartment
Highlight (Yellow) | Location 24171
seem absolutely empty. She alone lived in it, filled it, gave it life. Many people might come in and converse, laugh, even sing; she would still be alone with a solitary smile, and she alone would give it life with her pictured gaze. That look also was unique. It fell directly on me, fixed and caressing, without seeing me. All portraits know that they are being watched, and they answer with their eyes, which see, think, follow us without leaving us, from the very moment we enter the apartment they
Highlight (Yellow) | Location 24175
inhabit. This one did not see me; it saw nothing, although its look was fixed directly on me. I remembered the surprising verse of Baudelaire: And your eyes, attractive as those of a portrait. They did indeed attract me in an irresistible manner; those painted eyes which had lived, or which were perhaps still living, threw over me a strange, powerful spell. Oh, what an infinite and tender charm, like a passing breeze, like a dying sunset of lilac rose and blue, a little sad like the approaching night,
Highlight (Yellow) | Location 24179
which comes behind the sombre frame and out of those impenetrable eyes! Those eyes, created by a few strokes from a brush, hide behind them the mystery of that which seems to be and which does not exist, which can appear in the eyes of a woman, which can make love blossom within us. The door opened and M. Milial entered. He excused himself for being late. I excused myself for being ahead of time. Then I said: “Might I ask you who is this lady?”
Highlight (Yellow) | Location 24182
He answered: “That is my mother. She died very young.” Then I understood whence came the inexplicable attraction of this man.
January 11, 2026
A Portrait is Maupassant at his most psychologically incisive. The story is less about the painted image than about the act of looking—and what that looking reveals. Reading it felt like watching layers of self-deception peel away.
What struck me was how the portrait becomes a mirror not of appearance, but of desire. The narrator projects meaning onto the image, reads intimacy into stillness, and invents depth where none may exist. Maupassant understands how easily perception becomes possession.
The emotional tension lies not in revelation, but in misalignment. The narrator’s inner narrative grows increasingly elaborate, while reality remains stubbornly indifferent. Reading this, I felt Maupassant tracing the danger of investing imagination where consent has not been given.
The story’s restraint is crucial. Maupassant never sensationalizes the disillusionment. Instead, he lets recognition arrive quietly, almost humiliatingly. The narrator must confront not betrayal, but error.
What lingered was the story’s honesty about longing. Maupassant does not mock desire—but he insists on its limits. The portrait cannot return the gaze. Meaning must be negotiated, not assumed.
A Portrait stayed with me because it captures the moment when fantasy collapses into awareness—and leaves us alone with ourselves.
Recommended.
What struck me was how the portrait becomes a mirror not of appearance, but of desire. The narrator projects meaning onto the image, reads intimacy into stillness, and invents depth where none may exist. Maupassant understands how easily perception becomes possession.
The emotional tension lies not in revelation, but in misalignment. The narrator’s inner narrative grows increasingly elaborate, while reality remains stubbornly indifferent. Reading this, I felt Maupassant tracing the danger of investing imagination where consent has not been given.
The story’s restraint is crucial. Maupassant never sensationalizes the disillusionment. Instead, he lets recognition arrive quietly, almost humiliatingly. The narrator must confront not betrayal, but error.
What lingered was the story’s honesty about longing. Maupassant does not mock desire—but he insists on its limits. The portrait cannot return the gaze. Meaning must be negotiated, not assumed.
A Portrait stayed with me because it captures the moment when fantasy collapses into awareness—and leaves us alone with ourselves.
Recommended.
May 16, 2025
AKA: The Portrait; Un portrait
On seeing the celebrated man-about-town and ladies’ man Milial nearby, the narrator asks a friend to introduce him, as he is curious about just why the fellow is so attractive to women. He strikes up a conversation with Milial and finds himself rapidly under his subtle charm, feeling as if he had known him for ages. Milial invites him for lunch in two days’ time and the narrator, who has arrived early, is shown into a salon where he sits for a while looking at a portrait of a fascinating young woman, who appears to be smiling in an almost sad manner. When Milial arrives he explains it is the portrait of his late mother, who possessed a similar captivating gaze, and the narrator then understands the secret of the man’s attractiveness.
On seeing the celebrated man-about-town and ladies’ man Milial nearby, the narrator asks a friend to introduce him, as he is curious about just why the fellow is so attractive to women. He strikes up a conversation with Milial and finds himself rapidly under his subtle charm, feeling as if he had known him for ages. Milial invites him for lunch in two days’ time and the narrator, who has arrived early, is shown into a salon where he sits for a while looking at a portrait of a fascinating young woman, who appears to be smiling in an almost sad manner. When Milial arrives he explains it is the portrait of his late mother, who possessed a similar captivating gaze, and the narrator then understands the secret of the man’s attractiveness.
February 15, 2026
Nothing spectacular about the story, its a very detailed description of a potrait
Displaying 1 - 4 of 4 reviews