Honorine | Page 7

from the
political point of view, of charitable institutes, the repression of crime,
and I could at my leisure study the man on whom my fate would
henceforth depend. The Count was of middle height; it was impossible
to judge of his build on account of his dress, but he seemed to me to be
lean and spare. His face was harsh and hollow; the features were
refined. His mouth, which was rather large, expressed both irony and
kindliness. His forehead perhaps too spacious, was as intimidating as
that of a madman, all the more so from the contrast of the lower part of
the face, which ended squarely in a short chin very near the lower lip.
Small eyes, of turquoise blue, were as keen and bright as those of the
Prince de Talleyrand--which I admired at a later time--and endowed,
like the Prince's, with the faculty of becoming expressionless to the
verge of gloom; and they added to the singularity of a face that was not
pale but yellow. This complexion seemed to bespeak an irritable
temper and violent passions. His hair, already silvered, and carefully
dressed, seemed to furrow his head with streaks of black and white
alternately. The trimness of this head spoiled the resemblance I had
remarked in the Count to the wonderful monk described by Lewis after
Schedoni in the Confessional of the Black Penitents (The Italian), a
superior creation, as it seems to me, to The Monk.
"The Count was already shaved, having to attend early at the law courts.
Two candelabra with four lights, screened by lamp-shades, were still
burning at the opposite ends of the writing-table, and showed plainly
that the magistrate rose long before daylight. His hands, which I saw
when he took hold of the bell-pull to summon his servant, were
extremely fine, and as white as a woman's.
"As I tell you this story," said the Consul-General, interrupting himself,
"I am altering the titles and the social position of this gentleman, while

placing him in circumstances analogous to what his really were. His
profession, rank, luxury, fortune, and style of living were the same; all
these details are true, but I would not be false to my benefactor, nor to
my usual habits of discretion.
"Instead of feeling--as I really was, socially speaking--an insect in the
presence of an eagle," the narrator went on after a pause, "I felt I know
not what indefinable impression from the Count's appearance, which,
however, I can now account for. Artists of genius" (and he bowed
gracefully to the Ambassador, the distinguished lady, and the two
Frenchmen), "real statesmen, poets, a general who has commanded
armies--in short, all really great minds are simple, and their simplicity
places you on a level with themselves.--You who are all of superior
minds," he said, addressing his guests, "have perhaps observed how
feeling can bridge over the distances created by society. If we are
inferior to you in intellect, we can be your equals in devoted friendship.
By the temperature--allow me the word--of our hearts I felt myself as
near my patron as I was far below him in rank. In short, the soul has its
clairvoyance; it has presentiments of suffering, grief, joy, antagonism,
or hatred in others.
"I vaguely discerned the symptoms of a mystery, from recognizing in
the Count the same effects of physiognomy as I had observed in my
uncle. The exercise of virtue, serenity of conscience, and purity of mind
had transfigured my uncle, who from being ugly had become quite
beautiful. I detected a metamorphosis of a reverse kind in the Count's
face; at the first glance I thought he was about fifty-five, but after an
attentive examination I found youth entombed under the ice of a great
sorrow, under the fatigue of persistent study, under the glowing hues of
some suppressed passion. At a word from my uncle the Count's eyes
recovered for a moment the softness of the periwinkle flower, and he
had an admiring smile, which revealed what I believed to be his real
age, about forty. These observations I made, not then but afterwards, as
I recalled the circumstances of my visit.
"The man-servant came in carrying a tray with his master's breakfast on
it.

"'I did not ask for breakfast,' remarked the Count; 'but leave it, and
show monsieur to his rooms.'
"I followed the servant, who led the way to a complete set of pretty
rooms, under a terrace, between the great courtyard and the servants'
quarters, over a corridor of communication between the kitchens and
the grand staircase. When I returned to the Count's study, I overheard,
before opening the door, my uncle pronouncing this judgment on me:
"'He may do wrong, for he has strong feelings, and we are all liable to
honorable mistakes;