stage before us.

We will first look on the portrait Rochefoucauld has left us of himself:
"I am," says he, "of a medium height, active, and well-proportioned. My
complexion dark, but uniform, a high forehead; and of moderate height,
black eyes, small, deep set, eyebrows black and thick but well placed. I
am rather embarrassed in talking of my nose, for it is neither flat nor
aquiline, nor large; nor pointed: but I believe, as far as I can say,
it is too large than too small, and comes down just a trifle too low. I
have a large mouth, lips generally red enough, neither shaped well nor
badly. I have white teeth, and fairly even. I have been told I have
a little too much chin. I have just looked at myself in the glass to
ascertain the fact, and I do not know how to decide. As to the shape of
my face, it is either square or oval, but which I should find it very
difficult to say. I have black hair, which curls by nature, and thick
and long enough to entitle me to lay claim to a fine head. I have in my
countenance somewhat of grief and pride, which gives many people an idea
I despise them, although I am not at all given to do so. My gestures are
very free, rather inclined to be too much so, for in speaking they
make me use too much action. Such, candidly, I believe I am in outward
appearance, and I believe it will be found that what I have said
above of myself is not far from the real case. I shall use the same
truthfulness in the remainder of my picture, for I have studied myself
sufficiently to know myself well; and I will lack neither boldness to
speak as freely as I can of my good qualities, nor sincerity to freely
avow that I have faults.

"In the first place, to speak of my temper. I am melancholy, and I have
hardly been seen for the last three or four years to laugh above three
or four times. It seems to me that my melancholy would be even endurable
and pleasant if I had none but what belonged to me constitutionally; but
it arises from so many other causes, fills my imagination in such a way,
and possesses my mind so strongly that for the greater part of my time
I remain without speaking a word, or give no meaning to what I say. I am
extremely reserved to those I do not know, and I am not very open with
the greater part of those I do. It is a fault I know well, and I should
neglect no means to correct myself of it; but as a certain gloomy air I
have tends to make me seem more reserved than I am in fact, and as it is