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Updated: May 26, 2025
"Frenhofer," he explained, "my scheme is this. A friend of mine has a yacht in the harbour. I believe that he would lend it to me. Why should we not substitute it for the yacht your master imagines that he is hiring? If so, all difficulties as to placing whom I desire on board and secreting them are over."
Three months after the first meeting of Porbus and Poussin, the former went to see Maitre Frenhofer.
"Frenhofer," Hunterleys said slowly, "so far as I have been concerned indirectly in these negotiations with you, my instructions to my agent have been simple and definite. We have never haggled. Your name was known to me eight years ago, when you served us in St. Petersburg and served us well. You have done the same thing now and you have behaved with rare intelligence.
Frenhofer looked at his picture for a space of a moment, and staggered. "Nothing! nothing! after toiling ten years!" He sat down and wept. "Am I then a fool, an idiot? Have I neither talent nor capacity? Am I no better than a rich man who walks, and can only walk? Have I indeed produced nothing?" He gazed at the canvas through tears.
Frenhofer filled up his glass, but motioned to the door with his head. "You will excuse us, dear friend," he begged, laying his hand persuasively upon the other's shoulder. "Monsieur and I have little enough of time." The landlord withdrew. Frenhofer walked around the little apartment. Their privacy was certainly assured.
But there is a higher truth still, namely, that practice and observation are the essentials of a painter; and that if reason and poesy persist in wrangling with the tools, the brushes, we shall be brought to doubt, like Frenhofer, who is as much excited in brain as he is exalted in art.
There was love in the cry of Frenhofer as in that of Poussin, mingled with jealous coquetry on behalf of his semblance of a woman; he seemed to revel in the triumph which the beauty of his virgin was about to win over the beauty of the living woman. "Do not let him retract," cried Porbus, striking Poussin on the shoulder. "The fruits of love wither in a day; those of art are immortal."
Frenhofer will tamper with the electric lights in the kitchen premises and I shall arrive in response to his telephonic message, in the clothes of a working-man and with a bag of tools. Then he smuggles me on to the spiral stairway which leads out on to the roof where the flag-staff is. I can crawl the rest of the way to my place.
David shall read my score to me." They passed out and Roche closed the door behind them carefully. "Anything fresh?" Hunterleys asked. "Nothing particular," was the somewhat guarded reply. "That fellow Frenhofer has been up here." "Frenhofer?" Hunterleys repeated, interrogatively. "He is the only man I can rely upon at the Villa Mimosa," Roche explained.
Hunterleys made no immediate reply. He was walking up and down the narrow apartment. A brilliant idea had taken possession of him. The more he thought of it, the more feasible it became. "Frenhofer," he said at last, "I have a scheme of my own. You are sure that Mr. Grex has never seen this yacht?"
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