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Updated: October 13, 2025
To be a great poet it is not enough to know the rules of syntax and write faultless grammar. Look at your saint, Porbus. At first sight she is admirable; but at the very next glance we perceive that she is glued to the canvas, and that we cannot walk round her. She is a silhouette with only one side, a semblance cut in outline, an image that can't turn nor change her position.
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."
After walking to and fro for some time with the hesitation of a lover who fears to approach his mistress, however complying she may be, he ended by crossing the threshold and asking if Maitre Francois Porbus were within.
"But why is it so, my dear master?" said Porbus humbly, while the young man could hardly restrain a strong desire to strike the critic. "Ah! that is the question," said the little old man. "You are floating between two systems, between drawing and color, between the patient phlegm and honest stiffness of the old Dutch masters and the dazzling warmth and abounding joy of the Italians.
"He is a poet even more than he is a painter," answered Poussin gravely. "There," returned Porbus, touching the canvas, "is the ultimate end of our art on earth." "And from thence," added Poussin, "it rises, to enter heaven." "How much happiness is there! upon that canvas," said Porbus. The absorbed old man gave no heed to their words; he was smiling at his visionary woman.
"Oh! the old dragon has guarded the entrance. His treasure is out of our reach. I have not waited for your wish or urging to attempt an assault on the mystery." "Mystery! then there is a mystery?" "Yes," answered Porbus. "Frenhofer was the only pupil Mabuse was willing to teach.
But you are worthy of a lesson, and capable of understanding it. I will show you how little is needed to turn that picture into a true masterpiece. Give all your eyes and all your attention; such a chance of instruction may never fall in your way again. Your palette, Porbus." Porbus fetched his palette and brushes.
"Maitre Frenhofer," said Porbus, "could you order up a little of your good Rhine wine for me?" "Two casks," answered the host; "one to pay for the pleasure of looking at your pretty sinner this morning, and the other as a mark of friendship."
Filled with such thoughts, Porbus said to the old man, "Is it not woman for woman? Poussin lends his mistress to your eyes." "What sort of mistress is that?" cried Frenhofer. "She will betray him sooner or later. Mine will be to me forever faithful." "Well," returned Porbus, "then let us say no more.
Observing the shabby cap of the youth, he pulled from his belt a leathern purse from which he took two gold pieces and offered them to him, saying, "I buy your drawing." "Take them," said Porbus to Poussin, seeing that the latter trembled and blushed with shame, for the young scholar had the pride of poverty; "take them, he has the ransom of two kings in his pouch."
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