of the stuff attracted the attention of the emperor, who, wishing to
compliment the old drunkard, laid a hand upon his shoulder and
discovered the deception. Frenhofer is a man carried away by the
passion of his art; he sees above and beyond what other painters see.
He has meditated deeply on color and the absolute truth of lines; but
by dint of much research, much thought, much study, he has come to
doubt the object for which he is searching. In his hours of despair he
fancies that drawing does not exist, and that lines can render nothing
but geometric figures. That, of course, is not true; because with a
black line which has no color we can represent the human form. This
proves that our art is made up, like nature, of an infinite number of
elements. Drawing gives the skeleton, and color gives the life; but
life without the skeleton is a far more incomplete thing than the
skeleton without the life. 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. A sublime painter, indeed;
but he had the misfortune to be born rich, and that enables him to
stray into theory and conjecture. Do not imitate him. Work! work!
painters should theorize with their brushes in their hands."

"We will contrive to get in," cried Poussin, not listening to Porbus,
and thinking only of the hidden masterpiece.

Porbus smiled at the youth's enthusiasm, and bade him farewell with a
kindly invitation to come and visit him.

* * * * *