maiden herself, wild as her fancies may
be, finds epics there and castles and works of art. For Poussin, the
enthusiast, the old man, was suddenly transfigured, and became Art
incarnate, Art with its mysteries, its vehement passion and its dreams.

"Yes, my dear Porbus," Frenhofer continued, "hitherto I have never
found a flawless model, a body with outlines of perfect beauty, the
carnations--Ah! where does she live?" he cried, breaking in upon
himself, "the undiscoverable Venus of the older time, for whom we have
sought so often, only to find the scattered gleams of her beauty here
and there? Oh! to behold once and for one moment, Nature grown perfect
and divine, the Ideal at last, I would give all that I possess.... Nay,
Beauty divine, I would go to seek thee in the dim land of the dead; like
Orpheus, I would go down into the Hades of Art to bring back the life of
art from among the shadows of death."

"We can go now," said Porbus to Poussin. "He neither hears nor sees us
any longer."

"Let us go to his studio," said young Poussin, wondering greatly.

"Oh! the old fox takes care that no one shall enter it. His treasures
are so carefully guarded that it is impossible for us to come at them.
I have not waited for your suggestion and your fancy to attempt to lay
hands on this mystery by force."

"So there is a mystery?" "Yes," answered Porbus. "Old Frenhofer is the
only pupil Mabuse would take. Frenhofer became the painter's friend,
deliverer, and father; he sacrificed the greater part of his fortune to
enable Mabuse to indulge in riotous extravagance, and in return Mabuse
bequeathed to him the secret of relief, the power of giving to his
figures the wonderful life, the flower of Nature, the eternal despair of
art, the secret which Ma-buse knew so well that one day when he had sold
the flowered brocade suit in which he should have appeared at the Entry
of Charles V, he accompanied his master in a suit of paper painted to
resemble the brocade. The peculiar richness and splendor of the stuff
struck the Emperor; he complimented the old drunkard's patron on the
artist's appearance, and so the trick was brought to light. Frenhofer
is a passionate enthusiast, who sees above and beyond other painters. He
has meditated profoundly on color, and the absolute truth of line; but
by the way of much research he has come to doubt the very existence
of the objects of his search. He says, in moments of despondency, that
there is no