llery there is but one
other picture of the same kind which may be compared to it, a painting
which suggests a parallel in a single detail,--_The Man with the Pinks_,
by Van Eyck.

[Illustration: PORTRAIT OF GEORG GISZE.
_Holbein._]

Holbein has represented Georg Gisze in his mercantile office, at a
table, holding a letter which he is about to open, and surrounded by
small objects, articles for which he has use in his business and in his
every-day life. This man appears before us in a marvellous pose, among
these material surroundings and in this professional scene. Observe his
calm attitude and his almost placid physiognomy: we notice, however, the
firm and decided air of a wealthy and elegant merchant. And, at the same
time, we are sure that the type represented here is not of sudden
growth: everything about him reveals intelligence.

Georg Gisze is young; the painter has told us his name and his age in an
inscription on the wall: he is thirty-four. We do not lack information
about him. We like him under that air of youthful seriousness; we see
upon his face that dawning gravity in which the blossom of feeling
already exists, but its plenitude and maturity are still to come. And in
attentively examining our personage we are struck with his reflective
and searching glance. We seem to have a glimpse in him of an undefined
melancholy. This expression surprises us in this man, who ought to be
happy at living and who lacks no pleasures that Fortune can procure.

This is a state of mind which is indicated to us, moreover, by a motto
traced above his name on one of the walls of his office: _Nulla sine
maerore voluptas_. Why this thought? Is it purely emblematic, or does it
contain an allusion to some private matter? We are led to believe that
it is intended as a complementary explanation, that it was placed upon
the picture because it was in sympathy with a train of ideas special to
the model. Perhaps it recalls some domestic sorrow, the lively grief
left by an absent one, or by some eternal separation. A moral mystery,
which seems to us very attractive, hovers around Georg Gisze.

He has long fair hair confined beneath a black cap; his smooth-shaven
face is rather thin. He wears a rich costume, a pourpoint of cerise silk
with puffed sleeves, and, over this pourpoint, a cloak of black wool
lined with fur. The table on which he is leaning is covered with a
Persian rug, and, beside the various objects scattered up