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the young man roused himself from his deep musings。
〃why； my good man； the saint is sublime！〃 he cried。 〃there is a subtlety of imagination about those two figures； the saint mary and the shipman； that can not be found among italian masters； i do not know a single one of them capable of imagining the shipmans hesitation。〃
〃did that little malapert e with you？〃 asked porbus of the older man。
〃alas！ master； pardon my boldness；〃 cried the neophyte； and the color mounted to his face。 〃i am unknowna dauber by instinct； and but lately e to this citythe fountain…head of all learning。〃
〃set to work；〃 said porbus； handing him a bit of red chalk and a sheet of paper。
the new…er quickly sketched the saint mary line for line。
〃aha！〃 exclaimed the old man。 〃your name？〃 he added。
the young man wrote 〃nicolas poussin〃 below the sketch。
〃not bad that for a beginning；〃 said the strange speaker； who had discoursed so wildly。 〃i see that we can talk of art in your presence。 i do not blame you for admiring porbuss saint。 in the eyes of the world she is a masterpiece； and those alone who have been initiated into the inmost mysteries of art can discover her shortings。 but it is worth while to give you the lesson； for you are able to understand it； so i will show you how little it needs to plete this picture。 you must be all eyes； all attention； for it may be that such a chance of learning will never e in your way againporbus！ your palette。〃
porbus went in search of palette and brushes。 the little old man turned back his sleeves with impatient energy； seized the palette； covered with many hues； that porbus handed to him； and snatched rather than took a handful of brushes of various sizes from the hands of his acquaintance。 his pointed beard suddenly bristleda menacing movement that expressed the prick of a lovers fancy。 as he loaded his brush； he muttered between his teeth； 〃these paints are only fit to fling out of the window； together with the fellow who ground them； their crudeness and falseness are disgusting！ how can one paint with this？〃
he dipped the tip of the brush with feverish eagerness in the different pigments； making the circuit of the palette several times more quickly than the organist of a cathedral sweeps the octaves on the keyboard of his clavier for the 〃o filii〃 at easter。
porbus and poussin； on either side of the easel； stood stock…still； watching with intense interest。
〃look； young man；〃 he began again； 〃see how three or four strokes of the brush and a thin glaze of blue let in the free air to play about the head of the poor saint； who must have felt stifled and oppressed by the close atmosphere！ see how the drapery begins to flutter； you feel that it is lifted by the breeze！ a moment ago it hung as heavily and stiffly as if it were held out by pins。 do you see how the satin sheen that i have just given to the breast rends the pliant； silken softness of a young girls skin； and how the brown…red； blended with burnt ochre； brings warmth into the cold gray of the deep shadow where the blood lay congealed instead of coursing through the veins？ young man； young man； no master could teach you how to do this that i am doing before your eyes。 mabuse alone possessed the secret of giving life to his figures； mabuse had but one pupilthat was i。 i have had none； and i am old。 you have sufficient intelligence to imagine the rest from the glimpses that i am giving you。〃
while the old man was speaking； he gave a touch here and there； sometimes two strokes of the brush； sometimes a single one； but every stroke told so well； that the whole picture seemed transfiguredthe painting was flooded with light。 he worked with such passionate fervor that beads of sweat gathered upon his bare forehead； he worked so quickly； in brief； impatient jerks； that it seemed to young poussin as if some familiar spirit inhabiting the body of this strange being took a grotesque pleasure in making use of the mans hands against his own will。 the unearthly glitter of his eyes； the convulsive movements that seemed like struggles； gave to this fancy a semblance of truth which could not but stir a young imagination。 the old man continued； saying as he did so
〃paf！ paf！ that is how to lay it on； young man！little touches！ e and bring a glow into those icy cold tones for me！ just so！ pon！ pon！ pon！〃 and those parts of the picture that he had pointed out as cold and lifeless flushed with warmer hues； a few bold strokes of color brought all the tones of the picture into the required harmony with the glowing tints of the egyptian； and the differences in temperament vanished。
〃look you； youngster； the last touches make the picture。 porbus has given it a hundred strokes for every one of mine。 no one thanks us for what lies beneath。 bear that in mind。〃
at last the restless spirit stopped； and turning to porbus and poussin； who were speechless with admiration； he spoke
〃this is not as good as my belle noiseuse； still one might put ones name to such a thing as this。yes； i would put my name to it；〃 he added； rising to reach for a mirror； in which he looked at the picture。〃and now；〃 he said； 〃will you both e and breakfast with me？ i have a smoked ham and some very fair wine！。。。 eh！ eh！ the times may be bad； but we can still have some talk about art！ we can talk like equals。。。。 here is a little fellow who has aptitude；〃 he added； laying a hand on nicolas poussins shoulder。
in this way the stranger became aware of the threadbare condition of the normans doublet。 he drew a leather purse from his girdle； felt in it； found two gold coins； and held them out。
〃i will buy your sketch；〃 he said。
〃take it；〃 said porbus； as he saw the other start and flush with embarrassment； for poussin had the pride of poverty。 〃pray； take it； he has a couple of kings ransoms in his pouch！〃
the three came down together from the studio； and； talking of art by the way； reached a picturesque wooden house hard by the pont saint…michel。 poussin wondered a moment at its ornament； at the knocker； at the frames of the casements； at the scroll…work designs； and in the next he stood in a vast low…ceiled room。 a table； covered with tempting dishes； stood near the blazing fire； and （luck unhoped for） he was in the pany of two great artists full of genial good humor。
〃do not look too long at that canvas； young man；〃 said porbus； when he saw that poussin was standing； struck with wonder； before a painting。 〃you would fall a victim to despair。〃
it was the 〃adam〃 painted by mabuse to purchase his release from the prison； where his creditors had so long kept him。 and； as a matter of fact； the figure stood out so boldly and convincingly； that nicolas poussin began to understand the real meaning of the words poured out by the old artist； who was himself looking at the picture with apparent satisfaction； but without enthusiasm。 〃i have done better than that！〃 he seemed to be saying to himself。
〃there is life in it；〃 he said aloud； 〃in that respect my poor master here surpassed himself； but there is some lack of truth in the background。 the man lives indeed； he is rising； and will e toward us； but the atmosphere； the sky； the air； the breath of the breezeyou look and feel for them； but they are not there。 and then the man himself is； after all； only a man！ ah！ but the one man in the world who came direct from the hands of god must have had a something divine about him that is wanting here。 mabuse himself would grind his teeth and say so when he was not drunk。〃
poussin looked from the speaker to porbus； and from porbus to the speaker； with restless curiosity。 he went up to the latter to ask for the name of their host； but the painter laid a finger on his lips with an air of mystery。 the young mans interest was excited； he kept silence； but hoped that sooner or later some word might be let fall that would reveal the name of his entertainer。 it was evident that he was a man of talent and very wealthy； for porbus listened to him respectfully； and the vast room was crowded with marvels of art。
a magnificent portrait of a woman； hung against the dark oak panels of the wall； next caught poussins attention。
〃what a glorious giorgione！〃 he cried。
〃no；〃 said his host； 〃it is an early daub of mine〃
〃gramercy！ i am in the abode of the god of painting； it seems！〃 cried poussin ingenuously。
the old man smiled as if he had long grown familiar with such praise。
〃master frenhofer！〃 said porbus； 〃do you think you could spare me a little of your capital rhine wine？〃
〃a couple of pipes！〃 answered his host； 〃one to discharge a debt； for the pleasure of seeing your pretty sinner； the other as a present from a friend。〃
〃ah！ if i had my health；〃 returned porbus； 〃and if you would but let me see your belle noiseuse； i would paint some great picture； with breadth in it and depth； the figures should be life…size。〃
〃let you see my work！〃 cried the painter in agitation。 〃no； no！ it is not perfect yet； something still remains for me to do。 yesterday； in the dusk；〃 he said； 〃i thought i had reached the end。 her eyes seemed moist； the flesh quivered； something stirred the tresses of her hair。 she breathed！ but though i have succeeded in reproducing natures roundness and relief on the flat surface of the canvas； this morning； by daylight； i found out my mistake。 ah！ to achieve that glorious result i have studied the works of the great masters of color； stripping off coat after coat of color from titians canvas； analyzing the pigments of the king of light。 like that sovereign painter； i began the face in a slight tone with a supple and fat pastefor shadow is but an accident； bear that in mind； youngster！then i began afresh； and by half…tones and thin glazes of color less and less transparent； i gradually deepened the tints to the deepest black of the strongest shadows。 an ordinary painter makes his shadows something entirely different in nature from the high lights； they are wood or brass； or what you will； anything but flesh in shadow。 you feel that even if those figures were to alter their position； those shadow stains would never be cleansed away； those parts of the picture would never glow with light。
〃i have escaped one mistake； into which the most famous painters have sometimes fallen； in my canvas the whiteness shines through the densest and most persistent shadow。 i have not marked out the limits of my figure in hard； dry outlines； and brought every least anatomical detail into prominence （like a host of dunces； who fancy that they can draw because they can trace a line elaborately smooth and clean）； for the human body is not contained within the limits of line。 in this the sculptor can approach the truth more nearly than we painters。 natures way is a plicated succession of curve within curve。 strictly speaking； there is no such thing as drawing。do not laugh； young man； strange as that speech may seem to you； you will understand the truth in it some day。a line is a method of expressing the effect of light upon an object； but there are no lines in nature； everything is solid。 we draw by modeling； that is to say； that we disengage an object from its setting； the distribution of the light alone gives to a body the appearance by which we know it。 so i have not defined the outlines； i have suffused them with a haze of half…tints warm or golden； in such a sort that you can not lay your finger on the exact spot where background and contours meet。 seen from near； the picture looks a blur； it seems to lack definition； but step back two paces； and the whole thing bees clear； distinct； and solid； the body stands out； the rounded form es into relief； you feel that the air plays round it。 and yeti am not satisfied； i have misgivings。 perhaps one ought not to draw a single line； perhaps it would be better to attack the face from the centre； taking the highest prominences first； proceeding from them through the whole range of shadows to the heaviest of all。 is not this the method of the sun； the divine painter of the world？ oh； nature； nature！ who has surprised thee； fugitive？ but； after all； too much knowledge； like ignorance； brings you to a negation。 i have doubts about my work。〃
there was a pause。 then the old man spoke again。 〃i have been at work upon it for ten years； young man； b