It was Hélène, whose charm and unspeakable grace were still more idealised by the divine power of art, for art alone can give to the features it reproduces, and reproduces with fidelity, that inexplicable character, grandiose and almost superhuman, which is to the living features that which historic perspective is to events.
The more I examined the picture, the more I admired, in spite of the pangs of my hateful jealousy, a talent full of freshness, melancholy, and elevation, joined to an intimate knowledge of nature and the passions.
As to Egmont, no one could find a physiognomy more masculine and more expressive. If the slight frown on the forehead showed the indelible trace of political cares, though his pallor betrayed the absorbing and concentrated reaction of that ambition which Egmont concealed under frivolity, one saw that at least, when he was at the side of Claire, free from all annoyances, forgetful of his hazardous schemes, he came to cool his burning brow by the soothing touch of this angel of devotion and candour, who, as Goethe tells us, had so often lulled this great child to sleep.
The count's smile was full of calmness and serenity, his eyes were bright with confidence and love; his pose, so joyfully casting aside court etiquette, was one of graceful negligence, while with his two beautiful hands he pressed those of Claire, who, kneeling before her Egmont, with her elbows on his knees, was gazing upon him with idolatry. In this profound and admiring look of Claire, you could imagine her saying, "I, poor, obscure girl, I am beloved of Egmont,—of the great Egmont." Simple and enchanting modesty, which makes that young girl's love so chaste, so humble, and so passionate!
As to the accessories of the picture, their extreme simplicity had been carefully and skilfully thought out, so as to show to all the more advantage Egmont's splendid costume. It was the interior of a poor Flemish house, there was Claire's spinning-wheel, some pieces of furniture with well-polished twisted columns; on the left a little window with leaded panes, which was shaded by the hop-vine that, climbing on the outside of it, half hid the bird cage that hung there. It was from this window, no doubt, that Claire had seen Egmont for the first time, when, passing by mounted on his beautiful battle-steed at the head of his army, the count, with his unparalleled grace, had saluted her with his golden sword, and a bow of his waving plumes. And finally, above the high chimney piece, with its serge curtain, one could see a rude and naïve popular print representing the great Egmont. Wretched picture as it was, Claire had often dreamily gazed on it, little thinking that one day the great captain would be at her knees! Or rather that she would be kneeling before Egmont; for it was with admirable sagacity that the painter had thus chosen Claire's attitude, as symbolising the love of that admirable child, who, so timidly kneeling, shows her gratitude for the love she bestows.
A soft exquisite light illumined the picture, which was almost all painted in a beautiful clair-obscure, for the colouring, though bold, strong, and vigorous, was of a marvellous harmony and mellowness; in the accessories there was nothing bright or staring to attract the eye. Claire wore the simple black dress of a young Flemish girl, and Egmont's costume was of brown velvet, embroidered with silver; thus all the interest of the picture was absolutely concentrated on those two admirable faces.
I must admit that, in spite of the ill-feeling I had entertained for Frank, with the exception of M. Delacroix's "Charles the Fifth," the "Marguerite and Faust" of Ary Scheffer, and "The Children of Edward" by M. Delaroche, I had scarcely ever been more profoundly touched by the irresistible power of genius.
Giving myself up to its charming influence, thinking only of enjoying its beauty, I lost myself in the thousand impressions this picture awakened in me; but when this first effervescence of involuntary admiration was somewhat calmed, my envious feelings returned with a sharper sting than ever, for I appreciated all there was great and elevated in the talent of Hélène's husband.
I looked in the catalogue; this beautiful picture had not yet been sold. A mean frame, whose cheapness was noticeable and displeasing to me, surrounded this chef-d'œuvre, which was barely visible, consigned as it was to the very end of the gallery among all the miserable daubs which are thrust to one side. I judged from this fact that Frank was but little known. He had probably just arrived from Germany, without friends and without protection, and had simply abandoned his picture to all the hazards of the exposition.
They say that some of the most talented men die unknown, or live misunderstood. I do not believe this. A first attempt may not be successful, but true merit inevitably rises at last to its own level. I made this reflection, which I believe a just one, as I thought bitterly that sooner or later the remarkable talent of Frank would become recognised, and that his obscurity, over which I was now rejoicing, would be but a thing of the past.