PLATE VI.--THE COMTESSE DIANE
(Luxembourg Museum)
This fine portrait of the Comtesse Diane (Mme. de Beausacq) was executed by Henner at the request of the poet, Sully-Prudhomme, and bequeathed to the Louvre. But it was necessary that it should first remain for the prescribed period in the Luxembourg, since no picture may be admitted into the Louvre until ten years after the death of its author.
Besides, Henner was too passionately devoted to his art to concern himself about money. He always showed the greatest disinterestedness. Prosperity came to him, ample prosperity, but he did not seek it. It was the natural recompense of this amazing workman, happily supplemented by the most extraordinary powers of production. There were instances when he produced in the space of a few hours pictures that he sold for twenty-five and thirty thousand francs.
Wealth, however, did not in any way modify either his habits or his character. He remained throughout his life just as simple, just as gentle, and just as laborious. This is perhaps the right moment at which to quote the charming word-portrait of this good and kindly man, drawn by M. Claude Vento, who knew him well:
"If, by his nature as well as by the vigour of his genius, Henner deserves to be compared to the Masters of the past, his very physique suggests that he is a reincarnation of some one of those great artists of the Renaissance, whose mould had seemingly been broken. Robust, squarely built, broad of shoulder, with energetic head planted on a rather stout neck, a countenance strong yet gentle, with features strongly marked, and hair surmounted by a black velvet cap, does not Henner as a matter of fact, clad in his velvet jacket over a flannel shirt, remind us of the portrait of Holbein who was his first inspiration? His whole personality bears the stamp of frankness and of kindliness, a kindliness possessing a rather rough exterior, but actually very rare in quality, as you may see in the depths of his pale blue eyes, as limpid and clear as the eyes of a little child. There is an element of naïveté in his sincere face, through which, however, a deep shrewdness penetrates, a kindliness that is not free from mockery, when his alert wit detects insincerity, whereupon, behind a mocking smile, irony leaps to his lips, like fine and delicate arrows, but all the more stinging for that. But this is not customary. Although, like all men who have had to struggle, Henner is not readily expansive and guards himself from the importunate, by his somewhat cold manner, what a hearty hand-grasp, loyal and true, for his real friends, what a reassuring smile, lighting up his virile features, when sympathy knocks at his door! With what unceremonious cordiality he comes in person to answer the bell and open the door of his studio to the expected visitor! As a usual rule, Henner talks but little. He listens more than he talks, and is naturally given to reflection. But whatever he says is to the point and is well worth listening to. If in his presence the conversation chances to turn upon art or literature or any other lofty subject, but more especially art, then the passion latent in him all of a sudden bursts forth and reveals itself, just as a fire suddenly blazes up from beneath a pile of ashes, and all the more violently because it has been so long smouldering. At such times his language is vivid, highly coloured, vigorous, and full of conviction. The words come to his lips without effort and flow in a rapid stream. And the listener realizes that he is in the presence of a truthful nature, ardent and resolute, a conscientious judge and a great artist, whose enthusiasms are sincere and whose will is strong and tenacious."
Here we have the complete picture of the man, discreet, laborious, modest, an enemy of noise and notoriety, and revealing himself to the public only through his signature unfailingly appended to the lower margin of his immortal canvases.
The series of them is imposing. At the Exposition of 1867, Henner was represented by The Chaste Susannah, The Young Bather Asleep, The Reclining Woman, an admirable masterpiece now in the collection of the Mulhouse museum, and seven portraits which bore witness to the artist's prodigious fecundity and to the infinite variety of his talent.
In 1869, he exhibited only two paintings at the Salon, but they were two gems: The Woman on the Black Divan, whose nudity contrasts in dazzling fashion with the sombre setting of the velvet couch on which she reposes; and The Little Writer, a charming portrait of a child, who happens to be the artist's own nephew, diligently bending over his desk. A [reproduction] of this latter picture will be found among the plates of the present study.