Logan swallowed.
“It is.”
She continued to shake her head, unwilling to believe her own eyes.
“But it’s been in the Palace of Versailles since the eighteen thirties. It’s well documented. I’ve seen it in a book.”
“And art books are always correct?”
She swiveled around, her eyes wide.
“There is no feasible way you can have this. It must be a forgery.”
“It is by Jacques-Louis David himself. You can see his signature in the corner. Right,” he pointed to the bottom edge of the artwork, “there.”
Faith turned back to face the enormous painting.
“How on earth did you come to ownThe Coronation of Napoleon? It’s a French national treasure. It is impossible to have it.”
Logan smirked, impressed by her knowledge, but he still wanted to test her more.
“Do you see Napoleon’s sisters?” he asked as Faith turned back around to observe the work. “Particularly the second in from the left?”
“Yes. The one in pink?” Faith asked before frowning. “Wait. She is wearing a pink gown.” Logan watched as Faith workedthrough it. She turned again. “All the sisters wore white in the original.”
“They did.”
“So, this is not the original?”
“It is not the first,” Logan said, looking back at the painting. “In 1808, an American commissioned Jacques-Louis David to make another. He did, although it took him fourteen years to complete. By that time the original commissioner had died, leaving it to his family who stored it away in their London home. They are exact copies of one another, except for that dress,” he nodded. “That was the only thing he changed.”
“Why?”
“Rumor has it that when Jacques-Louis David became the official court painter, he was tasked with painting individual portraits of Napoleon’s sisters. It’s said that he fell in love with Princess Caroline. Since there was no conceivable way for him to even approach her, he kept it a secret. But when this painting was revealed, he supposedly told his assistant that he’d made Caroline’s gown pink, so that she would stand out for everyone to see for all ages, just as she always had for him.”
Silence fell over them as Logan stared up at the artwork. It was a romantic story he had heard when he had found the piece, and though he doubted its truth, he also couldn’t deny it.
A slight sniffle emanated from his side. Turning, he saw Faith, her knuckles pressed against her forehead as she grimaced. He had never seen Faith so much as pout, let alone cry, and he wasn’t exactly sure how to respond. Worried, he lifted a hand to her elbow, but she pulled away and spun around, causing him to still. After a moment, he spoke.
“I must admit, I underestimated your love for art.”
“It’s not that,” she said softly. Lifting her head, she inhaled and exhaled deeply before turning back to face him. Hereyes were not red but watery, and he found it decidedly uncomfortable to witness her upset.
“What is it then?”
She shook her head, seeming unwilling to explain, but then she spoke.
“Painters. Artists. The whole lot of them. They’re all so eager to show the world their passion and yet… They cannot bear to live those passions in real life. They’re all cowards.”
“Cowards?”
“Yes, the lot of them,” she said, as her eyes lifted to gaze upon the painting. “They’re too afraid to experience life and so they paint it instead. But this is not real. It cannot feel, it does not yearn.” She let out a bitter huff of breath. “But supposedly he loved her?”
Logan nodded, unsure.
“It’s what I’ve been told.”
She nodded as well.
