Frederic William Burton: The Meeting on the Turret Stairs 1864
There is a big black framework in one of the chambers of the National Gallery in Dublin. It is a cabinet of sorts, built into the wall like a safe, guarding precious jewels. Two times a week, the cabinet’s door is opened for one flying hour so that the hungry public eyes can look at the treasure the cabinet protects from the light. It is a beautiful watercolor painting of a lady and a soldier.
Hellelil -how poetical it sounds- and Hildebrand stand at the stairs of a turret. It is probably a secret tryst, considering a Danish ballad inspired the Irish painter, Burton. Hildebrand was one of Hellelil’s twelve noble guards. As she says:
“Eleven daily served me well,
But oh, I loved the last-I fell”
Well, he served her well in another way, until somebody told her father, who did not see Hildebrand as a match for his daughter. The father ordered his seven sons to kill the young soldier. Hellelil and Hildebrand were walking in the linden tree forest when the father and the seven sons approached to kill him, and they stabbed him eight times. Somehow Hildebrand killed the father and the brothers, all but the younger one, before he died. The angry brother bound Hellelil by her fair hair to his horse and tugged her back to their castle where he cast her on sharp thorns and then sold her for a bell. She soon died in sorrow.
I know it sounds odd but this is a ballad after all and ballads tend to be tragic and dramatic in every way they can be. An epic love story must always be tragic, otherwise the strong feelings will fade away and pass.
Burton, the popular Irish artist who only painted watercolors, depicted a tender scene from the lovers’ short-lived romance. What first caught my attention was the rich color of Hellelil’s dress as much as Hildebrand’s coat. I would never tell that it was a watercolor on paper and not an oil painting! The colors are so deep and the details are so precise, nowhere is there a light transparency or a trace of water. Yet the most striking thing is the wordless tenderness in their pose.
I love how Hildebrand embraces her arm, drinks in her scent and softness. I love Hellelil’s swooning hand. I like how Hildebrand leans against the wall with one foot up; I like that his hands are covered by his chain mail shirt. We see only a part of their faces but it is enough to understand their feelings for each other. On the floor there is a flopped rose with its petals apart. Maybe this is a hidden sign of their ill fate?
I am partial to how Hellelil’s braided hair is tucked into her ornate chain belt. Such a nice detail!
There is no time to dream before this painting because the hour passes and the cabinet’s door will soon be closed again. I take a last look at Hellelil and Hildebrand, hoping that I will see them again and next time their love will be as tender as in this precious moment.
