Becoming Lisette: A Novel (The Queen's Painter an Historical Romance Book 1)

by Rebecca Glenn

  Darkness enveloped the studio. In the cold months, there would have been a dim light coming from the fireplace, but since summer was nearing, the fireplace was blocked with a board and wasn’t in use. Lisette placed the candelabra, with its single lit candle, on its designated table. If I am going to get much done tonight, I will need more light, she thought.

  Lisette hunted around her papa’s semainier. She knew the candles were stored somewhere in the high, narrow chest. Lisette started at the bottom, opening each of the seven drawers. By the sixth drawer, she had found a tinderbox for lighting the candles and a snuffer for extinguishing the candles, but no candles. Then she remembered how her mother frequently complained about the high price of candles. Jeanne doled them out sparingly, giving her papa only a few at a time. Sure enough, when Lisette reached into the far back of the top drawer, she felt two candles. After inserting them into the empty branches of the candelabra, she lit them with the flame from the original burning candle.

  With the candles lit, she was ready to paint. Lisette stood before her easel staring at her canvas. If she worked diligently tonight, she might finish. Should I add another layer to Venus? she wondered. Again, she had doubts.

  Unsure about how much time she had to paint, Lisette decided to mix only one color − a light brown. First, she prepared a mix of raw umber pigment, linseed oil and a little turpentine. Next, she blended white pigment with linseed oil and turpentine. Using her palette knife, Lisette then transferred the brown and white paints to her palette. Finally, to complete her process, she pulled the darker paint into the lighter paint creating streaks of white within the brown. Perfect, she thought. After painting a few strokes on the canvas, she stood back to judge the overall effect of that particular color of brown. It was difficult to see in the flickering candlelight.

  “Lisette! What are you doing in here?” It was her papa.

  She hadn’t heard him enter.

  “You shouldn’t be burning your mother’s candles! She will be very upset. You know that I forbid you from painting down here at night.”

  “But Papa, you heard what Monsieur Vernet said about my abilities. I need to keep working. It is the only way to improve,” Lisette said as she continued to paint.

  “Monsieur Vernet said many things. We mustn’t take stock in all of what he says.”

  “You don’t agree that I am talented?”

  “Of course I think you are very good, Lisette. That isn’t what I meant. Monsieur Vernet may have inserted himself into matters that were not his business.”

  “Do you mean the lessons?” Lisette asked.

  Her papa was silent.

  “You have said yourself that Briard would accept me as a student.”

  “Lisette, I cannot afford to pay for lessons with Monsieur Briard. I’ve told you this.”

  “Not even after you receive the money for the King’s paintings?”

  “That money is for your brother’s education. Lisette, I will not discuss this further. For now, my guidance will have to suffice.”

  Louis’ cough had returned and Lisette didn’t want to agitate him. She had noticed lately that once a fit began, it was difficult to control. He seemed to be getting a little sicker each day.

  Louis studied her canvas. “Pull the brown from dark to light on the edges of Venus. It will make her stand out more against the blue sky.” As a pastelist, her papa was especially good at blending colors. Louis then moved his easel closer to the candelabra table that stood between them.

  “Papa, what are you doing?” Lisette asked.

  “The candles have been lit and you’ve mixed paint. We might as well make use of both.”

  “What about your supper and Monsieur Vernet?”

  “He was called away on Académie business. Your mother sent me down to check on you.”

  “Won’t Mother be upset if we both stay here?”

  “You let me handle your mother,” Louis said as he started to paint.

  Lisette regarded her papa. Even in the shadows she could see that he had changed. Where she had once seen a strong, vigorous artist, she now saw a haggard man who appeared much older than his age. She watched him sitting a few feet from her, working at his own easel. He could no longer stand up to paint. He couldn’t even sit up straight and as a result, his back had a hump that protruded from between his shoulders. Lisette missed the days when her papa was in better health. The outside world didn’t exist when she painted with him. Entire days and sometimes weeks would disappear. She missed their conversations about painting techniques, the Guild, the Académie and whatever else they wanted to discuss. Lately her papa didn’t talk much at all.

  Lisette turned to face her canvas. “Papa, is this enough contrast?” Lisette knew that her painting of Venus was her finest creation. She had worked diligently for months…and tonight she would finish. My Venus, she thought affectionately.

  Before Louis could respond, he started to cough and wasn’t able to stop for several minutes.

  Lisette set down her brush and palette on the deep windowsill next to her easel. She poured her papa a glass of watered wine from a tall decanter. Although it was difficult to see in the dim light, she was careful to step over the half-finished canvases scattered throughout the small space.

  “Here, Papa, drink this.” She handed him the glass. Her papa looked especially tired and worried tonight.

  He took several sips from the glass and returned it to Lisette. “Thank you.” He picked up his brush and started painting again.

  “Do you want me to go down and ask Mother for some Barbados water?” Lisette had seen her mother give her papa the sweet, light brown spirit to ease his coughing. Costly, it was imported from the island of Barbados. Jeanne poured it sparingly.

  “No. I must return to work.”

  Lisette remained standing next to him. She loomed over her papa who was hunched over as he painted. “Papa, you are working too much. It is making you sicker.”

  “You don’t need to worry about me,” her papa said. Lisette noticed he held back another cough.

  “You are not well. You should be resting in your bed.”

  “Lisette, you know I cannot rest now, not when there are so many paintings I must finish. Le Brun needs these very soon. His auction is scheduled to take place shortly.”

  “But I thought these paintings were commissioned by Monsieur Aubert. Why would they be going to Le Brun’s auction?”

  Louis said nothing and continued to paint. Lisette knew from her papa’s silence that Monsieur Aubert no longer wanted the paintings. To avoid a total loss, her papa must have negotiated a contract with Le Brun.

  Lisette peered around the studio. There were a dozen unfinished paintings, many barely begun. I could finish them for him, she thought. Tonight, she would not suggest such a plan. Lisette would wait until it was the right time.

  Reticent, Lisette returned to her easel.

  Her papa put down his brush. “Lisette, I know you are concerned about me…” He could barely get the words out before his cough took over his body.

  Just as the fit seemed to wane, Lisette saw her papa swaying on his stool.

  She leapt over to him as he lost his balance and fell. “Papa!” Supporting his body, they both collapsed. She had reached him just before his head hit the floor. Lisette sat up and supported Louis’ head in her lap.

  “Papa! Wake up. Can you hear me?” Lisette gently shook him, but he did not respond. She wasn’t sure if he had hit his head on his easel or on the candelabra. The candelabra had been knocked off its table and laid on its side. Its branches were empty and the room had darkened. Where are the candles? Lisette thought.

  The room did not remain dark for long. In an instant, it was light again, made bright with the flames of the liberated candles. A small fire burned in the middle of the studio.

  “Fire!” Lisette quickly moved her papa’s head off of her lap, stood up and reached for the nearest pail.

  Lisette found a small pail sitting o
n the window sill. She threw its contents onto the fire and held her breath. That should work, she thought. But instead of putting the fire out, it grew larger.

  Lisette smelled the empty pail. I just threw turpentine onto the fire! Lisette realized.

  She then searched for a pail of water. She knew there would be at least one in the studio. Her papa kept water pails for cleaning brushes.

  On the other side of her papa’s easel, she found several pails of water. Lisette immediately tossed the water on the growing fire, but it didn’t help. The flames were quickly spreading. The fire had begun to consume many of the paintings scattered throughout the studio.

  Lisette watched it move toward her painting of Venus. If she didn’t act now, the entire studio would be destroyed by the fire.

  She searched the studio for something…anything that might put out the fire. The bed linens! she thought as she spotted the large, white sheets piled in a corner. Her papa used the bed linens to veil any unfinished works he didn’t want to be seen.

  Lisette grabbed the sheets and then quickly threw them onto the fire. They were just large enough to cover the biggest flames. Lisette stomped on the linens until the fire was merely smoldering.

  Then there was smoke…thick, suffocating clouds of smoke. She started coughing. Papa shouldn’t be breathing this smoke, she thought.

  Her papa remained unconscious on the floor. Lisette rushed over to him. She placed her hands on his shoulders and shook him. “Papa! Wake up!”

  His eyes fluttered. “What happened?” When he tried to sit up, Lisette stopped him. Instead, she supported his head on her lap.

  “You fell off your chair. I think you hit your head on your easel. A fire started from the candelabra that fell over at the same time. And…I’m afraid I made it worse before I extinguished it,” Lisette explained.

  “Is that why you smell like turpentine?” he asked.

  Lisette looked down. The front of her dress was soaked in it. As she sat on the ground, still holding her papa in her lap, she caught a whiff of the strong smell. She winced.

  “I hope it dries before mother smells me.”

  “Lisette, she won’t care. You saved both of our lives.” As his eyes focused, the expression on her papa’s face softened. “Thank you, my dear daughter. I was fortunate that you were here with me,” Louis said as he tried to stand.

  “Papa, no, you are too weak.” Lisette kept him down on the floor with her. “We can’t stay in here with this smoke. We need to leave now.” She smiled at her papa. “You want to get away from me because I smell like a pail of turpentine.”

  Louis’ laughing gave way to coughing.

  “Lisette? Louis?”

  Lisette heard her mother’s voice near the door.

  “Mother!” Lisette called out to Jeanne.

  Jeanne rushed over to where Lisette held her papa on the floor. “What happened? I smelled smoke from upstairs!”

  Jeanne and Lisette brought Louis to his feet. He leaned on Lisette as she and her mother helped him out of the atelier and back up the stairs to their apartment.

  As they left the studio, Lisette saw the destruction. At least half of her papa’s paintings had been ruined by the fire. Then she saw her easel, cracked and in crumbled pieces. It had been under the linens that she had trampled. Lisette realized, My Venus is gone.

  Chapter Three

  May 23, 1772

  The next morning, Lisette checked on her papa. As she quietly entered his bedroom, she saw his eyes were closed. Good, he is resting, Lisette thought. She had heard him coughing throughout the night. She knew the smoke from the fire had only worsened his condition. Lisette walked to the side of his bed, drew open the bed curtains and sat down.

  “Lisette.” Louis opened his eyes and looked at her with great tenderness.

  “Papa, how are you feeling?”

  “Like I should get back to work,” he said as he coughed.

  “No, Papa. You need your rest.”

  “That is what your mother says. But you don’t know Le Brun. He will cut my share in half for being late. And now, because of the fire, I am further behind. How many paintings were destroyed?”

  Lisette didn’t want to tell him that well over half of his paintings were gone.

  “I can tell by the look on your face that the news is bad. Please tell me.”

  “Most were destroyed.”

  Lisette saw tears welling up in his eyes as he considered his predicament. Louis looked away from her.

  “Papa…I can help you. Le Brun will get his paintings for the auction.”

  He turned to face her. His eyes were red and swollen, but he was no longer crying. “Lisette, you are a girl. Your place is helping your mother. You are needed in the kitchen,” he said, suppressing a cough.

  “I can finish them for you,” Lisette blurted out.

  “Lisette, no. That is not a good idea.”

  “No one will know it was me. You told me the other day that I have already exceeded your abilities,” Lisette said.

  “I am not selling my paintings executed by your hand. That is fraudulent,” her papa said adamantly.

  “Then I could sell my paintings…ones that I painted.”

  “That is preposterous,” Louis said.

  “Many of my paintings survived. I had been safekeeping them in my room. Papa, I could sell my Death of Caesar.” Lisette believed that her painting of Caesar Augustus was her best painting now that the Venus canvas had been lost to the fire. As a scene from Rome, it was a de rigeur theme in high demand by Parisians.

  Her papa said nothing.

  “Papa, I think my Death of Caesar would sell. You told me that Parisians are buying any painting with a Classical theme. If only you would consider…”

  “Not that one, Lisette.”

  “What is wrong with it?” Mulling the details in her mind, she thought, The proportions were right, the composition was balanced, the placement of the horizon line was correct…what could it be?

  “Lisette, that is an historical canvas. You know as well as I do that it won’t sell,” her papa said plainly.

  “But it isn’t too big. It is cabinet-sized and is the perfect addition to any gentleman’s salon or gallery.”

  He looked her in the eye. “Lisette, only men paint those kinds of paintings. You are very skilled, yes. But it does not change the fact that you are a girl. I promise you that Le Brun won’t sell that painting. A portrait or landscape, perhaps.”

  “Am I not talented enough?” Without allowing him to answer she continued, “I can improve, Papa. If you would only agree to lessons, I could improve.”

  “We have been over this too many times. I will not discuss it further.”

  Lisette glanced down at the floor. She remained at the side of her papa’s bed without saying anything.

  Her papa broke the quiet first. “Lisette, you are an adept painter. Why can’t you put history painting aside…focus on what is open to you…as a female painter. I’ve seen you compose wonderful portraits.” His voice was soft and gentle.

  He only means well, but I am not a simple portrait painter, she thought. There was nothing left to say to her papa. Lisette kissed him on the cheek.

  “Rest, Papa,” Lisette said and walked out.

  Chapter Four

  June 10, 1772

  Lisette peered out of the side of the carriage. The route from their home on the Rue Coquillière to the Palais du Louvre was a familiar one to her. From a young age, she had accompanied her papa to art salons at the Louvre. Today was no different.

  Monsieur Vernet had invited them to his latest exhibition. It was taking place in his atelier, which adjoined his living quarters at the Louvre. Her papa had many friends who were members of the Académie Royale de Peinture et de Sculpture, most of whom lived and worked at the Louvre. Still the nominal seat of the French government, it had long ago ceased to function as the royal residence. She had heard her papa talk about how it was not only the home of the Académi
e Royale de Peinture et de Sculpture, but all of the royal academies, including the Académie des Sciences and the Académie des Inscriptions et Belles-Lettres. Her papa often told Lisette that one had an equal chance of encountering an artist, a scientist or a writer when inside the Palais du Louvre.

  “Papa, who do you expect will attend?” Lisette asked.

  “Many people. Monsieur Vernet hasn’t held a private exhibition of his paintings in at least a year. His recent seascapes that were commissioned by the King will be on display. I’m sure he will draw a crowd. We’ll be some of the first people to view them.”

  “Why did he insist on my presence?” Lisette asked.

  “He was very impressed with your portrait of Etienne. He has taken a special interest in you, Lisette. Your mother and I believe that you remind him of his daughter, Emilie.”

  Lisette thought about all the people she knew that had died in the most recent outbreak of smallpox. She shuddered when she remembered Etienne’s brush with death. During his illness, there had been rumblings of an inoculation against smallpox, but Lisette’s parents hadn’t trusted it for their son. The Dauphine, Marie-Antoinette, believed in inoculation because she had survived a mild case of the smallpox as a young girl. She had spread speculation that inoculation might spare lives. But most Frenchmen, including King Louis XV, did not believe in it. The Dauphine could not convince her husband’s grandfather to be inoculated.

  “Be sure to thank Monsieur Vernet for inviting you, Lisette,” her papa said.

  Lisette nodded. She was with her papa today because Monsieur Vernet had requested that Lisette attend. Jeanne had resisted, arguing that Lisette’s time was now better spent preparing for marriage. Not wanting to offend Vernet, Louis had placated his wife by suggesting that eligible suitors would be present. If the excursion’s purpose was to attract a potential husband, Jeanne Vigée was happy to consent. She had spent all that morning dressing and primping her daughter.