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

by Rebecca Glenn

  Lisette shivered. The cool, damp air sent a chill that went straight through her. She pulled her cloak tighter around her body. As she waited for an empty carriage, she thought, Why did I agree to this? Lisette wished she was back in her warm room working on the new techniques Briard had recently demonstrated.

  I wouldn’t have the lessons without Amante’s help, she reminded herself. During the past five months, Lisette had learned many new methods from Briard. She couldn’t lose Amante’s support now. It was time for Lisette to fulfill her end of their bargain. Tonight, she would meet Amante at the Salonnière’s house for the Wednesday evening salon.

  At least I’m not standing out here in the dark, she thought. Lisette noticed that the many street lamps had just been lit for the night. Their flickering mimicked the people’s movements as they hurried to their destinations. It always amazed Lisette that the streets were nearly as busy in the evening as in the early morning hours when servants scurried to fetch their daily foodstuffs and supplies.

  Lisette swiftly raised her arm when she saw what looked like an empty fiacre coming toward her. The carriage stopped and Lisette climbed inside. She told the driver to take her to 976 Rue du Faubourg Saint-Honoré. Although the Salonnière’s home was on the same street as Le Sèvre’s house, it was located on the opposite end, in the Marais du Faubourg Saint-Honoré, near the Champs-Élysées. Lisette prepared herself to be impressed. The Marais du Faubourg Saint-Honoré was home to some of Paris’ most illustrious and wealthiest denizens. It was less congested than where Lisette lived and where one could find grandiose homes on spacious plots of land.

  The carriage started moving and Lisette immediately felt the uneven road. The wooden wheels never easily navigated the irregular Paris streets, but tonight, the ride seemed bumpier than usual. Lisette’s stomach churned. Maybe if I close my eyes, I won’t notice, she thought.

  After what seemed like hours, Lisette heard the driver shout, “976 Rue du Faubourg Saint-Honoré, Mademoiselle.” Lisette’s carriage had arrived behind several others, so she could not immediately disembark. While waiting in the queue of carriages, Lisette surveyed the Salonnière’s home. Just as she had suspected, everything about it was grand. The deep forecourt was large enough to accommodate a six-horse royal coach and the semi-circular façade was intimidating with its enormously tall, broad columns. It took Lisette a few moments to take in the entire building. The house was the size of at least ten apartments like the one she had lived in with her papa on the Rue de Coquillière.

  After several minutes, Lisette’s carriage pulled up to the head of the line. She paid the driver and descended from the carriage. Lisette then searched for Amante in the forecourt where he had said he would be waiting for her. Although she would have preferred to enter on her own, Lisette had reluctantly agreed to go inside with him. Amante had been willing to arrive in separate carriages, which she knew was a significant concession for any man.

  As she stood waiting for him, Lisette wondered what she would encounter once inside the grand house. She only knew what her mother had said about salons. Amante had told Lisette that her mother’s notions were misguided and that salons were places where intelligent, artistic women could freely speak their minds, especially on important issues of the day. Lisette did not have much knowledge of state policies or foreign affairs, but she was eager to discuss painting. Amante had also said that the men who attended respectfully listened to each woman’s opinions. Lisette was doubtful. She would have to see for herself.

  Lisette watched half a dozen men and women enter the Salonnière’s house. Where is he? she wondered. It was cold and Lisette wanted to go inside where it was warm. She surveyed each carriage that approached, hoping Amante would appear. After several more carriages let out salon-goers, Lisette considered going in by herself. She turned and faced the front door. Just as she was about to take her first step toward it, she heard a deep male voice call out to her, “Lisette!”

  Amante stepped out of his carriage and approached her. Immediately, her stomach fluttered. He wore his officer’s uniform of the royal blue waistcoat adorned with red collars and cuffs. His dark hair was not covered with a wig or white powder, but was pulled back and tied together at the nape of his neck. It smelled of apples and almonds and looked shiny, like it had been smoothed out with a pomade. She also noticed he was freshly shaven. Her hand wanted to reach up and touch his smooth cheek.

  “Lisette, you are gorgeous this evening,” he said. Amante quickly kissed her hand, but took his time releasing it. He allowed his gaze to linger too.

  Lisette looked away and turned toward the front door. “Shall we go in?”

  “Yes, but first I need to tell you what you’ll encounter and how you’ll be expected to behave.”

  “What do you mean? I’ve been to the Palais Royal, to the Tuileries −“

  He interrupted her, “This is somewhat the same, but a little different from those places. You should watch your manners and be sure to defer to nobility, but there is more.”

  Lisette listened, but she was sure she already knew how to behave. She had paid attention to the etiquette lectures given at the Convent of the Trinité and those from her mother. To Lisette, this felt similar.

  “They will expect that you already know their names. More importantly, they will be looking for your witty responses during conversation, so be prepared to offer clever banter. Try to always have the last word and to leave the group laughing, but never laugh at your own repartee. That is the mark of a good salonnière.”

  “But I don’t want to be a salonnière. I am an artist.”

  “Tonight you will be both. Many important artists will be in attendance, along with musicians and poets. They utilize these salons as places to showcase their cleverness and their talent. You should seize this opportunity as well. If you show them how amusing and bright you are, you will attract more commissions. I promise.”

  “But I don’t want to act like some child who only makes people laugh. I take my work seriously.”

  “And you should convey your earnestness, but you should also demonstrate that you can be witty and enchanting. You’ll see you don’t have to act like a child at all. Quite the opposite. Salons are the domain of serious women...women who want to be known as writers, artists, musicians and intellectuals.” His eyes danced as he looked at her.

  “I think you are going to enjoy this, now let’s go inside.” Amante extended his arm, Lisette took it and they walked in together.

  After entering the house, they waited for a servant to announce their presence in the front vestibule. As they waited, Lisette inspected the entryway. She saw more objects d’art than she could count. The foyer was full of marble busts, gold candelabras and crystal vases. Lisette noticed a particular pair of tall crystal vases with delicate flowers etched on either side. Le Sèvre owned a similar pair, but these were much larger. If these vases were also from the glassworks in Baccarat, Lisette could only imagine their worth. Based on the sumptuousness of this front room, Lisette expected the rest of the home to be equally luxurious.

  As they handed their outer coats to the footman, a grand-looking woman approached them. She appeared just as lavish as her house. Lisette had never seen such a woman before. Her very presence was enrapturing. She floated toward them.

  “Ah, Amante! How delightful it is to see you. And this must be the young Venus that you said you would bring to me. You are right. She is quite a goddess.” She and Amante embraced.

  I’m a Venus? Lisette thought. She had never heard anyone describe her that way. Lisette wasn’t sure how she felt about being labeled the goddess of love.

  “Marguerite, you look absolutely stunning, as always.” Amante kissed her hand and then turned toward Lisette. “Yes, this is Mademoiselle Élisabeth Vigée.”

  Lisette curtsied slightly to Marguerite. “I am pleased to meet you, Madame.”

  “May I present, Madame de Tougereau.” Amante finished the formal introductions.

&nb
sp; Marguerite proceeded to scan Lisette’s body from head to toe and then nodded with approval. “You have discovered quite a beauty....and you say she can paint too?”

  “Very well,” Amante replied.

  The Salonnière took Lisette’s hands and placed them in her own. This woman had the supplest skin Lisette had ever touched. Lisette was sure Marguerite would be put off by her hands. She looked down at them. They were rough with nails that had dark paint embedded underneath, but the large, white scars across their backs embarrassed Lisette most. She pulled her hands out of Marguerite’s.

  The Salonnière picked them up again. “My dear, don’t ever be ashamed of any part of your body. And don’t be embarrassed about what your hands might reveal about you. Embrace these extraordinary tools.” Marguerite slowly released Lisette’s hands.

  Lisette didn’t know what to say to this woman. No one had ever told her to be proud of any part of her body, let alone a part that had been forever scarred. The Salonnière’s words were strangely comforting.

  Marguerite placed her hands on Lisette’s shoulders and slid them slowly down her arms, her eyes following her hands’ every movement. To Lisette, Marguerite seemed to be inspecting a fine piece of porcelain. “Exquisite. Just exquisite. My dear, you could be the next sensation in Paris. Are you ready for that?”

  Lisette didn’t know how to respond, so she remained silent.

  Marguerite continued, “Of course we will have to improve your fashion choices.” She grabbed a handful of fabric from Lisette’s gown and shook her head disapprovingly. “This gown is merely adequate.”

  Lisette wore a simple red and white striped silk gown that closed in the front and had a matching petticoat. It was one of the new gowns that her mother had bought with Le Sèvre’s money. Aren’t stripes fashionable? she thought.

  Marguerite then studied Lisette’s face. “You need a dress that better compliments your coloring. Stripes are very fashionable, but not red. Red does not bring out your eyes.” Then she looked at Lisette’s white fichu. It was covering the bare skin that her gown’s low neckline exposed. Her mother insisted that all modest women wore them. “Please, no false modesty here. No need for a fichu.” Marguerite’s eyes continued making their way down Lisette’s body. Next, she examined Lisette’s waist. “What is this?” Marguerite pulled out her papa’s watch that had been carefully tucked into her dress. The Salonnière held it up. “Is this yours? What are you doing with a man’s pocket watch?”

  “It was my papa’s.” Lisette held out her hand.

  “Marguerite! Stop harassing her. You’ve only just met. Wait at least five minutes before you try to transform her.” Amante’s voice had a playful tone, but his eyes were serious.

  “My dear, it is so masculine. That won’t do at all.” She shook her head in disapproval.

  Lisette didn’t care if this woman approved or not. She would never stop wearing her papa’s watch. It was all she had left of him. Lisette kept her hand extended waiting for Marguerite to return the watch.

  Marguerite looked at Amante who nodded and then she reluctantly handed it back to Lisette.

  “Thank you, Madame de Tougereau,” Lisette said as she quickly tucked the watch into the waist of her dress.

  “Marguerite! Call me Marguerite. And never Madame, it will forever be Mademoiselle. I answer to no man.” Then she leaned in and whispered, “But plenty of men answer to me!” She gently squeezed Lisette’s hand. Her eyes revealed a special kind of confidence that Lisette had never seen in another woman before.

  “Yes, Marguerite, you are a legendary enchantress,” Amante said.

  “Well, my dear Amante, you are also a notorious flirt. Although I have yet to hear a single complaint from any of your women friends.”

  Lisette couldn’t help but wonder exactly what Marguerite meant by “women friends.”

  Marguerite shooed them away with her hands. “Mingle and have a wonderful evening!”

  As they walked out of the entry hall and into the large drawing room, Amante said in a low voice, “Marguerite can be overwhelming at first, but she means well. She has a generous heart. I think the two of you can be good friends.”

  When they entered the drawing room, Lisette was immediately impressed. It was a circular space with a high ceiling topped by a cupola. The elaborateness of the interior décor matched the extravagant design of the architecture. Lisette first noticed the window hangings. The green and pink striped silk curtains ended in a profusion of tassels tied together with pink silk ribbons. The upholstery on the canapé and bergère chairs was of the same patterned silk. Made of rosewood, the tables and desks were similar to those Lisette had seen at the Tuileries Palace. Everywhere she looked there was bronze ornament: at the corners of the ceiling, on the door handles and running up the table legs. It is all so exquisite, she thought.

  Lisette turned her attention to the other guests. She had never seen so many women gathered together for the sole purpose of discussing art, music, philosophy and politics. The men in the room were hanging on their every word. Lisette witnessed no improprieties, only people conversing and laughing. Her mother could not have been more wrong about salons.

  “I think you would enjoy talking with these artists, ma chérie.” Amante pointed to a group of men in the corner of the room and then turned as if he was going to leave her.

  “Are you not coming with me?” Lisette asked. She wasn’t sure she was ready to be on her own. She didn’t know what she would say to them.

  “Ma chérie, you don’t need me. Talk about your painting. I will find you soon,” Amante said as he walked away.

  Lisette watched Amante confidently stride across the room and approach three very beautiful women. She noticed that they were all responding to him, leaning over just enough to display their deep décolletage. Their low-cut dresses pushed their bosoms together so that they nearly spilled out of their plunging necklines. They were also noticeably missing fichus. Lisette considered removing hers. Would Amante be by my side if I wasn't wearing one? But I want to be heard, not ogled for my bust, she thought.

  Lisette saw Amante playfully touch their arms. He even went as far as placing his hand on the small of one woman’s back. Lisette couldn’t watch anymore.

  As she turned toward the group of artists and considered whether or not to approach them, Marguerite came up to her.

  “I can introduce you. Come.” Marguerite grabbed Lisette’s arm and escorted her over to the group. The men stopped talking when she approached. They all looked at Marguerite waiting for her to speak.

  “Messieurs, may I present Mademoiselle Vigée. She is an artist,” Marguerite said.

  Lisette addressed the group, acknowledging each one. As they introduced themselves, she recognized many of their names. She had heard her papa talk about them. Several were members of the Académie Royale.

  When Marguerite had finished introductions, she left. She headed toward another group huddled on the opposite side of the room. As Lisette watched her float away, she wondered why Marguerite would want to help her.

  “Is your father Louis Vigée?” one of the older men asked. He had introduced himself as Monsieur Beauvais. His voice was welcoming.

  “Yes, he was. He passed away last year.” Lisette fingered the pocket watch as she spoke.

  “I am very sorry to hear that. Your father attended many suppers at my home. He was a good man. I didn’t know he had a daughter who painted,” Beauvais said.

  Lisette felt a twinge of pain in her side. Why wouldn’t Papa have mentioned to Monsieur Beauvais that I painted? she wondered.

  “What are you painting right now?” Monsieur Beauvais asked her eagerly.

  Lisette wanted to discuss her allegories, but she didn’t know if it was safe. She’d be openly admitting her defiance to Le Sèvre’s orders. Lisette clenched her hand into a fist as she thought of Le Sèvre. But how would he find out? she asked herself. Lisette inhaled deeply, relaxed her hand and carefully considered her reply. “
I am currently working on an allegory of the abduction of Helen of Troy.”

  Each and every one of their faces glowed. “Splendid! What a tremendous challenge and what a timely topic,” another artist in the conversation said.

  Monsieur Beauvais asked her, “Have you considered submitting it to the Académie?”

  Lisette was flattered that Monsieur Beauvais thought her worthy of Académie membership, but it was the furthest thing from her mind.

  One of the artists who had been silent spoke up, “But she is a woman! Is membership even possible?” The unattractive man had a large, hooked nose that he stuck up in the air when he talked. The others had been referring to him as Monsieur Cochin.

  Monsieur Beauvais replied, “It is. But there are only four slots available to women at any given time. Right now, there is only one open position.”

  As she listened to them discuss Académie membership, Lisette knew that she could not concern herself with the Académie…not now and maybe not ever. Le Sèvre would never allow it.

  Monsieur Cochin jerked his head up to speak again, when several others approached their group.

  One of the newcomers abruptly interrupted, “You artists! You look far too serious! We are here to insert some levity into your sober conversation,” said a rotund, jovial-looking man. He turned to Lisette, “My, my and who is this lovely young thing?”

  Lisette introduced herself, “Élisabeth Louise Vigée.”

  “Well, aren’t you an apricot tartelette! I’m sure every man here, well except for me, wants to eat you up!” He smiled at her cheerily and winked at Monsieur Cochin who threw him a disdainful look, stood and walked away.