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

by Rebecca Glenn

  “Stop eavesdropping, Lisette. Help me finish setting up the dinner.” Jeanne had returned from the kitchen.

  Lisette turned away from the drawing room and examined the table. A variety of round, oval and square dishes, some with covers and some without, sat on stands. Each dish was perfectly arranged according to the prescribed pattern. Her mother knew exactly how to serve a meal á la Française. The dinner would include four services with at least six dishes for each service.

  Jeanne quickly noted each dish for the first service. “Cucumber soup, green pea soup with croutons, fried mutton feet, veal roast in pastry, small pâtés and melons.” Satisfied that she hadn’t forgotten any dishes in the kitchen, Jeanne placed the last few on the table. She put a pair of oval terrines containing soup and a pair of round pots à ouille full of stew in the center of the table. Jeanne mumbled to herself, “These will suffice. No one will notice that I do not have a silver surtout de table as a centerpiece.”

  Jeanne spun toward Lisette. “Lisette! You haven’t moved. At least set the places at the table while you listen to the men. Set six places.” Her mother went to the corner of the room and lifted the plate bucket. She had brought it in earlier in the day from the kitchen. Being made of solid wood and full of twelve matching dinner plates, she struggled to carry it closer to the dining table. “I’ll come back with the cutlery, decanters and glasses,” Jeanne said as she walked away again. Lisette thought she heard her add, “And the wine tasters, I must not forget them.”

  Lisette returned her attention to the men.

  “Monsieur Robert, are you saying that you do not agree with Rousseau?” Monsieur Diderot asked.

  “Not on that point, no. I do not believe that everyone should be equal,” Monsieur Robert said.

  Diderot leaned forward in his chair. “So, you don’t believe that all men should be granted equal rights?”

  Lisette couldn’t believe what her papa’s friends were saying. She had never heard such blasphemy nor such radical ideas. Her mother seemed to be oblivious to the men’s conversation.

  “You are twisting my words, Diderot. I never said that. What I said was that women have been squawking for equal treatment, which I cannot support. Of course I believe that men should have equal rights,” Monsieur Robert said.

  “But Rousseau has never advocated for the equality of women. He firmly touts patriarchy,” Diderot retorted.

  “That may be, but women seem to be hearing a different message. His novel, Julie, or the New Héloïse, has allowed some women to lose all moral judgment. Just look at how many unmarried women there are now. They are shirking their duties and avoiding their responsibilities of marriage and child-bearing,” Robert replied.

  “Monsieur Robert, we must not be too harsh on the fairer sex. You cannot blame them for their weak-mindedness and susceptibility to strong emotions and desires,” Monsieur Vernet said.

  As Lisette listened, she thought, I suppose some women are putting off marriage, but not me. I’m simply busy with my painting. Lisette freely admitted that her desire to create art was a force that was beyond her control at times, but she was not weak-minded. Other women, maybe, but not her. Lisette wondered what Rousseau and her papa’s friends would think about her art. If only there was an opportunity tonight to show them my painting, she thought.

  “Diderot, how are the final volumes coming along?” Louis asked.

  Thinking about her art, Lisette realized that she must have missed the change of topic. They were now discussing Diderot’s Encyclopédie.

  “They are nearly complete,” Diderot said.

  “But how can you trust Le Breton after his earlier actions?” Louis asked.

  Monsieur Diderot didn’t hesitate responding. “I don’t see that I have a choice. I need him. There is no one else who will publish it. It is too dangerous.”

  “But he censored many of the articles and illustrations in each volume of the Encyclopédie,” Monsieur Robert said.

  “Yes, but because Le Breton removed so much of the objectionable material, he also kept Diderot out of jail,” Monsieur Greuze said to Monsieur Robert.

  “It wasn’t objectionable to me,” said Monsieur Doyen.

  “Tell that to the King and the Church. It is ridiculous that they want to keep the people in the dark. I blame them more than Le Breton. He was only acting in his own self-interest,” Diderot said.

  “And yours…you didn’t go to jail,” Greuze said.

  “This time at least.” Diderot smiled.

  “Yes, I remember a few years back you became well acquainted with the jailer…you host his family for Sunday dinner every week, no?” Monsieur Doyen asked grinning.

  The room exploded in laughter. He must be jesting, Lisette thought. But how could they joke about jail? she wondered.

  “Lisette, check on the dishes for the second and third services, they should be nearly finished,” her mother said. Frazzled, Jeanne furiously darted back and forth between the kitchen and dining room.

  Lisette didn’t want to miss any of the men’s conversation. She hoped they would discuss art soon. The last time Monsieur Robert had attended one of her papa’s dinners, he had talked about convincing the King to transfer more of his royal collection to the Louvre. Monsieur Robert wanted to transform the Louvre into a national museum, one where all of France could see the King’s paintings and sculptures. Lisette wondered if Monsieur Robert had made any progress with the King.

  “Lisette!” her mother chirped.

  Not wanting to fray Jeanne’s patience further, Lisette obeyed her mother. She dashed to the kitchen and peeked in the copper pots sitting on the stove. The boiled leg of mutton, duckling with peas, rabbit steaks with cucumbers and chickens with white onions were finished cooking, so Lisette removed them from the burners. Then, she checked the third service fowl roasting on spits in the hearth. The turkey, capon, partridges and squabs needed more time. Lisette noticed that her mother had already prepared the fourth and final service, dessert. The fresh fruit, various compotes, cheeses and pastries were arranged in their dishes on the long pinewood table in the center of the kitchen. Mother has outdone herself, Lisette thought. She hurried back to the dining room.

  “Well?” Jeanne asked.

  “The second service dishes are ready, but the roasting fowl could use more time in the hearth,” Lisette answered.

  “We are ready,” her mother said as she smoothed out the front of her dress and stood up straight. She moved to the doorway and announced, “Messieurs, dinner is served.”

  The men filtered into the dining room and took their places at the table.

  Monsieur Vernet came over to Jeanne. “This is the most elegant table, fit for a prince of the blood. The food smells marvelous. Well done,” he said and gave her a slight bow. The other men nodded their heads toward Jeanne.

  Lisette watched her mother’s face light up.

  “Enjoy, messieurs,” Jeanne said and then headed out of the room. Her mother motioned for Lisette to follow, but she remained in the hallway just outside the dining room so that she could see and hear the men.

  Lisette watched Monsieur Vernet’s valet pour his wine. Vernet authorized him to pour wine for everyone. He was the only one fortunate enough to employ a valet.

  When Doyen put his hand over his glass, Vernet objected. “Monsieur Doyen, you are turning down Bordeaux?”

  “Yes. I do not want to be part of illegal activity. I know that you did not pay taxes on this wine. If the fermier généraux discovered it traveled into Paris tax-free, we would all be in great trouble.”

  “The taxes on wine brought into Paris are disgraceful. I remember when the tax on a barrel coming into the city via land was only a few livres…not the nearly 50 livres a barrel it is now. One could rent a room on the Île Saint-Louis for an entire year for that much money. I don’t know why the people stand for it,” Diderot said indignantly.

  “I’ll drink his!” Louis held out his glass and they all broke out in applause.<
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  Lisette noticed Louis start to cough. The fit lasted more than a few moments before it subsided.

  “Speaking of nefarious activities…does anyone know who is robbing the grand houses in the Marais district?” Doyen asked.

  “I heard that in the past six months, four houses have been robbed of their finest jewels,” Greuze added.

  “I’m sure it is an Englishman, or a Prussian,” Vernet said confidently. “You cannot trust foreigners.”

  “This thief you are speaking of should steal from the Church. They have plenty of jewels,” Diderot blurted out.

  Several of the other men concurred.

  Lisette was astonished at what she was hearing. She had never heard anyone publicly speak out against the Church. Her papa looked uncomfortable.

  “How is everyone enjoying the food? I hope you are finding it agreeable,” Louis said, trying to change the subject.

  There was a low roar of voices.

  “Very agreeable, yes. Although I do prefer my fried mutton feet warm,” Monsieur Doyen said.

  “I have heard that the Russians have found a solution to that problem. Their meals are served differently from ours in France,” Diderot said.

  “Please go on…” Doyen said, listening attentively.

  “Individual plates are served as they become ready. The food is brought out when it is hot, directly from the kitchen,” Diderot explained.

  “But then you don’t have several choices for each course.” Monsieur Vernet pointed out.

  “No, but you never have the problem of cold food with service á la Russe,” Diderot said.

  Lisette was glad that her mother was in the kitchen. Not only would Jeanne be offended if she heard the men disparaging the Church, but she would never forgive them complaining about her food being served cold.

  “Diderot, tell us how you managed to go forward even in the face of the arrest warrants,” Louis said, changing the subject again.

  Lisette suspected that he wasn’t comfortable with Jeanne’s service being criticized.

  “I don’t see that I had a choice. The people must have knowledge…of everything and not only what the King or the Church wants to allow them.” Diderot’s voice rose with each word.

  Lisette saw her mother coming toward her. “Are they ready for the second service?” she asked.

  Lisette shrugged her shoulders.

  Jeanne rolled her eyes and went into the dining room. She returned almost immediately.

  “They are,” Jeanne said and disappeared again.

  When she reappeared moments later, she held two large, round dishes containing duckling with peas and boiled leg of mutton. She handed Lisette a dish and they both stepped into the dining room. Lisette set the food on the table, but didn’t leave the room. Instead, she lingered.

  Lisette felt her arm being pinched. Her mother whispered, “Go in the kitchen and bring out the salads for the third service,” Jeanne said as she passed by her.

  Lisette nodded to her mother, but was fixated on Diderot.

  “We need to give the people more knowledge! Then, they will possess the power to change the old ways of thinking,” Diderot said with a resounding voice and animated countenance.

  Lisette could watch him speak for hours.

  “Impossible. We are not allowed to think or say whatever we please. The King and the Church will always place restrictions on the people,” said Doyen.

  “Precisely why the people need all knowledge, not simply the subjects served by the Académies, but every branch of human knowledge,” said Diderot.

  “I agree with you on that point, yes, but your ideas on religious tolerance and the value you place on science…those will never be accepted,” said Doyen.

  “I refuse to believe that. If you are correct, then my life’s work will have been for naught. I will fight until the day I die trying to reverse that kind of thinking,” Diderot insisted.

  Lisette's papa appeared distressed again. He shifted in his seat, like he wanted to get up and leave the room. He had been trying to interrupt the conversation for several minutes. “Messieurs, what is the consensus on the Salon de Paris? Success or not a success?” Louis asked.

  Again, Diderot glowed.

  To Lisette, this man was conversant on every subject.

  “Monsieur Pierre’s entries were abhorrent…such dismal renderings of the Dauphin and his sisters. I don’t think I have seen a more mediocre painter at a recent Salon than Pierre,” Diderot said.

  All of the men agreed, but Monsieur Greuze was noticeably silent.

  “Jean-Baptiste, you can’t hold out forever,” Monsieur Vernet said to Monsieur Greuze.

  “And why not? Hambert did,” Greuze replied.

  “And look what happened to him,” Monsieur Robert interjected.

  “Those pretentious asses at the Académie. They can’t tell me what to do. The public loves me.”

  “But they are fickle. You know that,” Doyen said.

  “That’s why I’m appealing to them directly. I’ve written a letter to be published in next week’s issue of L’Avant-Coureur asking for the public’s support of my history painting.”

  “And you believe they’ll convince the Académie to accept you as a painter of history and not of genre?”

  “Yes,” Greuze said simply.

  “Lest you forget, it was your genre paintings, particularly The Village Bride, that won the hearts of the public,” Vernet said.

  “And so now they will also love my history paintings,” replied Greuze.

  “That doesn’t change the fact that the Académie yet requires a reception piece. I don’t understand why you don’t give them what they want,” said Diderot. Then he added, “Once you do, I will be able to praise you in my writings,” Diderot said, grinning at Greuze.

  Lisette felt a poke on her back.

  “Take these salads in,” Jeanne said as she handed Lisette two dishes. “I’ll fetch the rest of the third service.” Jeanne turned back toward the kitchen while Lisette walked slowly into the dining room.

  Lisette watched Greuze’s face contort as if he was about to say something but stopped himself. Everyone waited, watching him until he finally spoke. “I do have something in mind…I’m working on a picture of the death of Caesar,” Greuze said.

  As soon as Lisette heard, death of Caesar, she spilled the salads onto Monsieur Vernet’s lap.

  “Lisette! You apologize! How could you be so clumsy?” Louis Vigée scolded her, coughing as he spoke.

  “There has been no harm, Louis,” Vernet said, picking the salad off of himself. “My daughter used to drop dishes too.” He glanced at Lisette, gave her a faint smile and then looked away.

  Before Lisette could apologize or say anything else, she blurted out, “I’ve created a painting on the death of Caesar.”

  Lisette heard cutlery fall onto plates and the room fell silent. Everyone gaped at her.

  “Please excuse her, messieurs, Lisette was just leaving,” Jeanne said. Her mother’s face had turned a shade of dark pink like a turnip.

  “Tell us about your painting, Lisette.” Monsieur Vernet seemed genuinely interested. Greuze and Doyen nodded while Diderot and Robert appeared skeptical. Only her papa shook his head no.

  Lisette ran to her bedroom. Her painting was just where she had left it, in the back corner of the room. Spared from the fire, she was thankful that it hadn’t been left in the studio. Lisette quickly returned to the dining room. She stood beside her papa at the head of the table and proudly displayed her painting.

  “It is quite good for a girl,” Diderot said in a restrained manner.

  “Indeed. I have rarely seen such execution among female painters,” Robert said. He continued, “It is quite unusual for a woman to paint subjects of history or allegory. Wouldn’t she fare better painting portraits or still lifes?” Robert asked as if Lisette was not in the room.

  “I don’t think the Académie would accept history paintings from a woman. They believ
e, as do most Parisians, that it is the domain of men…and not even all men,” Greuze said bitterly.

  “They would never sell. Connoisseurs are only interested in paintings by women if they are sentimental portraits,” Diderot said authoritatively.

  “Don’t forget still lifes,” Doyen added.

  “Still, it displays a certain virtuosity. I would pay 100 livres for it,” Monsieur Doyen exclaimed.

  Monsieur Vernet stood and motioned to his valet who was standing in the back of the room. “I’ll give her 150 livres.”

  Is this a dream? Lisette wondered. Just weeks ago, her papa had refused to sell the painting. 150 livres is more money than many people earn in a month. How could this be happening? she asked herself.

  Finally, Louis spoke up, “Lisette, you have made your point.” He took the painting from her. “I will take your painting to Le Brun in the morning.”

  Lisette threw her arms around Louis. “Thank you, Papa!”

  Jeanne shot her a disapproving glare and then motioned for Lisette to leave.

  Lisette resumed her position in the hallway just outside the dining room.

  “If that scoundrel Le Brun can’t sell it for 150 livres, you come to me, Louis. I will take it off your hands,” Vernet said.

  “I’m sure he’ll get that much, at least. He may be a scoundrel, but the man can sell art…better than anyone else in this city,” Doyen said.

  All of the men agreed but Vernet.

  “I don’t trust him. I prefer Monsieur Paillet, even if it means a few less livres. He is more forthright and the percentage he takes for himself is significantly less,” Vernet said.

  “If the Académie Royale had its way, there would be no dealers in Paris,” Robert chimed in.

  “Their strictures against commerce are ridiculous. The Académie could enforce such outmoded rules while Louis XIV lived, but not now,” Doyen said. “Le Brun and his ilk are here to stay,” he added with a nod of his head.

  With all of the commotion over her painting and disagreement over Le Brun, Lisette did not see the messenger arrive. She watched her mother accept a small note. Jeanne handed it to Louis. Lisette squinted to make out the name on the back of the note. Sprawled across its envelope in large letters was J.-B.-P. Le Brun. As her papa read the note, Jeanne peered over his shoulder to see its message too. Once they had both read it, her parents exchanged looks of despair. The note was clearly upsetting both of them, but particularly Louis. It must be about the auction, Lisette thought.