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

by Rebecca Glenn

  As the men continued their conversation, Louis started to cough. His cough became progressively more violent until it finally brought him out of his chair and onto the floor. His coughing ceased. Louis lay motionless.

  Lisette rushed over to him. “Papa!”

  Chapter Six

  July 3, 1772

  Looking around the apartment, Lisette saw only black. Her papa’s friends and acquaintances had come to say their final goodbyes to Louis before his funeral and burial. Jeanne had mindfully followed each ritual. They had stopped the clocks at the hour of Louis’ death, at four the previous afternoon, and Jeanne had immediately alerted the Guild of his passing. They were quick to have his body washed, wrapped in a burial shroud and placed in a coffin in their drawing room. A basin of holy water rested on a small table next to the coffin for visitors to sprinkle on Louis’ body and on themselves.

  From the other side of the room, Lisette watched as Louis’ friends gathered around him. With the coffin open, Lisette couldn’t bring herself any closer to it. She did not want to see her papa’s lifeless body. As she glanced toward the wooden box, her breath drew short. Breathe, she told herself.

  She reached through the side slits in her dress, into the pocket bag that was tied to her waist and clutched her papa’s handkerchief. Lisette let out a deep exhale. She considered Monsieur Greuze, Monsieur Robert, Monsieur Doyen and Monsieur Vernet. It had been just yesterday when they were seated around the dining table with her papa eating, drinking and conversing. Huddled around their friend’s expired body and speaking in hushed tones, the group of men appeared nearly as lifeless. Their subdued conversation seemed all the quieter when Lisette recalled the boisterous dinner the previous afternoon.

  “Where is Mother?”

  Lisette’s fog was interrupted by her younger brother Etienne.

  “She told us to stay near the casket,” Etienne said.

  “Etienne, I want you to remain here with me. Don’t go over there.” Lisette pointed toward their papa’s body. She thought it best for her younger brother to keep his distance from the casket too. Etienne was at school when their papa had died and Lisette didn’t want his final memory of Louis to be such a morbid one.

  “I’m going over there.” Etienne moved away from Lisette and walked across the room.

  Lisette tried to stop him, but he insisted on following their mother’s directions. Not wanting to cause a scene, Lisette let him go.

  Etienne never disobeyed or questioned their mother. In turn, Etienne could do no wrong in Jeanne Vigée’s eyes. Lisette watched Etienne until he had found their mother. There were so many people in the drawing room, Lisette wanted to be certain he was safe. Jeanne embraced her son and seemed content that he was now by her side.

  Lisette turned away from them and scanned the room to make sure it was in order. Earlier that morning, they had flipped the mirrors to face the walls and had draped black cloth over the paintings. Lisette noticed one painting had lost its black cloth. It was a portrait that Lisette had painted of her papa. She headed toward the painting to replace the drape.

  When she reached the painting, there was a man standing directly in front of it. He was the only man in the room not wearing black.

  “He could have portrayed the eyes with more realism, but not a bad attempt,” the man said. He appeared to be in his middle twenties and was dressed in the sort of fine clothes worn by men of rank. Never meeting Lisette’s eyes, he focused on the portrait.

  “I don’t know what you mean. The eyes look perfectly realistic to me,” Lisette said.

  “No, they aren’t. Louis had a difficult time with eyes,” the man insisted.

  “It isn’t a self-portrait, Monsieur,” Lisette said, admiring her papa’s joyous expression. She had wanted to capture his proudest hour: the King had just commissioned her papa to create several paintings for the Guild exhibition. Lisette felt that his eyes especially revealed his happiness in that moment.

  The man cackled. “Of course it is. This is the home of Louis Vigée and these are his paintings.”

  “Yes, but this one isn’t. This one is mine,” Lisette said, never once taking her eyes off of the painting.

  The man snickered again, but this time louder. His laughter disrupted the stillness in the room. Everyone stared at him.

  Whoever he is, he doesn’t know much about art, she thought. Lisette would not allow him to dampen this memory of her papa. She continued to enjoy Louis’ ebullient face.

  No longer laughing, the man said, “You are being genuine.”

  Lisette ignored him. She bent down, picked up the black cloth that had fallen on the floor and draped it over the painting.

  “Is this man bothering you, Mademoiselle Vigée?” Monsieur Vernet was now standing in front of the portrait with them.

  “Mademoiselle Vigée?” For the first time since he had begun insulting her portrait, the man looked directly at Lisette. “Jean-Baptiste Pierre Le Brun, pleased to make your acquaintance,” he said as he bowed to Lisette.

  She gave a slight nod of her head to acknowledge the polite introduction, but she was still annoyed with his initial haughtiness.

  “Lisette, I can make him leave,” Vernet said forcefully.

  “I was merely discussing Mademoiselle Vigée’s talent. This portrait of Louis behind the black cloth is quite remarkable,” Le Brun said, pointing to the now covered painting.

  Lisette watched as Le Brun became a completely different person. Did he not remember his insults from moments ago? Lisette could see right through his newfound charm. This man was a chameleon and his sudden complimentary tone sickened her.

  “Le Brun, it is time you left,” Vernet said sternly.

  “Not just yet, Vernet. I have business to discuss with Jeanne. Louis owed me paintings for the auction next week. He has an unfulfilled contract with me. There are half a dozen canvases outstanding.”

  “I hardly think he can fulfill that order now, Le Brun.”

  “Well someone has to! Or I need the money back. I gave him an advance of 200 livres. I am owed.”

  Lisette noticed Le Brun transform again. The chameleon was changing colors. The charm was gone, quickly replaced with ruthlessness.

  “Not here. Not now, Le Brun,” Vernet told him.

  Lisette saw Vernet wave to his fellow artists. Like a pack of wolves defending one of its young against a panther, they swiftly moved across the room and descended upon Le Brun.

  Le Brun understood that he had worn out his welcome. “I’m leaving.” He turned to Lisette, “Mademoiselle, tell your mother that I need my money returned or the finished canvases.”

  They did not have the money to pay back her papa’s advance. Lisette also knew that there weren’t any finished paintings for Le Brun to take. I could finish them, she thought. But it would take her days, perhaps weeks to finish her papa’s paintings. She knew that Le Brun needed them now. As Le Brun stood waiting for her to respond, Lisette realized that she had to say something.

  “Monsieur Le Brun, I will make sure you receive your finished canvases,” Lisette said. She would have to give Le Brun her paintings. There were six completed canvases sitting in her papa’s atelier. Lisette estimated that her Death of Caesar painting alone would satisfy more than half of the debt. After all, Monsieur Vernet had been willing to pay 150 livres for it the day before.

  “Very well. My agent will come by the studio after the funeral to collect them.” He bowed slightly to her and walked toward the front door of the apartment.

  Over Vernet’s shoulder, Lisette watched Le Brun leave. Vernet would not allow her to chase after him and Lisette didn’t want to disrupt her papa’s funeral further. She wanted to discuss details with Le Brun, but not with Vernet looming. She would find a way to talk to Le Brun at a later time.

  As soon as Le Brun left, her papa’s friends scattered, but Vernet remained. “That man is trouble. What do you want with him?” he asked.

  “That is between Monsieur Le Brun and me.
”

  “Lisette, there are other dealers in Paris.” Vernet had the look of a dog who refused to release a bone.

  Lisette knew that Monsieur Vernet was right about the other dealers, but she had overheard her papa and his friends talking about how none of them were as good as Le Brun. He alone fetched the highest prices for paintings.

  “If you’ll excuse me Monsieur Vernet, I must find my mother,” Lisette said. She needed to inform Jeanne that Le Brun intended to collect on his debt and that his agent would be retrieving paintings after the funeral.

  “I believe she is near Louis’ casket.” Vernet bowed to her and smiled.

  Lisette looked toward her papa’s casket, but didn’t see her mother. The apartment grew more crowded by the moment. Lisette continued to search. As everyone was wearing black, it was difficult to distinguish men from women. Usually, the bright colors of women’s dresses stood out, but not in this room. Her mother’s black widow’s dress looked just like the other women’s dark dresses.

  Reluctantly, Lisette stepped to the opposite side of the room, closer to where her papa’s casket stood. She spotted her mother. With one hand she clutched a linen handkerchief and with the other, a rosary. Even in mourning, her mother was a vision. The darkness of her black dress contrasted sharply with her luminously white skin. Her deep blue eyes glistened with tears. Lisette had always admired her mother’s great beauty. Her papa had told Lisette that she had inherited her pretty face from her mother. Louis Vigée had delighted in calling Jeanne and Lisette his beautiful girls, as he would pull them close in a group embrace. Lisette half expected her papa to stroll in through the front door and squeeze his beautiful girls, just like he would do each evening when he had returned to their apartment from his atelier below.

  As Lisette marveled at her mother’s loveliness, she also noticed the man standing next to Jeanne. He was a tall, well-dressed man who appeared to be about the same age as her papa. When Lisette’s mother began to weep, the man offered his handkerchief and Jeanne accepted it. Lisette watched as the man continued to offer her mother comfort, first with his handkerchief and then with a supportive, strong arm. Jeanne took the man’s arm and leaned against him while she cried. Who is this man? Lisette wondered. I’ve met all of Papa’s colleagues and friends, she thought.

  Lisette felt a tug on her wrist, “Lisette, where is Mother?” Etienne asked. Wearing an expression of panic, he appeared lost.

  “Etienne, Mother is over there,” Lisette said, pointing to where she was standing.

  He didn’t seem relieved. “Lisette, Mother is not paying attention to me. I want to leave,” Etienne said.

  Lisette smiled at him. “Me too.”

  Conveying Le Brun’s message to her mother had lost its urgency. Lisette took her younger brother’s hand and escorted him out of the crowd to his bedroom at the rear of the apartment.

  “It is much quieter in here,” Lisette said as she noticed a man’s handkerchief in Etienne’s hand.

  “Where did you get that?” she asked him.

  Etienne shook his head, unwilling to answer.

  “Etienne, you can tell me. I won’t say anything to Mother.” Lisette tried to reassure him. “Where did you get it? It looks like one of Papa’s.”

  “It is. I took it from him…in there.” Etienne gestured toward the drawing room.

  Lisette hugged her brother tightly. “I miss him too. Don’t ever forget that he loved you. He loved both of us very much. But now we have to be brave. Can you be brave for me?”

  Etienne squeezed Lisette. She felt his head moving up and down as he answered affirmatively.

  Lisette needed to say one final goodbye to her papa. She released Etienne. “I’ll be back later to check on you.”

  She returned to the drawing room and headed straight to her papa’s open casket. Lisette peered down at his pale face and wished she could look into his eyes one last time. Papa, I miss you, she thought. Her eyes filled with tears. She pushed them back, not wanting to shed them in front of so many people. Earlier, Jeanne had made a spectacle of herself by crying hysterically. Lisette had heard her mother say that women were expected to show emotion, but Lisette felt otherwise. She had never been comfortable displaying her private feelings.

  Lisette reached into her pocket bag and removed the handkerchief that she had carried with her for over a decade. She placed it next to her papa in the casket. He shouldn’t be without a handkerchief. He always had one with him, she thought. As she tucked it neatly into his jacket pocket, she felt his pocket watch. Lisette took out the watch. She observed it for a few moments and instead of returning it to her papa, she slipped it inside her pocket bag. She glanced down at him one final time.

  “Goodbye, Papa,” she said.

  As Lisette backed away from the casket, she collided into a group of men. Is the room shrinking? she wondered. Lisette found it difficult to breathe again. I have to leave, she thought.

  Talking to no one, she removed herself from the drawing room and then the apartment. She ran down the stairs, into her papa’s studio and shut the door behind her. She slumped to the floor, pulled out her papa’s pocket watch and studied the small face with its black roman numerals and gold background. She had seen her papa with the watch for as long as she could remember. Being very valuable, it was one of his most prized possessions.

  Alone, Lisette sat staring at the watch in the dark and would not permit herself to cry. But as she thought about her papa and the time they had spent together in this studio, she allowed a tear to escape. Then another…and another. Soon they were coming too quickly for Lisette to stop them. The tears were now gushing out of her. Papa…

  Chapter Seven

  September 27, 1772

  Lisette sat on her bed looking at her papa’s watch. She didn’t care what time it was, she wanted to remember him. Imagining him holding the watch made Lisette feel a little less sad. As the months had passed, it had become more difficult to see and hear him in her mind. She never wanted to forget the sound of his voice or the way he smiled at her.

  “Are you ready? Lisette!” Jeanne called out from the other side of Lisette’s closed bedroom door.

  Lisette looked down at her shoes sitting on the floor next to her bed. She did not want to wear them again. They were her best pair and perfectly matched her finest dress, a buttercup yellow silk gown trimmed with spotted gauze. Only worn on Sundays and feast days, her shoes were a similar yellow shade of damask silk with buckle closures and a low heel. Her papa had called them a splurge for his beautiful girl. Originally delicate shoes, their soles were now so worn they were practically non-existent. Her mother still insisted that she wear them to Mass and then promenading, even though Lisette could feel every pebble and sharp object on the street when she walked.

  Today, Lisette had removed her shoes as soon as they had returned home from Sunday Mass at the church of Saint-Eustache. The blisters on her feet had only recently stopped aching. Finished with their mid-day meal, it was now time for Lisette and her family to take their Sunday afternoon walk. She would have to put her shoes back on her blistered feet.

  “Hurry along, Lisette! We are going to be late. Come out of your room!” She heard her mother holler again.

  Lisette glanced at her shoes once more before giving in to her mother. When will Mother take me to the shoemaker for a new pair? she wondered. Her papa had bought Lisette and Etienne new shoes well before they needed them. New shoes weren’t the only thing that had become unavailable. In the several months since her papa had died, Etienne had forsaken his schooling and even their meals had grown simpler. Gone were the expensive, roasted meats and fowl dishes. Instead, they ate bland soups and stews with one or two vegetables, mostly onions. They always managed to buy bread, but some days it was stale. Even though her mother refused to discuss it, Lisette knew that her papa had left them in dire financial straits.

  “Lisette!” Her mother’s raised voice was also unfamiliar. Jeanne had been much less patient wit
h both Lisette and Etienne. Before Louis’ death, Jeanne had very rarely lost her temper. Now, it was a daily occurrence.

  “We can’t be late. Come out of there at once,” Jeanne repeated.

  Why is she in such a hurry? We are only going promenading in the Tuileries, Lisette thought.

  Like most of Paris, they took their weekly Sunday afternoon walk in the gardens behind the Palais des Tuileries. Over the past months, her mother had continued the family tradition. Lisette suspected it was on purpose, to help them become accustomed to life without Louis. But today seemed different. This afternoon, Jeanne Vigée was in a great rush.

  Lisette slipped on her shoes. It wouldn’t take too many steps before her feet would hurt again. She wasn’t sure how she would get through the afternoon. “Coming, Mother,” Lisette said as she walked out of her room.

  “There you are. Put on your cloak. There is a chill in the air,” Jeanne said as she inspected Lisette from head to toe. She said nothing, just handed Lisette her cloak.

  She must not disapprove, Lisette thought.

  Then Jeanne moved on to Lisette’s brother. “Look at you, my handsome Etienne.”

  Lisette regarded her brother. She agreed, he was charming in his navy blue, embroidered waistcoat and matching culottes with white silk stockings, but the pained look on his face tainted his appearance. Lisette glanced down at his shoes. The worn leather was stretched beyond its capacity.

  “Look at Etienne’s shoes, they are at least two sizes too small for his feet. Mother, when can we go to the shoemaker?” Lisette asked.