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

by Rebecca Glenn

  Lisette regarded her appearance in the looking glass. I’m ready, she thought.

  Lisette had to time her departure carefully so that no one stopped her. Her mother would not be a problem. Jeanne remained at her toilette for hours, indulging in her beauty rituals. Since living at Le Sèvre’s home, Jeanne had taken up many aristocratic habits, including wearing rouge on her cheeks and piling her hair high like the noble ladies of Versailles. Jeanne had said to her many times, Lisette, never interrupt me during my toilette. That is my time to become youthful and radiant.

  Le Sèvre was another matter. Lisette patiently remained in her room until Le Sèvre had left for the day. She kept watch for Le Sèvre’s departure from her bedroom window. Once she saw him walking away from the house, she knew it was safe for her to leave.

  She put on her heaviest mantle and went over to her easel. Lisette picked up her small Venus, Cupid and Mars canvas and wrapped it in a linen sheet. She did the same with her Death of Caesar canvas. Then she tucked both paintings securely under her arm, safely hidden under her cloak. Still attached to the stretcher bars, neither was heavy, but they were awkward to carry. My plan has to work. I have to convince Le Brun to sell both paintings, she thought.

  Lisette slowly opened her bedroom door and moved cautiously down the stairs and toward the front door of the house. She didn’t want to take any chances. She had to avoid all of the servants too.

  Lisette made her way out of the house and then onto the Rue Saint-Honoré. She scanned the street for anyone she might recognize. Henri! she realized. He was coming straight toward her carrying a basket of vegetables from the market. She quickly spotted an open porte-cochère, ducked inside and waited until he passed. Lisette held her breath and prayed that no carriages would drive through the open gate while she was hiding there. She waited a few extra moments just to be sure he was gone. Lisette covered her head with her hood and then headed out again.

  Just as she stepped away from the porte-cochère, a fast-moving carriage came speeding toward her. Quickly darting out of the way, she dropped one of the paintings. Her heart stopped as she saw the canvas lying exposed in the middle of the street. It had slipped out of the linen sheet. My Venus! she panicked. It had just missed falling into a long puddle of filth in the gutter running down the street.

  Without any thought to her own safety, Lisette ran into the street and scooped up the painting. Before she could move back closer to the buildings, a lanky Auvergnat boy came up to her.

  “Mademoiselle, allow me to offer you my plank.” He placed the wooden board down over the puddle and extended his hand to help her across.

  “No, thank you.” Lisette walked around the board, careful not to step in the murky water.

  “I insist, Mademoiselle.” He followed closely behind Lisette.

  She ignored him and continued walking.

  “Only three sous for my plank. It will keep the bottom of your dress free from filth,” the young provincial boy said, still following her.

  I cannot walk to Le Brun’s. This Auvergnat might follow me the entire way, she thought. Lisette hailed a carriage.

  Once safely inside the cabriolet and away from the Auvergnat and rogue carriages, Lisette exhaled. She knew that today she had been very lucky. With nowhere to walk but the road, pedestrians were forced into dangerous situations. Lisette rewrapped her painting of Venus, Cupid and Mars in the linen sheet and placed it under her arm once again, next to The Death of Caesar. The carriage ride was uneventful and within half of an hour she had arrived on the Pont Notre-Dame.

  When Lisette entered Le Brun’s shop, she was immediately greeted by Monsieur Faucher. “Good morning, Mademoiselle. How can I help you?” Monsieur Faucher wore a welcoming expression until she removed her hood. He scowled. “You. Monsieur Le Brun is busy. Come back later.”

  “Monsieur Faucher, tell him I am here. He will want to see me.” Lisette wasn’t going away that easily.

  “He is busy. Return later.” Monsieur Faucher spoke with his nose in the air.

  ”I don’t think he is too busy to make some money….would he be interested in 1,000 livres?” Lisette raised her voice knowing that Le Brun was probably in the back weighing whether or not to show himself.

  Almost immediately, Le Brun emerged from behind the curtain that separated the back from the front of the shop. “Mademoiselle Vigée. What a pleasant surprise. What do I hear about 1,000 livres?”

  Lisette removed the canvases from the sheets and displayed them proudly in front of Le Brun. Then she watched him and waited.

  He moved closer to the paintings as if he was carefully studying them. His expression was neutral. He was very good at hiding his authentic feelings and thoughts. Finally, after several agonizing moments of silence, a smile formed in the corner of his mouth.

  “I can sell this one for about 600 livres, I am sure of it,” he said, pointing to the allegory of Venus, Cupid and Mars. “This one of Caesar’s death, for 500 livres. Excellent. I’ll take them now.”

  Lisette wasn’t quite ready to hand over her paintings. They had not yet discussed Le Brun’s commission. “Your commission…we never settled on it.”

  “Yes, we did. My commission is the customary forty percent.” Le Brun was no longer smiling. His face was grave.

  “No, we didn’t. You will take your usual thirty percent.” Lisette was firm.

  “Forty percent and no less,” Le Brun said again. “Take it or leave it.”

  “Monsieur Le Brun, I know for a fact that you accept thirty percent for all of your other artists. I will only accept the same,” Lisette said flatly. She desperately wanted to make an arrangement with him, but she didn’t want to show it. She hoped that her face wasn’t betraying her thoughts.

  “Forty percent.” Le Brun was unyielding.

  “Then I will have to take my business elsewhere…perhaps to Monsieur Paillet.” Lisette started walking toward the door.

  “Thirty percent,” he said. When she turned around, she saw his smile re-emerge. “Clever girl.” He held out his hand to shake hers.

  She reached out and they shook like Englishmen.

  “It is agreed then. Now, there is one small thing that I would like to suggest,” Le Brun said.

  “About our business arrangement?” Lisette asked.

  “No, about your drawing. It is very good, but it could be better. I want you to take lessons.” Le Brun said this as if she was a child who had never considered how to become a better artist.

  “I am well aware of how to improve my drawing, but lest you forget I am not male. There is only one artist at the moment who accepts female pupils and he is in Italy.”

  “Ah, yes. Briard is in Italy. True.”

  Lisette looked at him. When will he give me the sack of coins? she wondered.

  “You don’t get your money now,” he told her.

  “When?”

  “After I sell the paintings.”

  “Can I get an advance? Like my papa?” She had to leave Le Brun’s with at least some money.

  “No. That is not my usual practice. I have no idea when these paintings will sell. I do not have any auctions scheduled and private collectors can be very selective.”

  “But you just said it shouldn’t take long.”

  “I said I was sure I could sell the one for 600 livres, and the other for 500, not that either would necessarily sell quickly. Come back next week. I have a certain collector in mind. He might like them.”

  “But I’m here now. Isn’t there something we can arrange?”

  Lisette could see he was becoming irritated. His face hardened.

  “I have to return to work,” Le Brun said brusquely. He turned to go but then added, “Practice your drawing of faces and figures by painting portraits.” He paused. “Besides, they sell better. Bring me portraits to sell.”

  Lisette felt like she had been dealt not just one, but two blows. She knew that as long as she lived in Le Sèvre’s house she would be painting portraits f
or him. She wasn’t going to paint them for Le Brun too. Lisette had no interest in painting portraits for money. She only wanted to sell her allegories.

  “If it is money you want, Lisette, bring me portraits. You’ll have money in no time. Good day.” His voice was much softer, but resolute. Le Brun disappeared behind the curtain.

  Lisette slowly moved toward the door and left the shop. I can’t go home now, she realized. She had no money, no pigments and no way to buy more in the next few hours. She couldn’t face the Duchesse or Le Sèvre empty-handed. When Le Sèvre returned home, there would be repercussions. But she couldn’t think of that now. Lisette took her time walking back.

  That evening, Lisette sat in front of her easel. She stared at the largely blank canvas. Without any money to buy the enormous canvas required for the larger version of her allegory of Venus, Cupid and Mars, Lisette had opted for the next best choice − another cabinet picture.

  She had decided to paint a copy of Botticelli’s Mary with Christ Child and John the Baptist. She had seen it in the King’s royal collection and had been touched by Botticelli’s expressiveness. Lisette wanted to emulate the sentimental mother-child bond that Botticelli articulated so well. She had no pigments, but she could at least begin sketching the figures in charcoal. Lisette found it difficult to concentrate. She knew Le Sèvre would be home any moment and that she would have to face his ire. The Baronne de Lande’s portrait remained unfinished and she had missed the Duchesse de Chartres’ sitting.

  Lisette stepped to the window to watch for him. Before she reached it, her bedroom door swung open.

  Le Sèvre strode in, immediately shutting it behind him.

  Odd, she thought. Le Sèvre had never closed her door.

  Lisette walked back to her stool and sat in front of her easel. Placing a small barrier between her and Le Sèvre somehow made her feel more comfortable.

  “What do you have to say to me?” Le Sèvre’s voice was low and steady. His steel gray eyes were fixed on her.

  Lisette wanted to avert her gaze, but she forced herself to look directly at him. She remained behind her easel, but could see him clearly. “I had to go out this afternoon,” Lisette replied.

  “To go where? You are a girl. You have caused me considerable problems with the Duchesse by missing her sitting today. You have also embarrassed me. What kind of man cannot control his own daughter?”

  “I am sorry,” Lisette said, trying to sound sincere. She realized that she had egregiously miscalculated her plan’s chance of success. Now, with Le Sèvre looming over her like a hawk about to devour its prey, her decision to use her remaining pigments on her allegory of Venus felt like an enormous mistake.

  “That is all you have to say for yourself? That you are sorry? I want to know where you were and what possible reason you could have for missing the session.” Le Sèvre came closer to Lisette.

  She felt a strong urge to step off her stool and escape the room, but instead she ordered her feet to plant themselves on the floor. She didn’t move.

  “I did not mean to offend anyone, father,” Lisette said. She had never called him father to his face. It was all she could think to say. Lisette would never tell him about her dealings with Le Brun. She tried to focus on Le Sèvre’s face, but her eyes were drawn to her canvas…to her sketch of the Madonna. She couldn’t help herself.

  “What are you looking at?” he asked her, scowling.

  Lisette noticed irritation in his voice.

  “Tell me now.” He marched around to her side of the easel. When Le Sèvre was directly in front of the canvas, he said, “This is unacceptable. I have already forbade you from painting anything but portraits. What is the meaning of this?” He immediately snatched the canvas off of the easel.

  “No, please don’t take it!”

  Le Sèvre looked at her and then stopped. “You’re right. I will leave it. I want you to see its unfinished form. It will serve as a reminder of what you’ve done…how you’ve disobeyed me.” He glared at Lisette as he returned the canvas to the easel. Then he walked over to her remaining supplies and collected them.

  She watched Le Sèvre as he carefully arranged all of the canvases, brushes, buckets and pails so that they would fit in his arms.

  “You can’t take my supplies.” Lisette ran over to him. “Please, no!”

  Le Sèvre cocked his hand back and slapped Lisette across the face. She stumbled backward from the force of the blow. She nearly lost her balance, but managed to remain upright.

  “You mean my supplies. Don’t ever forget that this is my house…my supplies…and most importantly my rules. Until you are ready to obey me, I will be keeping these.” He walked away, pausing as he reached the doorway. “The Duchesse is returning in three weeks for her sitting. I expect that you will not disappoint me again,” Le Sèvre said. Then he added, “I will bring you a ration of pigments and other needed supplies for the Duchesse’s portrait, but not until the hour that she arrives for her sitting.” Le Sèvre turned on his heel and swiftly left the room.

  Lisette didn’t have to stand before the looking glass to know that her face was red and beginning to swell. She could feel the stinging worsening.

  Lisette stepped to the window and opened it. She poked her head out into the cold night air. The biting winter wind came rushing toward her, swirling around her head. It was a welcome relief. When the passersby began pointing at her, she pulled herself back inside and closed the window. She didn’t want to give Le Sèvre another reason to punish her.

  Lisette went back to her easel and regarded the faint figure of Botticelli’s Madonna. For the foreseeable future, the half-sketched Madonna would remain the only figure in the painting. Not only was Lisette without pigments, she no longer had her charcoal, pencils or any other supplies. Le Sèvre had taken them all.

  Lisette felt her swollen cheek and thought, I never want my Madonna to be handled by Le Sèvre again. With his rough hand, he had intended to hurt her canvas. Lisette determined that she could not allow that to happen again.

  Chapter Fourteen

  February 12, 1773

  The next morning, after the swelling in her face had subsided, Lisette returned to her easel. She sat and stared at her canvas. She knew exactly what needed to be done, but without pigments, she was unable to mix more paint. Maybe Mother can convince Le Sèvre to change his mind, she hoped.

  Lisette headed downstairs to look for Jeanne. Before she had reached the bottom of the stairs, she could hear Le Sèvre’s voice. He sounded like he was berating a child. Then she heard her mother speaking. Lisette stopped on the stairs to listen. They were talking in the drawing room, which was directly behind the center staircase. From this position, she was well hidden. She couldn’t see them, but they couldn’t see her either.

  “Etienne is now a pupil at the Lycée Louis-le-Grand,” Le Sèvre said.

  “But he has been attending the Collège des Quatre-Nations for years. How could you move him to Lycée Louis-le-Grand without notifying me, his mother?” Jeanne sounded helpless.

  “Because it is a more prestigious school. He will be in the company of the country’s elite,” Le Sèvre said.

  “But I am his mother, you should have consulted me,” Jeanne retorted.

  “He is under my care now. I was unaware of any need to consult a woman,” Le Sèvre quipped.

  “He has been in my care much longer than yours,” Jeanne replied.

  “As your husband, I make the decisions for you. There is nothing else to say.”

  “But you must consult me where Etienne and Lisette are concerned.”

  “No, I do not. I make the decisions for all of you − even that insolent daughter of yours.”

  “She is not insolent, François. She has a strong mind and spirit. She can be fiercely loyal. You’ll see. Give her more time and you will see,” Jeanne said, defending Lisette.

  “She has already tested my patience. I have confiscated her art supplies until she can learn to obey me in my
house.”

  Her mother said nothing in response. There was silence for several moments.

  “Don’t look so morose, Jeanne. Of course I will return them to her in three weeks when she is scheduled to paint the Duchesse for me.”

  “I find that to be very harsh, François…taking away the poor girl’s painting provisions.”

  “I am finished discussing this matter. Now leave me,” Le Sèvre ordered Jeanne, just as he commanded the servants.

  Lisette knew it would be of no use to speak to her mother. She realized that her mother’s relationship with her new husband was very different than her marriage to Lisette's papa.

  When Lisette didn’t hear her mother’s heels clicking against the sleek marble floor of the drawing room, she realized that her mother was refusing to leave.

  “Did you not hear me, Wife?” Le Sèvre asked her.

  “Yes, François, I heard you. But I am not finished discussing this matter,” Jeanne said.

  “Etienne and Lisette are now my children. I am their father and I will make the decisions for this family. That is final,” Le Sèvre said.

  Then Jeanne uttered something that Lisette couldn’t quite hear. She was speaking very softly, perhaps under her breath.

  “What? I cannot hear you Jeanne, speak up if you have something to say to me.” Le Sèvre seemed to be taunting her.

  “It is nothing,” Jeanne said. Her voice sounded defeated to Lisette.

  “I don’t think so. What is it that you want to say to me?” Le Sèvre insisted.

  There was silence for several more moments before Lisette heard Le Sèvre’s heavy footsteps thudding across the floor. Then her mother let out a squeal.

  “You are hurting me, François. Please remove your hand from my arm.” Jeanne sounded distressed. Her voice was much louder than usual.

  “Only when you tell me what you said. And be mindful of the servants. Keep your voice down, Wife,” Le Sèvre said in a low and controlled tone.