"Is there anything I can do, Herr Block?"
Ursula Jacobsmeyer came to stand next to Sophia. She had been a student of his, and they had named their girl after her.
Daniel shook his head.
He stood and walked over to a pot of tea kept warm on the stove. He poured a cup. "Just make sure you take all of the Schlosser sketches that you did before you left. I am sure she will be calling upon you and Frau Gentileschi to finish the commission."
Artemisia Gentileschi and her team of women artists had won the competition and were now firmly on their way to becoming the best-known artists in Europe. Ursula Jacobsmeyer had chosen to become a part of that team. But Daniel held no grudge against her or her decision to leave his studio. That was my fault, he thought. I am innocent of everything else that I have been accused of, but not that.
"What are we going to do, Daniel?" Sophia asked, pulling baby Ursula away from her breast and settling her to sleep on the pillow in her lap. "We are running out of money."
She didn't have to tell him that. He looked at their books every day. "I know, I know. We still have some small commissions. They should hold us until January. And Melchior and Konrad are still with us. That is a blessing, though I don't know what I will have them do, with no work coming in."
"I can speak to Frau Gentileschi for you," Ursula said. "The mural is going to be a big project. Perhaps you could work on it with us. Perhaps–"
"No!" Daniel said, louder and more forcefully than he wanted. He shot a glance toward his baby to make sure she was still sleeping, ignoring the scowl Sophia gave him for his volume. "I will not intrude on your work. You won fairly and honorably. I will not play second-fiddle, as they say, to the victor. Please allow me to maintain some of my dignity and pride."
Or pig-headedness, as Sophia might call it. Daniel was certain that she liked the idea, given the expression on her face. He knew that eventually, arthritis and old age might confine him to being an assistant–a mere paint mixer for a younger, more vibrant artist. But not yet. He hadn't gone to Grantville just to learn up-time techniques. He had gone there to find out how history had treated his work. What he discovered had terrified him. None of his work had come through the Ring of Fire. No prints, no mention whatsoever of Daniel Block the painter in any history or coffee table books showcasing Baroque painters. Nothing. It's as if he had never existed. He had decided, then, to change the course of his own history.
"If you will not accept Frau Gentileschi's offer, then you may have to become a court painter again," Sophia said.
Daniel huffed. "Who is going to hire me now?" Then a light came on in his mind. "Wait."
He put down his tea and went to his corner desk. He sat down and pulled out the top drawer, rummaging through scraps of paper and old, worn paint brushes until he found a letter that he had tossed in there almost three weeks earlier. He opened it and read it again, mouthing the words instead of speaking them. Then he said, "Yes, this might work."
"What might work?" Sophia asked.
Daniel held up the letter. "I received this letter a few weeks ago. I put it aside because I was so engrossed by the competition, and of course I had hoped…well, there was no possible way I could respond favorably. Thankfully, I did not burn it. Duke Frederick of Mecklenburg-Schwerin has invited me to do a portrait of his family–several portraits, in fact."
Sophia furrowed her brow as if trying to pull a memory deep from her mind. "Didn't you once tell me that you hated Duke Frederick? That he was a drunkard and foul-tempered? And didn't you also tell me that you had grown to hate doing portraits of spoiled, coddled children?"
Daniel nodded. "That sounds like me. But we are out of options, my love. The threat of imminent poverty when one has a family to care for can temper one's opinion about anything or anyone, no matter how vile."
Sophia thought for a moment. "Surely he has gotten someone else to do it by now?"
Daniel shrugged. "I could send a letter to find out, I suppose, but I would prefer to go there in person, since I was lax in responding. A personal visit would be better received for future considerations, even if he already has someone else in mind."
"Sophia is in no condition to travel, Herr Block," Ursula whispered, running her fingers gently across baby Ursula's small, soft head. "Winter is coming. Snows will be here soon. And Christmas."
"I will go," Daniel said, and then, when he saw Sophia blanch at the notion that she would be left alone with both children, added, "and I'll take Benjamin with me. That will get him out from underfoot–and anyway, I suppose it will do him good to see how a court painter works. His own sketches have improved of late."
Indeed they had. Ever since Daniel had agreed to paint Superman in the corner of the mural sample, showing his son various brush techniques, proper pigment application, and how to mix paints to make new colors, Benjamin had taken a real interest in canvas work. With Daniel's guidance, the five-year-old was secretly working on a drawing of his mother and baby sister, in comic-book style, which he hoped to present to Sophia on Christmas Day. Daniel looked over at his son who was sitting close by, his nose in a copy of Hansel and Gretel that they had picked up in Grantville, seemingly oblivious to his parents' financial woes. Oh, blissful youth…
"I don't know," Sophia said. "I don't like the idea of taking him out of school for so long. He's been doing so well. His reading has improved, and his math. Why can't you take Melchior or Konrad with you?"
Daniel shook his head. "We still have commissions to finish, and on time. I cannot risk their delay. No, they must stay. Besides, what can Benjamin learn from books that he cannot learn in the field? Come now, my love, this may be our best chance. A commission such as this would help dull people’s memories of recent events."
Sophia looked uncertain.
He worried that she was experiencing what up-timers called postpartum depression. She had been very quiet of late, and she always seemed tired. Only when Ursula came to visit did her spirits pick up. Daniel was grateful for that.
"I'll check in on them while you're away, Herr Block," Ursula said, coming to his rescue. "You will be sure to come home promptly when the commission is complete, yes?"
"Oh, certainly. It will not be a long trip. You are right. Winter is fast upon us. I will go to Schwerin Castle to seed the ground, if you will. To see if the duke is still interested, and to do some sketches to find out what he likes and does not like. I will also, of course, need funds for supplies. Over the winter, I can prepare canvases and at least start on backgrounds. Then I'll make arrangements to return in the spring for sittings. I will be back before Christmas."
He could tell that Sophia did not like the idea, but what other choice did they have? They could tough it out, bear the brunt of a cold winter, and perhaps come out all right in the end. But that was a risk, and one he had no intention of trying. Puttering along at a trot would not win the race, and he would be damned if he would give up now that he had made such great strides in establishing himself as an artist of significance–one to be remembered this time. It was a risk to go north to Mecklenburg, indeed. But it was an even greater risk for him to do nothing.
"All right," Sophia said, trying to be brave. "I suppose this makes sense. But come home soon, my love."
"I will." He leaned over and kissed her forehead, ran his finger across baby Ursula's sweet cheek, and then began planning aloud. "We'll leave in two days. But I'll need new supplies, some new brushes. Oh, and pencils…and charcoal as well. And lots and lots of paper. The duke has a large family."
Magdeburg
November 29, 1636
Benjamin placed his neatly-folded shirts and pants into his bag, on top of his underwear and socks. The clothing was more formal than he liked, but he would be staying in a palace. And apparently, one must dress as if for church when one stays in a palace.
It would not be a palace like the one in Magdeburg, which he had been to several times. No, it would be far less grand, and of course he wouldn't know a
nyone there. Father had said there would be other children–the duke had many–but would they play with him? Would they like him? Would they like superheroes?
He frowned. It was the up-timers who brought the superheroes with them. Perhaps the duke's children wouldn't know about them yet. How could he explain to them about Superman and Wonder Woman? Would they like the Hulk? Would they believe him if he tried to explain about Iron Man? He wasn't sure he understood Iron Man. Could up-timers really make such a suit? Could they make one for him one day?
A gentle rap on his door startled him.
"Benjamin?" Ursula said, as she looked in on him. "Are you not packed yet? It's nearly time for bed. You and your father leave early in the morning."
"I was just…" He looked uncertainly at the small stack of comic books on the shelf next to his bed and reached a hand out to touch them.
"Ah," she said. "You were thinking about taking them with you?"
Benjamin nodded, looking at her for guidance.
Ursula frowned for a moment and said, "Do you know, I think you had better leave them here. It will likely snow, and they might get wet."
Benjamin smiled and nodded. Of course, he couldn't risk damaging them. And maybe he could draw pictures for the other children, if they were interested.
Benjamin closed his bag and set it on the chair near the door, and then went with Ursula to say goodnight to his parents and his new baby sister. Then he returned to his room, said his prayers, and reached for the lantern to extinguish it. His hand froze a few inches away, and he frowned in thought for a moment. He pulled his newest comic book from under his pillow and slipped it from the plastic sleeve his "Uncle" Rice had sent it to him in from Grantville. The cover showed his second-favorite superhero–the Hulk–fighting with someone in a red-and-black costume. He flipped it open and soon came to a section that showed the Hulk being badly hurt.
Benjamin wanted more than anything to read it right then, but soon Ursula or his father would come to check on him and make him turn off his light. He sighed in frustration. He tucked the comic back in its plastic sleeve, and after a moment's thought, he rolled it up and slid it into the case that held the drawing he was working on for his mother for Christmas. He would bring them both with him to the palace, where he could draw and read while his father did drawings of his own.
Finally, he turned off the lamp and settled into bed, wondering for the thousandth time why they had to leave now. He wanted to be with his mother and help with his new sister. And he wished, most of all, that his parents weren't so sad and worried all the time. His father had said this trip would help. He rolled over, trying to get comfortable, and worried some more.
At last, he fell asleep, and soon he was dreaming. He was a superhero: he could fly, and lift heavy things like buildings and horses, and he was paid so much money that his parents never had to argue again.
Schwerin Palace, Mecklenburg-Schwerin
December 6
Adolf Frederick I, Duke of Mecklenburg-Schwerin, was what an up-timer would call a “horn dog.” He certainly was not stingy with his seed, as Daniel's father might say in various drunken stupors when he was railing against royalty, excess, and privilege. But to Daniel–seeing the duke's six living children gathered around, and with a newborn in the arms of his second wife–all these children meant money, and lots of it.
"You realize, Your Grace," Daniel said, ten minutes into their discussion, "that including all of your children and your lovely wife, the Duchess Marie Katharina, in one portrait constitutes an enormous effort on my part, one that I am certainly willing to undertake. But you are also asking for up-time techniques to be included, which will require additional time and effort to blend seamlessly."
Duke Frederick raised his hand. "I am not interested in blending, Herr von Block. Perhaps you misunderstood my letter. I wish to have four separate portraits of my family, so that they may adorn the walls of a new art gallery that I'm having built alongside the chapel. When finished, it will contain the bulk of the archducal collection. Your paintings of the emperor were most impressive. They were bold, exciting, and since we are–whether we like it or not–well beyond the Ring of Fire, there is nothing we can do but embrace the change. At least when it comes to cultural elements. I want Schwerin to be a cultural center for years to come. To do that, it needs art and artists. I wish to start with portraits of my children."
In his mind, Daniel danced a Schuhplattler. Gold coins fell from the sky. He tried containing his joy and said, "Yes, Your Grace. I will happily help you achieve that goal. What types of portraits would you like?"
Duke Frederick sighed deeply, rubbed his face, and folded his arms. Then he said with authority, "I want a Cubist piece. A Surrealist piece. And, for the traditionalists, let's do something appropriate to our own time. They call it Baroque, yes?"
Daniel nodded.
"I haven't decided on the fourth. Perhaps Neo-Expressionism?"
Daniel winced. "Your Grace, Neo-Expressionism is a bit radical. Colorful, yes, and very emotional. But perhaps too emotional, too challenging for the general public. Fauvism would be a better approach I think. Very similar, but easier to interpret. Or maybe better yet, Impressionism?"
Daniel did not know if the duke was familiar with any of these up-time styles, but the fact that he knew Neo-Expressionism…well, he knew the term, and perhaps he had even seen an image or two from a Grantville book that had gotten into public circulation, or had travelled to Magdeburg to see some of it himself. But Daniel doubted that the man had taken much time to understand any of it. Did that matter? As an up-timer might say: When they pay, they say.
Duke Frederick shook his head. "We do not have to make that decision today. The question before us now is, can you do the work?"
Daniel took a moment to look over Duke Frederick's children. They were a pleasant bunch, if not a little bored sitting here listening to a conversation that they likely did not understand or care about.
The oldest, Christian Louis, was only thirteen. The youngest, Juliane Sibylla, was not even one. They'd rather be anywhere but here in this drafty room, listening to their father prattle on and on. But they would make good models, and Daniel was already rolling around ideas in his mind: how to pose them, where to paint them. Tallest to shortest, the girls on the left, the boys on the right? Many, many possibilities.
In his mind, their cute little faces began to warp and twist into surrealist globs, oozing down glass pedestals. Their eyes became boxes inset with more boxes. Their tiny mouths plumped to heart shapes in blues and greens, their limbs elongated spider-like, until they weren't even human.
Beautiful.
"Yes, Your Grace," Daniel said. "I can certainly do the work."
"Excellent!"
"But there is one matter I wish to discuss, if I may." He paused, watching the duke's expression carefully. Then he continued. "Winter is here, and it will be impossible for me to accomplish anything substantial on the portraits themselves before Christmas. So, what I propose is that I spend the next two weeks working on sketches that you can review and ultimately approve. Once that's done, I will return home, where I can spend the next few months preparing canvases and backgrounds and doing some preparatory paintings to test colors and composition. And then, come next spring, I will return and begin the final work on the portraits themselves."
Duke Frederick frowned. "You and your son are welcome to stay as long as necessary to accomplish the work."
Daniel nodded. "Yes, and I will gladly do so next year. You see, my wife Sophia has recently given birth to our first daughter, and she's not entirely well. She's still weak and a bit overwhelmed. For the next couple of months, it is important that I be there."
Daniel looked at the Duchess Marie Katharina, whose expression was one of understanding. If it was her decision, he'd have had this agreement immediately. Juliane was her first child, and she, like Sophia, was probably not coping as well as the duke would like to think. She was definitely more physi
cally fit than Sophia was, and the birth had happened earlier in the year, so the roughest months were behind her. But having to raise a child in a household of six stepchildren, even with so many governesses, nursemaids, and servants, had to be difficult.
Still frowning, the duke began to speak: "Well, that is not what I–"
His wife gently placed her hand on his arm, and he turned to her.
"Surely," she said, "a short delay can't hurt, and he will be working on the paintings while he's at home."
He smiled at her and patted her hand. "All right. Yes. If we can come to an agreement on the sketches by the twentieth," Duke Frederick said, "then very well."
Daniel cleared his throat. "I have one more request, Your Grace?"
"Yes?"
"As stated in your letter, you have agreed to a small advance to cover materials and travel expenses. But may I request double the advance? Money is tight these days, and well–"
"You ask a lot for a man who ignored my letter for weeks."
Daniel paused, looked into Duke Frederick's eyes, and said cautiously, "Yes, Your Grace, and I apologize for that. All I would require is an additional amount equitable to the work that I accomplish on the sketches and to help me and my family support ourselves through the winter before I return in the spring. Double the advance would more than suffice."
It was a risk being so direct with the duke, but what choice did he have? If he returned to Magdeburg with little money, then what was the point? He might as well not return at all.
Duke Frederick took his time making a decision, letting Daniel fret while His Grace studied him for a moment. Finally, he said, "Very well. You may have your double advance. But I have one condition of my own. The fourth portrait will be Neo-Expressionism, and I will not discuss the matter further. Also, you will paint an additional portrait of my lovely wife in a manner of my choosing at some point in the future."
Daniel nodded. "Very well, Your Grace. I accept the commission."
Grantville Gazette, Volume 67 Page 8
