Part 14 (1/2)
The mansion with the twin flight of steps faced the ca.n.a.l. Ludolf had mentioned that he had had it built on the site of an ancient property that had been torn down. It had a wider frontage than the older houses, although, as with them, there was little more than an inch between its walls and those of its neighbors on either side. Elaborate pilasters adorned the frontage, the sills and cas.e.m.e.nts carved with twirling foliage. In the pediment up by the gables was the s.h.i.+p in full sail by which Pieter had been directed.
Sybylla would not go up the same flight of steps as Francesca, but like a child at play took the other to arrive at the opened door at the same time. Ludolf himself met them in the reception hall, already resplendent in black velvet with gilt braid decorating his fas.h.i.+onable longish coat, loops of ribbons at the shoulders and bunches again on the garters of his hose meeting the full-gathered calf-length breeches. If anything his shoulder-length periwig was even more carefully curled than before. Francesca suspected he had donned a new one in readiness for his portrait. If he was surprised to see Sybylla as well, he did not show it.
”Good day to you both and welcome to my home. What a splendid arrangement it is that you should have a temporary studio here, Francesca. I was told by Heer de Hartog that we have just five weeks before you leave for Delft. You may be sure,” he insisted, ”that I shall cooperate in any way I can.”
”I think you have already shown that by your kindness.” She had to give him credit for being so obliging.
Sybylla was wide-eyed at the size and splendor of the reception hall. A hundred people or more could have danced there with s.p.a.ce to spare. There was so much gilt agleam, the walls silk-paneled, and huge crystal chandeliers were suspended from a ceiling depicting whales and vessels and stormy waves in the ornate plasterwork. Set into the blue marble floor was a circular design of dolphins with a s.h.i.+p in the middle, the twin of the one in the pediment outside. It added to her awe that two liveried menservants should attend them, their cloaks taken in one direction and her sister's painting smock and the model of the s.h.i.+p borne away upstairs to the location of the studio. She had supposed the coach servants doubled up for work indoors, for a tax was levied by the state on employers of menservants, but that was not the case. The s.h.i.+p broker must have florins to throw away! She turned her enthralled gaze on him. Somehow she must do her part to ensure favor for her father and, at the present time, her sister with this Heer van Moneybags!
”You needn't fear Francesca will rush your portrait in any way just because she's going to Delft at the end of April,” she volunteered.
”Such a thought never entered my head,” he answered, intent on showing his goodwill. ”Before we go upstairs to the studio I should like you both to meet my wife.”
”That is what I hoped,” Francesca replied. Knowing that Amalia van Deventer was an invalid, she had brought with her a box of sugared sweetmeats that were her culinary speciality.
As they turned into a corridor lined with tapestries Ludolf explained that his wife's suite was on the ground floor to enable her to walk about a little sometimes without the exertion of the stairs. Yet when they entered Amalia's dayroom and saw her lying against her cus.h.i.+ons it seemed impossible to either Francesca or Sybylla that this woman could have the strength to rise from them. She looked so delicate, almost as if the embroidered silken quilt covering her legs might be too great a weight for her. Painted, coiffured and fully dressed in spite of an hour early for an invalid, she extended a hand, thin as a bird's claw, to welcome the two girls to her side.
”How kind of you to come and see me. I know you, Francesca, as Flora here in this house. And this must be Sybylla. Oh, what have you brought me? How prettily the box is decorated. Shall I peep inside now? These look delicious!”
Francesca could see that this woman, who had every material benefit she could wish for, was genuinely touched and delighted by the unexpected gift. Ludolf waited until some conversation had been exchanged and then drew the sisters away, both of them promising to see her again before they went home.
Francesca was amazed by the size of the room that had been allotted to her as a studio. A four-poster hung with embroidered curtains had been pushed back against a wall to give maximum s.p.a.ce and was partly concealed by an Oriental screen. Four large windows gave her north light and the view was of the long garden that Pieter was to redesign. A large carved chair and a side table had been placed in the right position to benefit from the north windows, and an easel with a prepared canvas on it stood together with a stool. She went at once to a side table where much more than she would need was laid out.
”Who mixed the oils and pigments?” she asked Ludolf.
”The supplier. Has he done well?”
”Indeed he has.” A manservant was waiting to see if she wanted anything changed and she asked for another screen to be set behind the carved chair on which she could arrange her drapery. When this was done she nodded approval to Ludolf. ”Now let us begin!”
He helped her on with her smock while Sybylla put the model s.h.i.+p on the table at the angle Francesca wanted. Then he took his hat from the chair and put it on. It was in the latest French mode for men, with a stiff and narrow brim and an ostrich plume that stood upright, the fronds dipping over a high crown. Then he sat down, his pose comfortable, with a relaxed air. Sybylla settled herself on a chair to watch at an angle from which she could see his likeness taking shape on the canvas. She had brought nothing to occupy the time, knowing in advance that she would be too excited by her surroundings to concentrate on anything else.
Francesca was rarely troubled by anything when she painted. Normally her cares fell away from her and it was only occasionally, such as when she found thoughts of Pieter persisting, that she was not able to give her whole attention to her work. Today she was fully concentrated. Nothing existed except her and her sitter. She was getting to know his features, noting how his nostrils curved, the way his brows met spa.r.s.ely in a V above the bridge of his nose, and how his thick lower lip had a faint indentation as if once it had suffered a cut from a fist. There was also a scar by his left eye. As for his periwig, that would be an exercise in itself, all those gleaming highlights and curling shadows.
Ludolf talked, which sitters usually did. Only professional models kept silent. The conversation was mostly between Ludolf and Sybylla, who was as garrulous as Hendrick, but Francesca did answer when necessary, one part of her mind alerted for it. She gave Ludolf a rest after twenty minutes, which was as much as most sitters, other than professionals, could take at a time. She continued working, seated on her stool, while he went across to the window to discuss his hopes for a new garden with her sister.
The sitting had been resumed for only five minutes when Sybylla was unable to contain her enthusiasm any longer. ”This is a beautiful place!” She sprang from her chair to almost dance about the room as she looked at paintings and porcelains, silver trinkets on a French toilet table, and was unabashed when she opened a cupboard to find a silver chamber pot inside.
When she came into Ludolf's line of vision again he watched her rapt face as she ran her hand over a carving and stroked a brocade hanging.
”Why don't you look at the rest of the house,” he invited expansively.
”May I?” Sybylla pressed her palms together with delight.
”If you should get lost there's a bellpull in every room. One of the servants will come and find you.” As the door shut behind her he rose immediately from the chair. ”I'll take a rest now.” In the next moment he was viewing the beginnings of his portrait. It was still no more than a rough sketch in paint, but there were decisive strokes and already there was a masterly commitment to his likeness. ”Should you leave my portrait at this stage all would know it was I!”
She put down her brushes and rectangular palette to rise from the stool. ”My father's whim is that n.o.body should see his work until it is almost finished. I'm not as strict as that, but I'd prefer you didn't look at this canvas again until I invite you.” She did not want him seeking any excuse to peer over her shoulder and this rest he was taking was far too soon.
”It shall be as you wish.”
”I thank you.”
”I want only to please you.” His voice lowered slightly, shot through with meaning, and he moved closer to her. ”Do you understand me, Francesca?”
She thought her bile must rise. Did he suppose even for a moment that she might be flattered by the advances of an older man of wealth? Deliberately she misinterpreted his words. ”Then when you return to your chair try to keep your gaze in the direction we arranged. It will be most helpful to me if you don't turn your head during this first stage.”
He gestured with a hand that came near to touching her, his eyes smiling. ”Then try not to be a magnet to me.”
She regarded him impatiently. ”Please understand that here in the studio I'm a craftswoman wanting only to depict you as the man of property and position that you are. Don't reveal to me a side of yourself that you would not wish others to see, because, whether I wanted it or not, it would show in the finished portrait.”
He was taken aback. ”Are you that sure of your talent?”
”It's not a question of skill. To me it is a flaw, because in portraiture I find I paint as much with the inner eye as an outer one. How much better it would be not to reveal the blatant facts and leave whoever views the result wanting to know more of the nature and the thoughts of the person within the frame. So much given and so much held back. That's how people are to one another in life. n.o.body can ever know somebody else's whole soul.”
”You think deeply, don't you?”
”I'm not naive about my fellow men and women.”
He reflected that he had never been more neatly rebuffed. And twice over! She had put him in his place with a skillful warning over his advances and again in telling him clearly that she was not one to have her head turned. ”So if a man was secretly in love you could portray it?”
She saw the line he was following again. ”It would probably surface just as hatred or greed or anything else that would show when the face of a sitter is studied long enough. If anyone should ask if there was one thing taught me by my father that I valued above all else, I would say it was the development of that inner eye, but I have yet to master it and bring it under my control.”
”Is that what you expect to happen at Vermeer's studio?”
She relaxed and a look that was both meditative and joyous came into her face in her yearning to be there. ”I hope for everything at Delft!”
It was a further rebuff, whether she knew it or not. He could see that it was not going to be easy to win her, but that only incited further his resolve to make her his own. With an amiable remark and a show of good grace that was far from his true feelings, he returned to the chair and she took up her work again.
Chapter 9.
AT LUDOLF'S HOUSE THERE WAS NO REPEAT OF THE INCIDENT of the first day. It was between Francesca and him as if it had not happened; his conversation with her was easy and friendly and devoid of any innuendo whether during the sittings or when she and Sybylla ate the noon meal with him. She reminded herself there were many men who could not resist an opportunity for seduction, and she judged him to be no better and no worse than most. It was to his credit that he had taken notice of her clear indication that she wanted none of it.
As the days went by the routine settled down. When Sybylla continued to accompany Francesca to the house every day, the novelty showing no sign of palling, it seemed time to mention the matter to Ludolf.
”I hope you have no objection to Sybylla being here so often,” she put to him.
He was quick to rea.s.sure her. ”Indeed not. I'm extremely pleased that she should be here, because I can see that already my wife delights in her cheerful company. And who would not?”
Francesca was equally glad that a friends.h.i.+p had been struck between his wife and her sister that took no account of the difference in their ages. Amalia had an interest in fas.h.i.+on that matched Sybylla's own and they had long discussions about it and other topics, including the interests of the Visser family.
”It's splendid that Francesca should have obtained an apprentices.h.i.+p in Delft,” Amalia remarked one day. ”She must be a truly gifted painter.”
”Oh, she is,” Sybylla a.s.sured her. ”I wish you could see the painting she did of my sister and me playing in concert, Aletta at the virginal and I on my viol.”
Amalia's face lit up. ”The viol? Are you telling me you play the viol? It was my mother's favorite instrument and as a child I spent many happy hours listening to her playing.” She hesitated. ”I suppose-would it be asking too much-I mean could you possibly play for me occasionally?”
”Of course!” Sybylla was genuinely enthusiastic. ”That would be marvelous, because I love playing. I'll bring my viol with me in the coach tomorrow morning.”