The Creation Of Eve (15 page)

ITEM: "The Courtier should use his eyes to carry faithfully the message written in his heart, because they often communicate hidden feelings more effectively than anything else, including the tongue and the written word."

--COUNT BALDASSARE CASTIGLIONE,
The Book of the Courtier

ITEM:To purify vermilion before mixing it in oil, take the vermilion lump and grind it on the stone, first dry, and then with pure water. Then you must put it on a shell and place it on warm ashes, to evaporate the moisture. When dry, put it in a horn of glass, throw in strong gum water, stir it with a stick, then let it settle. Drain off the water. Repeat all steps three times.

27 MARCH 1560

El Alcazar, Toledo

Four days have passed since I have last written. I have begun work on my self-portrait. Having prepared my canvas and oils, I am working on a study of my face in ink. I wish to portray myself at the clavichord, for which I have set Up a large mirror between the instrument and my easel to look Upon myself.

It is not such an easy thing, trying to find oneself in one's reflection. I see two large eyes, pink-lidded from lack of sleep; thick though silky brows; a turned-up nose; stubbornly set lips. If I can beautifully execute the details of these features, Anthonis Mor would say I would have an accurate portrayal. But will that truly be me? Am I not more than just flesh and peaked cartilage and the shining surface of eyes?

Thoughts like these do help turn my thoughts from Tiberio, who has not yet replied though there has been sufficient time for him to have done so. How I wish My Lady had a similar diversion to keep her mind from her failure with the King. When the invitation came for the conde de Benavente's Lenten Feast, I welcomed it, thinking it would do the Queen much good.

Indeed, it cheered me to see Her Majesty at the head table, enjoying herself like the girl of nearly fifteen years that she is. On her right was Don Carlos, hanging on to her every word, and on the left, Don Juan, looking on quietly, as, with a flourish of trumpets, kitchen boys brought forth magnificent dishes designed to circumvent the dietary rules of Lent. The air was rich with the smell of cloves and cooked fruit and toasting almonds as boy after liveried boy Ushered forth with glorious dishes of confections, fruits, and fish--with not a speck of meat in any of them--Until at last, four boys struggled in Under a platter the size of a door. Upon this platter, on a bed of winter greens, lay a trout the size of a suckling pig. How the Queen clapped as it was placed before her, wafting its succulent aroma of fish fried with lemon, olive oil, and sea salt. Her approbation was exceeded only by that of Don Carlos, who roared like a bear cub when he turned from gazing Upon the Queen and saw the magnificent fish.

It was touching to see how My Lady pampered the King's son, the poor awkward thing, crooning at him to get him to eat, teasing him when he burped, giving him the attention he has not received, I do guess, from a lady his whole young life, as his mother died when he was born. He sat Up proud as a cock when she dabbed his mouth with her napkin.

"What about me?" said Don Alessandro, on the other side of Don Carlos. He pointed to the corner of his own mouth. "Do I not need a little tidying Up?"

"None that I can afford you,
monsieur
," said the Queen.

"Am I that filthy?" said Don Alessandro. "What about my uncle?" He nodded toward Don Juan.

The Queen turned to look at Don Juan, whom she had been scrupulously ignoring though he was sitting next to her. She turned back around. "I know not where to begin."

"See, Uncle," said Don Alessandro. "Our Lady finds fault with you. Did they not teach you to wash in the mountains?'

"Quite well." Don Juan dabbed his mouth with his napkin. My table, adjacent to theirs, was not so far that I could not help noticing the V of downy golden beard trailing from below his lip into the dimple of his chin. "The sheep and I were bathed in the spring whether we needed it or not."

"And I thought the smell at table was of the fish," said the Queen.

"Oho!" said Don Alessandro. "She stung you there!"

Don Juan grinned. The Queen tucked in her chin with her winsome manner. "Where in the country did you grow Up?" she asked shyly.

"Born in a stable," said Don Carlos, taking a draught, "no doubt."

"Just like Our Lord Jesus Christ," said Don Alessandro.

"Hardly," said Don Juan. "I spent my first years in the countryside near Toledo, My Lady, then outside Valladolid, and later in the Sierra de Gredos, in a village so small you could spit from one end to the other."

"Which you probably did," said Don Alessandro.

"You cannot tell me," said Don Carlos, "that in all that time you had no idea my grandfather the Emperor was your true father."

Don Juan shook his head. "I did not. I thought my parents were dead. I was just a typical country boy, raised by a foster mother."

"Who wouldn't tell him the name of his father," said Don Carlos, his mouth full. "Isn't that what you said, Don Juan?"

Don Juan shrugged.

Don Alessandro laughed. "Unknown father, born in a manger--you really
were
the Christ Child."

Don Juan scratched at his neck with one finger. "Don Alessandro, I think that lady over there does look at you."

Don Alessandro peered at my table. I blushed to think they had caught me staring, then saw he was looking at a French lady younger than myself, seated a few persons away.
Buffone!
Of course they would never notice me. To them I am a woman past Youth's first blush, dressed in odd and spotty Italian clothes. I have not been able to swallow my pride to ask My Lady for new ones, though as the King's ward I am entitled to them.

When I glanced back at the head table to see if they were still admiring the lady, Don Juan was looking into the eyes of the Queen. She turned away quickly.

"Must I feed you dessert, too, Brother?" she said to Don Carlos.

The Prince opened his mouth wide.

The Queen laughed stoutly. "Look at you with your mouth open--you look like a little toad! That is what I shall call you--my Toad. Shall I put in a fly, Toady?"

"Yes." He grinned. "Do."

That was yesterday. Today Don Carlos brought the Queen a ruby the size of a cherry. He said it was his mother's. When Her Majesty said Don Carlos should save it for his bride, he said nothing, just turned and stalked away.

It is good only a short time remains of Lent and the King will then leave his retreat at the monastery to resume his relations with the Queen. For surely the Prince does grow to love the Queen too much.

ITEM: The Seven Deadly Sins and the colors associated with them in painting:

Pride--Violet
Envy--Green
Anger--Red
Sloth--Light Blue
Greed--Yellow
Gluttony--Orange
Lust--Blue

21 MAY 1560

The Palace, Aranjuez

A war rages between Her Majesty's French ladies and her Spanish, although the Spanish ladies have won a partial victory by getting the King to send most of the French ladies back home. The remainder of the French ladies never did get the clothes that had been sent ahead when they had first traveled over the Pyrenees to Spain. Francesca tells me the maid of one of the Spanish ladies brags that some trunks with French labels on them can be found in a stable in Caceres, at the family seat of her mistress.

But hardened by battle, the surviving French ladies do fight back. They scramble for the seats closest to My Lady at bull runs and fiestas. New trunks from Paris have arrived, from which they introduce decollete gowns in rose and emerald and tangerine that make the Spanish ladies, with their penchant for stiff, black, high-collared garb, look like fusty old nuns. The French ladies choose the richest of the Spanish men for their affairs of the heart, and win them handily. Although dressed in the most exquisite French gowns of all, the Queen seems scarcely aware of the
petit
dramas around her. She has troubles of her own. As do I.

Today we celebrated the King's birthday, his thirty-third. Last week, he had decided he would like to mark this day by having a family picnic at Aranjuez, his country estate a day's ride east of Toledo. Those of Us who attend the Queen were crowded into coaches, farthingale crushing farthingale, the French refusing to speak to the Spanish and the Spanish to the French. Each faction gossips amongst itself, excluding me, an Italian and of lower rank than any of them, excepting their maids. We trundled through the dun-colored hills with the household servants, the kitchen servants, the tapestry makers, the embroideresses, the jewelers, the doctors, the musicians, the stable boys, and all the rest of the twelve hundred essential household attendants rattling in the wagons behind Us. As I gazed out the leather-curtained windows at the ranks of twisted gray olive trees rolling by, I could not help remembering my first trip to see the Queen, when she had gone to meet the King. Although it was not five months ago, how much younger she had looked then, so lively, a little girl ready to play the Queen.

Now, just turned fifteen, she has already begun to change. Her beauty has grown even in this short period of time, with her face ripening and her cheekbones gaining more prominence. She still plucks her brows and hairline in the French manner, though her face would be pretty without it, as it would be without the thin coating of lead-white powder that her mother insists that she wear. Yet in spite of her growing beauty, she acts less sure of herself, with no small part of her Unhappiness caused by a certain lady riding two coaches behind Us, in the suite of the King's sister Dona Juana.

For the Queen knows beyond certainty now of the King's affair with dona Eufrasia. The condesa de Uruena finally informed her with great relish disguised as sympathy, though publicly no one acknowledges it, especially the King. He visits Her Majesty's chamber after lunch each day, to ask after her health. He sends small gifts of fruit and flowers, perhaps a length of lustrous blue cloth, a new prayer book. But he has stopped even making the appearance of visiting their marital bed in the evening, though she waits each night behind the crimson brocade bed-hangings, dressed in a gossamer shift, while I toss and stir in my own bed, hating myself for opening my person to Tiberio's scorn by writing him back. It has been nearly five months since I have written, and he still has not replied.

What a beautiful afternoon in May it was today, with the birds singing in the woods and the sun sparkling through the spring-green leaves, as a band of musicians strummed their guitars on the banks of the river. A breeze, scented with the milky green water of the Tajo and the fresh-scythed grass of the lawn, ruffled the lace at our cuffs and the feathers on the hats of the gentlemen.

"Sit with me," the King said to My Lady, who was hesitating near the blanket on which he reclined. Her page rushed forth with a pillow. Upon helping her to settle, the lad seated the condesa de Uruena and madame de Clermont next to her, as was their due.

The Queen's voice was high with nervousness. "Dona Sofonisba, please, sit with Us, too."

Under the scowling gaze of the condesa de Uruena, I found a corner of the blanket as Francesca retreated to stand in the shade at the edge of the woods with the other servants.

Pages sallied forth with baskets piled with hams, strawberries, and asparagus. I was enjoying the smell of the cut grass and the river and the music of the guitars when the King asked the Queen, "So how go your drawing lessons, My Lady?"

The Queen pulled her attention from the King's sister's blanket, Upon which dona Eufrasia had alighted and was neatly arranging her skirts. The Queen looked down Upon the front of her own green velvet bodice, which had been slashed in vertical strips across her bosom, with puffs of yellow satin pulled through to give the illusion of curves where she has none. She wears a new gown every day, always cut cleverly to enhance her slim figure as only her French dressmaker can do.

"They go well, My Lord."

"Indeed?" He leaned out to look at me.

"Yes, Your Majesty." I dashed my gaze to the blanket, though I could see him take a strawberry from a basket and offer it to the Queen.

He watched her as she took it wordlessly. Since the afternoon she had come when I had been making glue, the Queen has come most days to my chambers or I to hers, to work on her drawing technique. Why did she not tell him how she has learned how to shade, taking into account the distance the object is from the viewer and the source of light when deciding Upon the depth of the shadow? She has watched me enlarge my drawing for my self-portrait with the Use of a grid to create a cartoon. She has seen how I then placed a transparent paper over the cartoon to prick the holes of an outline, and how when this in turn was placed over the canvas and chalk blown over the pinpricks, an outline was left. Why does she not explain this to him? The King is interested in painting. She might impress him in this way.