I, Juan de Pareja by Elizabeth Borton de Treviño

Author:Elizabeth Borton de Treviño [Treviño, Elizabeth Borton de]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 1965-06-01T00:00:00+00:00

eight

In which I speak of a small red flower

As the years went by, Master painted many portraits of court people, but most of the King and his family, and of the King’s First Minister, the powerful Duke of Olivares. I would have disliked that heavy, hearty-appearing man because of his loud voice and his frequent vulgarity were it not for the fact that he was devoted to Master and never lost an opportunity (even at state banquets) to praise his art. I often reflected, from my own position as servant, that Master, while he had no title of nobility, was far more the gentleman than the wheezing, heavy-drinking Duke, despite his formidable list of titles and honors. Master was always very courteous and noble, a very perfect knight. I had noted growing between Master and the King a very real affection, while, I am sure, Master’s feelings toward the formidable Duke were of caution and reserve.

The King was a quiet man who did not like to speak overmuch. This was partly, no doubt, because he had a serious speech defect. He had inherited the long, heavy, out-of-balance jaw of the Hapsburg line, together with their round high forehead, golden hair and blue eyes. Due to the configuration of his jaw, the King’s teeth did not meet squarely, and when he spoke it was with a curious sibilance, as if he were lisping all his words. Besides, I believe that he was shy and that he had learned, in his years at court, that it was fatal to trust anyone with all your heart. So months and years went by, and little by little I could feel his confidence in Master growing, as portrait after portrait came from the studio. The King in black velvet, the King in ceremonial dress, with doublet and trousers all embroidered over with silver, the King in hunting gear with his favorite hound and his gun near by.

I was nearly always in the studio when the King was posing; he came to know me as a quiet dark shadow, and paid actually less attention to me than he did to his dog, which he often called to his knee when he sat down to rest between periods of posing. Then he would pull at the velvet ears and scratch the dog under the chin, the animal staring at him with eyes of liquid love. I think the King, for all he was respected and catered to, was not often looked upon with such devotion.

But if the King did not talk much, neither did Master. He kept his own counsel because that was his way, and because, as he once told me, the world is too full of foolish words that had best never been spoken. One time when I was grinding colors, and we were alone in the studio, he told me that he lived by what entered his being through his eyes and by what he gave back from his eyes by means of his painting—not, as other people, by what they took into the mouths and gave back as conversation.

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