Читать книгу Sarah M. Peale America's First Woman Artist - Joan Ph.D. King - Страница 12

Charles had not accomplished everything he set out to do in Washington City, but the journey was a success. The fine portraits he brought back home with him proved his skill was as sharp as ever. Anna gained confidence. Her miniatures of Monroe and Clay had already brought her commissions in Philadelphia. Charles had arranged for James to receive his war pension, and had spoken to the committee on Major Long's expedition about considering Titian for the post of naturalist.

When Titian's appointment came, the whole family wanted to celebrate with him. Sarah arrived at the Museum for the party at closing time. Rubens asked her to bring the party guests to the Mammoth Room, and she escorted three young men, including artist Tom Sully. As they approached the gathering, Sarah noticed that Titian looked nervous; his gaze often darted back to the entrance. She suspected he was looking for Eliza, the girl he would miss beyond all others.

"Well, Cous," Sarah said, "you look every inch the adventurer." Titian took both her hands in his, and planted his much-practiced cousin kiss on her lips. "And you look ravishing."

Sarah stood back to look into her dearest cousin's face with a sense of sadness, for she would miss him very much. Not to see his blond head and teasing blue eyes for such a long time was a gloomy thought. "I take it you haven't changed your mind about this silly expedition," she said. "Wouldn't you rather stay right here in Philadelphia so you can know just where Eliza is going and with whom?"

"Sarah." His voice lowered and he looked down. "You will write me, won't you? You will tell me what you can about Eliza? And about the family and what you're doing. Please."

Sarah promised solemnly. "I will. And you must write often. Tell us what it's really like in the Missouri river wilderness."

Titian laughed. "I'll do better than that. I'll bring back drawings and paintings of wildlife in the natural background."

"Here we are," a voice said. Sarah turned to see Margaretta bringing in some of the guests. As they advanced toward Titian, Sarah retreated, smiled at Margaretta. "Are other guests waiting?"

Margaretta lowered her head and whispered. "Raphaelle is here and Uncle Charles isn't going to like his condition."

Sarah tensed. "I don't like the way Rubens treats Raphaelle when he's like that."

"Why? Rubens doesn't scold. He just tries to get Raphelle away by himself. What do you think he should do?"

Sarah sighed as she walked back to the ticket booth with Margaret- ta. "You don't need me to help bring the guests up," Sarah said. "I'll stay with Raphaelle for a while."

Margaretta shrugged. Sarah ducked back behind the ticket office and went into the preserving room. There Raphaelle sat on a stool in the corner while Rubens paced before him, drumming his fingers against his lips, his spectacles having slipped down from the bridge of his nose. "Hello," Sarah said. "I came to drink tea with Raphaelle for a while."

Rubens stared sternly, but Raphaelle laughed. "Wonderful. Dear little Sarah always has time for her errant cousin. I'm in disgrace again.

I doubt if you want to drink tea with me. Look at Rubens. God couldn't have looked so angry at Judas."

"You have no right to do this," Rubens said.

Sarah turned to Rubens and whispered. "Don't worry. Raphaelle and I will be fine here for quite a while. You're needed out there.

Please—we'll stay here and talk." She made her face confident and insistent. "All right. Drink tea with him. I'll be close by."

"Fine," Sarah said, putting the water on for tea. She turned to

Raphaelle. "Are you feeling wretched?"

"Not noticeably at the moment. The secret now is to stay seated."

His laughter was brittle and forced. "I brought Titian a present. Would you like to see it? I was going to show it to Rubens, but he's so condescending, I didn't offer."

"I'd love to."

Raphaelle looked at Sarah appraisingly; then fumbled with a sack at his feet. "You know how Titian loves butterflies and moths?"

"Yes." Sarah watched as Raphaelle lifted a flat piece of wood out of the sack and laid it down on the table. She gasped. "A beautiful butterfly." If she hadn't seen it as it came out of the sack, she would have thought it was a real specimen mounted on a board. "It's marvelous!" As she spoke she let her fingers trace lightly over the painting.

"I was going to set it on the top of the cabinet so it would look as though someone had ..."

"Ouch," she said, pulling her hand away. "Heavens! That's a real pin."

Raphaelle roared with laughter. "So you didn't know what was real and what wasn't? When Titian sees it, he will think someone has been tinkering with his specimens and left this one out. See, the back ground is the same as the wood of the cabinet. He'll be furious. You know how haughty he can be. Well, then, when he goes to pick it up, he'll see it's only painted."

Yes, I see." Sarah said. "And I'm sure it would get the desired response out of Titian. It couldn't fail. It's absolutely perfect. Oh, Raphaelle, you have such a unique talent. Even your father couldn't have done this so well."Raphaelle's cheek twitched and his face became deadly serious as Sarah spoke. '"But you use your best talents for a joke. Why?"Raphaelle looked away. "Why not? It might entertain. It might...""Yes, it might what?" Sarah asked, putting tea into the pot."It might show them that I..." he paused."It might show them that you....what?" she continued. Raphaelle waved her question away, and sat back.

Sarah poured the steaming water into the teapot and sat across from him. "It might show them that you are more talented than any of the rest of us?"

Raphaelle was silent for a few seconds; then laughed. "Wonderful Sarah. You're too clever. But I think it's worse than that." His eyes glazed. "I do these things because when the trick works and someone is left feeling and looking a little foolish, then I look and feel smarter.

Don't you see how simple it is?" He lowered his head. "I have no public. To get a patron I must go out and beg. No one wants to pay a decent price to someone as anxious as I am for any morsel of honest work. People laugh at me and my jokes, and sometimes I don't know which." He engaged Sarah's eyes; then put his head in his hands. She walked around the table and stood behind him, laying her hands on his shoulders. Then her arms went around his neck and her cheek touched the top of his head. "Raphaelle, don't be so hard on yourself. Your butterfly is too exquisite to be a joke. Your talent shouldn't be laughed at. You are superior. It doesn't matter whether everyone knows. Some day life will be better for you." She poured the tea into a cup and put it before him.

"If I should suddenly find the world was made up of Sarah Peales, I should know I was in heaven."

Sarah patted his cheek. "Drink your tea, and admit what I say is true."

"It ought to be true. Only it does matter that no one knows and no one appreciates. I know that sounds egotistical; and it is. That's what's wrong with me, I fear." "That you want to be appreciated? We all do. Your father certainly worked for it, so does my father, so does Rembrandt. So..."

"My dear brother Rembrandt. He is a lesson for me, isn't he?" Raphaelle took a cautious sip of tea and leaned back smiling. "His ego is as strong as mine. No, his is stronger, but he has earned father's support. His pride in himself is justified."

"You are just as talented if not as lucky."

"Luck, is it?" Raphaelle said and gulped his tea. Sarah felt helpless.

She wanted to cheer him, but her talk had only set him on a melancholy track. She decided to turn his attention back to the party, and to help him with his joke, though she wouldn't like doing it to Titian. He did behave haughtily at times, and seeing what he thought was one of his prize specimens strewn about would make him surly if anything ' would.

"When you are feeling better," she said, "I'll put the butterfly on the cabinet so Titian will be sure to see it."

Raphaelle's gaze met hers. A thin smile crossed his face. "My best conspirator. Thank you."

"Are you still miserable?"

He nodded. "But I shall rally if I throw up, wash my face in stinging cold water, and come back and drink more of your insipid tea."

Raphaelle braced himself on the side of the table and stood up. "Give me a moment."

Sarah waited uneasily while Raphaelle went to the back stairs. Her thoughts were troubled as she looked at the lifelike butterfly stuck with a collector's pin. Her father and Uncle Charles would be here soon. Major Long was invited and would probably come. She would not want to have Titian laughed at in front of the leader of the expedition, but perhaps Titian would take it with such good humor, the major would actually be pleased. A good sense of humor would be a necessity on such an arduous journey into unknown lands. Sarah put the butterfly on the top of the display cabinet. Now when everyone gathered in the Long Room for music, Titian would be sure to notice. Sarah joined Margaretta, Anna and the visiting Richard Johnson.

Titian stood by the door of the Mammoth Room with his sister Sophy, brother Franklin, Tom Sully and Ben Blakely. Ben stared at Sarah, looking unhappy. She ought to talk to him, she thought, and she smiled his way. Charles came in and spoke to everyone he passed, becoming the focus of attention.

Sarah watched Titian and Raphaelle. She glanced uncomfortably at the butterfly, wishing the joke were over.

Ben left Titian's group and joined Sarah's. At the same time Charles paused nearby. He acknowledged everyone with a sweep of his head, settling his gaze on Richard Johnson, who stood beside Anna. "Good evening. I hope you are enjoying your visit to Philadelphia."

"Indeed I am," Richard said. "Anna has shown me around and made me feel welcome." He gazed at Anna, taking in the image from her upswept hair to the hem of her blue lace dress. Charles smiled. "We were all glad to see General Jackson cleared in Congress."

"Yes, it did him a world of good. And I believe he will pass through Philadelphia soon on his way to New York."

"Yes, I know," Charles said. "He visited Baltimore. My son Rembrandt was commissioned by the mayor of Baltimore to paint his portrait." As Charles talked, Sarah looked up and saw Raphaelle coming toward them.

"Rembrandt is painting Jackson?" Raphaelle said. "How fortunate!”

"Yes," Charles answered. "Rembrandt wrote that he was getting a good likeness. Everyone who'd seen it said it was his best painting yet."

"General Jackson is that kind of a subject," Richard said.

"I believe it," Raphaelle said. "I've seen the portraits Father and Anna took of him. He looks like a man who could be driven by some God of Glory to most noble heights. I envy such a man.""He is worth our envy," Richard replied.

Raphaelle's eyes glittered, and Charles looked at him askance. But Sarah laughed gaily and, to divert Charles, suggested that Richard would love to see Uncle Charles's marvelous farm at Belfield. "You have never seen lovelier gardens, I promise you," she said. Charles beamed and launched into a discussion of his gardens. Sarah excused herself and went to Titian's side.

"I'd love to be going with you," Tom Sully said to Titian. "But painting porcupine in the brush is not for me."

"It seems a dangerous thing," Sarah interjected, "to capture the likeness of a wild grizzly bear or whatever else roams the west. I think you will come back to us a genuine hero."

"This is to be a scientific expedition," Titian protested. "We will gather samples and take notes. It should be valuable to the Government, but we're not going to be doing anything heroic."

"We'll see," she said. "But come, the music will begin soon." Sarah, holding Titian's arm, led him away. She would walk him past the specimen cabinet with Raphaelle's butterfly on top. She felt a need to get the whole business over and done.

Tom Sully walked beside them. "It will seem lonely around here without you. I know Rubens will be here, but he's all business and I did so enjoy our strolls and..."

"Good Lord!" Titian stopped, stared at the painted butterfly for a second. "Damn! Look at that specimen left out. And they're so fragile."

He sputtered and reached for the collector's pin. "If Rubens is going to allow this kind of thing..." Then as he had been about to lift it, he stared at the butterfly with a look of astonishment. "Couldn't be," he muttered. "Too heavy. Good Lord!"

People were watching. Sarah saw Raphaelle standing a few feet away, inhaling deeply, filling his lungs with delight. As she watched him, he burst into laughter. Titian waved the painted butterfly in the air and looked at Raphaelle. "It was you," he shouted. "A beastly trick!" Then he smiled. "It gave me quite a start!"

People laughed and wanted to see. Tom Sully took the butterfly from Titian and admired it. It was passed around, everyone commenting on how lifelike it looked and how the background exactly duplicated the wood of the cabinet. Raphaelle glowed with satisfaction.

Charles put his thin hand on Raphaelle's arm and shook his head. "Don't you ever tire of making Jokes?"

"Tire of it? I should hope not, Pa. It was a good lesson for Titian. Never jump to conclusions. It's a thought to fortify him through the long excursion."

Charles took up the painted butterfly and turned to Raphaelle. "This much effort could have been turned to something more worthy."

"Perhaps. Maybe I shall paint General Jackson," Raphaelle retorted, "but I doubt that it would do at all. I have no skills in hero worship. I yearn for exactness, truth as it were.

A butterfly is as true as his markings. A man as true as his warts and wrinkles. But of course, heroes don't have

Inviting Ben had proved more fortunate than Sarah expected. Raphaelle forgot his own grievances while he entertained Ben with stories. In this quiet room, Ben's voice had a calming effect. It was as though he would take care of everything, and she wouldn't have to worry any more. Ben offered Raphaelle a ride home. "Won't you let Sarah and me take you home on our way?"

Raphaelle accepted. Sarah told Rubens they were leaving, and she and Ben helped Raphaelle down the stairs. The night air was cool. Sarah pulled the hood of her cape over her head, and the three of them sat close together in Ben's carriage. Raphaelle fell silent as they rolled away from the Museum. The sound of the horse's hoofs clattering rhythmically against the pavement and the creak of the buggy wheels broke the night's silence. Sarah remembered now how Ben had looked at her across the room earlier.

"Thank you," Raphaelle said as the carriage stopped at his house. "I know I should say more, but I'm not myself tonight. Good night.'

The carriage proceeded up the hill away from Raphaelle's house and Sarah became aware of the steady sound of the horses' hoofs clopping over the cobblestones. The lavender smell of her handkerchief wafted around them. She stared at Ben's hands holding the reins firmly, at the angle of his knees as he sat. He glanced at her and smiled.

She knew he wanted to kiss her, and certainly he had waited long enough. She had dodged it until now—not because she hadn't been kissed seriously before. She had, enough times to know it would be either pleasant or unpleasant. She had guessed for weeks now that kissing Ben would be quite nice. She would have to be very unobservant not to notice how often he happened to touch her shoulders, arms and hands. But she had to be careful. She could like his kisses too much. Every time she'd been on the verge of making it easy for him, she thought about the dangers and the more she thought about that, the more determined she was to wait a bit.

"Are you cold?" he asked.

She shook her head, but he edged closer and took her hand. They looked at each other as they passed under a streetlamp. His mouth trembled. When the carriage moved into a shadow, quite suddenly he drew her closer and kissed her.

She was unprepared for the fervor, the strength of his arms, for his unrelenting pressure of his hungry mouth. Nor was she prepared for her own strong response. He held her until she was breathless and lightheaded. Her impulse was to yield, to test this excitement that pulsed through her.

"I couldn't help it," he whispered.

"Don't apologize." She laughed. "I'm not going to pretend I didn't like it."

"Sarah!" He drew her close again, but she resisted. "Wait, Ben, I must warn you, it won't lead any farther."

He leaned his head back. "Surely you don't think I would trifle with you?"

She ran her index finger down the front of his shirt, avoiding his gaze. "I've heard that one thing leads to the next. I just want to be honest with you. I don't plan to marry for many years. I plan to be a portrait painter."

"How kind of you to warn me," he said, and kissed her again until she felt it down to her toes.