I, Juan de Pareja: Chapters 3–4

He was a Romany, lithe and graceful, strong as a panther, quick in his movements.

I carried water and fodder and helped load the mules, and I was made most respectful of the touchy animals, especially one which tried to bite me and then danced itself around to be in a position to kick me.

I soon learned that that bright smile was a warning; the gypsy loved to subdue anything and make it subservient to him.

I grew weary by midday, walking behind and watching to see that the loads did not slip on the animals. When this happened, they simply stopped and nothing could induce them to go forward.

One man sat on a chair, idly fingering the strings of a guitar.

Soon a proud and beautiful young woman, with a dress all swirling skirts, came and took a disdainful pose very close to him.

He gave me a great clout on the side of the head that made my ears ring.

“Certainly not. Through adverse circumstances,” I said, using words as long and as impressive as I could command, “I am in his caravan. He is taking goods to my master in Madrid. How far are we from Madrid?”

God knows where I had got my ideas of legal protection, but the baker was stupid enough to be impressed, and he made quite a ceremony of stopping a crony of his in the street, a bleary-eyed stumbling fellow on his way to the wineshop, and demanding that he witness an oath.

I was mightily plagued with rats at night, though, and slept restlessly, turning on my little heap of straw, and fearing that the creatures might attack me. I was too naive; those rats were fat and sleek from feeding in the baker’s own granary; their squeaking was just their talk as they went about their affairs at night.

But I did not waver in my plan of getting to Madrid, and when my time was up I went to ask for my coat and to say good-by.

In the fitful light of a lantern, a little distance away, I saw the teeth of Don Carmelo, bared in his cruel smile, and I heard his hissing as he beat me.

He had a leather whip and he scourged me with it unmercifully, until I fell to the ground unconscious.

My clothes stuck to the dried blood on my back and arms; my face burned where the whip had caught me and left bloody weals.

He was an austere man himself, uninterested in furbelows except when he had to paint them.

Master brought the earring, and I took it with reverence and worked it through the hole in my ear.

Our household was a simple one, but ample and comfortable.

I wondered just how much she would require of me, but I had no qualms, and I was determined to be trustworthy and careful and to do whatever she wished.

Several easels, strong and sturdy, stood about, a chair or two, and there was a long table with a palette on it, a vase full of brushes, rags, and bits of canvas and wood for frames.

First, I had to learn to grind the colors. There were many mortars for this work, and pestles in varying sizes.

Each time I built a frame and stretched a canvas, holding the frame taut with wooden pins, and nailing the canvas on around the frame, he showed me the flaws in my work by his expression.

Doña Emilia had never asked more of me than to fan her or hand her a sweet or hold her parasol, until she taught me to write.

He liked the early light when it was still fresh from the dew and without any dancing dust motes in it.

And often he simply sat staring...now at a piece of draped velvet, now at a copper bowl, now at me. When I felt a little more confidence in his presence, and did not fear disturbing him in one of his reveries, I asked him why he did this.

For example, do you see that piece of brocade on the chair? What color is it?

Mistress was a careful and thrifty woman who watched over all the expenses of the household and was always busy mending or sewing or working at her tapestries.

The children, two little girls, Francisca and Ignacia (la niña) were toddlers, and very endearing, with their big soft eyes and their baby prattle.

The rooms of the house were large, well-carpeted, and with shutters to hold out the strong sun of summer and the bleak wind of winter.

There was a crucifix over each bed, even mine, and when it was very cold there were many brasiers in the rooms, giving off a delicate but pervasive heat from glowing coals.

“I thought he did not like to have apprentices about,” I faltered.

“Your Master is very deeply obligated to certain men of the court and could not refuse. Besides, he has many church commissions now and cannot do them all. He will have to have help, for backgrounds and so on, and perhaps even to make copies of his works.”

I swallowed my disappointment, and as I dragged the laden chest through the halls to the studio I felt a kind of comfort.

The apprentices were, of course, free white boys, but they were under special obligations to Master and bound to obey him, just as I was, and in truth I had more freedom than they, for I was part of the household.

He could sketch swiftly, catching the movement of a bird on the wing or a cat leaping after a drifting feather with but a few telling lines, and he could suggest a likeness which seemed to me miraculous in one so young.

When Master had a portrait commission (and at certain times of the year he had many) I had to be near to arrange tables and chairs on the model's dais; I had to have good sketching paper ready, fixed firmly against a backing of light wood.

When Master was working intensely, he did not even glance at his palette, but put his brush unerringly into the colors he wanted, taking the amounts he needed and blending them in the middle to the shades he required. I have seen him thus mix up the same shade time and time again, without glancing, and taking them straight to the canvas; they were always perfect.

His strokes on the canvas, too, sometimes seemed slapdash, rough and unintelligible, if one stood as close to the canvas as he. But a little distance away, and those spots and dashes of light cream or ivory would resolve themselves into a delicate frill of lace, or the daintiest of highlights on satin.

Then I had my revenge on Cristobal and I helped Alvaro, turning myself subtly so as to ruin Cristobal’s drawing and holding myself very still when I noticed Alvaro’s eyes on me.

Mistress collapsed onto a chair, which creaked ominously, and she had to fan herself.

Little black curls escaped from her pompadour and fell down over her forehead.