Inde, avril 2006, série L, LV1: Tracy Chevalier, The Girl With A Pearl Earring, 2000.

« Sujet 5 ♦ Inde, avril 2006, série L, LVI The scene is set in the 17h century.

The painter referred to is Vermeer.

He did not work on the painting of me every day.

He had the concert to paint as well, with or without van Ruijven and his women.

He painted around them when they were not there, or asked me to take the place of one of the women -the girl sitting at the harpsichord, the woman standing next to it singing from a sheet of paper.

I did not wear their clothes.

He simply wanted a body s there.

Sometimes the two women came without van Ruijven, and that was when he worked best.

Van Ruijven himself was a difficult model.

I could hear him when I was working in the attic.

He could not sit still, and wanted to talk and play his lute.

My master was patient with him, as he would be with a child, but somecimes I could hear a tone creep into his voice and knew that he would go out that night to the tavern, returning with eyes like glittering spoons.

10 I sat for him for the other painting three or four cimes a week, for an hour or two each cime.

It was the part of the week I liked best, with his eyes on only me for those hours.

I did not mind that it was not an easy pose to hold, that looking sideways for long periods of cime gave me headaches.

I did not mind when sometimes he had me move my head again and again so that the yellow cloth swung around, so that he could paint me looking as if I had just turned to face him.

I did whatever 1s he asked of me.

He was not happy, though.

February passed and March arrived, with its days of ice and sun, and he was not happy.

He had been working on the painting for almost two months, and though I had not seen it, I thought it must be close to clone.

He was no longer having me mix quantities of colour for it, but used tiny amounts and made few movements with his brushes as I sat.

I had 20 thought I understood how he wanted me to be, but now I was not sure.

Sometimes he simply sat and looked at me as if he were waiting for me to do something.

Then he was not like a painter, but like a man, and it was hard to look at him.

One day he announced suddenly, as I was sitting in my chair, "This will satisfy van Ruijven, but notme." 2S I did not know what to say.

I could not help him_ ifl had not seen the painting.

"May I look at the painting, sir?" He gazed at me curiously.

"Perhaps I can help," I added, then wished I had not.

I was afraid I had become too bold.

"All right," he said after a moment.

30 I got up and stood behind him.

He did not turn round, but sat very still.

I could hear him breathing slowly and steadily.

The painting was like none of his others.

It was just of me, of my head and shoulders, with no tables or curtains, no windows or powderbrushes to soften and distract.

He had painted me with. »