Mother Quotes in Girl with a Pearl Earring
The woman looked as if she had been blown about by the wind, although it was a calm day. Her cap was askew so that tiny blond curls escaped and hung about her forehead like bees which she swatted at impatiently several times. Her collar needed straightening and was not as crisp as it could be. She pushed her gray mantle back from her shoulders, and I saw then that under her dark blue dress a baby was growing. It would arrive by the year’s end, or before.
The woman’s face was like an oval serving plate, flashing at times, dull at others. Her eyes were two light brown buttons, a color I had rarely seen coupled with blond hair. She made a show of watching me hard, but could not fix her attention on me, her eyes darting about the room.
The Guild looks after its own, as best it can. Remember the box your father gave money to every week for years? That money goes to masters in need, as we are now. But it only goes so far, you see, especially now with Frans in his apprenticeship and no money coming in. We have no choice. We won’t take public charity, not if we can manage without. Then your father heard that your new master was looking for a maid who could clean his studio without moving anything, and he put forward your name, thinking that as headman, and knowing our circumstances, Vermeer would be likely to try to help.
“But you have been in his studio— [but] you told us […] nothing about the painting he is working on. Describe it to me.”
“I don’t know if I can in such a way that you will be able to see it.”
“Try. […] It will give me pleasure to imagine a painting by a master, even if my mind creates a poor imitation.”
So I tried to describe the woman tying pearls around her neck, her hands suspended, gazing at herself in the mirror, the light from the window bating her face and her yellow mantle, the dark foreground that separated her from us.
My father listened intently, but his own face was not illuminated until I said, “The light on the back wall is so warm that looking at it feels the way the sun feels on your face.”
He nodded and smiled, please now that he understood.
He listened carefully. When I finished he declared, “You see, we’re not so different, with the attentions we’ve had from those above us.”
“But I haven’t responded to van Ruijven, and have no intentions to.”
“I didn’t mean van Ruijven,” Frans said, his look suddenly sly. “No, not him. I meant your master.”
“What about my master?” I cried.
Frans smiled, “Now, Griet, don’t work yourself into a state.”
“Stop that! What are you suggesting? He has never—”
“He doesn’t have to. It’s clear from your face. You want him. You can hide it from our parents and your butcher man, but you can’t hide it from me. I know you better than that.”
He did. He did know me better.
I opened my mouth but no words came out.
Pieter led me to the alley later. There he began squeezing my breasts and pulling at their nipples through the cloth of my dress. Then he stopped suddenly, gave me a sly look, and ran his hands over my shoulder and up my neck. Before I could stop him his hands were under my cap and tangled in my hair.
I held my cap down with both hands. “No!”
Pieter smiled at me […] He had managed to pull loose a strand of my hair and tugged it now with his fingers. “Some day soon, Griet, I will see all of this. You will not always be a secret to me. […] You will be eighteen next month. I’ll speak to your father then.”
[…] “I am still so young. Too young for that.”
Pieter shrugged, “Not everyone waits until they’re older. And your family needs me.”
“I want you to do it.” I had not thought I could ever be so bold.
Nor had he. He raised his eyebrows and opened his mouth to speak, but did not say anything.
He stepped up to my chair. My jaw tightened but I managed to hold my head steady. He reached over and gently touched my earlobe.
[…]
He rubbed the swollen lobe between his thumb and finger, then pulled it taut. With his other hand he inserted the earring wire in the hole and pushed it through. A pain like fire jolted through me and brought tears to my eyes.
He did not remove his hand. His fingers brushed against my neck and along my jaw. He traced the side of my face up to my cheek, then blotted the tears that spilled from my eyes with his thumb. He ran his thumb over my lower lip. I licked it and tasted salt.
At first it was very hard for me. When I saw him I froze wherever I was, my chest tightened, and I could not get my breath. I had to hide my response from Pieter the father and son, from my mother, from the curious market gossips.
For a long time I thought I might still matter to him.
After a while, though, I admitted to myself that he had always cared more for the painting of me than for me.
It grew easier to accept when Jan was born. My son made me turn inward to my family, as I had done when I was a child, before I became a maid. I was so busy with him that I did not have time to look out and around me. […] When I saw my old master across the square my heart no longer squeezed itself like a fist.
Mother Quotes in Girl with a Pearl Earring
The woman looked as if she had been blown about by the wind, although it was a calm day. Her cap was askew so that tiny blond curls escaped and hung about her forehead like bees which she swatted at impatiently several times. Her collar needed straightening and was not as crisp as it could be. She pushed her gray mantle back from her shoulders, and I saw then that under her dark blue dress a baby was growing. It would arrive by the year’s end, or before.
The woman’s face was like an oval serving plate, flashing at times, dull at others. Her eyes were two light brown buttons, a color I had rarely seen coupled with blond hair. She made a show of watching me hard, but could not fix her attention on me, her eyes darting about the room.
The Guild looks after its own, as best it can. Remember the box your father gave money to every week for years? That money goes to masters in need, as we are now. But it only goes so far, you see, especially now with Frans in his apprenticeship and no money coming in. We have no choice. We won’t take public charity, not if we can manage without. Then your father heard that your new master was looking for a maid who could clean his studio without moving anything, and he put forward your name, thinking that as headman, and knowing our circumstances, Vermeer would be likely to try to help.
“But you have been in his studio— [but] you told us […] nothing about the painting he is working on. Describe it to me.”
“I don’t know if I can in such a way that you will be able to see it.”
“Try. […] It will give me pleasure to imagine a painting by a master, even if my mind creates a poor imitation.”
So I tried to describe the woman tying pearls around her neck, her hands suspended, gazing at herself in the mirror, the light from the window bating her face and her yellow mantle, the dark foreground that separated her from us.
My father listened intently, but his own face was not illuminated until I said, “The light on the back wall is so warm that looking at it feels the way the sun feels on your face.”
He nodded and smiled, please now that he understood.
He listened carefully. When I finished he declared, “You see, we’re not so different, with the attentions we’ve had from those above us.”
“But I haven’t responded to van Ruijven, and have no intentions to.”
“I didn’t mean van Ruijven,” Frans said, his look suddenly sly. “No, not him. I meant your master.”
“What about my master?” I cried.
Frans smiled, “Now, Griet, don’t work yourself into a state.”
“Stop that! What are you suggesting? He has never—”
“He doesn’t have to. It’s clear from your face. You want him. You can hide it from our parents and your butcher man, but you can’t hide it from me. I know you better than that.”
He did. He did know me better.
I opened my mouth but no words came out.
Pieter led me to the alley later. There he began squeezing my breasts and pulling at their nipples through the cloth of my dress. Then he stopped suddenly, gave me a sly look, and ran his hands over my shoulder and up my neck. Before I could stop him his hands were under my cap and tangled in my hair.
I held my cap down with both hands. “No!”
Pieter smiled at me […] He had managed to pull loose a strand of my hair and tugged it now with his fingers. “Some day soon, Griet, I will see all of this. You will not always be a secret to me. […] You will be eighteen next month. I’ll speak to your father then.”
[…] “I am still so young. Too young for that.”
Pieter shrugged, “Not everyone waits until they’re older. And your family needs me.”
“I want you to do it.” I had not thought I could ever be so bold.
Nor had he. He raised his eyebrows and opened his mouth to speak, but did not say anything.
He stepped up to my chair. My jaw tightened but I managed to hold my head steady. He reached over and gently touched my earlobe.
[…]
He rubbed the swollen lobe between his thumb and finger, then pulled it taut. With his other hand he inserted the earring wire in the hole and pushed it through. A pain like fire jolted through me and brought tears to my eyes.
He did not remove his hand. His fingers brushed against my neck and along my jaw. He traced the side of my face up to my cheek, then blotted the tears that spilled from my eyes with his thumb. He ran his thumb over my lower lip. I licked it and tasted salt.
At first it was very hard for me. When I saw him I froze wherever I was, my chest tightened, and I could not get my breath. I had to hide my response from Pieter the father and son, from my mother, from the curious market gossips.
For a long time I thought I might still matter to him.
After a while, though, I admitted to myself that he had always cared more for the painting of me than for me.
It grew easier to accept when Jan was born. My son made me turn inward to my family, as I had done when I was a child, before I became a maid. I was so busy with him that I did not have time to look out and around me. […] When I saw my old master across the square my heart no longer squeezed itself like a fist.