Magyar Egyház, 1992 (71. évfolyam, 1-5. szám)

1992-05-01 / 5. szám

10. oldal

MAGYAR EGYHÁZ

“I am so sorry that you are in such pain, Master Cornelis, I do hope that the physician from London, due next week, will be able to lessen your pains. He is said to have great new medicine he used successfully on His Majesty, the King. I heard they were drops of gold. I hope you will get better. You must get better because I want you to do a great work forme. It is important. And it is urgent. We haven’t got much time. Two more months and Christmas is upon us. Here is what I want you to do, a new painting for the Council Chambers in City Hall.”

Master Cornelis wanted to say “no” right away. He could not take a new order; he was sick, sick. But his curiosity conquered his pain. “What would the theme be, Excellency? Something from Greek mythology, or, maybe a portrait of some great man; well, maybe yours?”

“You know better than that. You know I would never want that. My picture! Not even after my death! What I want, Master Cornelis is a picture of the birth of Christ.”

“For City Hall?”

“What’s wrong with that? Hasn’t the great Prophet Isaiah called the child to be born ‘Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace?’ What more do we need to be reminded of in the Council than of the power of God greater than ours, of divine counsel, greater than our w isdom, of our obligation to work for peace in our troubled age? Yes, Master Cornelis, the Council Chambers will be the right place for a painting of the nativity. And you will do it and we shall dedicate it next Christmas Day. You name your price. I still have a few important conditions. {11 tell you what kind of a picture I want.”

While the Mayor was speaking the expression on Master Cornelis’ face changed many times as his thoughts raced through his mind: No, I won’t do it. I’am sick; Oh, I want to do it! What a great theme! Nativity scene in City Hall? That’s crazy. Come to think of it, it’s a great idea. Oh, how my knee hurts! I can’t do it. It could be done beautiful. I will do it! ’ In his mind Master Cornelis began already to sketch it I’d put the Baby a little bit right of center so there will be a proper perspective. ’ But when he heard the Mayor say that he, the Mayor, would tell him how to do the painting he instantly rebelled: Who does His Excellency think he is? A conceited politician want to tell the artist how to paint? I shall tell him! His knees could swell like two loaves of bread yet he would do it.’ He was mighty mad inside but to the Mayor he calmly said: “Why don’t you let me do the composition? That’s my job, is it not?”

The Mayor was a smart politician: he sensed the irritation in the artist’s voice. Soothingly he said: “Of course, you do it. You seem to have misunderstood me. As a matter of fact, for my vision, I had the inspiration from one of your great canvasses. Remember the one on which our Savior is collapsing under the burden of the cross, Jesus clad in a dark robe, surrounded by figures in white faced Veronica with a white kerchief, a white horse in the background...?” The Mayor saw that he won his battle, the artist was taken by the words of praise. The Mayor continued: “What I wanted to

say was not an instruction, rather a request. Yes, a request and I’m sure you’ll understand my point.”

Master Cornelis loved such diplomatic language. He nodded and waited what the Mayor would say. He said: “I want the stable of the nativity to look as it really was. Not a masterfully carved crib, no golden candlesticks, no velvet robe for Mary, no silver harness for the donkey. You know what I mean: a real stable, not like the ones pious Christians dress up in their imagination. But as it really was: beasts of burden, oxen and donkey quietly munching on the hay unaware of the uninvited guests. Paint the people as they were, poor people, tired people, exhausted, hungry. You must show that on their faces. You must also show the bliss on little Mary’s face, too. And you must show that the stable was not spotlessly clean. Because there were animals and dung too. And there was no heavenly fragrance in the air. Master Cornelis, can you paint the odor of manure?” The Mayor’s voice showed he really meant what he was talking about. “Do you get it, Master Cornelis? I am not unholy. I want you to paint the miracle of the nativity. Paint the miracle how in a filthy stable, among dumb animals and poor people, God has arrived to men. Do you understand what I want, Master Cornelis?”

“I perfectly understand, Your Excellency. The picture will be ready by Christmas Day.”

When the Mayor left, Master Cornelis had to be taken to his bed-chambers he was in great pain. He was really sick for a whole month. The famous surgeon from London came, there was blood-letting but gold-dropping was no miraculous cure. Pain or no pain, the drive of his creative spirit brought him back to his studio: he had to produce the promised canvass by Christmas.

In those days painting, particularly a big canvass, was not a one man’s work. The studio of Master Cornelis was a veritable factory of art. Early in the morning the Master used to take out his big order-book. After twenty four years he had volumes and volumes of order-books, listing more than two thousand pictures. From the book he mapped out the work of the day. There were precise notations which picture was in what stage of the week. By the time his staff arrived each one of them had their individual assignment. The necessary preliminary sketches were ready. The Master always made them himself. Then the staff, painters of various age and skill, began to paint on the sketches. The studio had experts for various subjects and colors. One fellow was particularly good at a bright blue sky, another at gloomy weather. Trees and brooks, animals and figures, furniture and light, they all had their experts. They worked on maybe five pictures at the same time. Master Cornelis was walking from one easel to another, deftly correcting the mistakes of the younger painters, improving some colors here, setting light a perspective there. The final touch was always the Master’s. Thus, although several staff members worked on a particular picture, the Master’s hand started it, shaped it and finished it. Every picture was really his creation.

At first thought Master Cornelis wanted to do this nativity picture all by himself. He used to do that with very important clients and with themes he loved very much. This