Masterpiece Story: The Music Lesson by Johannes Vermeer

A Painting with at Least Two Names

Lady at a Virginals with a Gentleman is owned by the British royal family and migrates back and forth between Windsor Castle and Buckingham Palace, the two most prominent of the many royal residences. Although the painting is frequently referred to as The Music Lesson, I much prefer the name used where it is displayed, as it leaves the role of the gentleman undefined—and I don’t think he is a teacher. If this were a music lesson, one would expect the teacher and the student to both be focused on sheet music, but there does not seem to be any in the room. And if it were indeed a music lesson, perhaps the wine jug on the table would not be warranted. This gentleman is more likely a suitor.

The room is familiar to Johannes Vermeer lovers. The wooden-beamed ceiling that slants slightly from left to right and the black-and-white marble floor appear in several of his paintings. The objects in this arrangement are also familiar: the chairs with the lion-head finials, the ebony-framed mirror, the porcelain wine jug, the silver tray, and the carpet draped over the table. Vermeer seemed to have a limited number of items in his collection of props, so we see them repeatedly. The lighting from a window at the left is characteristic of his style. In this case, there are two sets of windows rather than the single set seen in most of his paintings. As usual, we can’t see out the window; we instead peek in at a private scene apart from the outside world.

Perspective in the Painting

The positioning of the two figures at the back of the scene makes them appear small in comparison to the table and the viola da gamba lying on the floor. The floor tiles in this painting are noticeably larger than those in many of Vermeer’s other works, further diminishing the apparent size of the figures in the distance. Additionally, the table is “too big”—certainly too tall—adding to the long view of the scene.

Perhaps Vermeer had ideas about the perspective from the painting A View of Delft by his friend Carel Fabritius.

In Vermeer’s painting, the viola de gamba is larger than either of the people in the scene. In the Fabritius painting, the instrument is even larger than the nearby Nieuwe Kerk. Dutch innovators were experimenting with lenses at the time, leading the world in the development of microscopes and telescopes. No doubt, those lens makers would have had ideas to share related to visual perspective and spatial distortion.

An Instrument in Need of a Player

As is the case in three other Vermeer paintings (Woman with a Lute, The Concert, and Lady Seated at a Virginal), a viola da gamba is included in the scene. And as in the other paintings, the instrument is unattended. It sits next to an empty chair, anticipating an accompanist for the lady. The missing player is likely the gentleman in the picture, who would provide a lower-pitched complement to the lady’s more delicate, feminine instrument. The scene invites us to anticipate the harmony that will emerge—both musically and emotionally—if the gentleman chooses to pick up the viola da gamba.

What Is the Mirror Telling Us?

It is that tilted mirror on the wall above the instrument that provides the most interesting details of the painting.

The reflection of the woman is flawed. We can plainly see by the back of her head that she is concentrating on the keyboard. But in the reflected image she has her head turned to the right, toward the gentleman.

We know from imaging studies that Vermeer originally had the woman facing the gentleman as well, but he repainted her as he refined the painting so that she is facing forward. One might find it curious that he did not make the corresponding adjustment in the reflected image. Is this an oversight? Of course not. The mirror is showing us a different side to the reality; her mind is focused on her playing, but her heart is focused on the gentleman.

What is just as interesting is what we see in the reflection that we cannot see in the direct view: beyond the reflection of the carpet on the table, we see the artist’s easel. By including the easel, Vermeer reminds us that this is in fact a staged scene. It is not actually a woman playing an instrument with a gentleman at her side but rather two models posing in an artist’s studio to tell such a story.

A generous magician might occasionally reveal how a trick is performed, and Johannes Vermeer does the same here, telling us in no uncertain terms that he is playing a trick on us. In a further bit of wit, the artist himself is absent from the reflection. We see only the base of his easel, as if to reinforce that the true orchestrator of this visual deception remains just out of sight.

The Painting on the Wall

And what of the picture on the wall, over the gentleman’s shoulder? Vermeer shows us only part of the painting. We can see the back of a man in chains with his wrists bound. Scholars have identified the painting as Roman Charity from the workshop of Dirck van Baburen. The story is of Cimon, an old man sentenced to death by starvation in prison, who is secretly kept alive by his daughter Pero, who breastfeeds him. It is known that Maria Thins, Vermeer’s mother-in-law, owned a version of this painting; it would have been well known to Vermeer.

The image in Vermeer’s painting is a reverse image of the original and is truncated; only the back of the man and his bound wrists are seen. Why would this image be here? It seems to have nothing to do with music, but clearly Vermeer must have chosen it for a reason. He is making a subtle connection between the gentleman at the side of the virginals with the starving Cimon in the painting. Through this visual link, Vermeer suggests that the gentleman, like Cimon, is receiving nourishment—though not of a physical kind, but rather a spiritual sustenance from the woman’s music. Just as Pero sustains her father, the woman’s playing provides the gentleman with a spiritual sustenance that mirrors the nourishment Cimon receives.

The Inscription on the Virginals

The inscription in the lid of the instrument, Musica Letitiae Comes Medicina Doloris, has been variously interpreted, but on the placard adjacent to where it hangs in London it is translated as “Music is a companion in pleasure and a balm in sorrow.”

Johannes Vermeer could have chosen to include any motto he wanted. Other artists of the time showed inscriptions on instruments and other objects to add meaning to their paintings. This one no doubt refers both to the relationship between the pleasure being enjoyed by both the musician and her companion, as well as the sorrow implied in the painting-within-the-painting. This duality reflects the broader theme of music’s power: it enriches moments of happiness while also providing comfort in times of sadness.

Vermeer (and Us) and Music

Music clearly was a part of Vermeer’s life, as evidenced by the many musical instruments featured in his paintings. The instruments frequently play a role in the narratives he portrays. In this one, the instruments hint at an incomplete relationship: one instrument is making music while the other remains silent. It provides a backdrop for a woman’s conflicted emotions about what she wants—she is torn between the music and the man.

The story’s complexities tell us the truth about music, as Vermeer plainly tells us on the lid of the virginals: Music can provide joy in good times and solace in times of sorrow.