Jacques Le Gris #6 (misericordia) {art}

[altocello]

misericordia (noun, latin)
1) pity, compassion, mercy, lovingkindness
2) (figuratively) wretchedness, misery; pathos

I find it ironic that he embodies misericordia in this scene, a wretched sinner silently begging God for mercy for the sins he's knowingly committing, and that he also meets his end at the point of his own misericorde. 

Having been born into a family with neither a respected name nor wealth, Jacques originally trained for a life in the church, and, even though he had abandoned that path for a more worldly one, he was still a cleric of minor orders. It's my sense that, while he knew he wasn't temperamentally well-suited for the vows of poverty, chastity, and obedience that the priesthood would have demanded, he was still a devout Catholic; after all, the first thing he did afterwards was to confess what he saw as his sin of adultery, in full, to his priest, and perform his penance. 

Following Pierre's advice, he denied any physical contact with Marguerite in his statement for the Count's "investigation", but now, to save face, Jacques has to maintain that same lie in a court where God is the judge, jury, and will guide the hand of the executioner. Jacques could have claimed the benefit of the clergy, and been tried in a more sympathetic court by the church, but by taking that course, he would have as much as admitted his guilt. He would have walked away with his life, but not his honor, and his pride simply will not allow him to accept that he might be considered a coward for taking the safer way out.

However, given his background and the piety we've already seen him demonstrate, I do think Jacques genuinely believes that he's committing a serious sin by lying under oath, and it disturbs him greatly, enough to make him pause his courtroom dramatics for this tiny, blink and you'll miss it, moment. 

His face is tipped skyward, allowing us to see the deep set of his eyes under the impressive shelf of his brow. From this angle we get a different appreciation for the geometry of his nose; the dip at the bridge, the long straight run down to the tip, and the isosceles triangle made by the slope of his nares and the width of the base. Is it weird to say that I think he has magnificent nostrils? Probably, but I'm saying it anyway. That same angle means we're actually looking at the underside of his cheekbones, the hollows more pronounced because of the slack in his jaw, and we get to see the full depth of his upper lip. 

The majority of this expression is carried by the upper half of his face, most of which is hidden from our view, but even what little we can see speaks volumes. His forehead is furrowed with the force of his entreaty, brows raised above eyes opened wide and looking straight to heaven in supplication, his lower lids tensed with sincerity. It's only there for an instant, and then he blinks and dips his chin slightly, pursing his mouth in a pensive moue, eyes distant, before raising his chin again, and continuing on with the public part of his appeal to God in his defense. It's a brilliant bit of subtle acting, a there-and-gone moment of intense vulnerability.
But we know he's seeking forgiveness for the wrong transgression, unable to see that he is indeed guilty of the crime which he so hotly denies committing. 

Photo used for reference was a screencap taken by the ever amazing vanshots on twitter.

About 10.5 hours of painting time for this one, despite the relative blurriness, thanks to the fact that I needed to redo a bunch of work when I made the (good) choice to switch color overlays a couple of hours in, and because I just kept finding more to fuss about. This was another one where I just had to declare it done ENOUGH, put the stylus down, and walk away. 

I feel I would be remiss if I didn't mention a musical geek moment from this scene. In a clever bit of auditory storytelling, the music from the scene where Jacques confesses his sins to his priest is also the music playing while he's denouncing Jean as "false and wicked" for his accusations during the trial; in the one scene he's telling the truth as he sees it, and the other is almost an anti-confession. It incorporates Jacques's eerie, unsettling theme, a voice sliding upwards between the two notes in one of the most discordant chords in music; known as "the Devil's Interval," an augmented fourth, it's the same chord used in air raid sirens, an almost subliminal warning of just how dangerous he is.