their horses thrash our steeds, as Foxhall ridden by Fordham did on Sunday.”
Perdican’s point was that his countrymen should be wary of the Americans in their midst because they were encroaching on French territory. This was a sensitive matter at the time, for the United States had passed restrictive laws regarding French imports and imposed high tariffs on French art that was brought into the country. Since American artists were welcomed into Parisian art schools and benefited greatly from the fact that these schools were subsidized by the state, the French considered the U.S. government’s position extremely hostile. Newspapers demanded retaliation, one of them urging that “we will have to respond . . . by closing the doors of our art shows to the artists of a country that does the same to our artists.”
But with his statement, Perdican also made the point that John Singer Sargent and Amélie Gautreau were two of the most visible imports of the day. And Sargent, for one, was delighted by the fact that his name appeared alongside Amélie’s. She was famous, the subject of countless newspaper items. If Perdican referred to him in the same breath, he must be a star as well. Together, they were a perfect confluence of good looks and talent: Amélie Paris’s greatest American beauty and Sargent the city’s brilliant young American painter.
Amélie’s celebrity status made her more desirable to her adoring public, and now that he’d experienced the first indications of success, Sargent discovered he was suddenly desirable too, an excellent catch for a marriageable young lady. No one was more aware of his potential as a son-in-law than Mary Elizabeth Burckhardt, the mother of two daughters in need of husbands. She licked her chops when she realized that Sargent, a family friend, could be a candidate for marriage for either of her daughters, whether it be Charlotte Louise or her older sister, Valerie. Mrs. Burckhardt’s desire to have a successful artist as her son-in-law is significant. In the latter part of the nineteenth century, artists, especially portrait painters, were working professionals with solid financial futures. When Mrs. Burckhardt imagined a daughter of hers married to Sargent, she did not envision the couple living la vie de bohème in a chilly garret on the Left Bank. Rather, she foresaw recognition, considerable fees, and a comfortable future, just as if Sargent were a banker or a lawyer. Flourishing artists of the time could expect a level of economic security.
With this as her goal, Mrs. Burckhardt single-mindedly pursued Sargent, focusing on him as a mate for Louise after Valerie decided to marry a gentleman named Harold Hadden. People who knew Louise described her as a pleasant but unremarkable young woman. Some acquaintances even suggested she was a little stupid. Above all, she was a docile and obedient daughter, dedicated to fulfilling her mother’s ambitions for her.
Mrs. Burckhardt plotted several romantic excursions during the summer of 1881, contriving to bring the two young people together. She invited Sargent and his friend James Beckwith to Fontainebleau and other nearby destinations that would remove them from the distractions of Paris. Normally, Sargent seemed to have no time for romance. He painted constantly during the academic season, and when he took vacations, he usually traveled with his family. But this summer was different. Mary and Emily Sargent went off to America while, once again, Dr. Sargent stayed in Nice with Violet. Sargent was on his own, possibly missing the female companionship of his mother and sisters. He appeared to warm to Louise and actually welcomed opportunities to be alone with her. Beckwith caught them unaccompanied several times—something that would never have happened during those days of constant chaperones if Mrs. Burckhardt had not counted on a wedding in Louise’s immediate future.
Inexplicably, however, Sargent’s interest waned and
Perdican’s point was that his countrymen should be wary of the Americans in their midst because they were encroaching on French territory. This was a sensitive matter at the time, for the United States had passed restrictive laws regarding French imports and imposed high tariffs on French art that was brought into the country. Since American artists were welcomed into Parisian art schools and benefited greatly from the fact that these schools were subsidized by the state, the French considered the U.S. government’s position extremely hostile. Newspapers demanded retaliation, one of them urging that “we will have to respond . . . by closing the doors of our art shows to the artists of a country that does the same to our artists.”
But with his statement, Perdican also made the point that John Singer Sargent and Amélie Gautreau were two of the most visible imports of the day. And Sargent, for one, was delighted by the fact that his name appeared alongside Amélie’s. She was famous, the subject of countless newspaper items. If Perdican referred to him in the same breath, he must be a star as well. Together, they were a perfect confluence of good looks and talent: Amélie Paris’s greatest American beauty and Sargent the city’s brilliant young American painter.
Amélie’s celebrity status made her more desirable to her adoring public, and now that he’d experienced the first indications of success, Sargent discovered he was suddenly desirable too, an excellent catch for a marriageable young lady. No one was more aware of his potential as a son-in-law than Mary Elizabeth Burckhardt, the mother of two daughters in need of husbands. She licked her chops when she realized that Sargent, a family friend, could be a candidate for marriage for either of her daughters, whether it be Charlotte Louise or her older sister, Valerie. Mrs. Burckhardt’s desire to have a successful artist as her son-in-law is significant. In the latter part of the nineteenth century, artists, especially portrait painters, were working professionals with solid financial futures. When Mrs. Burckhardt imagined a daughter of hers married to Sargent, she did not envision the couple living la vie de bohème in a chilly garret on the Left Bank. Rather, she foresaw recognition, considerable fees, and a comfortable future, just as if Sargent were a banker or a lawyer. Flourishing artists of the time could expect a level of economic security.
With this as her goal, Mrs. Burckhardt single-mindedly pursued Sargent, focusing on him as a mate for Louise after Valerie decided to marry a gentleman named Harold Hadden. People who knew Louise described her as a pleasant but unremarkable young woman. Some acquaintances even suggested she was a little stupid. Above all, she was a docile and obedient daughter, dedicated to fulfilling her mother’s ambitions for her.
Mrs. Burckhardt plotted several romantic excursions during the summer of 1881, contriving to bring the two young people together. She invited Sargent and his friend James Beckwith to Fontainebleau and other nearby destinations that would remove them from the distractions of Paris. Normally, Sargent seemed to have no time for romance. He painted constantly during the academic season, and when he took vacations, he usually traveled with his family. But this summer was different. Mary and Emily Sargent went off to America while, once again, Dr. Sargent stayed in Nice with Violet. Sargent was on his own, possibly missing the female companionship of his mother and sisters. He appeared to warm to Louise and actually welcomed opportunities to be alone with her. Beckwith caught them unaccompanied several times—something that would never have happened during those days of constant chaperones if Mrs. Burckhardt had not counted on a wedding in Louise’s immediate future.
Inexplicably, however, Sargent’s interest waned and
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