evaporated completely by the end of the summer. At the very moment when Mrs. Burckhardt felt closest to attaining the prize of a marriage proposal for Louise, the artist baffled her by reverting to his friendly, yet decidedly platonic, relationship with her daughter. Louise confronted him at his studio, hoping for an explanation. Sargent had the difficult task of convincing her that their flirtation, if it could be called that, was over. Their unpleasant conversation was interrupted by Beckwith, who walked in on them and saw that there was “evidence of trouble.” Sargent confessed to him that although he valued her friendship, he didn’t care for Louise in a romantic way.
One of the reasons they had spent so much time together during the latter part of their “courtship” was that Sargent had started an enormous portrait of Louise. Titled Lady with the Rose, it depicted Louise in a black gown with a rose in one hand, recalling Carolus-Duran’s portrait The Woman with the Glove. Sargent’s interpretation of Louise was most striking for what it lacked: any sign of passion or sexuality. Lady with the Rose was more than competent, but it was utterly conventional. It was as bland as the young woman who posed for it. The painting revealed Sargent’s true feelings: this was not the work of a man, or an artist, in love. At best, Sargent liked Louise and enjoyed her company. But she occupied her own portrait tentatively—she was little more than a place saver for someone who might exercise a real romantic hold on Sargent in the future.
Sargent had higher ambitions than a bourgeois marriage, and he did not need the distractions of eager mothers and their hopeful daughters. He wanted to penetrate the inner circles of Paris’s social, intellectual, and artistic elite, not only because he knew he would find wealthier clients, but also because he was drawn to the “beautiful people.” He directed his attention to his canvas, which would be his passport to that elusive world.
John Singer Sargent,
Lady with the Rose (Charlotte Louise Burckhardt), 1882
Charlotte Louise Burckhardt hoped to marry Sargent, and her matchmaking mother considered the artist an excellent catch. Sargent spent time with Louise, but as his portrait of her might suggest, their relationship remained platonic. (Oil on canvas, 84 x 44 ¾ inches, 213.4 x 113.7 cm. The Metropolitan Museum of Art, Bequest of Mrs. Valerie B. Hadden, 1932 [32.154]. All rights reserved, The Metropolitan Museum of Art)
Brilliant Creatures
I n a lull between commissions during the summer of 1881, Sargent busied himself with portraits of friends, all the while surveying the horizon for his next splashy assignment. He spotted an opportunity when he was asked by Carolus-Duran to attend a party at an apartment on the Place Vendôme, one of the most fashionable addresses in Paris. The host was Samuel-Jean Pozzi, a respected gynecologist, surgeon, and man of the arts who was even better known for his breathtaking looks, charismatic personality, and insatiable appetite for sex. Pozzi traveled with the most exclusive—and the most decadent—international set, consorting with the beau monde’s brightest luminaries.
In his prime, he embodied the Belle Époque romantic ideal. He was tall and well built, and his dark hair contrasted dramatically with his white skin. He wore every kind of clothing well, from close-fitting business suits to the sheik costumes he playfully donned for the photographer Nadar. Intelligent, artistic, and irresistible, Pozzi brazenly used his profession for entry to the best bedrooms in Paris.
Pozzi began his life as the son of a Protestant minister. He was born in 1846 in Bergerac, a town in the Dordogne, to Inès and Benjamin Pozzy. At some time, his father changed the spelling of the family name, ignoring his ancestors’ apparent preference for the dramatic flourish allowed by the y at the end of the signature.
Pozzi’s mother had inspired his
One of the reasons they had spent so much time together during the latter part of their “courtship” was that Sargent had started an enormous portrait of Louise. Titled Lady with the Rose, it depicted Louise in a black gown with a rose in one hand, recalling Carolus-Duran’s portrait The Woman with the Glove. Sargent’s interpretation of Louise was most striking for what it lacked: any sign of passion or sexuality. Lady with the Rose was more than competent, but it was utterly conventional. It was as bland as the young woman who posed for it. The painting revealed Sargent’s true feelings: this was not the work of a man, or an artist, in love. At best, Sargent liked Louise and enjoyed her company. But she occupied her own portrait tentatively—she was little more than a place saver for someone who might exercise a real romantic hold on Sargent in the future.
Sargent had higher ambitions than a bourgeois marriage, and he did not need the distractions of eager mothers and their hopeful daughters. He wanted to penetrate the inner circles of Paris’s social, intellectual, and artistic elite, not only because he knew he would find wealthier clients, but also because he was drawn to the “beautiful people.” He directed his attention to his canvas, which would be his passport to that elusive world.
John Singer Sargent,
Lady with the Rose (Charlotte Louise Burckhardt), 1882
Charlotte Louise Burckhardt hoped to marry Sargent, and her matchmaking mother considered the artist an excellent catch. Sargent spent time with Louise, but as his portrait of her might suggest, their relationship remained platonic. (Oil on canvas, 84 x 44 ¾ inches, 213.4 x 113.7 cm. The Metropolitan Museum of Art, Bequest of Mrs. Valerie B. Hadden, 1932 [32.154]. All rights reserved, The Metropolitan Museum of Art)
Brilliant Creatures
I n a lull between commissions during the summer of 1881, Sargent busied himself with portraits of friends, all the while surveying the horizon for his next splashy assignment. He spotted an opportunity when he was asked by Carolus-Duran to attend a party at an apartment on the Place Vendôme, one of the most fashionable addresses in Paris. The host was Samuel-Jean Pozzi, a respected gynecologist, surgeon, and man of the arts who was even better known for his breathtaking looks, charismatic personality, and insatiable appetite for sex. Pozzi traveled with the most exclusive—and the most decadent—international set, consorting with the beau monde’s brightest luminaries.
In his prime, he embodied the Belle Époque romantic ideal. He was tall and well built, and his dark hair contrasted dramatically with his white skin. He wore every kind of clothing well, from close-fitting business suits to the sheik costumes he playfully donned for the photographer Nadar. Intelligent, artistic, and irresistible, Pozzi brazenly used his profession for entry to the best bedrooms in Paris.
Pozzi began his life as the son of a Protestant minister. He was born in 1846 in Bergerac, a town in the Dordogne, to Inès and Benjamin Pozzy. At some time, his father changed the spelling of the family name, ignoring his ancestors’ apparent preference for the dramatic flourish allowed by the y at the end of the signature.
Pozzi’s mother had inspired his
Similar Books
