Madame X speaks

Dear friend,

Mr. Sargent has made a masterpiece of the portrait, I am anxious to write this to you as I am sure that he will not tell you so.--I was very sorry that you were not able to spend a few days at Parame after leaving Dinard; my husband had put off his trip to Paris to be able to enjoy your company. Really! You know that he and I love you very much and that that is straight from my heart. My love to you and Miss Lili [Madame Allouard-Jouan's daughter].

Amelie Gautreau. (20)

Amelie loved her portrait. History has long cast her as the injured party in the Madame X debacle. But at this moment, Sargent and Amelie were happy collaborators--partners in the creation of the portrait they believed would enhance their reputations.

Nervous, but filled with great expectations, Sargent and Amelie returned to Paris after the summer: Sargent planned on completing the portrait in his new studio, and Amelie threw herself into another social season, a season she could only have imagined would end triumphantly with the unveiling of her portrait.

According to a report in L'Illustration, Sargent and Amelie were both in attendance at a party hosted by wealthy parvenu Baron Frederic Spitzer (1815-1890), staged amidst the swords and helmets in his armor gallery. Amelie drew her usual compliments from the press, but the most interesting post-party gossip came from Perdican, who leaked the news in his weekly column that Sargent's Salon submission would be a portrait of "La Belle Gautreau." He said she "would be even more admired at the Salon." (21) There was a buzz around the painting before anyone ever saw it.

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On April 30, 1884, invited guests lined up at the Palais de l'Industrie for the vernissage, the exclusive preview of the Salon. Crowds raced to Salle 31, one of the last rooms at the exhibition, eager to see Gautreau's portrait. There was little else of note in the gallery--the customary portraits, landscapes, and religious paintings by artists whose hopes of fame would, in all likelihood, never be realized. Yet, even if there had been another extraordinary work on the wall, it might have gone unnoticed. Everyone who entered Salle 31 had a single purpose: to see "the Gautreau," as they called it.

The public's reaction was loud, quick, and definite: viewers loathed the portrait. "Detestable!" "Boring!" "Monstrous!" were just a few of their comments. (22) Immediately, the newspapers were filled with condemnations of Sargent and caricatures of his unfortunate sitter (see Figs. 7 and 8). The critic for Art Amateur expressed outright contempt for Sargent's skills as an artist: "This portrait is simply offensive in its insolent ugliness and defiance of every rule of art." (23) Some critics, Judith Gautier among them, found the painting provocative and even revolutionary. But the only success it achieved was as a succes de scandale. (24)

At this moment, Amelie switched her allegiance, abandoning her compatriot to side with the outraged and offended Parisians. She and her husband refused to buy the portrait, and her irate mother commanded Sargent to remove it from the Salon before her family members were forced to fight duels to defend her daughter's honor. Sargent refused to do so: it was against the rules to withdraw a painting from the Salon. But as soon as the exhibition closed, he reclaimed Madame X and installed it in his studio. There, he repainted the controversial fallen strap, an uncharacteristic gesture of self-doubt that surely represents the weakest artistic moment of his entire career.