There were two patrons for whom Fragonard was about to create a series of masterpieces in the decoration of their splendid and luxurious homes—works of Art which were to have strange adventures and histories. They were both women.
(In the Louvre)
Here we have one of the rare examples of Fragonard’s painting of a man’s portrait. It is in strange contrast to his more delicate handling of domestic subjects.
For the prodigal and eccentric dancer, the notorious Mademoiselle Guimard, he undertook the painting of a series of panels. The Guimard was the rage of Paris—she of the orgic suppers and the naughty dances with her comrade Vestris. Frago, who is said to have been more than a friend of the reckless one of the nimble feet, undertook the decoration of her house in the Chaussée d’Antin, known to the bloods as the Temple of Terpsichore. He painted for the same room a portrait of the frail beauty as an opera-shepherdess—the simple pastoral life was the pose of this unsimple age. He was engaged upon the business, off and on, for several years; and the many delays at last fretted the light one. Fragonard, anything but energetic, liked always to take his own time at his work. The Guimard got to pestering him—she had a sharp tongue—and at last, one fine day, upbraided him roundly, taunting him with a sneer that he would never get the work finished. Fragonard lost patience and temper, goaded by her ill-manners, her abuse, and her biting tongue. “It is finished,” said he; and walked out of the house. The Guimard could never get him back; but one day he slipped in alone, painted the set dancer’s-smile from the dancer’s mouth, and placed there instead a snarl upon her lips.
Before this breach between them Fragonard had painted several portraits of the Guimard.
However, the work for the lady was to have far-reaching results little dreamed of. For the completion of the room, Fragonard procured the commission for David, then twenty-five; and David never forgot the service rendered. He was to repay it tenfold when black days threatened; and with rare courage, when even the courage of gratitude was a deadly dangerous commodity.
However, this was not as yet; the sun shone in the skies; and all was gaiety and laughter still.
The “Chiffre d’Amour,” the picture of a pretty girl who cuts her lover’s monogram in the bark of a tree’s trunk, the shadowed tree and figure telling darkly against the glamorous half light beyond, was one of Fragonard’s happiest inspirations of these years, as any one may see who steps into the Wallace galleries. Here also may be seen to-day the exquisite “Fair-haired Boy.” The boldly painted “L’Heure de Berger” was wet upon the canvas about this year, though its boldness of handling foretells his later manner, whilst the spirit of Boucher is over all.