Scarlet Desire

The canvas brings together two male figures of distinct origins: on the left, a soldier, nearly naked beneath a red cloak; on the right, a refined young aristocrat holding a tricorne. The chiaroscuro, the vigor of the modeling, and the psychological tension of their gazes and gestures inscribe the work within the Goyaesque universe. 

What could possibly unite these two men in this moment of troubling closeness?

Among the details of the composition, one element commands attention: a three-cornered hat, of military or naval use. The aristocrat already wears a broad-brimmed hat; this tricorne can therefore only belong to the soldier. Its presence in the other man’s hand suggests a gesture of promiscuity—as if one had seized upon an element of his companion’s attire, a gesture that here becomes the index of a shared surrender. From that moment on, the object changes its function: from a military emblem, it becomes the manifest sign of an amorous exchange, materializing the passage from authority to abandonment, from the public role to the sphere of desire.

Sensuality pervades the painting through the partial nudity of the soldier. His powerful torso, exposed to the light, reveals taut muscles and a heaving chest; the belly is freed by the braies (a piece of cloth serving as undergarment or girdle, covering the hips and hanging low). The red cloak—color of blood and of carnal love—slips from his shoulder and dramatizes the scene. His hand resting on the hilt of the sword asserts his martial condition while adding an overt phallic charge.

In contrast, the aristocrat, from another social rank, distinguishes himself through the elegance of his open shirt and embroidered waistcoat. Yet it is above all his face, tilted toward the viewer, that draws attention: his eyes glisten with an ironic, sensual spark, casting a knowing glance, like an invitation to share the secret of the moment.

The whole is bathed in a contained seduction: the tricorne removed, the sword grasped, the fabrics slipping, the garments ajar—all signal a desire ready to be consummated.

The work has sometimes been read as a meditation on two forms of honor—martial and aristocratic—but everything, in the soldier’s unveiled torso, the bold opening of the aristocrat’s shirt, the nearness of their bodies, and the silence laden with glances, suggests rather that it was an act of shared love, caught in the suspended moment of a silent complicity.