And after describing this head, the learned connoisseur proceeds:—
“There is an air of refinement (Vornehmheit) round the mouth and nose as in no other engraving. Color and life shine through the skin, and the lips appear red.”
It is bold, perhaps, thus to exalt a single portrait, giving to it the palm of Venus; nor do I know that it is entirely proper to classify portraits according to beauty. In disputing about beauty, we are too often lost in the variety of individual tastes; and yet each person knows when he is touched. In proportion as multitudes are touched, there must be merit. As in music a simple heart-melody is often more effective than any triumph over difficulties or bravura of manner, so in engraving, the sense of the beautiful may prevail over all else; and this is the case with the Pomponne, although there are portraits by others showing higher art.
No doubt there have been as handsome men, whose portraits were engraved, but not so well. I know not if Pomponne was what would be called a handsome man, although his air is noble and his countenance bright; but among portraits more boldly, delicately, or elaborately engraved, there are very few to contest the palm of beauty.[158]
And who is this handsome man to whom the engraver has given a lease of fame? Son, nephew, and grandson of high dignitaries in Church and State,—with two grandfathers Chancellors of France, two uncles Archbishops, his father President of the Parliament of Paris and Councillor of State,—himself at the head of the magistracy of France, First President of Parliament, according to an inscription on the engraving, Senatus Galliarum Princeps, Ambassador to Italy, Holland, and England, charged in the last-named country by Cardinal Mazarin with the impossible duty of making peace between the Long Parliament and Charles the First, and at his death great benefactor of the General Hospital of Paris, bestowing upon it riches and the very bed on which he died. Such is the simple catalogue; and yet it is all forgotten.
A Funeral Panegyric pronounced at his death, now before me in the original pamphlet of the time,[159] testifies to more than family or office. In himself he was much, and not of those who, according to the saying of Saint Bernard, “give out smoke rather than light.”[160] “Pure glory and innocent riches”[161] were his; and he was the more precious in the sight of all good men, that he showed himself incorruptible, and not to be bought at any price. It were easy for him to have turned a deluge of wealth into his house; but he knew that gifts insensibly entangle,—that the specious pretext of gratitude is the snare in which the greatest souls allow themselves to be caught,—that a man covered with favors has difficulty in setting himself against injustice in all its forms,—and that a magistrate divided between a sense of obligations received and the care of the public interest, which he ought always to promote, is a paralytic magistrate, a magistrate deprived of a moiety of himself. So spoke the preacher, while he portrayed a charity tender and effective for the wretched, a vehemence just and inflexible toward the dishonest and wicked, and a sweetness noble and beneficent for all; dwelling also on his countenance, which had nothing of that severe and sour austerity that renders justice to the good only as if with regret, and to the guilty only in anger; then on his pleasant and gracious address, his intellectual and charming conversation, his ready and judicious replies, his agreeable and intelligible silence,—even his refusals being well received and obliging,—while, amidst all the pomp and splendor accompanying him, there shone in his eyes a certain air of sweetness and majesty, which secured for him, and for justice itself, love as well as respect. His benefactions were constant. Not content with merely giving, he gave with a beautiful manner, still more rare. He could not abide beauty of intelligence without goodness of soul; and he preferred always the poor, having for them not only compassion, but a sort of reverence. He knew that the way to take the poison from riches was to let the poor taste of them. The sentiment of Christian charity for the poor, who were to him in the place of children, was his last thought,—as witness especially the General Hospital endowed by him, and represented by the preacher as the greatest and most illustrious work ever undertaken by charity the most heroic.
Thus lived and died the splendid Pomponne de Bellièvre, with no other children than his works. Celebrated at the time by a Funeral Panegyric now forgotten, and placed among the Illustrious Men of France in a work remembered only for its engraved portraits,[162] his famous life shrinks in the voluminous “Biographic Universelle” of Michaud to the sixth part of a single page, and in the later “Biographic Générale” of Didot disappears entirely. History forgets to mention him. But the lofty magistrate, ambassador, and benefactor, founder of a great hospital, cannot be entirely lost from sight so long as his portrait by Nanteuil holds a place in Art.
Younger than Nanteuil by ten years, Gerard Edelinck excelled him in genuine mastery. Born at Antwerp, he became French by adoption, occupying apartments in the Gobelins, and enjoying a pension from Louis the Fourteenth. Longhi says that he is “the engraver whose works, not only in my opinion, but in that of the best judges, deserve the first place among exemplars of the art”; and he attributes to him, “in a high degree, design, chiaroscuro, aërial perspective, local tints, softness, lightness, variety, in short everything which can form the most exact representation of the true and beautiful without the aid of color.” Others may have surpassed him in particular things, but, according to the Italian teacher, “he still remains by common consent the prince of engraving.”[163] Another critic calls him “king.”
It requires no remarkable knowledge to recognize his great merits. Evidently he is a master, exercising sway with absolute art, and without attempt to bribe the eye by special effects of light, as on metal or satin. Among his conspicuous productions is The Tent of Darius, a large engraving on two sheets, after Le Brun, where the family of the Persian monarch prostrate themselves before Alexander, who approaches with Hephæstion. There is also a Holy Family, after Raphael, and The Battle of the Standard, after Leonardo da Vinci. But these are less interesting than his numerous portraits, among which that of Philippe de Champagne is the chief masterpiece; and there are others of signal merit, including especially Madame Helyot, or La belle Religieuse, a beautiful French coquette praying before a crucifix; Martin van den Bogaert (Des Jardins,) the sculptor; Frédéric Léonard, Printer to the King; Mouton, the Lute-Player; Nathanael Dilgerus, with a venerable beard white with age; Jules Hardouin Mansart, the architect; also a portrait of Pomponne de Bellièvre, which will be found among the prints of Perrault’s “Illustrious Men.”