Engraved in 1661 from Nanteuil’s own drawing from life
Few were Le Vayer’s equal either in wit or learning. His writings were exceedingly numerous. Regarded as the Plutarch of his century for his boundless erudition and his mode of reasoning. He died at the age of eighty-six, in 1672, having enjoyed good health to the last days of his life.
Size of the original engraving, 10¾ × 7½ inches
These portraits owe their size to the fact that they had been used as frontispieces for the works of those various personages, but the special care, the con amore finish with which they are executed, is due to the fact that the subjects were warm personal friends of the artist. The portrait of John Evelyn was made in the same way, although before the artist’s technique had reached its fullest development.
Before the year 1660 Nanteuil made, besides many portraits including those mentioned above and several of Mazarin, four very remarkable ones of a larger size. They are those of Cardinal de Coislin, the young Duc de Bouillon, Marie de Bragelogne, and the abbé Basile Fouquet. The prelate was a Jesuit who became chaplain of Versailles; the youth, as lord chamberlain of France, had the honor of handing the King his nightshirt, an honor which he forfeited forever when on two successive nights he forgot his gloves. The woman was an old love of Richelieu; the delicate modeling of her careworn face is worthy of Holbein’s best manner and is executed with a tact that baffles description. This plate reminds us of the fact that out of two hundred and sixteen portraits Nanteuil made only eight of women; of these only two were made from life,—that of Anne of Austria and the one mentioned above, but they are gems of purest ray serene which make us sigh when we think of what he could have done with Henrietta of England and Mesdames de Lavallière, de Montespan, and de Maintenon! As to the fourth portrait, it is that of the brother of the great Surintendant des Finances, Nicolas Fouquet; he was at that time the head spy of Mazarin as well as the chancellor of the orders of the King and the most accomplished rascal who ever fished in troubled waters.
These four engraved portraits are masterpieces of characterization, and exhibit in the most eloquent way the master’s powerful draughtsmanship, his utter lack of mannerisms, and the sympathetic way in which he varied his entire technical treatment to suit different subjects. Here is abundant proof that he was primarily a portrait-maker, that, in spite of the fact that he handled the burin with as much ease and sureness as his pencil and chalks, he never strove after effect and never allowed his skill to carry him away and mar the unity of his perfectly balanced composition. He is a psychologist who consistently strove to brand his model’s soul on his countenance. Of no other peintre-graveur can we say as much.
With the year 1660 came the royal marriage, and a twelvemonth later the death of the despotic Mazarin and the emancipation of the young King. Nanteuil’s fame by this time was thoroughly established, he was everywhere recognized as a past-master of his art and was in a position to refuse as many orders as he pleased. The leading men in the church, the parliament, and the bourgeoisie, which always followed the lead of the nobility, did not rest until they had the artist from Rheims engrave their portraits and strike off many hundred impressions, which were quickly enough distributed among their families and friends. Among them were the Maître d’Hôtel and the physician of the King, Guenault, the quack who looked after the health of the Queen, and Dreux d’Aubray, who became the first victim of his daughter, the famous murderess, the Marquise de Brinvilliers. The two great protectors of Nanteuil at this time were Michel Le Tellier and Nicolas Fouquet. Of the former, who was then war minister and who as chancellor of France died the day after signing the fatal Revocation of the Edict of Nantes, we have ten convincing portraits, as well as five of his son Charles Maurice who became the worldliest of archbishops, and one of his eldest son who became the dreaded war minister Louvois. These sixteen portraits of the Le Tellier family represent some of Nanteuil’s best work. The portrait of Fouquet is a great historical document, a piece of most subtle characterization done in the artist’s best manner, and it is interesting to note that it was made only a very short time before the sensational fall of that then most powerful man in the kingdom. Could we but know what thoughts ran through the head of the Lord of Vaux as he sat for his portrait with a quizzical smile! Nanteuil, by the way, has left us the record of the appearance of practically all the principal figures of that sensational trial which lasted three years and the outcome of which alone assured the complete independence of the King.
Nanteuil had now patrons influential enough to insure him a gracious welcome at court. His greatest ambition had been to paint the young King and he felt able to improve greatly on the efforts of both Mignard and Lebrun. With this end in view he addressed to the King a petition for a sitting in such eloquent verse that the request was readily granted. The first pastel portrait of the King seems to have made a small sensation at court; “Come and look at your husband in this portrait, madame,” said Anne of Austria to the young Queen; “he fairly speaks.” Still greater, however, was the King’s delight when he saw the engraved copy of the portrait which Nanteuil later presented to him. He rewarded with a gift of 4000 livres the artist whom he had already named court painter and engraver with a lodging at the Gobelins, and at whose bidding he had raised the status of engraving to a fine art.
There are in all eleven of these portraits of Louis XIV and they give us an excellent idea of the haughty appearance, the conceited expression of the demigod during the happiest period of his life. What care we for the old monarch who later was caricatured by the pomp of Rigaud’s painting and the satire of Thackeray? This is the young Alexander who has just seized the reins of government and set up the most brilliant court in history. In the earliest one he is twenty-six years old, madly in love with Mlle. de La Vallière, and building Versailles with feverish haste; at the last sitting he is thirty-eight and hopelessly under the sway of Madame de Montespan. Here he bears our gaze with a contemptuous air, the man who, “if he was not the greatest of kings, was the greatest actor of majesty who ever filled a throne.” These portraits were considered extraordinary in point of resemblance. The great Bernini himself, who had come from Italy to make a bust of the King, warmly congratulated the engraver on “the best portrait ever made of his Majesty,” and this before the leading personages of the court.
