Chapter IV: Preface (3)

He has never come into his own, principally because he stood in such close proximity to more brilliant lights, and also because so many of his scattered paintings have become darkened with age. His work as the painter of Richelieu established such a popularity for the portrait as it had not known before and as it has not known since. To-day, when his name is mentioned, one shrugs his shoulders and says: “Oh, well, but what was he compared to Rubens, Van Dyck and Rembrandt?”, and then suddenly remembers that it was he who painted Richelieu and that the full length portrait which hangs in the Salon Carré of the Louvre and the triple study of the head which is in the National Gallery, London, will always rank with the masterpieces of portrait-painting.

Such was the artist to whom Jean Morin went for advice and for whom he developed such intense admiration and devotion. The Flemish painter must have readily seen how much the engraver’s temperament had in common with his own, and immediately understood that his faultless drawing and conscientious nature would make of him an admirable interpreter of his canvases. Certain it is that he lost no time in encouraging him to develop his technique, and that he cheerfully gave him his portraits to copy. The friendship which ensued continued until death, and Morin devoted his life to popularizing the portraits of Philippe de Champaigne, later becoming himself affiliated with the noble sect of Port Royalists.

* * * * *

The peculiar significance of Morin’s work, aside from the fact that it has been the principal means of perpetuating the work of a remarkable artist, is that it represents the first effort in the history of Engraved Portraiture to reproduce a painted portrait with all its refinement of drawing and variety of tones. No such trouble had previously been taken fully to represent all the color and chiaroscuro of a picture. In order to accomplish this the engraver had to develop a painter’s technique, and that was something very different from the precise and methodical line-work of the engravers who had preceded him. The etched work of Callot was mere line-work; Van Dyck supplemented this with some delicate modeling made with small dots; and Morin, developing this system to the last degree of refinement, bent all his energy to the absolutely faithful reproduction of the canvas in every detail of line and gradation of light. His technique is chiefly etching combined with burin work. As a rule, his faces are modeled entirely with etched dots, and he does this with such delicacy and refinement that in many cases they have the quality of a fine mezzotint. Only in a few of his plates does he use line-work to deepen his shadows, and this is done over the stippling. By means of this system he was able to express the greatest variety of tones, from the very light complexion of a blond Englishwoman to the dark skin and blue-black hair of a southern Frenchman. The hair he always etched with great care, with a line admirable alike for its precision and freedom; the frame alone seems to have been done with the burin. It is, however, in the treatment of the costume that Morin shows his independence of technical finish; he makes little pretense at securing realism in his expression of texture. Compared to the work of Nanteuil the surface of his armor and his moiré silk cassocks and rich lace collars often lack realism, while his backgrounds possess little of that soft gradation which enhances the beauty of so many later engravings.

The Marshal-in-Chief of the Armies of Louis XIII

After the painting by Philippe de Champaigne

Size of the original engraving, 11¹¹⁄₁₆ × 9⅜ inches]

The Papal Nuncio to the Court of Louis XIII

After the painting by Anthony Van Dyck

Size of the original engraving, 11½ × 9⅛ inches]

But it is this very freedom which makes his plates so original and gives them such especial charm. Besides, why should etching partake of the character of slow and precise burin work? Morin’s chief preoccupation is the rendering of the face and the preservation of all the character of the original; it is evident that he spares no pains to make his reproduction an absolutely faithful one. As to the rest of the picture, he does not consider it necessary to do more than recall the picturesque effect of the original’s ensemble, but if he treats it with freedom he is careful to make every line serve a definite purpose; he is never careless. It is to his great sympathy and conscientiousness that Morin owed his success as a reproductive engraver, and the fact that his plates had a great influence on his contemporaries. Before him no such delicate tones and deep velvety blacks had been seen, no engraver had been so consistently correct and expressive in his drawing; so much justice had never been done to a painter.

The art of Morin was so personal that the efforts of his pupils Alix, Plattemontagne and Boulanger to follow his technique remained unsuccessful; he was as inimitable in his brilliant effects of chiaroscuro as Mellan with his fiendishly clever but exaggerated simplicity of line.

Nevertheless, the lesson of thorough faithfulness he had given was not lost; the seed fell on fertile ground when Robert Nanteuil, at the outset of his career, studied Morin’s work closely enough to imitate his technique in such portraits as those of Pierre Dupuis, the royal librarian, and the poet Gilles Menage. The engraver from Rheims had doubtless profited by the example of his own master Regnesson, whose work had already shown Morin’s influence. Those clever little portraits as well as a few others done in that style show a marked advance on the previous ones, in which he had followed that of Mellan, and the delicate little dots with which their faces are modeled paved the way for that system of close, short strokes with which he eventually succeeded in imitating to perfection the peculiar texture of skin. Nanteuil was to inherit the best in all who had preceded him and to combine all previous systems into one which would carry the art of Engraved Portraiture to its greatest development; but it was Morin who gave him the most eloquent example and who pointed out to him the last remaining step to technical perfection.

HIS WORK

On looking through a complete collection of Morin’s portraits one is immediately impressed by the small number of plates which denote crude beginnings. As none of them is dated, it is next to impossible to arrange his works chronologically, all the more so as the engraver perfected his technique and found his manner very early in his career. We find only one portrait which is really unsatisfactory, that of _Louis XI_, copied possibly from an old miniature, and only two which show any hardness of tone, the portraits of _Augustin_ and _Christophe de Thou_; they are undoubtedly early works, the head of the dreaded hermit of Plessis-les-Tours being probably Morin’s first effort. Then we have that most Gallic of Frenchmen, _Henry IV_, a quaint head drawn with much character; _Marie de Médicis_, after Pourbus; and _Henry II_, after Clouet. These last two are most excellent plates, the first showing us that intriguing Italian princess shortly after her arrival from Florence, in all the glory of her wonderful complexion and golden hair; the second recalling the exquisite art of Clouet in the simplicity and delicacy of the treatment of the face and the superb detail of the costume.[1] We are then brought face to face with the great _Philip II_ of Spain, in one of Morin’s most serenely elegant plates after Titian, and the portraits of the two great saints of the time, _Saint François de Sales_ and _San Carlo Borromeo_. To the four portraits after Van Dyck we must give special attention, for they contain Morin’s masterpieces, the portrait of _N. Chrystin_, son of the Spanish plenipotentiary at the Peace of Vervins, and that of _Cardinal Bentivoglio_, the papal nuncio to the court of Louis XIII. Here we have Morin in his grand manner, transferring all the color of the original canvas to his copperplate and interpreting his models with a boldness, a softness, a clearness of purpose and a strength of sympathy wholly admirable. In awarding the palm, we hesitate between the deep tones, the velvety finish in the head of the somber Spaniard and the subtle modeling of the beautifully illumined, sensitive Italian face. Either of these portraits alone would have established Morin’s fame.

[1] Why such an authority as Robert-Dumesnil should have classed the portrait of Henry IV’s queen among the doubtful plates of Morin is a mystery. It is clearly the work of that master, and although an early plate, it is one of his brilliant ones.

The other two plates after Van Dyck represent women, _Margaret Lemon_, beloved of the painter, and the _Countess of Caernarvon_, a remarkable study in high lights, and one of Morin’s most delicate plates.

The remainder of the gallery consists of his interpretation of Philippe de Champaigne’s portraits, and the array of celebrities there represented is a notable one. What would we know of the features of that eccentric monarch, the melancholic _Louis XIII_, if we did not possess this striking etching of Morin? The father of “_le roi soleil_” is here posing, ill at ease, and probably wondering what Richelieu is going to make him do next. An unsatisfactory human being was he whose “principal merit was to have done what few mediocre characters ever do, bow down to the superiority of genius.” His queen, _Anne of Austria_, is here shown both in the quiet garb of a widow (a delightfully simple portrait) and in the more ceremonious court mourning, while his prime minister, _Richelieu_, is represented in a plate than which there is none more interesting among Morin’s works. A comparison between this impression of the great cardinal’s character and that recorded in the superb engraving by Nanteuil is a most interesting one. In the latter we see the steersman of the ship of state in all his grandeur of noble purpose and responsibility, and we feel the immense will-power with which, in constant danger of his life, he bore long with his enemies, and then, driven to action, “went far, very far and covered everything with his scarlet robe.” But in Morin’s interpretation of the canvas of de Champaigne we see quite another side of the great statesman. It is the Richelieu whom we perceive through some memoirs of the time (and not the least trustworthy ones), and in the literary history of the early seventeenth century. It is a man wholly lacking in a sense of humor, possessing plenty of vanity and constantly yearning for recognition as a literary light and a squire of dames.

Son of the Plenipotentiary of King Philip IV of Spain to the Peace of Vervins

After the painting by Anthony Van Dyck

Size of the original engraving, 11½ x 9¼ inches]

Printer to the King and the Clergy

After the painting by Philippe de Champaigne

Size of the original engraving, 12¼ x 8⅜ inches]

Quite a different portrait is that of his nephew, _Vignerod_, shown here in three-quarter figure as the Abbé de Richelieu, a most attractive plate, and one of the only two portraits of Morin’s in which the model is shown otherwise than in the usual bust form. The other one is that of _Vitré_, a famous printer of the time; it is one of the lowest-toned engraved portraits extant, and in its velvety blackness it is a most striking production. A fine impression of it will turn one’s thoughts to Rembrandt and show the full extent of Morin’s originality.

The list contains many famous personages: _Mazarin_; _Michel Le Tellier_; _Charles de Valois, duc d’Angoulême_, son of Charles IX and the beautiful Marie Touchet; the _Maréchal d’Harcourt_, the “_Cadet à la perle_” of the more famous portrait by Masson and the valorous head of the armies of Louis XIII; the charming _Comtesse de Bossu_ and her secretly married second husband the _Duc de Guise_; the _Maréchal de Villeroy_, preceptor of Louis XIV; _Potier de Gesvres_, also a warrior; and the _Chancellor Marillac_, whose brother was executed by Richelieu and who himself became the cardinal’s victim, though in a less tragic way. All these plates are an admirable interpretation of their models, and show an absolute lack of mannerism. With their brilliant contrasts of light and shade and the uncommon amount of texture due to the freedom of the line-work and the rich color of the ink employed, they have a richness of tone and a decorative effect shared by few of the portraits made later in the century. Some of them are engraved in a rather high key and show a simply modeled head against a light background, as in the case of _Brachet de la Milletière_, the savant who was first an intolerant Calvinist and then became a militant Roman Catholic. In other portraits like that of _Maugis_, the _maître-d’hôtel_ of the king, the artist seems to have reveled in the deepest tones of his inky palette, and he renders the olive skin and the raven hair of this strong-featured individual with a most striking intensity.

Splendid likenesses of prominent ecclesiastical dignitaries are to be found among the portraits which complete this interesting gallery, but one there is which we must pause to contemplate, and it is the faithfully reproduced portrait of that extraordinary human being, J. Paul de Gondi, better known as the _Cardinal de Retz_. In a masterpiece of draughtsmanship, Morin duplicates the art of de Champaigne in expressing all the cleverness and daring, the ambition and the sense of humor, of this born gambler, whose genius for intrigue was at the bottom of the war of the Fronde. One can see him, with his yellow, oily face, unkempt and unshaven, limping through the narrow streets of Paris, distributing largesses among a populace which, the following hour, he would betray to the nobles, and then again champion.

As a pendant we have the brilliantly executed head of _Omer Talon, avocat-général du Parlement_, the greatest pillar of French jurisprudence and a great man in his day; it is a plate which Rembrandt would have deigned to look at more than once.

This personage is better known by his later title of Cardinal de Retz

After the painting by Philippe de Champaigne

Size of the original engraving, 11½ × 9⅛ inches]

Advocate-General of the Parliament of Paris

After the painting by Philippe de Champaigne

Size of the original engraving, 12¼ × 9⅛ inches]

Finally the famous Port Royal is here represented in the persons of _Jansenius, Bishop of Ypres_, who raised such a storm in church circles of that time; _Arnauld d’Andilly_, the head of the great family of that name and the protector of Port Royal; and _Jean Du Verger de Houranne, abbé de Saint-Cyran_, its confessor, a man worthy of the first centuries of Christianity. They were famous men in their day, and their names were on everybody’s lips; their story spells the most serious chapter of the history of their age, and still they are all but forgotten in comparison with the great personages of the court, and even their painted portraits are relegated to obscurity.

In these masterly prints of Morin, however, they appear to us just as they looked in their day, with much of their strength and weakness, their aspirations and their secret ambitions. So much animation is there in their faces that it is no hard matter to feel like the old monk in the Spanish monastery who, left alone of all his brothers, said, as he looked on the new pictures by Velasquez, “I sometimes think _we_ are the shadows.”

ROBERT NANTEUIL

1630-1678

BY LOUIS R. METCALFE

It is a curious fact that in these days of exhaustive research in everything which concerns the fine arts, Robert Nanteuil, the portrait-engraver of Louis XIV, has remained until so recently both illustrious and unknown. To be sure, his name has been mentioned in all the histories of art, and in the text-books of engraving he is dwelt upon at some length and given a prominent place among the engravers of his time; but he was never found worthy of any especial study, of the least little _brochure_. His name has been familiar only to the connoisseurs and the print-collectors; to them it has always been synonymous with the greatest excellence attained by the lost art of line-engraving.

This silence was broken finally in the artist’s own birthplace. In 1884 Mr. Charles Loriquet, curator of the library of the city of Rheims, who had just completed a collection of Nanteuil’s portraits for the city museum, addressed the Academy at one of its public sittings and eloquently pleaded with the authorities to erect a monument to him whom he considered second only to the great Colbert as the most illustrious son of Rheims. His description of the artist and his work created such enthusiasm that he was later induced to publish it, together with some interesting documents concerning Nanteuil. The unique little book found its way into many libraries, private as well as public, and has ever since been unfindable.

Many new books on engraving have appeared since that day which have devoted as much as two or three pages to this brilliant artist without, however, giving his work more than a superficial criticism. It was not until Mr. T. H. Thomas published his recent work “French Portrait Engravers of the Seventeenth and Eighteenth Centuries” that the artist received proper recognition. Nanteuil is here frankly recognized as one of the most admirable figures in the history of art, and proclaimed not only prince of portrait-engravers but also a great artist among the portrait-makers of all times. The thirty pages which are devoted to him constitute the most brilliant and thorough criticism that has ever been made of a line-engraver,--they are a splendid analysis of the artist’s technique, his development, his influence on his contemporaries, and the exalted position which he occupied among them. Without doubt many readers of that interesting work will wonder why they never had before heard of such an important artist.

It was only four years ago that I for one made his acquaintance. While I was looking through a large collection of old engraved portraits, one head in particular arrested my attention; it was drawn with such rare precision, modeled with such _maestria_, it had such expressive eyes and mouth, that it made all the other portraits seem flat and lifeless. My admiration turned into wonderment when I saw by the signature that the artist had drawn it from life as well as engraved it. I had known the work of only those showy engravers who, in the time of Louis XV, were content to copy the work of the leading painters of the day and improve on it if they could. There was no _traduttore traditore_ about this expressive portrait; here was something of a very different order. The artist was a real portrait-maker, a student of character, a worthy comrade of Holbein, a draughtsman whose ambition it was first to represent the subject as he really looked, then to make as fine an engraved plate as possible.

The text-books on engraving which fell into my hands informed me of the rank he had occupied in that famous school of engraving established by Louis XIV and of the great number of prominent people he had drawn from life. That was enough to whet my curiosity to the limit, for my interest in physiognomy had become a passion, and whenever I had found in the galleries of Europe a convincing portrait of a well-known historical personage, my delight had been keen. Holbeins, Van Dycks, Mierevelts and Quentin de Latours had been for years the objects of my enthusiasm; they were living documents, revelations of personalities such as few memoirs provided. When the catalogue of Robert-Dumesnil, the only complete list of Nanteuil’s portraits, had informed me that Nanteuil’s models had been in great part the men who had given so much greatness to the reign of the most splendid of modern potentates, I felt that the collection must constitute an historical document of no mean interest, if the likenesses of those celebrities were as convincing as that of the obscure _Louis Hesselin, Président de la Chambre des Deniers_, which I now owned.

But it was not until I had pored over the contents of six huge volumes containing his complete works, at the Cabinet des Estampes of the Bibliothèque Nationale, that I realized what a unique achievement had been that of the engraver from Rheims. He had made, it seems, a multitude of drawings from life of his contemporaries, in pencil, silverpoint, crayons, and pastels, from the King himself down to the humblest curé of his parish, and had then engraved many of them on copper, securing thereby so many impressions that although almost all of his original drawings have disappeared, his work has been perpetuated for all times. (Whoever has said that a multitude of sheets of paper scattered among the museums of the world constituted a monument more enduring than the pyramids, must have been a collector, for he realized with how much jealousy a treasure can be guarded.) Throughout all this work Nanteuil exhibited such power as a draughtsman that his portraits won international fame for their resemblance, and moreover he engraved with such perfection that his work and the influence he exerted over the great school formed by Louis XIV mark the Golden Age of Line-engraving.

It is therefore in a dual capacity that Nanteuil must be admired, and this point has not been sufficiently emphasized by his critics. He is an inspiring example of a man who has set out to do only one thing (for he never attempted anything but heads)--but has learned to do it so well that he rises far above his rivals and has made his name a synonym for supreme excellence. To carry the engraved portrait to its greatest possible perfection had been his ambition, and he succeeded in this, for it is not possible to imagine the burin producing more decided color, greater fullness of tone, and finer finish than can be found in a great many portraits by Nanteuil. It can be said that he used the sharp metal point with the same freedom as a great painter uses a brush; his technique was so elastic and susceptible of modification that he was enabled to test to the fullest extent the possibilities of his medium and to determine its limitations.

When one is lucky enough to have the wonderful collections of the Cabinet des Estampes at his disposal, the next thing to do after having seen the works of Nanteuil is to examine those of his contemporaries. It becomes perfectly clear which artists have influenced him, and to what extent; it will also be evident at a glance that he influenced all the rest. This study, however superficial, will take several days, for the number of _peintre-graveurs_ encouraged by Louis XIV through the indefatigable Colbert was great, and their work was enormous. Edelinck, who until recently has been better known than Nanteuil, was extremely prolific, and Pitau, the Poillys, Masson, Lombart, and Van Schuppen, to say nothing of Mellan and Morin among many others, produced a great many portraits. What a collection! What a complete iconography of _le grand siècle_! Here is everybody who was at all prominent in the most civilized country of the time. Is it possible not to develop a love of portraiture, a strong interest in engraving and a desire to collect engraved portraits, of all pictures the most convenient, the most possible to acquire and keep in large numbers?

I am reminded of John Evelyn and Samuel Pepys as well as of the abbé Michel de Marolles, who were the first great or systematic collectors of engraved portraits, the Frenchman owning twenty thousand prints and all the portraits extant. Evelyn wrote to Pepys advising him to collect them, for, as he said, “some are so well done to the life that they may stand in competition with the best paintings.” He then adds: “This were a cheaper and so much a more useful curiosity as they seldom are without their names, ages and eulogies of the persons whose portraits they represent. I say you will be exceedingly pleased to contemplate the effigies of those who have made such a noise and bustle in the world, either by their madness and folly, or a more conspicuous figure by their wit and learning. They will greatly refresh you in your study and by your fireside when you are many years returned.” We later see him write in his “Diary” that he had “sat to the great Nanteuil who had been knighted by the king for his art” and had considered himself “unworthy of being included in that gallery of models whom Nanteuil’s art has made famous.” We know by his own “Diary” that Pepys became an enthusiastic collector and that he went over to Paris to buy many prints by the great engraver, at a later date commissioning his wife to secure for him many more which he strongly desired.

Portrait-painting had at that time become a mania, and there was no one of any prominence who did not wish to leave to posterity a record of his physical appearance. Richelieu in a single order had called for an entire gallery full of portraits of celebrities. The French _peintre-graveurs_ proved how effectively color could be translated into black and white, and by revealing the true relation of engraving to painting shared the fame of their contemporaries in the other arts.

It is not possible for the lover of prints to glance at this interminable gallery and not be amazed at the number of portraits which show much originality in their treatment and infinite skill in their execution, but I defy the admirer of truth in art not to be impressed by the small number of those by other engravers which are distinguished by both simplicity and conviction. The heads of Mellan, which were drawn with as few lines as possible, remain absurdly unique, and the etched portraits of Morin, who was a faithful translator of Philippe de Champaigne, are too personal for comparison. But the mass of the _peintre-graveurs_ give constant proofs of having been influenced by Nanteuil’s method, and in the case of Van Schuppen there is a very close following indeed in the master’s footsteps. He is supposed to have been his favorite pupil.

Nevertheless, Edelinck, brilliant colorist as he was and a wonderfully clever artist with his burin, refused to do any original work and too frequently attempted to add vigor and brilliancy to the portraits he copied. In modeling his faces he, in the opinion of Nanteuil himself, broke his lines unnecessarily. The work of Masson lacks quiet and balance, when his faces are not out of drawing, while that of the rest of the school displays that great vitality and style which made it a model for all the artists of the following century, without, however, combining these qualities with the solidity, consummate science, and restraint which characterize almost all Nanteuil’s portraits.

Engraved in 1666 from Nanteuil’s own drawing from life

Louis XIV was twenty-eight years of age when this portrait was engraved

“In appearance Louis, though admirably proportioned, was slightly below the middle height. His eyes were blue, his nose long and well formed. His hair, which was remarkable for its abundance, was allowed to fall over his shoulders. With his handsome features and his serious--perhaps phlegmatic--expression he seemed admirably fitted to play the part of a monarch.” Arthur Hassall. _Louis XIV._

Size of the original engraving, 19¾ × 16¾ inches]

Engraved in 1666 from Nanteuil’s own design from life

Anne of Austria was the daughter of Philip III of Spain, wife of Louis XIII of France and mother of Louis XIV. She was Regent from 1643 to 1661.

Size of the original engraving, 19¾ × 16¾ inches]

Nothing more admirable has been done in the realm of engraving than these quiet prints in which there is no affectation, no parade of technical brilliance, and it is a question whether anything more sincere has been accomplished in the history of portraiture. The portraits of Nanteuil take their place with perfect dignity alongside of the subtle crayon portraits of the courtiers of Henry VIII at Windsor Castle, and the exquisite drawings of the courtiers of Francis I and Henry II, which alone would make Chantilly worthy of a pilgrimage. Nanteuil’s drawing is perfect and his massing of tones masterly; his expression of texture has both realism and breadth, and his indication of skin by means of a system of very close and delicate short strokes is an admirable solution of a problem which had been the despair of the entire school.

The most superficial study of his modeling of that side of the face which is in full light, for instance, will reveal the supreme delicacy, the never-failing tact, with which he carries out this most difficult part of the work. His burin is as light as a feather, there is not a line too many, and he knows the exact value of each and every tone. It is interesting to note that, according to one of his pupils, he had made a careful study of the chiaroscuro of Leonardo, a master for whom he had an especial admiration.

The great simplicity of his composition allowed him to concentrate all the resources of his art on the expression of character in the head. With an understanding of character which was the most sympathetic of his day, he strove to represent his model with all the outward calm of nature which was possible in an age when form reigned supreme and every one was _en parade_. To secure this touch of life Nanteuil, at the last sitting, would do everything in his power to bring out in his sitter’s face that look of amused attention which is so characteristic of his portraits, with the result that, as a brilliant critic has recently remarked, “instead of one vivid impression his portrait is the sum of many impressions, a balanced conclusion rather than a single piece of evidence.” It is this which makes his work so interesting as a historical document. Here we see in the truest light the divine monarch, the arrogant noble, the worldly prelate, the serious man-of-letters, and the humble commoner who fill all the French memoirs of the seventeenth century.

It is indeed high time that the artist who has been called “the Louis XIV of engraving” came into his own again, or that he at least be accorded some of the immense popularity which he enjoyed during the palmy days of the _grand siècle_. For two centuries he has lain in an obscurity which it is not easy to understand, in spite of the fact that his style of portraiture went out of fashion long before the great monarch died. It remained extremely unpopular throughout the eighteenth century, for what could those austere bust portraits against a plain dark background, in the simplest of settings, have in common with the decorative compositions of the days of Louis XV, in which velvet and embroideries, ermine and rich lace, inlaid armor, canopies and complicated furniture, played such an important part? In comparison with these decorative panels they seem cold and uninteresting, but on the other hand they alone represent real portraiture; they reflect the earnestness of Port-Royal.

Engraved in 1656 from Nanteuil’s own drawing from life

This is one of the most interesting of the many portraits of the great minister engraved by Nanteuil.

Size of the original engraving, 13½ × 10½ inches]

Engraved in 1650 from Nanteuil’s own drawing from life

“This man was the son of the Duc d’Epernon, who was seated in the carriage with Henry IV at the time when the king was assassinated. The Duc was suspected of complicity in the plot, but this never was proved. Both the elder and the younger Espernon were extremely haughty and arrogant men. Their possessions in Guienne were of an almost royal character and they governed them practically independent of the royal authority. Both were associated with the reactionary party.”

J. B. Perkins, _France under Richelieu and Mazarin_.

Size of the original engraving, 12⅝ × 10 inches]

There cannot have been a time when they were not admired by those who possessed true artistic perception, but there is no indication that any special value was attached to them or that they were collected. Suffice it to say that at the Mariette sale, in 1775, the complete works of Nanteuil, two hundred and eighty proofs of two hundred and sixteen plates in choice impressions, realized only a trifle over one hundred dollars. More than five times that sum has recently been paid for one single print. In 1825, at a famous auction, record prices of twelve dollars and nine dollars were paid respectively for the portraits of _Pompone de Bellièvre_ and _Richelieu_. Half a century later their value was not much greater, and general interest in them remained dormant until four years ago when the collecting world suddenly realized their artistic worth, and made a raid on the leading markets of Europe.

It is said that Nanteuil kept a journal; if so, we must greatly deplore the fact that it has not been preserved to us, for we would have been treated to a delightful account of the habits of painters in that time and to many anecdotes connected with their sittings. Who shall ever know the number of Nanteuil’s sitters? His studio was found full of pastel portraits many of which had never been engraved, and his pencil and pen sketches seem to have been innumerable. In spite of his reputation of _bon vivant_ and his popularity with both the _bourgeoisie_ and the nobility, allusions to Nanteuil in the memoirs of the day are fragmentary and we know little about the man. We are told, however, that he was born in Rheims about 1630 and that he drew so persistently during his school years that his studies were sadly neglected. It was only through the excellence of the frontispiece which he engraved for his thesis that he succeeded in securing his degree. The conscientious engraver Regnesson taught him all he knew, gave him his sister in marriage, and sent him to Paris, not to complete his apprenticeship, for Nanteuil was already more famous than his master, but in order to place him under the influence of the court painters.

In the great city his wit and conviviality won him many friends and his talent for securing an excellent likeness secured him instant fame. It is said that he received his first order by following some divinity students to a wine-shop where they were wont to take their meals. There, having chosen one of the portraits he had brought from Rheims, he pretended to look for a sitter whose name and address he had forgotten. It is superfluous to add that the picture was not recognized, but it was passed from hand to hand, the price was asked, the artist was modest in his demands, and before the end of the repast his career had begun. He made so many portraits in a week that he was advised by a famous connoisseur to limit his production to four. At night he copied them in pen-and-ink for the sake of familiarizing himself with that burin work which later was to astonish Europe.

During many months he catered to the growing demand for the portrait, with drawings in the style of those of the Clouets and the Dumonstiers. One has but to realize in what favor all portrait-makers were in those days in order to understand how this peculiarly gifted artist sprang into such sudden popularity. The dignity of French portrait-painting was being upheld by the noble Philippe de Champaigne, under whose influence the painters of the time produced a great number of portraits which, if not technically brilliant, were presented with that serious dignity which was characteristic of the early seventeenth century and were drawn with admirable sincerity and correctness. To him Nanteuil went for advice and encouragement, and soon after presented the engraved copy of the painter’s latest portrait; it met with so much success that it can be said to have started the tremendous vogue of the engraved portrait and the formation of the great school which Colbert installed at the Gobelins.

Meanwhile the artist, already a perfect draughtsman and very proficient with pastels, had carefully studied the technique of all the leading engravers, and as soon as he had evolved a system of his own bent all his efforts on revolutionizing the art. Nanteuil made a picturesque début during that incredible opera-bouffe, the War of the Fronde. He was draughted into military service, but although frequently active with a blunderbuss and wearing a false beard in imitation of the dreaded Swiss mercenaries, he succeeded in making a portrait of all the heroes of the day. For him sat _Condé_ and the _Duc d’Epernon_, the last representative of feudalism in France; the _Ducs de Bouillon_, _de Mercœur_, _de Nemours_, and _de Beaufort_, who met in taverns to appoint the generals of an army which did not exist; the Archbishop of Paris, _de Retz_, who appeared in Parliament armed like a pirate; that fat poet and peasant _Loret_, who sold on street corners his “Muse Historique,” a daily satire on the intriguing nobles “who were not afraid of bullets but who were in deadly fear of winter mud,” and lastly the indomitable prime minister, _Cardinal Mazarin_, whom the populace twice drove from Paris and then so madly welcomed back that many were trampled to death in the riot. Of that wily Italian he engraved as many as fourteen portraits.

During the few years which followed the civil war he made his most interesting portraits.

It was then that he assiduously frequented the literary salons of the capital where, a poetaster of some renown, he was ever welcome and made that beautiful pastel portrait of _Madame de Sévigné_ which has been preserved to us, and another of _Mlle. de Scudéry_, who thanked him as follows:

Nanteuil en faisant mon image
A de son art divin signalé le pouvoir,
Je hais mes traits dans mon miroir,
Je les aime dans son ouvrage.

At this time he engraved the set of small-size portraits which represents the high-water mark of his talent. Can one possibly imagine anything more exquisitely choice than his heads of _Maridat_ the philosopher and _Hugues de Lionne_ the secretary for foreign affairs? With equal excellence he made the portraits of _Chapelain_, one of the founders of the French Academy, who reported himself to the King as a greater poet than Corneille, _Scudéry_, who signed the popular novels written by his sister, the witty _Marquis de St. Brisson_, the poets _Loret_ and _Sarrazin_, the genial _Abbé de Marolles_, savant and print-collector, the learned octogenarian _Le Vayer_, and the ex-preceptor of the King, the archbishop of Paris, _Péréfixe de Beaumont_.

Engraved in 1668 from Nanteuil’s own drawing from life

Loret is chiefly remembered for his _Gazette_, written in _vers libres_, which he began to issue in 1650, and continued until his death in 1666.

Size of the original engraving, 10⅛ × 7⅛ inches]

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.

Engraved in 1661 from Nanteuil’s own design from life

“Of the three ministers to whom Louis had openly given his confidence, Lionne, Le Tellier, and Fouquet, the last named was the only one who possessed the qualities necessary for a prime minister.

“‘It was generally believed,’ says Madame de La Fayette, ‘that the Superintendent would be called upon to take the Government into his hands.’ There is no doubt whatever that Fouquet himself expected eventually to succeed Mazarin.” Arthur Hassall, _Louis XIV_.

Size of the original engraving, 13 × 10 inches]

Engraved in 1658 from Nanteuil’s own drawing from life

Basile Fouquet, Abbé de Barbeaux and Rigny, Chancelier des Ordres du Roi, was the brother of Nicolas Fouquet, the famous Superintendent of Finance.

Size of the original engraving, 12¾ × 9¾ inches]

An unusual feature of these royal portraits is that seven of them are life-size, a feat which had not been previously attempted.

It had become the fashion to hang these portraits in rich frames at the top of the high wainscots used in those days, and the very large size adopted by Nanteuil made of them decorative panels which held their own even in a roomful of paintings. Many of the nobles must have owned complete sets. They met with such favor that during the last four years of his life the artist engraved entirely in that size, about twenty-two inches by thirty, and had started a gallery of all the great men of France; he had actually produced as many as thirty-six before he died in 1678. The list includes the portraits of the Queen Mother _Anne of Austria_, decked out in all her finery a few weeks before she died, that of the young _Dauphin_, the effeminate brother of the King the _Duc d’Orléans_, _Colbert_, _Turenne_, _Louvois_, _Bossuet_, the _Duc de Chaulnes_, and several other celebrities. They are admirable plates in which he secured broad masses and simple effects by means of the same system he used in his small portraits. In spite of the very large surface and what seems like a million lines there is no confusion, not a flaw in the unity of his composition. They had formed the special admiration of the last Medici Duke of Tuscany when, on a visit to France, he had insisted on meeting Nanteuil. From him he purchased for the Uffizi Gallery in Florence the portrait of the painter himself and those of the King and Turenne. He moreover obliged him to accept a pupil _dans l’intimité_, a thing which Nanteuil had never done for he always locked himself up when he engraved his plates. It was that Domenico Tempesti who has left us such an interesting record of the habits of the engraver and the ideas he held on the subject of portraiture. It is from him that we know that the master made all those delightful pastel portraits in three sittings of exactly two hours each. Would that we knew how long it took him to engrave them! we can only form a vague idea of this from the fact that in his most prolific year he made fifteen engraved portraits. Robert-Dumesnil limits to ten the portraits engraved entirely by Nanteuil; the selection he makes is judicious, but the number was certainly far greater. Of course the purely mechanical draughting of the frame and the filling of the background was the work of assistants, and it is more than probable that in many of the less important plates and in the life-size portraits, on account of the great surface to be covered, the costume was engraved by such pupils as Pitau and Van Schuppen, for instance, as their cleverness for such work almost equaled their master’s. But in all the small portraits and those of _Turenne_ and the _Ducs de Bouillon_, for instance, we recognize everywhere the vigorous yet tactful touch of Nanteuil himself.

Engraved in 1655 from Nanteuil’s own drawing from life

Jean Chapelain, born at Paris, December 4, 1595, died February 22, 1674. His mediocre poem “La Pucelle” brought him much more renown than the “Iliad” brought to Homer. It was Chapelain who corrected the first poems of Racine.

Size of the original engraving, 10⅝ × 7½ inches]

Engraved in 1657 (when Nanteuil was twenty-seven years of age) after the painting by Charles Lebrun. By many authorities it has been described as the most beautiful of all engraved portraits.

Size of the original engraving, 12¾ × 9¾ inches]

Reproductive work was for Nanteuil an exception. The plates which he engraved from the paintings of other artists number thirty-eight; to each of them he affixed the name of the painter with a fairness which Edelinck, for one, seldom exhibited. It is natural that these plates should show little of that inspiration and originality which were distinctive of a born character student like the artist from Rheims, but the majority are supremely interesting and the finest are masterpieces. It is evident that in the earliest ones, notably in the head of _Chavigny_, reputed a son of Richelieu, he was experimenting with technique and that several others which were used as frontispieces were merely potboilers. Even the portrait of Queen _Christina of Sweden_ and the much overrated one of the Dutch lawyer _van Steenberghen_ are nothing more than interesting studies of simple linework and softness of tone. In those of the two little sons of the Duchesse de Longueville, the _Comte de Dunois_ and the _Comte de Saint Paul_, we see how easy it was for Nanteuil’s technique to express the soft outline and the tender complexion of youth with a charming effect.

After Lebrun he engraved with an admirable chiaroscuro the head of the Chancellor _Seguier_, and that well-known portrait of _Pompone de Bellièvre_, statesman and philanthropist, which, if lacking in vigor, represents the highest point reached by the intelligent refinement of linework. But it is only with the sober and precise work of his master Philippe de Champaigne that Nanteuil had a positive affinity. The two artists held identical views about portraiture and the Flemish painter found in the engraver from Rheims an interpreter who fairly breathed in unison with him. It is not possible to imagine anything more admirable than the engraved portraits of _de Neufville_, bishop of Chartres, _Richelieu_, and Marshal _Turenne_. They undoubtedly represent the last word on the subject of line-engraving. The face of the Cardinal is treated with all the subtlety of Velasquez and the head of the greatest captain of his time is modeled with a strength of coloring which Rembrandt himself would have admired. This plate shows in the clearest way Nanteuil’s ability to represent different textures: the hair, skin, lace, silk, and steel armor are treated with precision which is wholly satisfying and a breadth which commands the highest admiration.