Portrait of Louis XIV (1638-1715), full-length, in coronation robes

This majestic Portrait of Louis XIV in Coronation Robes is a major rediscovery. An outstanding example of its type, its history is intertwined with that of the ducs de Noailles, a family tied by friendship and marriage to that of the King himself.

Royal portraiture attracted a wide range of commentary during the period known as the Grand Siècle, which covered the reigns of Louis XIII and Louis XIV. Under the entry for ‘peinture’ in his dictionary of 1690 Antoine Furetière wrote ‘It is said that a King is only truly a King in paintings, where he is not required to govern, but can hand over care and authority to others.’ At the beginning of the century, the statesman and cardinal Pierre de Bérulle had also proclaimed, ‘The main difference between important and unimportant people […] is that there are more people who paint the portraits of the ones than the others. How many people paint the portrait of a prince! For him, his whole kingdom and all foreign countries are an academy of painting for which he is the model.’ These words are borne out in the variety of portraits that exist of Louis XIV; from his earliest infancy to his final days, his image was painted on over two hundred occasions. No other person came close to this number, no King before him and no King since in the history of France. He was the ultimate sitter; the Sun King.

Of all these portraits, Hyacinthe Rigaud’s painting of 1701, of which the present lot is a powerful version, remains perhaps the most iconic. It depicts Louis XIV in full majesty; shown full-length in his coronation robes, the flowing blue velvet cape embroidered with the fleur-de-lys of France and the gold-chain of the Ordre de Saint-Esprit, his proper right hand rests on the sceptre of his grandfather Henri IV, which is propped on a cushion next to a crown. The prime version was originally commissioned by the monarch to send to his grandson, Philip, duc d’Anjou on his accession to the Spanish throne in 1700. His choice of Rigaud was inspired by the artist’s portrait of the Grand Dauphin, Louis XIV’s son and Philip’s father, as commander at the siege of Philippsburg, (of which a version hangs in the Palace of Versailles, inv. no. MV 3597). Louis XIV was so pleased with his likeness that he decided to keep the original to hang at Versailles (now displayed in the Louvre, Paris, inv. 7492). Another version was commissioned to send to his grandson, King Philip, and the two were recorded in the artist’s account book of 1701 as for, ‘The King […] and a copy of King's portrait of the same size as the original for his Catholic Majesty, in all 26,000 livres’ (J. Roman, Le livre de raison du peintre Hyacinthe Rigaud, Paris, 1919, p. 83.) Sadly for Philip, this secondary version also did not make it to Madrid and now hangs in the salon d’Apollon, the former throne room of Versailles (Inv MV 2041.)

In this portrait, the genius of Rigaud can be found in his delicate balancing act between what the historian Ernst Kantorowicz termed the ‘two bodies of the King’ – the physical and the symbolic, the mortal envelope and the eternal power. The artist did not shy away from showing certain signs of the monarch’s age, he was 63 at the time of its execution, including the wrinkles on his forehead, and the slight sagging of the skin in his cheeks. However, the overall pose is one that radiates power, the turn of his muscled legs and the flash of the jewelled scabbard of Charlemagne’s sword all speak of a man ready for action, a defender of the state. In the symbols of power that appear around him, the throne to his right, the crown to his left and the bas-relief of Themis, the goddess and personification of justice, divine order all come together to make this a timeless depiction of absolute power.

When the original was exhibited on its completion in 1702 the Mercure de France commented ‘A work must be very beautiful and perfect to attract general applause in a place where good taste reigns and where one is not lavish of praise. His Majesty has promised his portrait to the King of Spain, wants to keep his word by giving him the original, and Mr. Rigaud must make a copy that is desired by the entire Court’ (p. 302). This desire fed into the production of many different versions of this magnificent portrait, of which no less than fifty-six copies were made, in differing sizes, by Rigaud’s atelier, and many more by artists working for the Bâtiments du Roi, who were responsible for disseminating the King’s image throughout the realm.

THE NOAILLES VERSION

The present painting is exceptionally interesting, both because it is one of the rare full-length versions and also for its exceptional quality. It can be compared most closely with the prime in the Louvre and the second version now hanging in Versailles. The Louvre painting is the only version that was executed from life; the face is actually painted on a smaller canvas that was sewn into the final full-length portrait, which would have given Rigaud greater freedom in his preciously few sittings with Louis XIV. In both the present painting and the Versailles example, the face was not painted from life. In all three cases however, the support is made up of two strips of canvas joined by a seam that the painter offset to the right so as not to alter the King's face. The canvas and quality of the present painting make it the twin of the version in the Château de Versailles.

A NOTE ON THE PROVENANCE

Though first officially recorded in the collections of Adrien-Maurice, 3^rd duc de Noailles, it is likely that this painting was first owned by his father, Anne-Jules, 2^nd duc de Noailles, a close confidant of the King, his mistress and later wife, Madame de Maintenon, and also a friend of Rigaud himself, making the provenance of this portrait exceptionally important. Anne-Jules was one of Louis XIV's most important generals, who ‘pleased the king by his extreme servitude’ according to the social commentator Saint-Simon. In 1700, it was the 2^nd duc who accompanied Philip to the Spanish border for his installation on the Spanish throne, and he remained a major figure at court until his death in 1708. Anne-Jules was also a regular courtier of Madame de Maintenon, at whose insistence the King had originally posed for Rigaud in accordance with Philip’s wishes. It is also the case that Rigaud painted a portrait of Anne-Jules de Noailles and that the duc as the painter's main witness to the draft contract of 1703 for his marriage with Marie-Catherine Chastillon. Anne-Jules de Noailles' links with the King and Rigaud are therefore well established historically, and it is highly likely that the Marshal may have commissioned a studio replica of the King's full-length portrait directly from Rigaud. It is also not out of the question that the portrait was a gift from the King himself to honour the Noailles family.

The same applies to his son Adrien-Maurice de Noailles, who in 1698 married Françoise Charlotte d'Aubigné, the niece and heiress of the Marquise de Maintenon (fig. 1). Rigaud also painted her portrait, which is mentioned in the painter's account book in 1711 as a copy. A member of Louis XV's Regency Council as President of the Finance Council, Adrien-Maurice was appointed Marshal of France in 1734 and died in 1766. The inventory of the estate of Adrien Maurice de Noailles in the rue Saint-Honoré mentions the present portrait of Louis XIV painted by Rigaud alongside other portraits by the artist, including those of the Grand Dauphin, the Duke of Burgundy, and the duc d’Anjou in a remarkable dynastic grouping. The present portrait was inherited on the death of Françoise Charlotte d'Aubigné by their second son, Philippe de Noailles, who lived in the Château de Mouchy-le-Chatel, where the painting was to remain until its sale in 2020. The intervening years were not without incident for Rigaud’s Sun King; during the Revolution it had been seized and placed in a warehouse in Beauvais. After its return to the family it underwent restoration in 1836 to repair the damage caused by careless handling. Photographic evidence shows it hanging in the Grand Salon in the late Nineteenth Century, but with twentieth-century modernisation of the décor, it was later moved upstairs.