Renowned as a great portraitist in the seventeenth century, the Spaniard Diego Velazquez stands with Rembrandt as an artist whose works can be viewed as wordless essays on the human condition. In addition to serving as records of likeness, most portraits are repositories of clues to the values that brought artist and sitter together. Velazquez's portraits are arresting and memorable images that invite exploration of the circumstances of their making, which leads to a more informed reading of the artist's work. The analysis of Lady with a Fan can be seen as a case study that expands our ways of understanding and thinking about early modern portraiture.
The Lady with a Fan is an enigmatic work among portraits by Velazquez (Fig. 1). As painter to Philip IV of Spain, Velazquez principally recorded the appearance of members of the Spanish royal family and the high nobility, figures that are easy to recognize. However, the sitter in Lady with a Fan has not yet been convincingly identified, despite attempts to do so, perhaps because crucial signs in the portrait have been misinterpreted. The portrait itself is our most reliable evidence for the encounter between the artist and sitter, as little documentary information has come to light. The details of the costume that will be analyzed below suggest the sitter is dressed according to French fashion of the late 1630s. Therefore, the possibility exists that she is a Frenchwoman. The only reference indicating that Velazquez painted a Frenchwoman is found in a letter dated January 16, 1638, which states that he was portraying the exiled duchess of Chevreuse, then living in Madrid under the protection of Philip IV. (1) Until now, identifying the woman in Lady with a Fan with Marie de Rohan, duchess of Chevreuse (1600-1679), has been passed over for two reasons. First, it was believed that no resemblance could be discerned with other portraits of the duchess, and second, it was assumed that her costume revealed a Spanish tapada (a precursor to the popular majas of the eighteenth century) or a member of Velazquez's own family. Arguments can now be marshaled that clarify both likeness and costume and, concomitantly, the significance of pose and gesture, all of which lead to a new reading of the image.
Lady with a Fan, while accepted as a painting by Velazquez, is distinctly short on early documents. On the basis of its place in Velazquez's stylistic development, the portrait has been dated to 1638-39, and it was first registered in the collection of Lucien Bonaparte in the early nineteenth century. (2) It has been assumed that he acquired it in Spain when he was there in 1801. As no earlier record of the painting in any Spanish collection exists, however, it is possible that he acquired it either in England or in Italy, where he spent most of the period of the Napoleonic Wars, or even in France, as suggested by the episode between the then duke of Luynes, a direct descendant of the duchess of Chevreuse, and Lucien Bonaparte. While at dinner in the latter's house, the duke of Luynes recognized on his host's walls two pictures that had formerly belonged to him, and that "he had been obliged to sell to antique dealers, in the time of sequestrations, imprisonments, and immigrations." (3) Lucien Bonaparte promptly had the pictures taken down and returned to the duke. Unfortunately, no positive evidence remains that Lady with a Fan was ever inventoried in any of the family collections. The duchess of Chevreuse passed her Paris house to the son born of her first marriage and retired to the convent at Gagny in 1663. (4) Any inventories made at the time of this property transfer have been lost. By 1847 the painting was in the Hertford Collection, later forming part of the Wallace Collection. A variant of the portrait, believed to have come to England before 1753, when it appeared in the inventory taken at the death of Lord Burlington, now resides at Chatsworth (Fig. 2). (5) An entry in the 1689 inventory of the marquis of Carpio's collection--"A painting of a woman with a black lace veil on her head, with a square lace collar, and yellow dress with black stripes, an original by Diego Velazquez, one and one third vara in height, and one half and a sixth in width, framed, 1000 reales"--seems to identify the Chatsworth painting. (6) This portrait was in the quarta pieza (fourth room) of Carpio's house El Jardin de San Joaquin, where it hung with some twenty other portraits of men and women, about ten religious paintings, and five mythological or secular subjects. (7) The intriguing relationship between the two versions will be discussed below.
When we stand before the painted image of a human being and attempt to penetrate the character, assess the status, and identify qualities of the personality represented to our eyes, we imitate the encounter between the sitter and the artist. Besides the face, visual elements that accompany it act on us in our interpretation of the sitter. (8) Awareness of the conventions of representation with which both artist and sitter were fluent will enrich our reading of the image, and in the case of Velazquez, illuminate the "episodio biografico" (biographical episode) within the portrait. (9) As in all human encounters, there must have been expectations on both sides. The sitter, presumably, was desirous of being portrayed and perhaps curious to see how she would be perceived by a celebrated professional. She might well have had a clear notion of how she wished to be seen, or the code of her social class may have dictated the mode of her representation. The artist would study his subject, analyze her form, and take her physical and metaphorical measure. Sympathy--or its absence--between artist and sitter might influence the representation, although this subjective quality would be difficult to assess historically. The complex ritual of portraiture in the seventeenth century relied on a series of theatrical conventions that resulted in an image more layered and composed than the pieces of reality we capture at the present time in spontaneous or random snapshots. (10)
To unearth the strata of experience that contributed to the image made by Velazquez, we must identify the conventions embedded in the portrait. When Velazquez was appointed court painter in 1623, he sailed into the current that had been running deep through royal portraiture in Spain since the sixteenth century. Under Charles I and Philip II, the public image of the Spanish Habsburgs became codified through the interpretations of Titian and his Flemish follower Antonis Mor. (11) Connections between the complex and decorous rituals of Habsburg court etiquette and the unyielding austerity in formal representations of Spanish monarchs have long been noticed. (12) The value of iconic images of kingship in making the monarch present and real even in the most far-flung corners of the Spanish empire has also been pointed out. If Charles I's kingship was made visible by Titian's brush and Philip II's by Antonis Mor, it can certainly be claimed that Velazquez created the icon of kingship in the time of Philip IV. No sooner had Velazquez established his treatment of Philip IV in the portraits he made in the 1620s than poems appeared praising the artist's power of painting truth, while glorifying the monarch's unrivaled virtues. Philip IV's minister, the count-duke of Olivares, whose initiative had brought Velazquez to the court, capitalized on his protege's success by declaring that until that time no one had been successful in portraying the king. (13) The following poem on a portrait of Philip IV by Velazquez, quoted in an early biography of the artist, illustrates the curious relationship between creative power and the power of kingship that was so attractive a subject in court circles at the time:
Oh brush, you render boldness and strength with a fulness so well simulated that you make ferocity fearful and gentleness appear pleasurable. Say, are you making a portrait or are you bringing it to life? For this royal image is so surpassingly excellent that I would judge the canvas to be as alive as insensible things are dead. The portrait so splendidly reveals the royal authority it is heir to that It even commands the eye. And since you have made it a likeness of power you have imitated what is most difficult, for to be obeyed is easier. (14) [ILLUSTRATION OMITTED]
Likeness is central to the purpose of portraiture. Yet during the seventeenth century in Spain, the nature of likeness had come to be seen as more complex than simply the successful imitation of appearance. On the one hand, Francisco Pacheco, Velazquez's painting master, wrote in his comprehensive treatise El arte de la pintura that a portraitist is required, first, to capture likeness (parecido), but that likeness alone was insufficient grounds for the work to be admired. (15) The portrait should be well drawn and made artfully, with good colorido (coloring) and relief, so that "even where the sitter is unknown, the artist will yet be esteemed for admirable painting." (16) On the other hand, in the sonnet by Juan Velez de Guevara quoted above, the line "Are you making a portrait or are you bringing it to life? [Retratas o animas?]" recalls the tension between appearance and reality that was central to contemporary literary and artistic activity. (17) Sometimes the word parecido implies simple imitation of the shape and color of a sitter's features. Pacheco limits himself to this interpretation. (18) But in other contexts, a truth (verdad) about the sitter that inevitably constitutes more than a record of physical appearance is understood. (19) Within the compositional codes of his time, the artist orchestrated the expression and features, body and gesture, costume and objects offered by the sitter, to invest the portrait with some of the abstract qualities perceived in or ascribed to the portrayed. Both sitter and artist...