Could the subtle relation between art and politics be more aptly illustrated? The connection between the patronage of Louis and the growth of French sculpture in the latter half of the seventeenth century is equally clear.
Perhaps the best known sculptor who depended upon the patronage of Louis XIV. was Pierre Puget, who came to the Court in 1688, late in his career.
FRANCIS GIRARDON
APOLLO AND THE NYMPHS
The Gardens, Versailles
The “Milo of Crotona,” in the Louvre, is often cited as Puget’s most typical work. An equally good illustration is the colossal group “Perseus and Andromeda.” Both were commissioned by Louis XIV., and the anecdotes relating to the statues prove the close interest the king took in their execution. The story runs that after seeing the “Milo,” Louis proposed that the sculptor should start upon another work, “if he is not too old to undertake it,” he added. The remark was repeated to Puget, who replied characteristically: “I am in my sixtieth year, but I still have ample force and vigour, for great works sustain me.” The “Perseus and Andromeda” took two years. Finally Puget sent his son to present it to Louis. “Your father is great and illustrious; there is no man in Europe to equal him” was Louis’ verdict. Even more attractive is Puget’s “[Immaculate Conception],” which dates from about 1665, and was designed for the Oratory of Saint Philip of Neri at Genoa, where it still remains. At fourteen years of age Puget had started by carving the ornamental decorations of the galleys at Marseilles. A few years later, however, he visited Italy, where he fell under the spell of the Italian artists of the Catholic Reaction and, particularly, of Bernini. “[The Immaculate Conception]” represents Puget in his Bernini mood. The French sculptor never altogether escaped from Bernini’s tendency towards theatrical restlessness, but when his statues are compared with the passionless and artificial productions of most of the French sculptors of his day, it is clear that the Marseilles artist represents a real advance. For the rest, Puget introduced into sculpture the sensuous representation of flesh—the suggestion of the living texture—which the Italians term morbidezza. In this respect, he has fathered a long progeny of sculptors, ending with such ultra-modern artists as Jules Dalou and the Belgian, Jef Lambeaux.
If Pierre Puget was closely connected with Louis XIV., Francis Girardon (1628-1715), the second great sculptor of the seventeenth century, was equally identified with Versailles. The decoration of the palace proceeded under the general direction of Charles Lebrun, the painter. Girardon acted as chief inspector of sculpture under Lebrun. The post was no sinecure. In all, ninety-five sculptors were employed, and about half a million sterling was spent upon sculptural decorations. The greater part of this was expended upon the fountains in the gardens.
The elaborate nature of these garden decorations can be realized from Girardon’s great group “[Apollo and the Nymphs].” This is still at Versailles, but it has been moved to the grotto in which it is now to be seen—the so-called Temple of Thetis.
But the greatness of the seventeenth-century sculptors of France cannot be properly appreciated from any single work. The keynote of the Louis Quatorze style is the fact that the work was intended to enhance the effect of the room or garden in which it was placed. Alone it is as meaningless as a Greek pedimental group away from the temple it was designed to decorate. A just judgment of the genius displayed in Girardon’s “[Apollo and the Nymphs]” presupposes a mental picture of the Gardens at Versailles.