The lesser of the two men, Claude François Michel, called Clodion, was to sculpture what Boucher was to painting. His favourite subjects were satyrs and bacchantes, as, for instance, in the “[Satyr with Flute],” with which we illustrate his art. Some of his most delightful works are at the Musée Cluny. There is also a fine “Satyr and Nymph” in the Wallace collection at Hertford House, London. With rare exceptions, all Clodion’s works were designed for the drawing-room or the dancing-hall. He was a master of the statuette and, perhaps, without a rival in the skilful use of terra-cotta.
It is easy to cavil at the frankly sensuous style of Clodion but, after all, his justification is complete. It depends upon the success with which he carried out that at which he aimed.
On the whole, the great body of eighteenth-century French sculpture defies criticism by the same triumphant grace and vivacity and the same plea that what was aimed at has been done. There are times when
“Eternal smiles its emptiness betray As shallow streams run dimpling all the way.”
But, judging it by its own standard and looking for neither deep feeling nor high thinking, it amply justifies its place among the art movements which have given humanity a fresh thrill.
Houdon (1741-1828), the last of the eighteenth-century French sculptors, was a far greater artist than either his master Pigalle or Clodion. He lived throughout the sculptural period dominated by Canova, and might, on that account, claim consideration in our next chapter. Houdon as an artist, however, seems to have been little impressed by the events of the French Revolution, so we have chosen to represent him by two of his earlier works.
Like many other French sculptors of genius, Houdon won the Grand Prix at the outset of his career and directly after visited Italy. While there he modelled the well-known “St. Bruno,” of which Clement XIII. said “he would speak were it not that the rules of his order enjoin silence.” A little later came the celebrated “[Diana],” perhaps the most remarkable work by an eighteenth-century French sculptor in view of the originality of its design and the skill with which the technical difficulties incidental to such a pose are overcome. There are various replicas of the “Diana.” The Hermitage copy is in marble, and dates from 1780. The Louvre bronze was cast in 1790.
Houdon’s “[Voltaire]” is equally famous. This, too, exists in more than one state. There is the seated figure belonging to the Comédie Française—recently moved to the Louvre—as well as the bust which we have preferred to reproduce. The latter represents the old cynic during the last weeks of his life. It is a magnificent instance of Houdon’s unrivalled power in the expression of mental vivacity. It is said that the sculptor had complained to a friend, the Marquis de Villevieille, that the old wit’s face had lost every vestige of life. Villevieille realizing that Houdon’s sitting might well result in failure, bethought himself of the crown which Brizard, the actor, had placed on Voltaire’s head during his triumph at the Français. The next day while Houdon was working before his model, Villevieille suddenly placed the crown on the old man’s head. For a moment the ancient fire returned. It was only for a moment. Bursting into tears, Voltaire cried: “What are you doing, young man?” Then he added bitterly: “My tomb is already prepared; put it on that.”
HOUDON
