Conception

On the evening of Friday, 6 April 1770, a group of Voltaire’s friends – prominent writers and intellectuals – gathered at Louise Suzanne Necker’s (1739–1794) home to discuss the idea of erecting a monument in his honour. About a month later, Friedrich Melchior Grimm (1723–1807) offered an extensive account of the gathering in the Correspondance littéraire. Rich in detail, it is worth quoting at length:

Though Mme Necker later claimed that the idea of a monument arose spontaneously, spurred on wine and conviviality,3 the meeting appears to have been carefully premediated and convened with the express purpose of discussing the statue. Jean-Baptiste Pigalle, the sculptor chosen to execute it, was not only present but arrived well prepared, bringing a terracotta bozzetto of his proposed design:4

It was agreed that the monument would be funded by subscription, open exclusively to men of letters, broadly defined:

At the time in France, subscription was still a relatively new model of funding artistic projects,7 though it had already been used for literary enterprises – most famously for Voltaire’s own La Henriade and Commentaires sur Corneille and Diderot and d’Alembert’s Encyclopédie.8

By the time of the commission, Pigalle was one of the most celebrated sculptors in France. A favourite of the court, he had amassed a considerable fortune, with fees for royal commissions reaching as high as 635,419 livres. Jean-René Gabroit thus suggests that by agreeing to sculpt Voltaire’s statue for the comparatively modest sum of 10,000 livres, Pigalle effectively contributed to the project in kind, alongside its public subscribers.10

That Voltaire was deemed worthy of the sculptor of the king was not only a personal distinction, but also a political statement.11 At that time, the only European precedent for honouring a living cultural figure with a monument was the statue of George Frederick Handel (1685–1759), commissioned by the entrepreneur Jonathan Tyers from Louis-François Roubiliac (1702–1762) for Vauxhall Gardens in London.12 Such honours had traditionally been reserved for royalty and prominent military commanders. In this context, as Eva Hausdorf noted, the monument to Voltaire “marked the advent of a new reign – that of liberty – which dethroned the royal monument as a symbol of military and aristocratic power.”13

Purpose and Message

Dena Goodman argued that rather than to Voltaire alone, Pigalle’s statue was meant to be, more broadly, a monument to the Republic of Letters. 14 I would take this further and suggest that from the outset, the monument was framed as a statement in the ongoing confrontation between Enlightenment leaders and their opponents.

In his correspondence, Voltaire repeatedly emphasises that the statue was intended to honour all gens de lettres. He refers to himself variously as their representative (“représentant”),15 figurehead (“prête-nom”), placeholder (“pierre d'attente”),16 and spokesman (“député”).17 Crucially, Voltaire insists he was chosen among all men of letters not for his literary talent or renown, but for his sustained commitment to combating the enemies of the Enlightenment:

In these verses from a letter to Marmontel dated 27 April 1770, Voltaire uses a military metaphor, casting the confrontation between the philosophes and their enemies as a battlefield (“troupe”, “combattit”), and himself as a seasoned veteran (“vieux soldat au service assidu”). The “Grisels and the Frérons” refer to specific adversaries: abbé Grisel (1730–1787), a Catholic priest implicated in an inheritance fraud scandal,19 and Élie Fréron (1718–1776), editor of Année littéraire and one of Voltaire’s fiercest critics.20

While it might seem that Voltaire downplays his role out of modesty or coquetry, this was actually how others saw it as well. Writer and salonnière Louise d’Épinay (1726–1783) humorously suggested that the statue be complete with four chained figures: Jean-Jacques Lefranc, marquis de Pompignan (1709–1784), who, upon his admission to the Académie française in 1760, delivered a scathing speech against the Encyclopedists;21 Charles Palissot de Montenoy (1730–1814), author of the satirical play Les Philosophes (1760);22 Laurent Angliviel de la Beaumelle (1726–1773), who clashed with Voltaire at the court of Frederick the Great and published a critical commentary on Siècle de Louis XIV;23 and Fréron. D’Épinay imagined them represented with a puffed-up frog, a self-stinging scorpion, a magpie and a viper, respectively.24

The division of the French (and broader European) cultural landscape into two opposing political camps was also reflected in the funding of the monument. From the start, Fréron and Palissot were explicitly barred from contributing.25 La Beaumelle and Voltaire’s greatest rival, Jean-Jacques Rousseau , sought to participate, but their involvement was met with universal indignation and became the subject of a lengthy mocking commentary in the Correspondance littéraire.26 Mme Necker reported to Voltaire:

In this context, the subscription was not merely a practical fundraising method – it symbolised a unified front of men of letters against their ideological opponents. By 25 July 1770, the full amount had been raised, yet contributions continued as many still wished their names to be associated with the project.28

Reflecting on the monument in 1773, Jean-Baptiste-Antoine Suard (1732–1817), a literary critic and one of the seventeen attendees at Mme Necker’s dinner who would, ironically, soon become a royal censor, wrote:

Writing in 1770, Voltaire saw this statement as a timely, almost urgent:

As these reflections make clear, the monument was conceived not merely as a tribute to Voltaire himself, nor solely as a monument to freedom of thought (“un monument à la liberté de penser”) 31 and against fanaticism and persecution (“un monument contre le fanatisme, contre la persecution”).32 From the very beginning, it was also a political statement – an emblem of solidarity among men of letters and a gesture of defiance aimed at their adversaries. This political dimension is essential to understanding the monument’s history and reception.

At Ferney

At Mme Necker’s dinner, it was agreed that Pigalle should begin work on the monument without delay and travel to Ferney immediately after the wedding festivities of the Dauphin Louis (the future Louis XVI) and Marie-Antoinette,33 held on 16 and 17 May 1770, to model Voltaire’s likeness. Now the challenge was persuading Voltaire himself to go along with the plan.

Voltaire’s initial reply to Necker came in playful, flattering verses – perhaps an attempt to deflect the idea by turning it into a joke.34 But as the reality of the project sank in, Voltaire grew increasingly reluctant. In a second, notably more serious, letter to Necker, he voiced his concerns, noting that he had only just recovered from illness and was in no condition, especially at his age, to sit for a sculptor (“On n'a jamais sculpté un pauvre homme dans cet état.”). Instead, he proposed that Pigalle use the porcelain bust previously made by the Sèvres Manufactory (VI519).35 On June 11, he repeated this to Jean le Rond d'Alembert (1717–1783), who, alongside Necker, was largely responsible for the project’s organisation.36 As for the inscription, Voltaire insisted it read not “À Voltaire vivant” (“To Voltaire living”) but “À Voltaire mourant” (“To Voltaire dying”).37

Despite all of Voltaire’s objections, Pigalle left Paris around 2 June 1770,38 armed with a letter of recommendation from d’Alembert,39 and arrived at Ferney around June 17.40 There, he spent about a week41 working on, or rather attempting to work on, a study of Voltaire’s head. As Correspondence littéraire reports:

However fantastical it might sound, the anecdote recalled here by Grimm appears to be accurate. At the time of the sittings, 43Voltaire was working on his Questions sur l’Encyclopédie and sought Pigalle’s expertise44 to complete his article on metal casting. In the article,45 Voltaire describes the casting process in meticulous technical detail only to argue that the biblical golden calf could not possibly have been produced in a single night. He even cites a declaration signed by Pigalle affirming that such a process would require a minimum of six months.46 Gillian Pink suggests that Pigalle’s witnessing Voltaire at the moment he discovered the missing piece of evidence may have inspired the vivid, animated expression captured in the monument.47

Head Studies

The plaster produced at Ferney48 was described by Grimm as follows:

Two details stand out here. First, that by 1770, Voltaire’s likeness had become inseparable from the satirical image popularised by the Rossets [], referenced here by Grimm, and by Jean Huber []. Any deviation was increasingly seen as a failure to capture the “true” Voltaire. Second, that already at this early stage – six years before the statue’s completion – it was known that the final monument would show Voltaire’s head slightly raised, with his gaze turned upward in an inspired expression, now so closely associated with Voltaire nu (“dans la statue elle sera même relevée, et le regard dirigé en haut”).

Upon returning to Paris,50 Pigalle continued to refine Voltaire’s image, producing at least three more versions of the bust. What was probably the first of these is known through numerous one-third bronze reductions cast by Pierre-Philippe Thomire (1751–1843) between 1778 and 1790 (VI25).51 Key modifications include the addition of a chemise and the introduction of Voltaire’s characteristic mocking smirk . Among the known variants, this one stands out as the closest in form and spirit to the Rossets’ busts (VI48), and the one that best matches the description dated 9 August 1770 in the Mémoires secrets:

Was Pigalle responding to pressure to align Voltaire’s likeness with his image in the public consciousness – witty, incisive, and defiant? Whatever the case, he clearly moved away from this idea in the subsequent versions.

The next known version, now lost, was a terracotta bust once owned by Dominique Vivant-Denon (1747–1825).53 Its appearance can be reconstructed from two engravings: one by Pierre Bouillon (1776–1831), which illustrated Amaury Duval’s 1829 treatise on Denon’s collection,54 and another by Hesse (VI28), inscribed “D’après le buste en terre cuite, fait d’après nature par Pigal, tiré du cabinet de M. Denon”. In this version, satire yields to a calm, intellectually assured expression, bringing it closer to the final marble. What distinguishes the terracotta is the addition of the laurel wreath from Pigalle’s original bozzetto.

The final known head study is preserved in a bronze bust held by the Los Angeles County Museum of Art,55 probably also cast by Thomire after Pigalle’s original.56 This version is also recorded in a 1788 engraving by Thomas Holloway (1749–1827), inscribed “Drawn & Engraved by T. Holloway from the Bust by Pigal, Sculptor to the King of France” (VI27). The facial features and the overall calm, intellectual, self-contained expression closely resemble those of Denon’s terracotta, but in the bronze, the laurel wreath is omitted, as it would be in the 1776 marble.57 Its strong resemblance to the final version suggests that the bronze may have been produced after the monument rather than as a preparatory study. If it does derive from a now-lost study, that study must postdate 4 August 1772, when Pigalle was still envisioning Voltaire crowned with laurels, as attested by the Correspondance littéraire description of the full-body model.58

A marble bust of a very similar type, but draped, appears in an anonymous 1780 portrait of Swiss military officer and Voltaire’s correspondent David Louis Constant de Rebecque, seigneur d'Hermenches (1722–1785) (VI31). In the painting, Constant d'Hermenches is depicted standing in his library. He wears a richly embroidered coat, a wig, and a black band concealing an eye injury. On the table beside Constant d'Hermenches, behind the plans of La Rochelle fortifications he holds in his left hand, stands what appears to be Pigalle’s bust or a contemporary copy (cf. VI650). Both objects function as attributes: the plans reflect Constant d'Hermenches’s role as the governor of La Rochelle, and the bust of Voltaire refers to his association with the illustrious, by then diseased, writer. For our purposes, the painting is significant for it raises the possibility that Pigalle may have created more versions of Voltaire’s head than are currently accounted for.

To summarise the above and reconstruct the most likely chronology, the original plaster study was made on 23-24 June 1770; the bust that later served as the basis for Thomire’s bronzes was probably completed between 1 July and 9 August 1770; the laurel-crowned terracotta from Denon’s collection between 9 August 1770 and 4 August 1772; and the hypothetical preparatory study from which the LACMA bronze was cast (if it existed) sometime between 4 August 1772 and 1776. Together, these four head studies document Pigalle’s novel vision of Voltaire, which diverged from the satirical likeness familiar to the public.59 They also illustrate how the creation of the monument unfolded under constant attention, with even its minor stages closely followed.60

Full-Body Models

The intense public attention surrounding Pigalle’s monument – which would ultimately lead to the project’s failure – was driven by multiple factors, and Voltaire’s controversial reputation was not necessarily chief among them. With more than eighty-five prominent individuals involved as subscribers,61 many felt personally invested and believed they had both the right and responsibility to ensure the statue was executed to the highest standard. A more practical reason was that from 15 July 1770, Pigalle’s studio was open to the public on Sundays and holidays for viewings of the funerary monument to Maréchal de Saxe (1696–1750) before its departure to Strasbourg.62 In the months that followed, alongside the Saxe monument, visitors could follow the development of Voltaire’s monument at every stage – from preliminary head studies to full-scale models.

On 4 September 1770, Mémoires secrets reported:

Over the next three years, at least six more such visits were recorded. In April 1771, the Correspondance littéraire noted that Gustav III, King of Sweden, had visited Pigalle’s studio to view the statue, which “though unfinished, is advanced enough to give an idea of what the marble will look like.”64 It also mentioned that Pigalle had requested six additional weeks before presenting the model to subscribers.65 On 30 June 1771, Marmontel wrote to Voltaire after seeing it:

On 21 November 1771, apparently referring to the same version, François Tronchin wrote that he “does not tire seeing and revisiting it, just like the Marshal’s mausoleum, which is nearly finished save for a few minor refinements.” His only concern was “whether he [Pigalle] will execute this model in marble, as it is still only in plaster.”67

A year later, on 2 August 1772, the Mémoires secrets mentioned another full-body plaster model on display at Pigalle’s studio,68 describing it in greater detail in an entry dated 4 August 1772:

Judging from the description, this model closely resembled the final marble version. All of Voltaire’s attributes – the scroll, Melpomene’s dagger, Thalia’s mask, the books, the stylus – are already present. The only major difference, a remnant of the bozzetto, is the laurel wreath crowning his head.

Another notable visit occurred in February 1773. According to the Correspondance littéraire, no one showed up at the regular assembly of the Comédie-Française, as all the members had gone to see Pigalle’s Voltaire nu:

Finally, on 18 October 1773, Fréron wrote he had “viewed with much pleasure the monument that Mr. Pigalle is erecting to the memory of Mr. de Voltaire during his lifetime”, 71 apparently referring to the same version.

It is unclear how many full-body models Pigalle produced over these three years, but available accounts suggest at least four distinct versions. The first was the model recorded in the Mémoires secrets on 4 September 1770. The second, plaster, model was shown privately to Gustav III in April 1771 before being presented to all the subscribers between spring and autumn that year. The third, also in plaster, was described by the Mémoires secrets on 4 August 1772. Finally, there was a later model that drew the entire Comédie-Française to Pigalle’s studio in February 1773. This timeline aligns quite closely with the documented payments to Pigalle. On 7 September 1770, right after the first model was exhibited, he received 1,500 livres for the purchase of a block of Carrara marble.72 On 16 November 1771, he requested an advance of 3,000 livres.73 Then, somewhat unexpectedly, on 29 January 1772, he received an additional 1,776 livres for the marble, raising questions about the sum paid in 1770.74 Before the third model was reported on display (4 August 1772), Pigalle received two further advances: 1,200 livreson 20 March 1772,75 and 1,800 livreson 27 June 1772.76

Nudity

While the initial model and early head studies were generally well received, the full-body versions provoked a wave of criticism, largely directed at the sculpture’s starkly realistic nudity. Allegedly modelled on a body of an old soldier,77 the figure is disturbingly veristic, with its visible emaciation, sagging skin, and bulging veins. This uncompromising realism was further heightened by the statue’s life-size scale (unlike the grander, more-than-life-size proportions traditionally used for public monuments) and by Pigalle’s intention to display it without a pedestal, placing the figure directly within the viewer’s space.78 Although the public, raised on classical art, was accustomed to nudity in sculpture, it expected that nudity to serve an ennobling function – to express moral and intellectual greatness through physical perfection. Around the same time, this approach was adopted by Augustin Pajou (1730–1809) in his monument to Buffon (1773–76),79 which portrays the nearly 70-year-old naturalist with the idealised physique of a classical hero.80 In Pigalle’s Voltaire, by contrast, the attributes – Thalia’s mask, Melpomene’s dagger, the lyre, and the scroll – invite an allegorical reading, but the body resists it. Shockingly literal, it creates a jarring, even comic, disjunction between the allegorical framework and the anatomical verism of aging flesh.

The antiheroic anatomy81of Voltaire nuwas not without precedent in Pigalle’s oeuvre. His portraits were, in fact, known for their striking realism and deliberate rejection of idealisation. 82Besides, as Dena Goodman notes, while working on Voltaire nu, Pigalle was likely thinking of the allegorical figure of the “happy citizen” on the pedestal of his statue of Louis XV in Reims (1765).83 This figure, and the broader iconographic programme of the monument, was directly inspired by Voltaire.84 Like Voltaire, the “happy citizen” (a self-portrait of the sculptor) is represented nude, with attention to anatomical detail. Yet for all its realism, it remains a young, muscular body. In this respect, a far closer analogue to Voltaire nu is Pigalle’s Tomb of Henri-Claude d'Harcourt (1771–76, Notre-Dame de Paris),85 which he was working on concurrently with the Voltaire monument. The image of the decrepit, powerless count dangling from his grave beneath the watchful eye of Death, found in this funerary monument, offers a compelling counterpoint, and perhaps even an interpretative key, to the unsettling realism of Voltaire nu.

Pigalle’s principal source of inspiration for the statue is believed86 to have been the work then identified as Dying Seneca,87 reportedly proposed as the model by Denis Diderot (1713–1784).88 Although Pigalle may never have seen the original (then part of the Borghese collection), he must have known it through widely circulated reproductions, most notably Lodovico Lana’s (1597–1646) print,89 which bears a notable resemblance to Voltaire nu, particularly evident in the bozzetto.90 Yet, while Pigalle may indeed have drawn on Dying Seneca, the essential difference is immediately visible: while Seneca is on the verge of death, Voltaire is full of life.

Among the many interpretations91 of the nudity in Voltaire nu the most convincing is that of Guilhem Scherf, who argues that it was intended to underscore the contrast between the inevitability of physical decay and the enduring superiority of the intellectual spirit. 92To this, I would add that the sculpture’s most significant formal innovation lies in its reversal of tradition: whereas classical art glorified the mind through the idealisation of the body, Pigalle presents the triumph of the mind over the body – a profoundly Romantic idea, several decades ahead of its time. The aged flesh here is contrasted with the inspired, upward gaze of the face and the swirling dynamism of the pose, 93 which together remarkably animate the old body. Voltaire appears as though, enlivened by thought, he is about to set into motion, defying the constraints of his emaciated form. He is certainly not “le vieux malade de Ferney”, nor is he the helpless mortal body from the Tomb of Henri-Claude d'Harcourt.

Sadly, Pigalle’s vision was largely lost on his contemporaries. Voltaire’s nudity, as Grimm put it, “caused a memorable schism among the subscribers”.94 The general consensus was that, while the sculpture was executed with undeniable talent, the treatment of the body was unacceptable. Mme Necker, the initiator of the project, conceded that the statue “bears the imprint of genius”, but could not understand why Pigalle made her “count the muscles and veins that cover that sensitive heart, which I would have liked to bathe with my tears”.95 On 4 August 1772, her impressions were echoed in the Mémoires secrets, which concluded that the sculpture’s “singularity will undoubtedly be precious to the most distant posterity, but the sight will always be repellent, especially to women, due to the ghastly impression of a fleshless corpse rather than a living being.”96 And again, on 18 October 1773, in the Année littéraire: “It is of little consequence whether posterity can count Mr. de Voltaire’s ribs or know that he had very elongated nipples.”97

What began as criticism soon descended into ridicule. After seeing the model in Pigalle’s studio, Gustav III wryly suggested that as part of the subscription, he would contribute toward buying clothes for the figure.98 A series of epigrams then circulated in Paris,99 including a satirical verse set to the tune of O filii et filiae, which Fréron claimed to have authored:

After Voltaire’s death, his secretary, Jean-Louis Wagnière (1739–1802), recalled:

In this final sentence, Wagnière appears to confuse the actual monument – which featured only attributes of Voltaire’s craft at its base (laurels, lyre, Melpomene’s dagger, and Thalia’s mask) – with two caricatures that appeared separately in July 1773. The first, titled La justice divine (VI29), depicts Pigalle’s statue placed on a high pedestal, which in reality it did not have. We recognise the mask, the dagger, the lyre, and the monument’s mannerist, elongated limbs. The laurels on Voltaire’s head suggest that the engraving was based on the 1772 full-body model. An allegory of Religion descends from the skies to strike the statue with a bolt of lightning, severing Voltaire’s hand holding a quill, caught by the semi-nude figure of Folly (a reference to Mme Necker). At the base, Voltaire’s works, including La Pucelle and Questions sur l’Encyclopédie [], lie burning. Surrounding the pedestal, crowds of confused intellectuals (seventeen in number, representing the seventeen initiators of the project) raise their hands towards the heavens. In the foreground lies Jean-François de La Harpe (1739–1803), harp in hand. At the far right, abbé Morellet (1727–1819) in abbot’s robes and signature wig, leans on a cane. To his left, d’Alembert clutches a celestial sphere and a compass, while below, beside the pedestal, Diderot clasps the thick volumes of the Encyclopédie.

This caricature was followed by La justice humaine (VI30). In this second image, Imagination replaces Religion, and instead of striking Voltaire with lightning, offers him the torch of Genius. This torch, in turn, strikes down the allegories of Envy (emerging from a swamp, with snakes around her body) and Folly (on the ground, holding a windmill). The hand of the philosophesis easily recognisable. Just as Mme d’Épinay suggested in 1770, and as Wagnière would mistakenly recall in 1787, in the company of Folly and Envy, surrounded by frogs and snakes, we find L’Année littéraire with a capital “F” for Fréron. Nearby lies a more recent attack on Voltaire – Boileau à M. de Voltaire (1772) by Jean Marie Bernard Clément (1742–1812).102 The print’s inscription – “Let Foolishness and Envy fester / In their filthy mire; / To strike them down, / The torch of your genius is all that's required”103 – echoes the inscription proposed in 1770 by Ferdinando Galiani (1728–1787): Voltario devicta invidia. Saeculi sui miraculo, aere eruditorum conlato (“To Voltaire, envy having been vanquished. A marvel of his age, with funds contributed by the learned”).104

It remains unclear, however, whether these prints – and the broader controversy surrounding Pigalle’s monument – had any real resonance with the general public or remained largely an internal matter within the small circle of the intellectual elite. Tellingly, while the Mémoires secrets – the principal chronicle of the Republic of Letters, authored by the probable commissioners of La justice humaine – identified the symbolic elements of both engravings in scrupulous detail,105 other contemporary publications, such as L’Avantcoureur,106 failed to recognise the figures portrayed (“on voit sur autel, surmonté par je ne sçais quoi, une espèce de mannequin, ou de squélette”) and judged them solely on technical grounds (“la gravure paraît être d’un élève qui ne sçait pas encore manier la pointe et le burin.”).107

Furthermore, while the philosophes had feared from the outset the attacks that Pigalle’s monument might attract from their enemies,108 it seems that, in the end, it was their own criticisms that brought the project to a halt. The subscribers repeatedly pressed Pigalle with comments and proposed alterations, but the sculptor remained unwilling to compromise his artistic vision.109 As François Tronchin (1709–1781) wrote to Voltaire on 21 November 1771, “the artist is firmly determined to keep the model as it is rather than compromise the most precious of his works out of deference.”110

Voltaire, famously, responded:

But while Voltaire defended Pigalle’s artistic freedom in these early stages, later he echoed the criticisms voiced by others.112 Writing to his lifelong friend Charles-Augustin de Feriol d'Argental (1700–1788), he asked: “What possessed Pigalle to sculpt me as Venus?"113 By 1773, under sustained pressure from both the initiators of the project and their opponents, it seemed no one was invested in seeing the monument completed.114

Completion and Afterlife

At the dinner hosted by Mme Necker, it was agreed that Pigalle should complete the monument within two years.115 His pace and productivity between 1770 and 1772 clearly demonstrate his intention to meet this deadline. The abrupt shift from this active phase to the near-complete silence that followed until mid-1776, when the marble was finally finished,116 suggests that the harsh criticism that Pigalle faced in the early years stalled the project.

It did not help that throughout these six years, the initiators struggled to decide on a location for the statue. Various sites were proposed over time. Initially, lacking practical solutions, Mme Necker flattered Voltaire by suggesting the monument be erected on Mount Parnassus or at the Place des Victoires117 (implying it would replace the Victory Monument of Louis XIV).118 Mme du Deffand proposed placing it “dans la bibliothèque” (likely referring to the Bibliothèque du roi),119 while Grimm suggested casting it in bronze and installing it beneath the equestrian statue of Henry IV on the Pont-Neuf.120 However, the prevailing consensus in the first year was to install it in the new hall of the Comédie-Française.121 There, Mme Necker imagined she “would go every day to bathe it in my tears upon leaving Zaïreor Tancrède, and if some young author had had a success, he would place a garland of flowers on the Old Man’s head.”122 Indeed, as mentioned above, in February 1773, the entire troupe of the Comédie-Française visited Pigalle’s studio to view the model of the statue,123 suggesting the idea remained dominant three years into the project. Nevertheless, as with Pigalle’s sculpture itself, no decision was ever set in stone. Two years into the project, on 4 August 1772, the Mémoires secretsreported that “it has not yet been decided where the statue – intended to be executed in marble – will be placed”.124

On 9 April 1772, d’Alembert, who had overseen the project’s execution and managed the subscriptions,125 was appointed secrétaire perpétuel of the Académie Française. No doubt after his appointment, d’Alembert arranged for the monument to be placed there.126 At least, the payment certificate d’Alembert issued upon the completion of the marble clearly appears to have been written on behalf of the Académie:

In the end, however, the marble was installed neither in the Comédie nor the Académie française (and certainly not on Mount Parnassus). Until Pigalle’s death in 1785, it appears to have remained in the sculptor’s studio. As Joshua Reynolds moralistically recalled in his seventh Discourse on Art, delivered to the Royal academy of Arts in London on 10 December 1776:

However, the fate of the monument in the decade following its completion was far less bleak than Reynolds suggested. Pigalle, it seems, never lost faith in his creation, and even produced a lead copy of the statue for his garden.129 Furthermore, the monument received attention from the court. In February 1778 – perhaps, spurred by Voltaire’s triumphant return to Paris – the Bâtiments du roi commissioned Louis-Philippe Mouchy (1734–1801) to sculpt marble busts of Voltaire and Maréchal de Saxe. Mouchy, a student of Pigalle’s,130 was almost certainly expected to model his works on Pigalle’s well-publicised designs (curiously bringing the two monuments back together). The portraits were to form part of a set of six busts of français illustres (Voltaire, Maréchal de Saxe, Cardinal de Fleury, Chancelier d’Aguesseau, Trudaine, and Montesquieu) destined for the Château de Menars.131 The royal commission is mentioned in a letter dated 24 February 1778 from the marquis de Condorcet (1743–1794) to the baronne de Marchais (1725–1808):

It is unknown whether the requested sitting ever took place, but Mouchy completed the busts by 28 July 1779.133 However, these did not match the other four in the intended series: they were larger and mounted on round socles of a different material, rather than square ones from the same block, as expected.134 Consequently, the Bâtiments asked Mouchy to redo them, which he did in 1780.135 Interestingly, the Château de Versailles appears to preserve busts from both sets: the 1778–79 bust of Maréchal de Saxe (with a round socle, 82 cm in height) and the 1780 bust of Voltaire (with a square socle from the same block, 80 cm in height).136

Mouchy’s portrait of Voltaire (VI26) closely follows his teacher’s model: it retains the dynamic turn of the head, the inspired gaze, and the characteristic half-smile. However, Mouchy subtly corrects the features for which Pigalle had been criticised: the wrinkles and other signs of old age are softened, and the nudity is concealed beneath classical drapery.

While the statue was remembered in the decade following its completion, after Pigalle’s death on 22 August 1785, it fell into obscurity. First, Voltaire nu was transferred to thechâteauof Alexandre-Marie-François de Paule de Dompierre d’Hornoy (1743–1828), Voltaire’s nephew, to whom it was likely bequeathed.137 In 1783, La Harpe lamented:

The monument’s subsequent fate was no less unfortunate. On 16 March 1806, following a request from the Institut de France (the Académie Française), d’Hornoy donated the statue to the institution.139 Initially, it was placed in a niche facing the entrance to the library, but in 1819 it was moved to the back of the reading room, where it was barely visible. The statue remained largely inaccessible to the general public until the 1970s, when the Louvre acquired it from the Institut in exchange for Mazarin’s mausoleum and put it on display.140

Scandalous at the time of its creation and long hidden from public view, Pigalle’s statue did not become a major reference point for later portraits of Voltaire. Yet it was highly innovative in several respects, including its approach to Voltaire’s iconography. The monument was both a reaction against the satirical depictions of the patriarch and a departure from the image of the witty socialite that had defined Voltaire’s earlier public persona. To these, Pigalle opposed a noble portrayal of an inspired thinker – an image unprecedented not only in representations of Voltaire but also within the sculptural tradition more broadly, marking what Willibald Sauerländer called “the first attempt in post-antique sculpture to give poetic enthusiasm a sculptural form”.141