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Provenance

 

Sculpture completed for Abbé Joseph-Marie Terray (1715-1778) in 1776, France; Removed from the posthumous sale of Abbé Terray’s collection (20 January 1779) and installed by his nephew and heir, Antoine-Jean Terray, Vicomte de Rozières (1750-94) at Château de La Motte-Tilly; inherited by his son (Abbé Terray’s great-nephew), Claude-Hippolyte Terray (1774-1849), and described in the 1818 inventory of Château de La Motte-Tilly; described in Baron Ferdinand de Rothschild’s 1898 probate inventory as purchased from Lord William Osborne (1835-88); inherited by Alice de Rothschild (1847-1922); inherited by James de Rothschild (1878-1957); bequeathed by James de Rothschild to the National Trust in 1957.

 

Essential Literature

Jules Guiffrey, Les Caffiéri: Sculpteurs et Fondeurs-Ciseleurs, étude sur la statuaire et sur l'art du bronze en France au XVIIe et au XVIIIe siècle (Damascène Morgand et Charles Fatout, 1877), p. 221; Stanislas Lami, Dictionnaire de sculpteurs de l’école francaise au dix-huitième siècle (Honoré Champion, 1910), pp. 157-221; Dennis Sutton, ‘La Sculpture’, in Francis John Bagott Watson (ed.), Waddesdon Manor and Its Collections (Éditions de la Gazette des Beaux-Arts, 1959), pp. 75-86 (pp. 82-4); Terence Hodgkinson, ‘French Art at Waddesdon Manor’, The Burlington Magazine, 101.676/677 (1959), pp. 256–7; Terence Hodgkinson, The James A. De Rothschild Collection At Waddesdon Manor: Sculpture (Office du Livre, 1970), pp. 16-9; Wend Graf Kalnein and Michael Levey, Art and Architecture of the Eighteenth Century in France (Penguin, 1972), p. 100; Ulrich Middeldorf, Sculptures from the Samuel H. Kress Collection: European Schools XIV-XIX Century (Phaidon, 1976) p. 106; Michael Levey, Painting and Sculpture in France 1700-1798 (Yale University Press, 1993), p. 151-2; Colin B. Bailey, ‘The Abbé Terray - An Enlightened Patron’, The Burlington Magazine, 135.1079 (1993), pp. 121-32; Colin B. Bailey, Patriotic Taste: Collecting Modern Art in Pre-Revolutionary Paris (Yale University Press, 2002), pp. 82-3.

Provenance

 

Sculpture completed for Abbé Joseph-Marie Terray (1715-1778) in 1776, France; Removed from the posthumous sale of Abbé Terray’s collection (20 January 1779) and installed by his nephew and heir, Antoine-Jean Terray, Vicomte de Rozières (1750-94) at Château de La Motte-Tilly; inherited by his son (Abbé Terray’s great-nephew), Claude-Hippolyte Terray (1774-1849), and described in the 1818 inventory of Château de La Motte-Tilly; described in Baron Ferdinand de Rothschild’s 1898 probate inventory as purchased from Lord William Osborne (1835-88); inherited by Alice de Rothschild (1847-1922); inherited by James de Rothschild (1878-1957); bequeathed by James de Rothschild to the National Trust in 1957.

 

Essential Literature

Jules Guiffrey, Les Caffiéri: Sculpteurs et Fondeurs-Ciseleurs, étude sur la statuaire et sur l'art du bronze en France au XVIIe et au XVIIIe siècle (Damascène Morgand et Charles Fatout, 1877), p. 221; Stanislas Lami, Dictionnaire de sculpteurs de l’école francaise au dix-huitième siècle (Honoré Champion, 1910), vol. 2, pp. 41-7; Dennis Sutton, ‘La Sculpture’, in Francis John Bagott Watson (ed.), Waddesdon Manor and Its Collections (Éditions de la Gazette des Beaux-Arts, 1959), pp. 75-86 (pp. 82-4); Terence Hodgkinson, ‘French Art at Waddesdon Manor’, The Burlington Magazine, 101.676/677 (1959), pp. 256–7; Terence Hodgkinson, The James A. De Rothschild Collection At Waddesdon Manor: Sculpture (Office du Livre, 1970), pp. 16-9; Wend Graf Kalnein and Michael Levey, Art and Architecture of the Eighteenth Century in France (Penguin, 1972), p. 100; Ulrich Middeldorf, Sculptures from the Samuel H. Kress Collection: European Schools XIV-XIX Century (Phaidon, 1976) p. 106; Michael Levey, Painting and Sculpture in France 1700-1798 (Yale University Press, 1993), p. 151-2; Colin B. Bailey, ‘The Abbé Terray - An Enlightened Patron’, The Burlington Magazine, 135.1079 (1993), pp. 121-32; Colin B. Bailey, Patriotic Taste: Collecting Modern Art in Pre-Revolutionary Paris (Yale University Press, 2002), pp. 82-3.

Jean-Jacques Caffiéri (1725-92)
Geometry and Architecture
1776
Inscribed on left of base: I ° I ° CAFFIERI invenit et Sculpsit 1776
Marble
H 97.2 cm, L 84.4 cm, W 49.5 cm
Waddesdon Manor (no. 2214) 

Félix Lecomte (1737-1817)
Geography and Astronomy
1778
Inscribed on left of base: LECOMTE 1778. 
Marble 
H 94.9 cm, L 80.3 cm, W 48.3 cm
Waddesdon Manor (no. 3158)

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Sculptures that Speak

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The majority of sculpture in the Waddesdon Manor collection is of fine eighteenth-century French provenance. Of these, two large sculptures of putti sit in the East Gallery, some of the larger statuary featured indoors. Visitors to Waddesdon today no doubt appreciate the beauty of their cool marble. Their refined carving exhibits fleshy mobility in the figures with charming expressions. The twenty-first-century viewer might spend a moment absorbing a few of these aesthetic details and move on. In the eighteenth century, the beholder would have likely engaged with them in a different way, since nestled within all these decorative elements is also a bounty of meaning and allegorical details that may be lost on us today.

Allegory in art dates back to Antiquity, symbology expressed through objects, gestures, and figures.[1] Certainly many of us may enjoy recognizing the occasional familiar motif in the paintings and statues we see at galleries and museums. But to both the eighteenth-century patron and the nineteenth-century collector, reading these allegories wasn’t cursory; people were fluent in this language, and this visual fluency was crucial to participate in intellectual circles.

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Figure 1. Jean-Jacques Caffiéri, Geometry and Architecture, 1776, marble, h. 97.2 cm, Waddesdon Manor, Buckinghamshire (no. 2214). 

While the medieval arts had purveyed much religious allegory, in the Renaissance, European artists began to revive ancient Greek and Roman iconographies and themes, marrying them to their Humanist ideals. The Enlightenment period that followed continued this practice in the arts and began to incorporate its own principles, often expressing allegories that were ultimately related to the cult of reason and scientific progression.[2]

 

Following a curriculum that had been established since the Renaissance, the educated and enlightened elites of the eighteenth century were schooled in the Classics, typically learning Latin, Greek, philosophy and the liberal arts. Art was seen as a tool of instruction as much as ornament, and the educated viewer would read the iconography of painting and sculpture for its mythical, historical, philosophical or literary references and their moral implications. Displaying one’s knowledge of this language was as much a part of the ritual as reading it, and so many patrons would collect and commission appropriately allegorical works of art. Let us adopt the lens of such an eighteenth-century patron, and through it look again at these two sculptures at Waddesdon Manor.

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Figure 2. Félix Lecomte, Geography and Astronomy, 1761-68, marble, h. 94.9 cm, Waddesdon Manor, Buckinghamshire (no. 3158)

Of the pair, Jean-Jacques Caffiéri’s (1725-1792) sculpture is titled Geometry & Architecture (figure 1), two fields of the sciences that were commonly represented together. Caffiéri was an expert in his trade, having come from an extensive family of sculptors. He trained at the French Academy in Rome in 1749 and undertook many commissions for the French state after returning to Paris. The patron for whom this sculpture was made was indeed a senior minister of the French court, the Abbé Joseph Marie Terray (1715-1778), Louis XV’s Contrôleur Général des Finances and briefly the Directeur Général des Bâtiments du Roi. This latter position was associated with being responsible for the state of the nation’s arts. Terray therefore needed to display his artistic knowledge and appreciation, exemplified by his commissioning of these sculptures.

 

Caffiéri’s statue features two putti, each representing a scientific discipline. The figure on the left personifies Geometry, made evident by the parchment he leans on which is inscribed with Pythagoras’ theorem. Pythagoras was admired not just as a mathematician but also as a foundational philosopher of ancient Greece.[3] His theorem here alludes to harmony and cosmic order, concepts aligned with the Enlightenment’s own philosophical principles.

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Figure 3. Jean-Jacques Caffiéri, Geometry and Architecture, detail of fig. 1 showing the  geometric solids.

At the figure’s feet are two geometric shapes, most notably a dodecahedron (figure 3). This twelve-sided object was associated with the highest realms of the cosmos. In Plato’s Timaeus, he declares it the ultimate shape which ‘found a use in embroidering the universe with constellations’.[4] Plato’s theory of Forms posited that the physical world was an imperfect imitation of a higher realm of perfection, composed of Ideal Forms. His Platonic Solids, a series of five polyhedrons – tetrahedron, cube, octahedron, dodecahedron, and icosahedron – represented the elements of nature, and he used them to theorize about metaphysical truths.[5] The tetrahedron, for example, with its sharp points suited the element of Fire, while a cube’s regularity matched the solidity of Earth. The dodecahedron was the most complex solid and was thus elevated above the natural elements to the order of the divine. Plato posited that the geometric stability of these solids was evidence of a rational, intelligible universe, from which deeper truths about existence could be understood through mathematics and reason.

 

Platonic theory would have been familiar to many in eighteenth-century intellectual circles.[6] The dodecahedron would be a recognizable shape with all the complex symbolism it represented. The presence of an obelisk behind the dodecahedron further reinforces these themes. A shape with a long and ancient history that was appropriated by the Romans from Egypt, it symbolized a connection between heaven and Earth.[7]

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Figure 4. Jean-Jacques Caffiéri, Geometry and Architecture, detail of fig. 1 showing the Doric capital.

The second putto standing next to Geometry represents Architecture. His hand holds a ruler and rests upon a floor plan. On the ground lies a set square, next to which is the capital of a Doric column (figure 4). This apparently simple reference to a building component in fact alludes to the classical orders of architecture. Defined by the Greeks and Romans, the orders were not merely decorative styles in architecture but whole systems of rational proportions and geometric relationships.[8] These orders were codified in Greece from the sixth century B.C. onwards and detailed in Vitruvius’ De Architectura in the first century B.C., the only complete treatise on architecture surviving from Classical Antiquity. Today, we are surrounded by architecture founded upon these orders of Antiquity, yet many have lost the key to identifying them. To the eighteenth-century viewer, however, this simple artefact broadcasts a much deeper symbolic statement of classical knowledge.

 

The companion sculpture to Caffiéri’s in the collection at Waddesdon Manor, by Félix Lecomte (1761-1768), represents two more scientific disciplines: Geography and Astronomy (figure 2). Lecomte had also attended the Academy in Rome in 1761 and achieved similar status as a highly skilled sculptor. The putto representing Geography kneels over a globe, holding dividers, and peels back a piece of drapery to reveal a mapped region (figure 5). Closer inspection reveals that he is unveiling Indonesia, while the divider points to Australia. This was an area of active European exploration in the late eighteenth century.[9] After the Seven Years’ War (1756–1763) had ended, Europe was experiencing a brief period of relative peace. The ships previously occupied with warfare could turn to expeditions, and both colonial expansion and scientific exploration became intensely competitive between France and Britain. This part of the Pacific Ocean was at the time largely uncharted, and so began major endeavors by each imperial nation to dominate the region. While Britain was the naval superior, France was undaunted and no less intrepid in its efforts. Recent French expeditions included that by Louis Antoine de Bougainville (1729-1811), the first Frenchman to circumnavigate the globe from 1766–69, and Jean-François de Surville (1717-1770), who in 1769 crossed paths with Britain’s own ‘Captain Cook’ (1728-1779) while exploring New Zealand’s coasts.[10] These voyages were heralded as triumphs of global discovery, scientific investigation and rational inquiry. The globe is a typical attribute to the personification of geography, but here the sculptor alludes to much more by referencing and celebrating these recent specific expeditions.

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Figure 5. Félix Lecomte, Geography and Astronomy, detail of fig. 2 showing the terrestrial globe.

Standing up next to Geography is Astronomy, personified by a putto gazing up toward the heavens, holding a telescope. On a scroll in his other hand is the inscription ‘Sistême de Copernic’, with a diagram of concentric circles indicative of Copernicus’ heliocentric theory of 1543.[11] Copernicus placed the Sun, rather than the Earth at the center of the cosmos, which challenged prevailing religious dogma. Eventually this concept would reshape scientific ideas that would be fundamental to the Enlightenment. To eighteenth-century intellectuals, this reference would have symbolized the victory of reason and inquiry over established authority. The blooming flowers lying on the ground at the putto’s feet further this message, signifying the flourishing of knowledge.

 

The pair of sculptures at Waddesdon were in fact part of a larger group of four. The other two, by Clodion (1738-1814) and Jean-Pierre-Antoine Taessart (1727-88), symbolize Poetry and Music (figure 6), and Painting and Sculpture (figure 7) respectively (both now at the National Gallery of Art in Washington). Tassaert’s allegorical Painting is represented by a draped female putto standing beside a canvas, holding brushes and a paint palette in her hand. Next to her, Sculpture holds a hammer and chisel, the tools of stone carving. He leans on the head of a man he has evidently been sculpting. Of interest, the face of the sculpted head bears a resemblance to a bust sculpted by Jean-Baptiste II Lemoyne (1704-78) thought to be of the Abbé Terray, the patron of these sculptures. In Clodion’s sculpture, the putto of Poetry sits on a stack of books, holding a stylus with an unrolled scroll across his lap. He looks for inspiration from the figure of Music, standing beside him with a cithern (a type of stringed instrument) in his hand and a wind instrument at his feet. This pair of sculptures represent the Arts to complement Caffiéri and Lecomte’s Sciences, the group as a whole declaring their patron’s intellect and taste.

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Figure 6. Clodion, Poetry and Music, about 1774-1778, marble, 117.6 × 89.1 x 56 cm, National Gallery of Art, Washington D.C. (no. 1952.5.98) (Samuel H. Kress Collection).

Behind the figure of Painting, on the floor of the implied artist’s workshop, lies the carved face of a putto. Hidden from initial frontal viewing, this self-referential allusion is a nod to the genre of putti themselves. The contemporary viewer is well exposed to these cherubic characters across the arts, but why? The baby-like figures developed from ancient traditions of Greek and Roman iconography. They appeared on antique Roman sarcophagi that Renaissance artists would draw from, and their application developed into embodying the essence of something, or the spirit of a place, the genius loci.[12] In Baroque sculpture, it was customary for sculptors to make their debut by creating putti, a genre that could be considered minor yet often became a point of comparison between major artists.[13] One of those major artists, Flemish sculptor François Duquesnoy (1587-1643) profoundly shaped the modern visual language of the putto in sculpture.[14] His fleshy and naturalistic infantile bodies departed from the more affected representations of earlier Renaissance art. Duquesnoy infused his putti with a youthful tenderness, anatomically accurate but with a charming emotional presence. His influence on contemporary sculpture was not without criticism. The art critic Giovanni Pietro Bellori (1613-1696), while acknowledging that Duquesnoy executed this style of cherub better than anyone else, criticized the sculptor for rendering them too tender – ‘sembrando essi più tosto di latte che di macigno’[15] – making them seem more like milk than sandstone. Regardless, Duquesnoy’s style persisted in the genre of putti, and is reflected in the forms of Caffiéri’s and Lecomte’s putti we see today.

 

So, what did these allegorical sculptures mean to Ferdinand de Rothschild’s (1839-1898) own nineteenth-century taste? Ferdinand was not a passive collector of beautiful objects for beauty’s sake, as he notes in his Reminiscences:

Old works of art are not, however, desirable only for their rarity or beauty, but for their associations, for the memories they evoke, the trains of thought to which they lead, and the many ways they stimulate the imagination […].[16]

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Figure 7. Jean-Pierre-Antoine Tassaert, Painting and Sculpture, about 1774-1778, marble, 98.3 × 87.2 × 63.8 cm, National Gallery of Art, Washington D.C. (no. 1952.5.110) (Samuel H. Kress Collection).

These sculptures’ iconography which we have deconstructed here was essential in their appeal to their eighteenth-century patron, and therefore an important association for Ferdinand. Historical provenance was a major part of his collecting pattern, as can be seen in the illustrious provenance associated with many of his objects. That these sculptures were commissioned by a renowned figure in the court of Louis XV (r. 1715-1774), and both carved by celebrated sculptors of the eighteenth century, was not incidental but integral to Ferdinand’s appreciation of them. Furthermore, they bear the wounds of history with their Revolutionary bullet marks (apocryphal or not). Ferdinand also believed his collecting to have a greater moral imperative, as such objects would attract ‘brilliant gatherings’ of ‘the more enlightened and intelligent portions of society […] which have a beneficent influence on the tone and the conditions of society at large’.[17] Like much of Ferdinand’s collection, these sculptures formed a bridge from the cultural heights of eighteenth-century society that he so admired, to the contemporary moralistic aims of his own nineteenth-century collecting.

[1] James Hall, Dictionary of Subjects and Symbols in Art (Taylor & Francis, 2008);  Matilde Battistini, Symbols and Allegories in Art (Getty Publications, 2005), pp. 6-7.

[2] See Dorinda Outram, The Enlightenment (Cambridge University Press, 2013).

[3] Carl Huffman, ‘Pythagoras’, The Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy (Spring 2024 Edition), Edward N. Zalta & Uri Nodelman (eds.) [accessed 04-02-2026].

[4] Plato, Timaeus, trans. Robert Gregg Bury (Harvard University Press, 1929), p. 55.

[5] Michele Emmer, ‘Art and Mathematics: The Platonic Solids’, Leonardo, 15.4 (1982), pp. 277-82 (pp. 277-8).

[6] See David Lay Williams, Rosseau’s Platonic Enlightenment (Penn State University Press, 2007).

[7] Erik Iversen, ‘Obelisk’, Grove Art Online (2003) [accessed 04-02-2026].

[8] John Summerson, The Classical Language of Architecture (Thames and Hudson, 1980), pp. 9-10.

[9] Felipe Fernández-Armesto, Pathfinders: A Global History of Exploration (W.W. Norton & Company, 2006), pp. 289-328. 

[10] John Gascoigne, Discovery and Empire: the French in the South Seas (University of Adelaide Press, 2013), pp. 24-35.

[11] Nicolaus Copernicus, De revolutionibus orbium coelestium (Iohannes Petreius, 1543).

[12] Cesare Ripa, Iconologia (Benj. Motte, 1709), p. 34.

[13] Stefano Pierguidi, ‘Bellori e i putti nella scultura del Seicento: Bernini, Duquesnoy, Algardi’, Marburger Jahrbuch für Kunstwissenschaft, 39 (2012), pp. 155-80 (p. 156).

[14] Estelle Lingo, François Duquesnoy and the Greek Ideal (Yale University Press, 2007), pp. 43-4.

[15] Ibid., p. 171.

[16] The Waddesdon Manor Archive at Windmill Hill, Acc. No. 177.1997: Ferdinand de Rothschild, Reminiscences, 1897, p. 65.

[17] Ferdinand de Rothschild, ‘The Expansion of Art’, The Fortnightly Review, 37 (1885), pp. 56-69 (p. 57).

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