Alfred Boucher (1850 - 1934)

J. Piette, Alfred Boucher 1850 - 1934, L'œuvre sculpté, Catalogue raisonné, Paris, 2014,p. 188, listed as cat. A38E.

The first known representation of Volubilis dates back to 1894, in the form of a life-size bronze created for the funerary monument of Ferdinand Barbedienne at the Père Lachaise cemetery. Boucher exhibited at the 1896 Salon a marble relief version (no. 3257), which was enthusiastically received by critics: “Boucher’s Volubilis has inspired a legion of fervent admirers. One delights in the chaste grace and ingenuous delicacy of this high-relief figure of a young girl standing out against a background of tall forest, carved with rare finesse in solid marble. It was a daring challenge to treat, without lapsing into sentimentality, a subject of such perilous nature and such subtle genre.” (H. Houssaye, The Salon of 1896, One Hundred Plates in Photogravure, Goupil & Cie, p. 58).

Encouraged by this success, the sculptor then produced several variations of the model, always in marble, where the forest landscape disappears. In one of these, Volubilis is shown half-length; in another, as a bust; and in yet another—like in the present example—only her beautiful face emerges from the powerful block of marble. The delicate features of the young woman’s profile contrast with the rough, barely-hewn surface of the stone. This juxtaposition further enhances the softness of her face and the fine texture of her skin.

Here, Boucher demonstrates both his exceptional mastery as a marble carver—he was known to work with few assistants—and his deep understanding of Italian Renaissance models. The ethereal profile of the present Volubilis recalls those of Desiderio da Settignano, while the raw block from which she emerges evokes Michelangelo’s powerful non finito marbles. Boucher also alludes to the poem Le Volubilis by the Parnassian poet René François Sully Prudhomme:

You who can hear me speak of death without fear,

Because your hope assures you it brings sleep,

And that the brief slumber begun in its shadow

Will end in the bright land of countless stars —

Receive my final wish for the day when I shall go

Alone, before you, to test if your hope speaks true.

Plant not above my closed eyelids

Tall dahlias, nor proud roses,

Nor rigid lilies: these flowers rise too high.

Such haughty blooms are not for me,

For I would feel from these stiff neighbors

Only the groping of funereal roots.

Instead of dahlias, roses, and lilies,

Transplant near me the cheerful morning glory (volubilis),

That friendly climber which, along the green lattice,

Scallops the blue where your soul wanders,

Forms the familiar frame of your beauty,

And makes of your window a garden in the sky.

That is the companion I desire for my ashes:

Supple, it will know how to descend to me.

When you have kissed it, my dear, speaking my name,

Through some narrow crack it will gently come,

Messenger of your heart, into my final rest,

To bloom with your hope upon the void of my mouth.

(R. F. Sully Prudhomme, “Le Volubilis,” from Solitudes, 1869)