Dying Gladiator at The Louvre, Paris

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A mortally wounded gladiator stands firm, his face serene as he contemplates the laurel crown that crowns his courage. This was Pierre Julien’s second masterpiece for the Académie Royale de Peinture et de Sculpture and a pivotal work in his career. He had previously presented another piece, a statue of Ganymede (Louvre), in 1776 but was rejected, possibly due to his teacher Guillaume II Coustou's lack of support for his gifted pupil. Embarrassed by this unjust failure, Julien considered abandoning art to become a naval sculptor but, encouraged by friends, persevered and presented Dying Gladiator to the Académie in 1778. He was admitted on March 27th, 1779 and appointed an assistant teacher in 1781. Acclaim for the sculpture at the 1779 Salon made up for the insult of 1776. In this exceptional work, the artist showcased his expertise in academic criteria while conveying personal qualities. The statue is a declaration of his knowledge of antique sculpture. He reinterpreted the Dying Gladiator from Rome's Capitoline Museum, a marble copy of which he sculpted during his stay at the Académie de France in Rome from 1769 to 1772. The pose of the legs seems to have been inspired by the famous antique sculpture The Knife Grinder in Florence, executed by Italian Foggini in 1684 for Versailles (now in the Louvre). Julien’s nude gladiator demonstrates his complete mastery of anatomy and drapery at the rear of the statue. But it was the sculptor's personal touch that imbues the work with its sensitivity: the elegant proportions, refined modeling, and delicate execution (the finesse of the hands, laurel leaves, and strands of hair), the marble’s perfect finish, and the rendering of textures (the polish of the shield and sword suggest their metallic brilliance). The work is a remarkable testament to the revival of classical sensibility, albeit in a codified genre. The return to antiquity and nature, begun by sculptors Edme Bouchardon and Jean-Baptiste Pigalle in the 1740s, asserted itself in the 1770s. Julien celebrated the heroism of a man overcoming pain and stoically dying in silence. The balanced composition, dignified pose, discreet chest wound, and restrained expression are formal echoes of this heroic serenity. Like the Laocoon, one of the most admired antique statues at that time, the gladiator is in agony but not crying out in pain, and it is this dignity in suffering that makes the figure more sensitive and inward-looking. A critic at the 1779 Salon conveyed our empathy: “He is a wretched soul expiring, whose pain we share; in short, this figure is all soul.”