The master who was to break definitely with the cold, majestic,
uninspired art of the seventeenth century, and who in leading
French painting into new paths reached the very limits of poetic
expressiveness imposed by material means, was Antoine Watteau
(1684-1721). Born at Valenciennes six years before that city became
French through the peace of Nymwegen, Watteau, the son of a poor
Flemish tiler, was French, as it were, by accident only. In his early
years, when he studied in his native town under Gérin, a mediocre
local painter, he must have had occasion to become closely acquainted
with the paintings of the Flemish masters. On the death of Gérin, in
1702, he went to Paris, where he became assistant to the scene-painter
Métayer. Watteau suffered dire poverty, and completely undermined his
health through privation before his talent attracted the attention of
his next master, Claude Gillot, with whom he stayed until 1708, when he
became assistant to Claude Audran, a decorative artist of great repute
and Keeper of the Luxembourg collections. At the Luxembourg Palace he
was enabled to study the masterpieces of Rubens, Titian, and Paolo
Veronese, from which he benefited as much as from his work from nature
in the Luxembourg gardens.
It was perhaps fortunate that he failed in the competition for the
Prix de Rome in 1709, and was dissuaded from going to Italy. He
was received by the Academy in 1717, when he painted his “diploma
picture.” _The Embarkation for the Island of Cythera_ (No. 982, Plate
XXXIX.), which may be considered an epitome of his art. Sketchy as
it is, this picture, which he painted in seven days, exceeds in
poetic charm and in the beauty of its entrancing sparkle of mellow
tones the more highly finished later version in the German Emperor’s
collection. It is the most striking instance of a purely imaginary
scene of unworldly happiness, tinged with that peculiarly Watteauesque
vague melancholy,—the consumptive’s _maladie de l’infini_ to which
M. Mauclair has drawn attention,—represented with such absolute
atmospheric truth as to make it appear an incomparably beautiful
reality. Technically, this picture, like _L’Indifférent_ (No. 984)
and _La Finette_ (No. 985) in the La Caze Room, embodies in germ
the theories which in the second half of the next century were
scientifically worked out by the French Impressionists.
Some time in 1719 or 1720, Watteau was in England to consult a famous
physician. But his illness took a turn for the worse, and he had to
return to his native country. After six months spent in Paris, he went
to live at Nogent-sur-Marne, where he died on July 18, 1721. Watteau’s
influence upon eighteenth-century art was prodigious; but his work
remained unapproached by any of his followers and imitators, who too
often sacrificed artistic considerations to a desire to please the
lascivious tastes of a corrupt, pleasure-loving society. The _Faux Pas_
(No. 989) is one of the rare instances where Watteau allowed a certain
suggestiveness to enter into his work; but even here “the smallness of
the subject is swallowed up in the greatness of the painting.”
[Illustration:
PLATE XXXIX.—ANTOINE WATTEAU
(1684-1721)