The stage has from time to time been indebted to Watteau for costume and décor. But Watteau’s debt to the stage of his period, to the Opera, to the Italian Comedy, and to the Theatres of the Fair, has hardly been considered sufficiently. Here is not the place to bring forward all the evidence that could be produced. Only an indication of some of the leading possibilities can be given. But while the subject has an interest of its own, on the purely critical side, it is also of interest to students of the ballet, for they may trace in some of the famous French pictures of the early eighteenth century the influence of ballet on contemporary art. Again, history “repeats itself” to-day, for have not many artists of our own time found inspiration in many of the productions of the Russian ballet?

It is interesting first to compare Watteau’s picture of “L’Amour au Théâtre Italien” with the reproductions given here from an old volume in my possession, Riccoboni’s Histoire du Théâtre Italien, which was not published until six years after Watteau’s death, but which may be regarded as a contemporary work since it describes the stage of his time.

These prints represent the various types of the Italian comedy as they were actually costumed, and comparing these with the figures in Watteau’s group, one sees in their close resemblance proof that the master was painting from things seen, from life itself (albeit stage life), not some graceful creations of his own imagination, as some of us to-day have been too apt to think.

In “L’Amour au Théâtre Italien” we have a faithful record of costumes actually worn; but the whole attitude of the group of figures suggests something vastly more than merely an artist’s study of costume. The figures are alert, the moment dramatic. Something is happening, or rather has happened, and there is a suggestion of culmination, as if the interruption of a song by the entry of a character had called forth, or was about to call forth, some whimsical comment from Pierrot, the singer. It seems a captured moment in a comedy.

Comparing it with the obviously companion picture, “L’Amour au Théâtre Français,” one might well be somewhat puzzled by the title, since in neither is there any apparent love-scene taking place. The one suggests an interruption in a comedy, the other—a dance in progress.

Beneath the engravings of these two by C. N. Cochin in the Jullienne collection, however, are inscribed a couple of six-line stanzas, one beneath each, in which the treatment of love themes in Italian and French comedies respectively is contrasted.

L’AMOUR AU THÉÂTRE FRANÇAIS

M. Roy.”

L’AMOUR AU THÉÂTRE ITALIEN

M. Roy.”

These stanzas are by Roy, a contemporary poet who was a librettist for the Opera, two of whose operas were produced in 1712.

One thing is certain, that Watteau’s own eyes must have noted the contrast between the Italian and French comedy to have painted such pictures. He could not have painted them without being an observant theatre-goer. What, then, did he see, and when could he have seen such productions as might suggest such works? While acknowledging that positive evidence is still to be sought, I cannot help feeling that these two pictures, and one or two others, could fairly safely be placed as work done about 1711-1712.

In 1709 Antoine, still with Audran at the Luxembourg, competed for entry, and was admitted with four other students, for the Academy. Then he left Paris for Valenciennes, defraying expenses by selling a military picture, “Départ des Troupes,” to the dealer, Sirois, who urged him to paint a similar picture, which he did at Valenciennes.

There is no direct evidence that Watteau painted any stage-pictures before this period; and it would seem that his work in the country was mainly on military and naturalistic subjects. We do know that he was again in Paris at a date uncertain in 1712, and went to live with a Monsieur Crozat, by whom he was engaged to paint a series of panels of The Seasons. It is extremely likely that he would have returned to Paris refreshed by his country sojourn and with a new zest for work, and for theatre-going, which was then beginning to be particularly interesting, a crisis in the Fair Theatre troubles being over by 1710, and some new productions there as well as at the opera being well worth seeing.

As I would trace his movements, still admitting that positive evidence is required, Watteau returned to Paris early in 1711, took up his quarters for a time with Sirois the dealer, who would have the disposing of work done at Valenciennes. One of his first pictures of this period was probably “Gilles and his Family,” in the Wallace collection, which is supposed to be a portrait of Sirois dressed as a Pierrot or Gilles (the names being synonymous at the period) in a costume supplied by Watteau’s own wardrobe.

Then would come visits to the Fairs of St. Germain and St. Laurent, whence he would return reinspired with a love for the gay, reckless, satiric Italian comedy.

One has only to compare the Hertford House “Gilles” with the central figure of Pierrot in the “L’Amour au Théâtre Italien” to see that one is an earlier work and is the figure of a man somewhat self-conscious and not quite used to the clothes he is wearing; the other a maturer work, representing a vivid impression of a born comedian, momentarily master of the scene. Doubtless at this time, too, would be done some, but only some, of the remaining works dealing with the Italian stage types, such as “Les Jaloux,” “Arlequin Jaloux,” “Comédiens Italiens,” and “Pierrot Content.” A little after, I think, would come such works as “Arlequin et Colombine,” (in the Wallace collection), “Mezzetin,” and the maturer “Gilles,” in the Louvre.

In 1712 there were at the Theatres of the Fair in Paris two famous players of Gilles or Pierrot, namely, Hamoche, who made his début in that year with the St. Edmé troupe; and Belloni, who was also a lemonade-seller, quite a popular character, notable, as one chronicle tells us, “for the grand simplicity of his acting and for his naïve and truthful speech.”

The most famous of the players of Arlequin was Pierre-François (otherwise Domenique) Biancolelli, who was also of the St. Edmé troupe, somewhere between 1710-1712.

Thus it was not unlikely that Watteau saw these actors, as he may have seen another, Delaplace, as Scaramouche, and Desgranges, who came to Paris from Lyons, in 1712, as “the Doctor”; though the Mezzetin offers a minor problem in that Angelo Constantini, the most famous impersonator of the character, after suffering banishment with the Italian comedians in 1697, went to Poland, where an intrigue with the Queen resulted in his imprisonment for twenty years, by which time Watteau was no more. Him, therefore, Watteau cannot have seen. But the character was a familiar one on the stage at the time, 1710-1712, and must have been played by other popular actors, even if not of sufficient note to be chronicled.

To turn from the Italian actors to other theatrical characters which form the subjects of some of Watteau’s pictures, it is of interest to note that one of the engravings in the Jullienne collection represents “Poisson en habit de paysan.” Poisson was a familiar name in the annals of the French stage, for it was borne by three generations of Parisian actors, Raymond Poisson, who died in 1690, Paul, his son, and François, grandson. Watteau’s picture is presumably that of the second, Paul.

Another interesting point to note is that a portrait of Raymond Poisson, painted by Netscher, was engraved by Edelinck (who was employed by Watteau’s employer—Audran) and represents the actor in the character of Crispin, one of his most famous parts (that of a sort of black-dressed Pierrot, a messenger distinguished by his long boots, worn by Raymond Poisson to increase his stature), which was successively played by his son Paul, and grandson François, and became a traditional type.

Watteau cannot have seen Raymond, who died twelve years before the artist came to Paris, but he may well have seen Paul, and it is significant that he should have drawn a figure representing not “Poisson en habit de Crispin” (whose costume was now a tradition) but “en habit de Paysan” as if it was the very fact that the part was one different from that especially associated with the Poisson family which made it of interest to Watteau.

In connection with the same portrait there is one point that is particularly noteworthy, namely, that it is exactly like the central figure in “Le Concert,” or “Les Charmes de la Vie” in the Wallace collection; and close consideration of the latter inclines me to the belief that the picture represents—as certain others not unusually so considered may well do—a scene from an opera.

Another of the engravings in the Jullienne collection of “Mdlle. Desmares en habit de Pelerine.” Mlle. Desmares was a well-known Danish actress; and “pelerines” appear in Watteau’s “L’Embarquement pour l’Ile de Cythère.”

One has only to pass in review a succession of Watteau’s works, or reproductions thereof, to notice how very frequently he repeats himself in matters of detail. In a general way, for instance, it is curious to note how frequently dancing and music are repeated in the course of his life’s work. In “L’Amour au Théâtre Français” is a couple dancing; in the “Bal sous une Colonnade” another; in “Le Contrat de Mariage” and its variants—another, and very similar; in “Le Menuet” (at the Hermitage, Petrograd) another; in “Amusements Champêtres” (Chantilly), and in the “Fêtes Vénitiennes” (Edinburgh) are more such couples; while there is, of course, the dainty single figure of the child in “La Danse,” in the Royal Palace, Potsdam; and the famous “L’Indifférent,” in the Louvre, also represents a young man dancing. Dancers and musicians are thus a constant theme for Watteau’s brush.

There are, however, more distinctive and more curious repetitions to note than these obvious evidences of a general taste for music and the dance; the repetitions of figures or groups in particular positions, and of details in mise en scène.

The well-known “Joueur de Guitare,” in the Musée Condé, reappears in almost exact facsimile in “La Surprise” (in Buckingham Palace) and also in the “Fête Galante,” or “Fête Champêtre,” in the Royal Gallery, Dresden.

The couple in “La Gamme d’Amour” is simply a detail from the centre of the “Assemblée dans un Parc,” in the Royal Gallery at Berlin. The musician in “La Leçon de Musique” (Wallace collection) is repeated in “Le Concert,” also in the Wallace collection.

To turn now to details of mise en scène, it is curious to note that the pillars seen in the last-named picture also occur in the “Bal sous une Colonnade,” in the Dulwich Gallery.

The reclining statue to the right of the picture, known as “Les Champs Elysées,” in the Wallace collection, is another, presumably an earlier version of the “Jupiter and Antiope,” in the Louvre.

The statuette and amorini in the “Fête d’Amour” at the Dresden Royal Gallery are variants of those in the “Embarquement pour l’Ile de Cythère”; while the terminal statue of Pan seen in the “Arlequin et Colombine,” in the Wallace collection, reappears again and again in the Italian Comedy series.

To some, unaware, perhaps, of the influence which the stage of Watteau’s time was exerting in other directions, these comparisons may possibly seem unnecessary. But in considering the extent to which that influence may have expressed itself in the painter’s work, it is just these details which, taken in conjunction with the trend of theatrical taste at that time, are likely to be of importance. There was never an artist yet—whether in colour, sound, or spoken or written word—who created a new world out of nothing. The spirit of art can only find its expression in the manipulation of existing material. Every work of art must surely be the culmination of a long series of impulses due to external stimuli the connection of which, perhaps over a lengthy period, consciousness has failed to analyse and memory to record.

Now Watteau’s work as a whole exhibits the frequent repetition of certain motifs, but they were never of something he can never have seen in reality. It was not automatic reiteration of some pictured or imagined type, group or material object. His earliest impressions of stage-life, it is true, may well have been those conveyed by the prints or paintings of his master Gillot. But there was no necessity for him to subsist for the rest of his life for inspiration on second-hand impressions.

When, therefore, we find in works other than those avowedly theatrical, a repetition of certain details which are found in those dealings obviously with the theatre, it may be conceded, perhaps, that the direct influence of stage scenes and stage effects upon his art was somewhat more extensive than might be thought merely from a study of those pictures which are ostensibly studies of dramatic types and subjects; and for an instance we may take the introduction of a group of Italian comedians among the bystanders in the “Bal sous une Colonnade,” already referred to. They need a little looking for amid so many figures, but when discovered one might question what Pierrot, Arlequin and their fellows are doing “dans cette galère.”

When we come, again, to consider the picture called “Le Concert” (in the Wallace Collection) and find, in the central figure, a striking likeness to another picture by Watteau of “Poisson” in the costume of a peasant: and observe also a repetition of a scenic detail such as the terrace-columns, which are similar to those of the Colonnade: further noting that the treatment of the distance between these same columns is strangely suggestive of the flatness of a stage “back-cloth,” it begins to seem not improbable that we have here a pretty faithful translation of actual stage scenes.

In one of these, the “Fêtes Champêtres,” also known as “Les Fêtes Vénitiennes” (in the National Gallery, Edinburgh), it is possible that we have a clue.

Can it be mere coincidence that from 1710—the year after Watteau had become a student at the Academy—one of the most popular and most frequently revived ballets at the Opera was Campra and Danchet’s “Les Fêtes Vénitiennes?”

True, Watteau must be presumed to have been at Valenciennes from about the end of 1709 until shortly before 1712, when he took up his abode with Crozat, but the ballet was revived again in 1712; not to mention a pastiche called “Fragments de Lulli,” which included an entrée entitled “La Vénitienne,” produced in January, 1711, which, as has already been suggested, was the more likely time than 1712 for Watteau’s return to town after his stay at Valenciennes.

At this time, in any case, there were several productions at the Opera which may have easily proved an influence in the thoughts of an impressionable young artist. It was in 1712 that two operas were produced, namely, “Créüse l’Athénienne” and “Callirhoé,” the libretti of which were by Roy, whose stanzas form the inscriptions already referred to as appearing under the engravings of “L’Amour au Théâtre Français” and “L’Amour au Théâtre Italien.”

In one of the few of Watteau’s letters quoted by the Goncourts is one to Gersaint in which Antoine accepts an invitation to go “avec Antoine de la Roque,” and dine next day. It is not insignificant that the first opera of which De la Roque was librettist was produced in April, 1713, and entitled “Médée et Jason.”

To return, however, to “Les Fêtes Vénitiennes.” The score of this ballet, or rather “opera-ballet,” was published by the great French printer Ballard in 1714, and an examination of it reveals further possibilities of its having influenced not only the picture of the same name, but the “Bal sous une Colonnade,” “Le Concert,” and possibly others of Watteau’s composition, just as yet others might have been partly inspired by Monteclair’s ballet “Les Fêtes de l’Eté,” published in 1716, and Bertin’s “Les Plaisirs de la Campagne,” published in 1719.

“Les Fêtes Vénitiennes” was in four acts or entrées, with a prologue. The third act was entitled “De l’Opéra,” and opens with a music-lesson, practically the rehearsal of a duet between Léontine, the prima-donna, and her music master, just before the production of a miniature opera; and the fourth is headed “Du Bal.” The stage directions for this are: “Le Théâtre représente un lieu préparé pour un Bal”; and in a bragging duel between the music-master and the dancing-master the latter boasts:

which the other counters by saying that he can raise a storm musically, which he proceeds to do, giving a musical representation of the rising wind, of thunder, and so on. This, however, is by the way. The one thing important is that there are these two acts devoted to illustrating the charms of music and the dance, that the opera contains an “air pour les Arlequins,” an “air des Polichinelles,” an “air Champêtre,” and closes, as several other ballets of the period also did, with a sort of divertissement, introducing the Italian players, and a general gathering of all the dramatis personæ on the stage while the dances of this divertissement final are in progress; all of which suggests the “Bal sous une Colonnade” of Watteau.

Monteclair’s “Les Fêtes de l’Eté” is of special interest in that it was produced in 1716. In 1717 Watteau, after requests from the Academy authorities, painted his diploma picture, the immortal “Embarquement pour Cythère.” It would seem that Monteclair’s ballet contains the first suggestions which culminated in that picture.

It is in three acts, with a prologue, and the stage directions for this are: “Le Théâtre représente une Campagne dont les beautés commencent à fletrir: Le Printemps y paroit environné d’Amants et Amantes qui lui font la cour.” In the course of the act one of the lovers, expatiating on this charm of their surroundings, sings: “Et la mère du Dieu des Amants a quitté Cythère pour ces lieux charmés.”

The second act has the following stage directions at the start: “Le Théâtre représente un relais de chasse, on y voit un char doré, une Meute et une partie de l’equipage des Chasseurs.” One of the characters introduced is a young man, Lisidor, who is remarkable for his indifference to feminine charms, and might well be the origin of Watteau’s exquisite “L’Indifférent.” Another of the characters, Dorante, is counselled to imitate him; and in a discussion between Agatine and Cephise, the former is advised by the latter “pour s’assurer de ce qu’on aime, la feinte indifférence est d’un puissant secours.”

In 1730, by the way, a play was produced at the theatre of the St. Laurent Fair called “L’Indifférence,” in which the hero preaches the doctrine of indifference to love! Watteau, of course, cannot have seen this play, but it is significant that both in 1716 and 1730, the stage should be found dealing with what was evidently a current type of character.

In the third act of Monteclair’s ballet, the opening directions are: “Le Théâtre représente les Rives de la Seine. On voit le soleil prêt à se coucher” (which might possibly account for the soft, warm tone of Watteau’s Embarquement) and one of the characters comes to warn some lovers with a song: “Tendres amants, la Barque est prête”; and the ballet concludes with a dance divertissement, as was usual at the period.

One cannot dogmatically assert that these operas did directly inspire the pictures named, but that Watteau caught his first suggestion of some from such performances as his own taste and his association with a theatrical and musical set would have led him to frequent, must seem, at the least, probable.