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.