le--with surpassing
expression.

March 1716.

Is it the depressing result of this labour, of a too exacting labour? I
know not. But at times (it is his one melancholy!) he expresses a
strange apprehension of poverty, of penury and mean surroundings in old
age; reminding me of that childish disposition to hoard, which I
noticed in him of old. And then--inglorious Watteau, as he is!--at
times that steadiness, in which he is so great a contrast to Antony, as
it were accumulates, changes, into a ray of genius, a grace, an
inexplicable touch of truth, in which all his heaviness leaves him for
a while, and he actually goes beyond the master; as himself protests to
me, yet modestly. And still, it is precisely at those moments that he
feels most the difference between himself and Antony Watteau. "In THAT
country, ALL the pebbles are golden nuggets," he says; with perfect
good-humour.

June 1716.

'Tis truly in a delightful abode that Antony Watteau is just now
lodged--the hotel or town-house of M. de Crozat, which is not only a
comfortable dwelling-place, but also a precious museum lucky people go
far to see. Jean-Baptiste, too, has seen the place, and describes it.
The antiquities, beautiful curiosities of all sorts--above all, the
original drawings of those old masters Antony so greatly admires-are
arranged all around one there, that the influence, the genius, of those
things may imperceptibly play upon and enter into one, and form what
one does. The house is situated near the Rue Richelieu, but has a large
garden bout it. M. de Crozat gives his musical parties there, and
Antony Watteau has painted the walls of one of the apartments with the
Four Seasons, after the manner of ours, but doubtless improved by
second thoughts. This beautiful place is now Antony's home for a while.
The house has but one story, with attics in the mansard roofs, like
those of a farmhouse in the country. I fancy Antony fled thither for a
few moments, from the visitors who weary him; breathing the freshness
of that dewy garden in the very midst of Paris. As for me, I suffocate
this summer afternoon in this pretty Watteau chamber of ours, where
Jean-Baptiste is at work so contentedly.

May 1717.

In spite of all that happened, Jean-Baptiste has been looking forward
to a visit to Valenciennes which Antony Watteau had proposed to make.
He hopes always--has a patient hope--that Antony's former patronage of
him may be revived. And now he is