ithout leaving any property. The father of Watteau had little
leaning toward painting; but he was one of those who let men
and things here below take their course. Watteau, therefore,
was permitted to take his. Now Watteau was born a painter. God
had given him the fire of genius, if not genius. His first
master was chance, the greatest of all masters after God. His
father lived in the upper story of a house with its gable-end
to the street. Watteau had his nose out of the window oftener
than over a book; he loved to amuse himself with the varied
spectacle of the street. Sometimes it was the fresh-looking
Flemish peasant-girl, driving her donkey through the
market-place, sometimes the little girls of the neighborhood,
playing at shuttlecock during the fine evenings. Peasant-maid
and little child were traced in original lines in the memory of
the scholar; he already admired the indolent _naivete_ of the
one, the prattling grace of the other. He had his eye also on
some smiling female neighbor, such as are to be found every
where; but the most attractive spectacle to him was that of
some strolling troop of dancers or country-players. On
fete-days sellers of elixirs, fortune-tellers, keepers of bears
and rattlesnakes, halted under his window. They were sure of a
spectator. Watteau suddenly fell into a profound revery at the
sight of Gilles and Margot upon the stage; nothing could divert
his attention from this amusement, not even the smile of his
female neighbor: he smiled at the grotesque coquetries of
Margot; he laughed till out of breath at the quips of Gilles.
He was frequently seen seated in the window, his legs out, his
head bent, holding on with difficulty, but not losing a word or
a gesture. What would he not have given to have been the
companion of Margot, to kiss the rusty spangles of her robe, to
live with her the happy life of careless adventure? Alas! this
happiness was not for him. Margot descended from the boards,
Gilles became a man as before, the theatre was taken down,
Watteau still on the watch; but by degrees he became sad; his
friends were departing, departing without him, with their gauze
dresses, their scarfs fringed with gold, their silver lace,
their silk breeches, and their jokes.--"Those people are truly
happy," sai