With the dawn of the eighteenth century, French _pictorial_ art enters upon that era of _fêtes galantes_, _conversations galantes_, and _amusements champêtres_, which, whatever its shortcomings, was purely French and native to the soil. The pernicious influence of the Italian decadence is about to be shaken off. Watteau was sixteen years old, and just commencing those labours which resulted in the practical regeneration of French painting. He may be said to dominate the art of the eighteenth century as completely as Le Brun had overshadowed the century which preceded. He sums up in himself that spirit of the joyousness of life, that careless, impulsive frivolity which is the note of the age. His immediate followers, Lancret, Pater, and in some sense De Troy, carried on the tradition, but with a more pronounced convention: the shimmer and sheen of silk and satin draperies are painted according to a recipe, the general treatment of the subjects reveals a less delicate fancy, and a less tender sympathy. Boucher, friend and servant of La Pompadour, ‘with her fan that breaks through halberds,’[97] has been styled, with more or less semblance to truth, the Anacreon of painters. His convention is of an entirely different order to that of Watteau and his school; but if his method and style is more artificial, it is because life and manners have become less sincere, and because he is true to his belief that ‘Nature wanted harmony and seduction’; he yields nothing to his predecessors in artistic power, he is completely master of his technique, and understands exactly the measure of his gifts. In his pupil Fragonard, we have in reality the true heir and successor of Watteau—the same supple touch, the same alluring grace, the same captivating invention and suggestiveness which always summons us to an enchanted land of love, and music, and dalliance. It was an exceedingly gay, light-hearted, and pleasant time—in painting at any rate. Strephon sat at the feet of Phyllis, warbling soft nothings to the accompaniment of the lute. Dan Cupid, who was everywhere in evidence, took it for granted that his presence was always à propos, and never troubled his curly head as to whether his decorative surroundings were in the nicest possible taste. The fan necessarily reflected this eccentricity and extravagance—indeed it took its natural place in the general decorative scheme; the ‘dainty rogues’ of the sideboard and mantel-shelf were in complete harmony with the still more dainty rogues of the fan; the shepherdess in her flowered skirt rubbed shoulders, or attempted to do so, with the fine lady in crinoline. [Illustration: Momens Musicals, ‘Vernis Martin.’ Mr Leopold de Rothschild.]