[2] The room in question has, since this was written, been limited to a better use. Vide [letter xx].
[3] Maria Cosway. Her plan is to follow the arrangement of the gallery, and to devote one copper-plate to each of the fifty-seven grand divisions or compartments, of which it at present consists, engaging to continue her work, as the collection shall be increased. The size of the copper-plate is to be twenty-one inches high, and seventeen wide. The numbers are to appear monthly, and each is to contain two engravings, with an historical description of the subjects, and the artists, by J. Griffiths. Didot the elder, in the Palais royal, receives her subscriptions. Coloured proofs cost thirty-six livres, and plain ones twenty-four.
[4] I ought perhaps to mention, that judges of painting have frequently, in my hearing, complained of the double light in which the pictures are seen in this gallery. Individually speaking, I was always during the very many times when I visited this museum so amused, and so delighted, that I had no inclination to criticise; but it is certainly true, that on some days the pictures were seen to greater advantage than on others. The windows of the gallery are directly opposite to one another, and the paintings are hung on the piers between them. The glare which this circumstance produces, is the cause of the objection I have named.
[5] Next to the Apollo and the Laocoon, the most celebrated statue is the Dying Gladiator, the copies of which are dispersed over almost every country in Europe.
[6] Spectacle.—This is so important a word, and of such general use in french conversation, that I cannot too soon introduce it to the notice of my english reader. It means, first, all the theatres, puppet-shows, pantomimes, horse exercises, and other motley amusements of this gay capital.
It is also perpetually in the mouths both of gentlemen and ladies. If you ask one of the former, whether he were pleased with the opera, he replies, “Oui, enchanté; le spectacle étoit magnifique.” (Yes, delighted; the spectacle was magnificent.) And if you put a similar question about a ball to one of the latter, you receive a similar answer.
If you speak with enthusiasm of the picture gallery, a parisian coldly observes, “C’est bien vrai, c’est un très beau spectacle.” (Yes, it is a very fine spectacle, or sight.)
If a stranger inquire, whether the monthly parade of Bonaparte’s troops deserve its celebrity, he is told, “Oui, c’est un très beau spectacle.” (Yes, it is a fine spectacle.)
It is also the favourite theme of conversation; and a parisian compelled to talk with a foreigner, is sure to begin with the following words: “Allez vous souvent, monsieur, au spectacle? Ne sont ils pas bien beaux nos spectacles?” (Do you often go to the spectacles? Are not our spectacles very fine?)
A similar observation forms likewise the hospitable kind of consolation which an englishman sometimes receives, if he complain, that he has not seen much of french society. “Mais cependant, vous ne pouvez pas manquer d’amusement; à Paris les spectacles sont si beaux.” (You cannot want amusement, however; the spectacles at Paris are so fine.)