"In this manner I proceeded to Paris, with no design but just to look
about me, and then to go forward. The people of Paris are much fonder of
strangers that have money than of those that have wit. As I could not
boast much of either, I was no great favourite. After walking about the
town four or five days, and seeing the outsides of the best houses, I
was preparing to leave this retreat of venal hospitality; when, passing
through one of the principal streets, whom should I meet but our cousin,
to whom you first recommended me! This meeting was very agreeable to me,
and I believe not displeasing to him. He inquired into the nature of my
journey to Paris, and informed me of his own business there, which was
to collect pictures, medals, intaglios, and antiques of all kinds, for a
gentleman in London, who had just stepped into taste and a large
fortune. I was the more surprised at seeing our cousin pitched upon for
this office, as he himself had often assured me he knew nothing of the
matter. Upon asking how he had been taught the art of a _cognoscento_ so
very suddenly, he assured me that nothing was more easy. The whole
secret consisted in a strict adherence to two rules: the one, always to
observe that the picture might have been better if the painter had taken
more pains; and the other, to praise the works of Pietro Perugino.
'But,' says he, 'as I once taught you how to be an author in London,
I'll now undertake to instruct you in the art of picture-buying in
Paris.'
"With this proposal I very readily closed, as it was a living; and now
all my ambition was to live. I went therefore to his lodgings, improved
my dress by his assistance; and, after some time, accompanied him to
auctions of pictures, where the English gentry were expected to be
purchasers. I was not a little surprised at his intimacy with people of
the best fashion, who referred themselves to his judgment upon every
picture or medal, as to an unerring standard of taste. He made very good
use of my assistance upon these occasions; for when asked his opinion,
he would gravely take me aside and ask mine, shrug, look wise, return,
and assure the company that he could give no opinion upon an affair of
so much importance. Yet there was sometimes an occasion for a more
supported assurance. I remember to have seen him, after giving his
opinion that the colouring of a picture was not mellow enough, very
deliberately take a brush with brown varnish that was accidentally lying
by, and rub it over the piece with great composure before all the
company, and then ask if he had not improved the tints.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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