LONDON, September 5, O. S. 1748.
DEAR BOY: I have received yours, with the inclosed German letter to Mr.
Gravenkop, which he assures me is extremely well written, considering the
little time that you have applied yourself to that language. As you have
now got over the most difficult part, pray go on diligently, and make
yourself absolutely master of the rest. Whoever does not entirely possess
a language, will never appear to advantage, or even equal to himself,
either in speaking or writing it. His ideas are fettered, and seem
imperfect or confused, if he is not master of all the words and phrases
necessary to express them. I therefore desire, that you will not fail
writing a German letter once every fortnight to Mr. Gravenkop; which will
make the writing of that language familiar to you; and moreover, when you
shall have left Germany and be arrived at Turin, I shall require you to
write even to me in German; that you may not forget with ease what you
have with difficulty learned. I likewise desire, that while you are in
Germany, you will take all opportunities of conversing in German, which
is the only way of knowing that, or any other language, accurately. You
will also desire your German master to teach you the proper titles and
superscriptions to be used to people of all ranks; which is a point so
material, in Germany, that I have known many a letter returned unopened,
because one title in twenty has been omitted in the direction.
St. Thomas’s day now draws near, when you are to leave Saxony and go to
Berlin; and I take it for granted, that if anything is yet wanting to
complete your knowledge of the state of that electorate, you will not
fail to procure it before you go away. I do not mean, as you will easily
believe, the number of churches, parishes, or towns; but I mean the
constitution, the revenues, the troops, and the trade of that electorate.
A few questions, sensibly asked, of sensible people, will produce you the
necessary informations; which I desire you will enter in your little
book, Berlin will be entirely a new scene to you, and I look upon it, in
a manner, as your first step into the great world; take care that step be
not a false one, and that you do not stumble at the threshold. You will
there be in more company than you have yet been; manners and attentions
will therefore be more necessary. Pleasing in company is the only way of
being pleased in it yourself. Sense and knowledge are the first and
necessary foundations for pleasing in company; but they will by no means
do alone, and they will never be perfectly welcome if they are not
accompanied with manners and attentions. You will best acquire these by
frequenting the companies of people of fashion; but then you must resolve
to acquire them, in those companies, by proper care and observation; for
I have known people, who, though they have frequented good company all
their lifetime, have done it in so inattentive and unobserving a manner,
as to be never the better for it, and to remain as disagreeable, as
awkward, and as vulgar, as if they had never seen any person of fashion.
When you go into good company (by good company is meant the people of the
first fashion of the place) observe carefully their turn, their manners,
their address; and conform your own to them. But this is not all neither;
go deeper still; observe their characters, and pray, as far as you can,
into both their hearts and their heads. Seek for their particular merit,
their predominant passion, or their prevailing weakness; and you will
then know what to bait your hook with to catch them. Man is a composition
of so many, and such various ingredients, that it requires both time and
care to analyze him: for though we have all the same ingredients in our
general composition, as reason, will, passions, and appetites; yet the
different proportions and combinations of them in each individual,
produce that infinite variety of characters, which, in some particular or
other, distinguishes every individual from another. Reason ought to
direct the whole, but seldom does. And he who addresses himself singly to
another man’s reason, without endeavoring to engage his heart in his
interest also, is no more likely to succeed, than a man who should apply
only to a king’s nominal minister, and neglect his favorite. I will
recommend to your attentive perusal, now that you are going into the
world, two books, which will let you as much into the characters of men,
as books can do. I mean, ‘Les Reflections Morales de Monsieur de la
Rochefoucault, and Les Caracteres de la Bruyere’: but remember, at the
same time, that I only recommend them to you as the best general maps to
assist you in your journey, and not as marking out every particular
turning and winding that you will meet with. There your own sagacity and
observation must come to their aid. La Rochefoucault, is, I know, blamed,
but I think without reason, for deriving all our actions from the source
of self-love. For my own part, I see a great deal of truth, and no harm
at all, in that opinion. It is certain that we seek our own happiness in
everything we do; and it is as certain, that we can only find it in doing
well, and in conforming all our actions to the rule of right reason,
which is the great law of nature. It is only a mistaken self-love that is
a blamable motive, when we take the immediate and indiscriminate
gratification of a passion, or appetite, for real happiness. But am I
blamable if I do a good action, upon account of the happiness which that
honest consciousness will give me? Surely not. On the contrary, that
pleasing consciousness is a proof of my virtue. The reflection which is
the most censured in Monsieur de la Rochefoucault’s book as a very
ill-natured one, is this, ‘On trouve dans le malheur de son meilleur ami,
quelque chose qui ne des plait pas’. And why not? Why may I not feel a
very tender and real concern for the misfortune of my friend, and yet at
the same time feel a pleasing consciousness at having discharged my duty
to him, by comforting and assisting him to the utmost of my power in that
misfortune? Give me but virtuous actions, and I will not quibble and
chicane about the motives. And I will give anybody their choice of these
two truths, which amount to the same thing: He who loves himself best is
the honestest man; or, The honestest man loves himself best.
The characters of La Bruyere are pictures from the life; most of them
finely drawn, and highly colored. Furnish your mind with them first, and
when you meet with their likeness, as you will every day, they will
strike you the more. You will compare every feature with the original;
and both will reciprocally help you to discover the beauties and the
blemishes.
As women are a considerable, or, at least a pretty numerous part of
company; and as their suffrages go a great way toward establishing a
man’s character in the fashionable part of the world (which is of great
importance to the fortune and figure he proposes to make in it), it is
necessary to please them. I will therefore, upon this subject, let you
into certain Arcana that will be very useful for you to know, but which
you must, with the utmost care, conceal and never seem to know. Women,
then, are only children of a larger growth; they have an entertaining
tattle, and sometimes wit; but for solid reasoning, good sense, I never
knew in my life one that had it, or who reasoned or acted consequentially
for four-and-twenty hours together. Some little passion or humor always
breaks upon their best resolutions. Their beauty neglected or
controverted, their age increased, or their supposed understandings
depreciated, instantly kindles their little passions, and overturns any
system of consequential conduct, that in their most reasonable moments
they might have been capable of forming. A man of sense only trifles with
them, plays with them, humors and flatters them, as he does with a
sprightly forward child; but he neither consults them about, nor trusts
them with serious matters; though he often makes them believe that he
does both; which is the thing in the world that they are proud of; for
they love mightily to be dabbling in business (which by the way they
always spoil); and being justly distrustful that men in general look upon
them in a trifling light, they almost adore that man who talks more
seriously to them, and who seems to consult and trust them; I say, who
seems; for weak men really do, but wise ones only seem to do it. No
flattery is either too high or too low for them. They will greedily
swallow the highest, and gratefully accept of the lowest; and you may
safely flatter any woman from her understanding down to the exquisite
taste of her fan. Women who are either indisputably beautiful, or
indisputably ugly, are best flattered, upon the score of their
understandings; but those who are in a state of mediocrity, are best
flattered upon their beauty, or at least their graces; for every woman
who is not absolutely ugly thinks herself handsome; but not hearing often
that she is so, is the more grateful and the more obliged to the few who
tell her so; whereas a decided and conscious beauty looks upon every
tribute paid to her beauty only as her due; but wants to shine, and to be
considered on the side of her understanding; and a woman who is ugly
enough to know that she is so, knows that she has nothing left for it but
her understanding, which is consequently and probably (in more senses
than one) her weak side. But these are secrets which you must keep
inviolably, if you would not, like Orpheus, be torn to pieces by the
whole sex; on the contrary, a man who thinks of living in the great
world, must be gallant, polite, and attentive to please the women. They
have, from the weakness of men, more or less influence in all courts;
they absolutely stamp every man’s character in the beau monde, and make
it either current, or cry it down, and stop it in payments. It is,
therefore; absolutely necessary to manage, please, and flatter them and
never to discover the least marks of contempt, which is what they never
forgive; but in this they are not singular, for it is the same with men;
who will much sooner forgive an injustice than an insult. Every man is
not ambitious, or courteous, or passionate; but every man has pride
enough in his composition to feel and resent the least slight and
contempt. Remember, therefore, most carefully to conceal your contempt,
however just, wherever you would not make an implacable enemy. Men are
much more unwilling to have their weaknesses and their imperfections
known than their crimes; and if you hint to a man that you think him
silly, ignorant, or even ill-bred, or awkward, he will hate you more and
longer, than if you tell him plainly, that you think him a rogue. Never
yield to that temptation, which to most young men is very strong; of
exposing other people’s weaknesses and infirmities, for the sake either
of diverting the company, or showing your own superiority. You may get
the laugh on your side by it for the present; but you will make enemies
by it forever; and even those who laugh with you then, will, upon
reflection, fear; and consequently hate you; besides that it is
ill-natured, and a good heart desires rather to conceal than expose other
people’s weaknesses or misfortunes. If you have wit, use it to please,
and not to hurt: you may shine, like the sun in the temperate zones,
without scorching. Here it is wished for; under the Line it is dreaded.
These are some of the hints which my long experience in the great world
enables me to give you; and which, if you attend to them, may prove
useful to you in your journey through it. I wish it may be a prosperous
one; at least, I am sure that it must be your own fault if it is not.
Make my compliments to Mr. Harte, who, I am very sorry to hear, is not
well. I hope by this time he is recovered. Adieu!