LONDON, July 6, O. S. 1749.
DEAR BOY: As I am now no longer in pain about your health, which I trust
is perfectly restored; and as, by the various accounts I have had of you,
I need not be in pain about your learning, our correspondence may, for
the future, turn upon less important points, comparatively; though still
very important ones: I mean, the knowledge of the world, decorum,
manners, address, and all those (commonly called little) accomplishments,
which are absolutely necessary to give greater accomplishments their
full, value and lustre.
Had I the admirable ring of Gyges, which rendered the wearer invisible;
and had I, at the same time, those magic powers, which were very common
formerly, but are now very scarce, of transporting myself, by a wish, to
any given place, my first expedition would be to Venice, there to
RECONNOITRE you, unseen myself. I would first take you in the morning, at
breakfast with Mr. Harte, and attend to your natural and unguarded
conversation with him; from whence, I think, I could pretty well judge of
your natural turn of mind. How I should rejoice if I overheard you asking
him pertinent questions upon useful subjects! or making judicious
reflections upon the studies of that morning, or the occurrences of the
former day! Then I would follow you into the different companies of the
day, and carefully observe in what manner you presented yourself to, and
behaved yourself with, men of sense and dignity; whether your address was
respectful, and yet easy; your air modest, and yet unembarrassed; and I
would, at the same time, penetrate into their thoughts, in order to know
whether your first ‘abord’ made that advantageous impression upon their
fancies, which a certain address, air, and manners, never fail doing. I
would afterward follow you to the mixed companies of the evening; such as
assemblies, suppers, etc., and there watch if you trifled gracefully and
genteelly: if your good-breeding and politeness made way for your parts
and knowledge. With what pleasure should I hear people cry out, ‘Che
garbato cavaliere, com’ e pulito, disinvolto, spiritoso’! If all these
things turned out to my mind, I would immediately assume my own shape,
become visible, and embrace you: but if the contrary happened, I would
preserve my invisibility, make the best of my way home again, and sink my
disappointment upon you and the world. As, unfortunately, these
supernatural powers of genii, fairies, sylphs, and gnomes, have had the
fate of the oracles they succeeded, and have ceased for some time, I must
content myself (till we meet naturally, and in the common way) with Mr.
Harte’s written accounts of you, and the verbal ones which I now and then
receive from people who have seen you. However, I believe it would do you
no harm, if you would always imagine that I were present, and saw and
heard everything you did and said.
There is a certain concurrence of various little circumstances which
compose what the French call ‘l’aimable’; and which, now that you are
entering into the world, you ought to make it your particular study to
acquire. Without them, your learning will be pedantry, your conversation
often improper, always unpleasant, and your figure, however good in
itself, awkward and unengaging. A diamond, while rough, has indeed its
intrinsic value; but, till polished, is of no use, and would neither be
sought for nor worn. Its great lustre, it is true, proceeds from its
solidity and strong cohesion of parts; but without the last polish, it
would remain forever a dirty, rough mineral, in the cabinets of some few
curious collectors. You have; I hope, that solidity and cohesion of
parts; take now as much pains to get the lustre. Good company, if you
make the right use of it, will cut you into shape, and give you the true
brilliant polish. A propos of diamonds: I have sent you by Sir James
Gray, the King’s Minister, who will be at Venice about the middle of
September, my own diamond buckles; which are fitter for your young feet
than for my old ones: they will properly adorn you; they would only
expose me. If Sir James finds anybody whom he can trust, and who will be
at Venice before him, he will send them by that person; but if he should
not, and that you should be gone from Venice before he gets there, he
will in that case give them to your banker, Monsieur Cornet, to forward
to you, wherever you may then be. You are now of an age, at which the
adorning your person is not only not ridiculous, but proper and becoming.
Negligence would imply either an indifference about pleasing, or else an
insolent security of pleasing, without using those means to which others
are obliged to have recourse. A thorough cleanliness in your person is as
necessary for your own health, as it is not to be offensive to other
people. Washing yourself, and rubbing your body and limbs frequently with
a fleshbrush, will conduce as much to health as to cleanliness. A
particular attention to the cleanliness of your mouth, teeth, hands, and
nails, is but common decency, in order not to offend people’s eyes and
noses.
I send you here inclosed a letter of recommendation to the Duke of
Nivernois, the French Ambassador at Rome; who is, in my opinion, one of
the prettiest men I ever knew in my life. I do not know a better model
for you to form yourself upon; pray observe and frequent him as much as
you can. He will show you what manners and graces are. I shall, by
successive posts, send you more letters, both for Rome and Naples, where
it will be your own fault entirely if you do not keep the very best
company.
As you will meet swarms of Germans wherever you go, I desire that you
will constantly converse with them in their own language, which will
improve you in that language, and be, at the same time, an agreeable
piece of civility to them.
Your stay in Italy will, I do not doubt, make you critically master of
Italian; I know it may, if you please, for it is a very regular, and
consequently a very easy language. Adieu! God bless you!