LONDON, October 24, O. S. 1749.
DEAR BOY: By my last I only acknowledged, by this I answer, your letter
of the 9th October, N. S.
I am very glad that you approved of my letter of September the 12th, O.
S., because it is upon that footing that I always propose living with
you. I will advise you seriously, as a friend of some experience, and I
will converse with you cheerfully as a companion; the authority of a
parent shall forever be laid aside; for, wherever it is exerted, it is
useless; since, if you have neither sense nor sentiments enough to follow
my advice as a friend, your unwilling obedience to my orders as a father
will be a very awkward and unavailing one both to yourself and me.
Tacitus, speaking of an army that awkwardly and unwillingly obeyed its
generals only from the fear of punishment, says, they obeyed indeed, ‘Sed
ut qua mallent jussa Imperatorum interpretari, quam exequi’. For my own
part, I disclaim such obedience.
You think, I find, that you do not understand Italian; but I can tell
you, that, like the ‘Bourgeois Gentilhomme’, who spoke prose without
knowing it, you understand a great deal, though you do not know that you
do; for whoever understands French and Latin so well as you do,
understands at least half the Italian language, and has very little
occasion for a dictionary. And for the idioms, the phrases, and the
delicacies of it, conversation and a little attention will teach them
you, and that soon; therefore, pray speak it in company, right or wrong,
‘a tort ou a travers’, as soon as ever you have got words enough to ask a
common question, or give a common answer. If you can only say ‘buon
giorno’, say it, instead of saying ‘bon jour’, I mean to every Italian;
the answer to it will teach you more words, and insensibly you will be
very soon master of that easy language. You are quite right in not
neglecting your German for it, and in thinking that it will be of more
use to you; it certainly will, in the course of your business; but
Italian has its use too, and is an ornament into the bargain; there being
many very polite and good authors in that language. The reason you assign
for having hitherto met with none of my swarms of Germans in Italy, is a
very solid one; and I can easily conceive, that the expense necessary for
a traveler must amount to a number of thalers, groschen, and kreutzers,
tremendous to a German fortune. However, you will find several at Rome,
either ecclesiastics, or in the suite of the Imperial Minister; and more,
when you come into the Milanese, among the Queen of Hungary’s officers.
Besides, you have a Saxon servant, to whom I hope you speak nothing but
German.
I have had the most obliging letter in the world from Monsieur Capello,
in which he speaks very advantageously of you, and promises you his
protection at Rome. I have wrote him an answer by which I hope I have
domesticated you at his hotel there; which I advise you to frequent as
much as you can. ‘Il est vrai qui’il ne paie pas beaucaup de sa figure’;
but he has sense and knowledge at bottom, with a great experience of
business, having been already Ambassador at Madrid, Vienna, and London.
And I am very sure that he will be willing to give you any informations,
in that way, that he can.
Madame was a capricious, whimsical, fine lady, till the smallpox, which
she got here, by lessening her beauty, lessened her humors too; but, as I
presume it did not change her sex, I trust to that for her having such a
share of them left, as may contribute to smooth and polish you. She,
doubtless, still thinks that she has beauty enough remaining to entitle
her to the attentions always paid to beauty; and she has certainly rank
enough to require respect. Those are the sort of women who polish a young
man the most, and who give him that habit of complaisance, and that
flexibility and versatility of manners which prove of great use to him
with men, and in the course of business.
You must always expect to hear, more or less, from me, upon that
important subject of manners, graces, address, and that undefinable ‘je
ne sais quoi’ that ever pleases. I have reason to believe that you want
nothing else; but I have reason to fear too, that you want those: and
that want will keep you poor in the midst of all the plenty of knowledge
which you may have treasured up. Adieu.