LONDON, April 30, O. S. 1752.
MY DEAR FRIEND: ‘Avoir du monde’ is, in my opinion, a very just and happy
expression for having address, manners, and for knowing how to behave
properly in all companies; and it implies very truly that a man who hath
not those accomplishments is not of the world. Without them, the best
parts are inefficient, civility is absurd, and freedom offensive. A
learned parson, rusting in his cell, at Oxford or Cambridge, will season
admirably well upon the nature of man; will profoundly analyze the head,
the heart, the reason, the will, the passions, the senses, the
sentiments, and all those subdivisions of we know not what; and yet,
unfortunately, he knows nothing of man, for he hath not lived with him;
and is ignorant of all the various modes, habits, prejudices, and tastes,
that always influence and often determine him. He views man as he does
colors in Sir Isaac Newton’s prism, where only the capital ones are seen;
but an experienced dyer knows all their various shades and gradations,
together with the result of their several mixtures. Few men are of one
plain, decided color; most are mixed, shaded, and blended; and vary as
much, from different situations, as changeable silks do form different
lights. The man ‘qui a du monde’ knows all this from his own experience
and observation: the conceited, cloistered philosopher knows nothing of
it from his own theory; his practice is absurd and improper, and he acts
as awkwardly as a man would dance, who had never seen others dance, nor
learned of a dancing-master; but who had only studied the notes by which
dances are now pricked down as well as tunes. Observe and imitate, then,
the address, the arts, and the manners of those ‘qui ont du monde’: see
by what methods they first make, and afterward improve impressions in
their favor. Those impressions are much oftener owing to little causes
than to intrinsic merit; which is less volatile, and hath not so sudden
an effect. Strong minds have undoubtedly an ascendant over weak ones, as
Galigai Marachale d’Ancre very justly observed, when, to the disgrace and
reproach of those times, she was executed for having governed Mary of
Medicis by the arts of witchcraft and magic. But then ascendant is to be
gained by degrees, and by those arts only which experience and the
knowledge of the world teaches; for few are mean enough to be bullied,
though most are weak enough to be bubbled. I have often seen people of
superior, governed by people of much inferior parts, without knowing or
even suspecting that they were so governed. This can only happen when
those people of inferior parts have more worldly dexterity and
experience, than those they govern. They see the weak and unguarded part,
and apply to it they take it, and all the rest follows. Would you gain
either men or women, and every man of sense desires to gain both, ‘il
faut du monde’. You have had more opportunities than ever any man had, at
your age, of acquiring ‘ce monde’. You have been in the best companies of
most countries, at an age when others have hardly been in any company at
all. You are master of all those languages, which John Trott seldom
speaks at all, and never well; consequently you need be a stranger
nowhere. This is the way, and the only way, of having ‘du monde’, but if
you have it not, and have still any coarse rusticity about you, may not
one apply to you the ‘rusticus expectat’ of Horace?
This knowledge of the world teaches us more particularly two things, both
which are of infinite consequence, and to neither of which nature
inclines us; I mean, the command of our temper, and of our countenance. A
man who has no ‘monde’ is inflamed with anger, or annihilated with shame,
at every disagreeable incident: the one makes him act and talk like a
madman, the other makes him look like a fool. But a man who has ‘du
monde’, seems not to understand what he cannot or ought not to resent. If
he makes a slip himself, he recovers it by his coolness, instead of
plunging deeper by his confusion like a stumbling horse. He is firm, but
gentle; and practices that most excellent maxim, ‘suaviter in modo,
fortiter in re’. The other is the ‘volto sciolto a pensieri stretti’.
People unused to the world have babbling countenances; and are unskillful
enough to show what they have sense enough not to tell. In the course of
the world, a man must very often put on an easy, frank countenance, upon
very disagreeable occasions; he must seem pleased when he is very much
otherwise; he must be able to accost and receive with smiles, those whom
he would much rather meet with swords. In courts he must not turn himself
inside out. All this may, nay must be done, without falsehood and
treachery; for it must go no further than politeness and manners, and
must stop short of assurances and professions of simulated friendship.
Good manners, to those one does not love, are no more a breach of truth,
than “your humble servant” at the bottom of a challenge is; they are
universally agreed upon and understood, to be things of course. They are
necessary guards of the decency and peace of society; they must only act
defensively; and then not with arms poisoned by perfidy. Truth, but not
the whole truth, must be the invariable principle of every man, who hath
either religion, honor, or prudence. Those who violate it may be cunning,
but they are not able. Lies and perfidy are the refuge of fools and
cowards. Adieu!
P. S. I must recommend to you again, to take your leave of all your
French acquaintance, in such a manner as may make them regret your
departure, and wish to see and welcome you at Paris again, where you may
possibly return before it is very long. This must not be done in a cold,
civil manner, but with at least seeming warmth, sentiment, and concern.
Acknowledge the obligations you have to them for the kindness they have
shown you during your stay at Paris: assure them that wherever you are,
you will remember them with gratitude; wish for opportunities of giving
them proofs of your ‘plus tendre et respectueux souvenir; beg of them in
case your good fortune should carry them to any part of the world where
you could be of any the least use to them, that they would employ you
without reserve. Say all this, and a great deal more, emphatically and
pathetically; for you know ‘si vis me flere’. This can do you no harm, if
you never return to Paris; but if you do, as probably you may, it will be
of infinite use to you. Remember too, not to omit going to every house
where you have ever been once, to take leave and recommend yourself to
their remembrance. The reputation which you leave at one place, where you
have been, will circulate, and you will meet with it at twenty places
where you are to go. That is a labor never quite lost.
This letter will show you, that the accident which happened to me
yesterday, and of which Mr. Grevenkop gives you account, hath had no bad
consequences. My escape was a great one.