LONDON, May 11, O. S. 1752.
DEAR FRIEND: I break my word by writing this letter; but I break it on
the allowable side, by doing more than I promised. I have pleasure in
writing to you; and you may possibly have some profit in reading what I
write; either of the motives were sufficient for me, both for you I
cannot withstand. By your last I calculate that you will leave Paris upon
this day se’nnight; upon that supposition, this letter may still find you
there.
Colonel Perry arrived here two or three days ago, and sent me a book from
you; Cassandra abridged. I am sure it cannot be too much abridged. The
spirit of that most voluminous work, fairly extracted, may be contained
in the smallest duodecimo; and it is most astonishing, that there ever
could have been people idle enough to write or read such endless heaps of
the same stuff. It was, however, the occupation of thousands in the last
century, and is still the private, though disavowed, amusement of young
girls, and sentimental ladies. A lovesick girl finds, in the captain with
whom she is in love, all the courage and all the graces of the tender and
accomplished Oroondates: and many a grown-up, sentimental lady, talks
delicate Clelia to the hero, whom she would engage to eternal love, or
laments with her that love is not eternal.
“Ah! qu’il est doux d’aimer, si Pon aimoit toujours!
Mais helas! il’n’est point d’eternelles amours.”
It is, however, very well to have read one of those extravagant works (of
all which La Calprenede’s are the best), because it is well to be able to
talk, with some degree of knowledge, upon all those subjects that other
people talk sometimes upon: and I would by no means have anything, that
is known to others, be totally unknown to you. It is a great advantage
for any man, to be able to talk or to hear, neither ignorantly nor
absurdly, upon any subject; for I have known people, who have not said
one word, hear ignorantly and absurdly; it has appeared in their
inattentive and unmeaning faces.
This, I think, is as little likely to happen to you as to anybody of your
age: and if you will but add a versatility and easy conformity of
manners, I know no company in which you are likely to be de trop.
This versatility is more particularly necessary for you at this time, now
that you are going to so many different places: for, though the manners
and customs of the several courts of Germany are in general the same, yet
everyone has its particular characteristic; some peculiarity or other,
which distinguishes it from the next. This you should carefully attend
to, and immediately adopt. Nothing flatters people more, nor makes
strangers so welcome, as such an occasional conformity. I do not mean by
this, that you should mimic the air and stiffness of every awkward German
court; no, by no means; but I mean that you should only cheerfully
comply, and fall in with certain local habits, such as ceremonies, diet,
turn of conversation, etc. People who are lately come from Paris, and who
have been a good while there, are generally suspected, and especially in
Germany, of having a degree of contempt for every other place. Take great
care that nothing of this kind appear, at least outwardly, in your
behavior; but commend whatever deserves any degree of commendation,
without comparing it with what you may have left, much better of the same
kind, at Paris. As for instance, the German kitchen is, without doubt,
execrable, and the French delicious; however, never commend the French
kitchen at a German table; but eat of what you can find tolerable there,
and commend it, without comparing it to anything better. I have known
many British Yahoos, who though while they were at Paris conformed to no
one French custom, as soon as they got anywhere else, talked of nothing
but what they did, saw, and eat at Paris. The freedom of the French is
not to be used indiscriminately at all the courts in Germany, though
their easiness may, and ought; but that, too, at some places more than
others. The courts of Manheim and Bonn, I take to be a little more
unbarbarized than some others; that of Mayence, an ecclesiastical one, as
well as that of Treves (neither of which is much frequented by
foreigners), retains, I conceive, a great deal of the Goth and Vandal
still. There, more reserve and ceremony are necessary; and not a word of
the French. At Berlin, you cannot be too French. Hanover, Brunswick,
Cassel, etc., are of the mixed kind, ‘un peu decrottes, mais pas assez’.
Another thing, which I most earnestly recommend to you, not only in
Germany, but in every part of the world where you may ever be, is not
only real, but seeming attention, to whoever you speak to, or to whoever
speaks to you. There is nothing so brutally shocking, nor so little
forgiven, as a seeming inattention to the person who is speaking to you:
and I have known many a man knocked down, for (in my opinion) a much
lighter provocation, than that shocking inattention which I mean. I have
seen many people, who, while you are speaking to them, instead of looking
at, and attending to you, fix their eyes upon the ceiling or some other
part of the room, look out of the window, play with a dog, twirl their
snuff-box, or pick their nose. Nothing discovers a little, futile,
frivolous mind more than this, and nothing is so offensively ill-bred; it
is an explicit declaration on your part, that every the most trifling
object, deserves your attention more than all that can be said by the
person who is speaking to you. Judge of the sentiments of hatred and
resentment, which such treatment must excite in every breast where any
degree of self-love dwells; and I am sure I never yet met with that
breast where there was not a great deal: I repeat it again and again (for
it is highly necessary for you to remember it), that sort of vanity and
self-love is inseparable from human nature, whatever may be its rank or
condition; even your footmen will sooner forget and forgive a beating,
than any manifest mark of slight and contempt. Be therefore, I beg of
you, not only really, but seemingly and manifestly attentive to whoever
speaks to you; nay, more, take their ‘ton’, and tune yourself to their
unison. Be serious with the serious, gay with the gay, and trifle with
the triflers. In assuming these various shapes, endeavor to make each of
them seem to sit easy upon you, and even to appear to be your own natural
one. This is the true and useful versatility, of which a thorough
knowledge of the world at once teaches the utility and the means of
acquiring.
I am very sure, at least I hope, that you will never make use of a silly
expression, which is the favorite expression, and the absurd excuse of
all fools and blockheads; I CANNOT DO SUCH A THING; a thing by no means
either morally or physically impossible. I CANNOT attend long together to
the same thing, says one fool; that is, he is such a fool that he will
not. I remember a very awkward fellow, who did not know what to do with
his sword, and who always took it off before dinner, saying that he could
not possibly dine with his sword on; upon which I could not help telling
him, that I really believed he could without any probable danger either
to himself or others. It is a shame and an absurdity, for any man to say
that he cannot do all those things, which are commonly done by all the
rest of mankind.
Another thing that I must earnestly warn you against is laziness; by
which more people have lost the fruit of their travels than, perhaps, by
any other thing. Pray be always in motion. Early in the morning go and
see things; and the rest of the day go and see people. If you stay but a
week at a place, and that an insignificant one, see, however, all that is
to be seen there; know as many people, and get into as many houses, as
ever you can.
I recommend to you likewise, though probably you have thought of it
yourself, to carry in your pocket a map of Germany, in which the
postroads are marked; and also some short book of travels through
Germany. The former will help to imprint in your memory situations and
distances; and the latter will point out many things for you to see, that
might otherwise possibly escape you, and which, though they may be in
themselves of little consequence, you would regret not having seen, after
having been at the places where they were.
Thus warned and provided for your journey, God speed you; ‘Felix
faustumque sit! Adieu.