BATH, November 16, O. S. 1752.
MY DEAR FRIEND: Vanity, or to call it by a gentler name, the desire of
admiration and applause, is, perhaps, the most universal principle of
human actions; I do not say that it is the best; and I will own that it
is sometimes the cause of both foolish and criminal effects. But it is so
much oftener the principle of right things, that though they ought to
have a better, yet, considering human nature, that principle is to be
encouraged and cherished, in consideration of its effects. Where that
desire is wanting, we are apt to be indifferent, listless, indolent, and
inert; we do not exert our powers; and we appear to be as much below
ourselves as the vainest man living can desire to appear above what he
really is.
As I have made you my confessor, and do not scruple to confess even my
weaknesses to you, I will fairly own that I had that vanity, that
weakness, if it be one, to a prodigious degree; and, what is more, I
confess it without repentance: nay, I am glad I had it; since, if I have
had the good fortune to please in the world, it is to that powerful and
active principle that I owe it. I began the world, not with a bare
desire, but with an insatiable thirst, a rage of popularity, applause,
and admiration. If this made me do some silly things on one hand, it made
me, on the other hand, do almost all the right things that I did; it made
me attentive and civil to the women I disliked, and to the men I
despised, in hopes of the applause of both: though I neither desired, nor
would I have accepted the favors of the one, nor the friendship of the
other. I always dressed, looked, and talked my best; and, I own, was
overjoyed whenever I perceived, that by all three, or by any one of them,
the company was pleased with me. To men, I talked whatever I thought
would give them the best opinion of my parts and learning; and to women,
what I was sure would please them; flattery, gallantry, and love. And,
moreover, I will own to you, under the secrecy of confession, that my
vanity has very often made me take great pains to make a woman in love
with me, if I could, for whose person I would not have given a pinch of
snuff. In company with men, I always endeavored to outshine, or at least,
if possible, to equal the most shining man in it. This desire elicited
whatever powers I had to gratify it; and where I could not perhaps shine
in the first, enabled me, at least, to shine in a second or third sphere.
By these means I soon grew in fashion; and when a man is once in fashion,
all he does is right. It was infinite pleasure to me to find my own
fashion and popularity. I was sent for to all parties of pleasure, both
of men or women; where, in some measure, I gave the ‘ton’. This gave me
the reputation of having had some women of condition; and that
reputation, whether true or false, really got me others. With the men I
was a Proteus, and assumed every shape, in order to please them all:
among the gay, I was the gayest; among the grave, the gravest; and I
never omitted the least attentions of good-breeding, or the least offices
of friendship, that could either please, or attach them to me: and
accordingly I was soon connected with all the men of any fashion or
figure in town.
To this principle of vanity, which philosophers call a mean one, and
which I do not, I owe great part of the figure which I have made in life.
I wish you had as much, but I fear you have too little of it; and you
seem to have a degree of laziness and listlessness about you that makes
you indifferent as to general applause. This is not in character at your
age, and would be barely pardonable in an elderly and philosophical man.
It is a vulgar, ordinary saying, but it is a very true one, that one
should always put the best foot foremost. One should please, shine, and
dazzle, wherever it is possible. At Paris, I am sure you must observe
‘que chacun se fait valoir autant qu’il est possible’; and La Bruyere
observes, very justly, qu’on ne vaut dans ce monde que ce qu’on veut
valoir’: wherever applause is in question, you will never see a French
man, nor woman, remiss or negligent. Observe the eternal attentions and
politeness that all people have there for one another. ‘Ce n’est pas pour
leurs beaux yeux au moins’. No, but for their own sakes, for
commendations and applause. Let me then recommend this principle of
vanity to you; act upon it ‘meo periculo’; I promise you it will turn to
your account. Practice all the arts that ever coquette did, to please. Be
alert and indefatigable in making every man admire, and every woman in
love with you. I can tell you too, that nothing will carry you higher in
the world.
I have had no letter from you since your arrival at Paris, though you
must have been long enough there to have written me two or three. In
about ten or twelve days I propose leaving this place, and going to
London; I have found considerable benefit by my stay here, but not all
that I want. Make my compliments to Lord Albemarle.