A friend of mine has two Daughters, whom I will call _Lætitia_ and
_Daphne_; The Former is one of the Greatest Beauties of the Age in which
she lives, the Latter no way remarkable for any Charms in her Person.
Upon this one Circumstance of their Outward Form, the Good and Ill of
their Life seems to turn. _Lætitia_ has not, from her very Childhood,
heard any thing else but Commendations of her Features and Complexion,
by which means she is no other than Nature made her, a very beautiful
Outside. The Consciousness of her Charms has rendered her insupportably
Vain and Insolent, towards all who have to do with her. _Daphne_, who
was almost Twenty before one civil Thing had ever been said to her,
found her self obliged to acquire some Accomplishments to make up for
the want of those Attractions which she saw in her Sister. Poor _Daphne_
was seldom submitted to in a Debate wherein she was concerned; her
Discourse had nothing to recommend it but the good Sense of it, and she
was always under a Necessity to have very well considered what she was
to say before she uttered it; while _Lætitia_ was listened to with
Partiality, and Approbation sate in the Countenances of those she
conversed with, before she communicated what she had to say. These
Causes have produced suitable Effects, and _Lætitia_ is as insipid a
Companion, as _Daphne_ is an agreeable one. _Lætitia_, confident of
Favour, has studied no Arts to please; _Daphne_, despairing of any
Inclination towards her Person, has depended only on her Merit.
_Lætitia_ has always something in her Air that is sullen, grave and
disconsolate. _Daphne_ has a Countenance that appears chearful, open and
unconcerned. A young Gentleman saw _Lætitia_ this Winter at a Play, and
became her Captive. His Fortune was such, that he wanted very little
Introduction to speak his Sentiments to her Father. The Lover was
admitted with the utmost Freedom into the Family, where a constrained
Behaviour, severe Looks, and distant Civilities, were the highest
Favours he could obtain of _Lætitia_; while _Daphne_ used him with the
good Humour, Familiarity, and Innocence of a Sister: Insomuch that he
would often say to her, _Dear_ Daphne; _wert thou but as Handsome as
Lætitia!_--She received such Language with that ingenuous and pleasing
Mirth, which is natural to a Woman without Design. He still Sighed in
vain for _Lætitia_, but found certain Relief in the agreeable
Conversation of _Daphne_. At length, heartily tired with the haughty
Impertinence of _Lætitia_, and charmed with repeated Instances of good
Humour he had observed in _Daphne_, he one Day told the latter, that he
had something to say to her he hoped she would be pleased with.--_Faith
Daphne,_ continued he, _I am in Love with thee, and despise thy Sister
sincerely_. The Manner of his declaring himself gave his Mistress
occasion for a very hearty Laughter.--_Nay,_ says he, _I knew you would
Laugh at me, but I'll ask your Father._ He did so; the Father received
his Intelligence with no less Joy than Surprize, and was very glad he
had now no Care left but for his _Beauty_, which he thought he could
carry to Market at his Leisure. I do not know any thing that has pleased
me so much a great while, as this Conquest of my Friend _Daphne's_. All
her Acquaintance congratulate her upon her Chance. Medley, and laugh at
that premeditating Murderer her Sister. As it is an Argument of a light
Mind, to think the worse of our selves for the Imperfections of our
Persons, it is equally below us to value our selves upon the Advantages
of them. The Female World seem to be almost incorrigibly gone astray in
this Particular; for which Reason, I shall recommend the following
Extract out of a Friend's Letter to the Profess'd Beauties, who are a
People almost as unsufferable as the Profess'd Wits.
Monsieur St. _Evremont_ [1] has concluded one of his Essays, with
affirming that the last Sighs of a Handsome Woman are not so much for
the loss of her Life, as of her Beauty. Perhaps this Raillery is
pursued too far, yet it is turn'd upon a very obvious Remark, that
Woman's strongest Passion is for her own Beauty, and that she values
it as her Favourite Distinction. From hence it is that all Arts, which
pretend to improve or preserve it, meet with so general a Reception
among the Sex. To say nothing of many False Helps and Contraband Wares
of Beauty, which are daily vended in this great Mart, there is not a
Maiden-Gentlewoman, of a good Family in any County of _South-Britain_,
who has not heard of the Virtues of _May_-Dew, or is unfurnished with
some Receipt or other in Favour of her Complexion; and I have known a
Physician of Learning and Sense, after Eight Years Study in the
University, and a Course of Travels into most Countries of _Europe_,
owe the first raising of his Fortunes to a Cosmetick Wash.
This has given me Occasion to consider how so Universal a Disposition
in Womankind, which springs from a laudable Motive, the Desire of
Pleasing, and proceeds upon an Opinion, not altogether groundless,
that Nature may be helped by Art, may be turn'd to their Advantage.
And, methinks, it would be an acceptable Service to take them out of
the Hands of Quacks and Pretenders, and to prevent their imposing upon
themselves, by discovering to them the true Secret and Art of
improving Beauty.
In order to this, before I touch upon it directly, it will be
necessary to lay down a few Preliminary Maxims, _viz_.
That no Woman can be Handsome by the Force of Features alone, any
more than she can be Witty only by the Help of Speech.
That Pride destroys all Symmetry and Grace, and Affectation is a
more terrible Enemy to fine Faces than the Small-Pox.
That no Woman is capable of being Beautiful, who is not incapable of
being False.
And, That what would be Odious in a Friend, is Deformity in a
Mistress.
From these few Principles, thus laid down, it will be easie to prove,
that the true Art of assisting Beauty consists in Embellishing the
whole Person by the proper Ornaments of virtuous and commendable
Qualities. By this Help alone it is that those who are the Favourite
Work of Nature, or, as Mr. _Dryden_ expresses it, the Porcelain Clay
of human Kind [2], become animated, and are in a Capacity of exerting
their Charms: And those who seem to have been neglected by her, like
Models wrought in haste, are capable, in a great measure, of finishing
what She has left imperfect.
It is, methinks, a low and degrading Idea of that Sex, which was
created to refine the Joys, and soften the Cares of Humanity, by the
most agreeable Participation, to consider them meerly as Objects of
Sight. This is abridging them of their natural Extent of Power, to put
them upon a Level with their Pictures at _Kneller's_. How much nobler
is the Contemplation of Beauty heighten'd by Virtue, and commanding
our Esteem and Love, while it draws our Observation? How faint and
spiritless are the Charms of a Coquet, when compar'd with the real
Loveliness of _Sophronia's_ Innocence, Piety, good Humour and Truth;
Virtues which add a new Softness to her Sex, and even beautify her
Beauty! That Agreeableness, which must otherwise have appeared no
longer in the modest Virgin, is now preserv'd in the tender Mother,
the prudent Friend, and the faithful Wife. Colours, artfully spread
upon Canvas, may entertain the Eye, but not affect the Heart; and she,
who takes no care to add to the natural Graces of her Person any
excelling Qualities, may be allowed still to amuse, as a Picture, but
not to triumph as a Beauty.
When _Adam_ is introduced by _Milton_ describing _Eve_ in Paradise,
and relating to the Angel the Impressions he felt upon seeing her at
her first Creation, he does not represent her like a _Grecian Venus_
by her Shape or Features, but by the Lustre of her Mind which shone in
them, and gave them their Power of charming.
_Grace was in all her Steps, Heaven in her Eye,
In all her Gestures Dignity and Love._
Without this irradiating Power the proudest Fair One ought to know,
whatever her Glass may tell her to the contrary, that her most perfect
Features are Uninform'd and Dead.
I cannot better close this Moral, than by a short Epitaph written by
_Ben Johnson_, with a Spirit which nothing could inspire but such an
Object as I have been describing.
Underneath this Stone doth lie
As much Virtue as cou'd die,
Which when alive did Vigour give
To as much Beauty as cou'd live. [3]
I am, Sir,
Your most humble Servant,
R. B.