Presented to the
LIBRARY of the
UNIVERSITY OF TORONTO
by
The Estate of the late
PROFESSOR A. S. P. WOODHOUSE
Head of the
Department of English
University College
1944-1964
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UNIVERSAL CLASSICS
LIBRARY
ILLUSTRATED
¥1TH PHOTOGRAWRE5 ON
JAPAN VELLVM, ETCHINGS
HAND PAINTED INDIA-PLATE
REPRODVCTIONS.AND
FULL PAGE PORTRAITS
OFAVTHORS.
M.WALTER DUNNE, PUBLISHER
WASHINGTON fr LONDON
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DR. JOHNSON IN. THE ANTE-ROOM OF LORD
CHESTERFIELD'S . MANSION
, - -•<? • r- ' ' '•' '
Photogravure after the painting by E. M. Ward, R.A.
[.! 'ERSTOHI5SON
BY THE
EARL OF CHESTERFIELD
on the Fine Art of becoming a
MAN OF THE WORLD
and a
GENTLEMAN
, IN TWO VOLUMES
VOLUME I
WITH TOPICAL HEADINGS AND
A SPECIAL INTRODUCTION BY
OLIVER H. G. LEIGH
n.WALTER DUNNL,PUbLIM-ltK
WASHINGTON & LONDON
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itylCROFORMED BY
PRESERVATION
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130.1
COPYRIGHT, 1901,
BY
M. WALTER DUNNE,
PUBLISHER
1013543
ILLUSTRATIONS
VOLUME I
DR. JOHNSON IN THE ANTE-ROOM OF LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
MANSION • • Frontispiece
Photogravure after the painting by E. M. Ward, R.A.
AN AFFAIR OF HONOR 239
Photogravure after the original painting by J. Munsch ^
(vii)
SPECIAL INTRODUCTION
THE proud Lord Chesterfield would have turned in his
grave had he known that he was to go down to pos
terity as a teacher and preacher of the gospel of —
not grace, but — (<the graces, the graces, the graces. *
Natural gifts, social status, open opportunities, and his
ambition, all conspired to destine him for high states
manship. If anything was lacking in his qualifications,
he had the pluck and good sense to work hard and per
sistently until the deficiency was made up. Something
remained lacking, and not all his consummate mastery of
arts could conceal that conspicuous want, — the want of
heart.
Teacher and preacher he assuredly is, and long will be,
yet no thanks are his due from a posterity of the common
people whom he so sublimely despised. His pious mission
was not to raise the level of the multitude, but to lift a
single individual upon a pedestal so high that his lowly
origin should not betray itself. That individual was his,
Lord Chesterfield's, illegitimate son, whose inferior blood
should be given the true blue hue by concentrating upon
him all the externals of aristocratic education.
Never had pupil so devoted, persistent, lavish, and bril
liant a guide, philosopher, and friend, for the parental rela
tion was shrewdly merged in these. Never were devotion
and uphill struggle against doubts of success more bitterly
repaid, Philip Stanhope was born in 1732, when his
father was thirty-eight. He absorbed readily enough the
solids of the ideal education supplied him, but, by perver
sity of fate, he cared not a fig for <( the graces, the graces,
the graces, w which his father so wisely deemed by far the
superior qualities to be cultivated by the budding courtier
and statesman. A few years of minor services to his coun
try were rendered, though Chesterfield was breaking his
x CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS
substitute for a heart because his son could not or would
not play the superfine gentleman on the paternal model,
and then came the news of his death, when only thirty-
six. What was a still greater shock to the lordly father,
now deaf, gouty, fretful, and at outs with the world, his
informant reported that she had been secretly married for
several years to Young Hopeful, and was left penniless
with two boys. Lord Chesterfield was above all things a
practical philosopher, as hard and as exquisitely rounded
and polished as a granite column. He accepted the van
ishing of his lifelong dream with the admirable stolidity
of a fatalist, and in those last days of his radically arti
ficial life he disclosed a welcome tenderness, a touch of
the divine, none the less so for being common duty, shown
in the few brief letters to his son's widow and to <( our
boys." This, and his enviable gift of being able to view
the downs as well as the ups of life in the consoling
humorous light, must modify the sterner judgment so easily
passed upon his characteristic inculcation, if not practice,
of heartlessness.
The thirteenth-century mother church in the town from
which Lord Chesterfield's title came has a peculiar steeple,
graceful in its lines, but it points askew, from whatever
quarter it is seen. The writer of these Letters, which he
never dreamed would be published, is the best self -portrayed
Gentleman in literature. In everything he was naturally
a stylist, perfected by assiduous art, yet the graceful steeple
is somehow warped out of the beauty of the perpendicular.
His ideal Gentleman is the frigid product of a rigid
mechanical drill, with the mien of a posture master, the
skin-deep graciousness of a French Marechal, the calculat
ing adventurer who cuts unpretentious worthies to toady
to society magnates, who affects the supercilious air of a
shallow dandy and cherishes the heart of a frog. True,
he repeatedly insists on the obligation of truthfulness in
all things, and of honor in dealing with the world. His
Gentleman may, nay, he must, sail with the stream, gamble
in moderation if it is the fashion, must stoop to wear
ridiculous clothes and ornaments if they are the mode,
though despising his weakness all to himself, and no true
Gentleman could afford to keep out of the little gallantries
SPECIAL INTRODUCTION xi
which so effectively advertised him as a man of spirit and
charm. Those repeated injunctions of honor are to be the
rule, subject to these exceptions, which transcend the com
mon proprieties when the subject is the rising young gentle
man of the period and his goal social success. If an
undercurrent of shady morality is traceable in this Chester-
fieldian philosophy it must, of course, be explained away by
the less perfect moral standard of his period as compared
with that of our day. Whether this holds strictly true of
men may be open to discussion, but his lordship's worldly
instructions as to the utility of women as stepping-stones
to favor in high places are equally at variance with the
principles he so impressively inculcates and with modern
conceptions of social honor. The externals of good breed
ing cannot be over-estimated, if honestly come by, nor is
it necessary to examine too deeply into the prime motives
of those who urge them upon a generation in whose eyes
matter is more important than manner. Superficial refine
ment is better than none, but the Chesterfield pulpit cannot
afford to shirk the duty of proclaiming loud and far that
the only courtesy worthy of respect is that politesse de
cceur, the politeness of the heart, which finds expression in
consideration for others as the ruling principle of conduct.
This militates to some extent against the assumption of fine
airs without the backing of fine behavior, and if it tends
to discourage the effort to use others for selfish ends, it
nevertheless pays better in the long run.
Chesterfield's frankness in so many confessions of sharp
practice almost merits his canonization as a minor saint of
society. Dr. Johnson has indeed placed him on a Simeon
Stylites pillar, an immortality of penance from which no
good member of the writers' guild is likely to pray his
deliverance. He commends the fine art and high science
of dissimulation with the gusto of an apostle and the
authority of an expert. Dissimulate, but do not simulate,
disguise your real sentiments, but do not falsify them. Go
through the world with your eyes and ears open and mouth
mostly shut. When new or stale gossip is brought to you,
never let on that you know it already, nor that it really
interests you. The reading of these Letters is better than
hearing the average comedy, in which the wit of a single
xii CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS
sentence of Chesterfield suffices to carry an act. His man-
of-the-world philosophy is as old as the Proverbs of Solomon,
but will always be fresh and true, and enjoyable at any age,
thanks to his pithy expression, his unfailing common sense,
his sparkling wit and charming humor. This latter gift
shows in the seeming lapses from his rigid rule requiring
absolute elegance of expression at all times, when an un
expected coarseness, in some provincial colloquialism, crops
out with picturesque force. The beau ideal of superfmeness
occasionally enjoys the bliss of harking back to mothei
English.
Above all the defects that can be charged against the
Letters, there rises the substantial merit of an honest effort
to exalt the gentle in woman and man above the merely
genteel. (< He that is gentil doeth gentil deeds, w runs the
mediaeval saying which marks the distinction between the
genuine and the sham in behavior. A later age had it
thus: (< Handsome is as handsome does,* and in this larger
sense we have agreed to accept the motto of William of
Wykeham, which declares that <( Manners maketh Man."
CONTENTS
VOLUME I
Nothing is omitted in this edition, but as the letters written to
his son between the age of five and fourteen years are of minor
interest, they are given as the Juvenile Section, on page 341.
LETTER PAGE
I EXCELLENCE is WITHIN MY GRASP i
II TRAVEL QUESTIONS 4
III AFFECTION, NATURAL AND ACQUIRED 5
IV WANTON WASTE OF TIME 6
V THE TRUE PLEASURES OF A GENTLEMAN 7
VI BRASS IN PLEASURE MISTAKEN FOR GOLD 9
VII MAN OF THE WORLD AND GENTLEMAN 10
VIII THE AUTHOR AND His WORTHY WORK 13
IX SYSTEM PAYS 14
X TRAVELING WITH OPEN EYES 15
XI OLD-FASHIONED LETTERS 16
XII THE LITTLE HABITS THAT DISTINGUISH THE WELL-BRED 17
XIII VARYING COURT CUSTOMS 19
XIV THE IMPOLICY OF LYING 20
XV ADAPTING ONESELF TO CIRCUMSTANCES 22
XVI ON CHOOSING ONE'S FRIENDS 23
XVII SOCIAL TACTICS 26
XVIII ON KEEPING WIDE-AWAKE 30
XIX EASILY WASTED MINUTES 32
XX UNDERVALUING OTHERS' EXPERIENCE 33
XXI TURNING ODD MOMENTS TO ACCOUNT 36
XXII ON MAKING ONESELF FIT TO LIVE 38
XXIII THE VALUE OF WOMEN'S SOCIETY 39
XXIV THE ART OF USING PEOPLE 41
XXV THE RUDIMENTS OF A POLITICIAN 43
XXVI BREADTH OF VIEW ESSENTIAL TO SOUND JUDGMENT. ... 44
XXVII MAKING ONESELF NECESSARY TO OTHERS 46
XXVIII THE PHILOSOPHY OF SOCIAL RELATIONS 47
XXIX COMMON-SENSE CURIOSITY PROFITABLE 48
XXX MODESTY ENHANCES INTELLECTUAL SUPERIORITY 51
XXXI IMPORTANCE OF STATISTICAL INFORMATION 54
XXXII AN AMUSING DICTUM ON LAUGHTER 56
XXXIII THE STUDY OF MODERN HISTORY 60
(xiii)
xiv
CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS
LETTER PAGE
XXXIV KEEPING NOTE-BOOKS OF TRAVEL 63
XXXV MANNER OF SPEECH AS IMPORTANT AS MATTER 65
XXXVI CULTIVATING AN OPEN MIND 66
XXXVII ABSURD OMNISCIENCE OF SOME PEOPLE 67
XXXVIII FALLACY IN GENERALIZATION 70
XXXIX NATURAL EASE IN PRESENCE OF THE GREAT 74
XL PRACTICAL COUNSEL ON HARD WORK 75
XLI WATCH THE AFFAIRS OF THE WORLD 79
XLII PERILS OF BAD ENUNCIATION 82
XLIII MANNERS MUST ADORN KNOWLEDGE 85
XLIV ATHLETICS LESS VALUABLE THAN MENTAL AGILITY. ... 87
XLV SUPERFICIALITY A MISTAKE 90
XLVI THE KNIGHTLY ORDERS OF EUROPE 93
XLVII ONLY THE IGNORANT AND THE WEAK CAN BE IDLE. ... 97
XLVIII COMMON-SENSE CRITICISM ON HISTORY 100
XLIX A KEEN STUDY OF THE FEMININE 104
L How DISTANCE AND NUMBERS AFFECT OUR JUDGMENT
OF EVENTS 109
LI PAY HOMAGE TO ALL THE GRACES in
LII Do AS You WOULD BE DONE BY 115
LIII THE ESSENTIALS OF GOOD COMPANY 121
LIV THE FINE ART OF GOOD TALKING 126
LV THE DIPLOMACY OF SOCIAL INTERCOURSE 131
LVI SECRET OF THE DUKE OF MARLBOROUGH'S POWER. . . . 136
LVII DIG DEEP IN THE MINE OF KNOWLEDGE 141
LVIII SOUND ADVICE TO COLLECTORS OF BOOKS 142
LIX BOOKS IN THE MORNING, SOCIETY AT NIGHT 144
LX TAKE PRIDE IN LITTLE PERFECTIONS 147
LXI THE GOLDEN MEAN IN DRESSING WELL 150
LXII THE FOOL AND HIG MONEY , 153
LXIII LOOKING AT WITHOUT SEEING INTO 157
LXIV THE EASY ILLUSIONS OF EARLY PREJUDICE 158
LXV THREEFOLD DIVISION OF THE DAY, STUDY, CONVER
SATION, ENTERTAINMENT 163
LXVI THE CRITICAL YEAR IN A YOUNG MAN'S LIFE 165
LXVII KNOWLEDGE AND MANNERS DO NOT ALWAYS GO
TOGETHER 168
LXVIII CURIOUS CHESTERFIELDIAN DELUSION ON THE UNGEN-
TLEMANLINESS OF BEING MUSICAL 170
LXIX PLEASURE HEIGHTENED BY A PRELUDE OF HARD WORK 172
LXX THE VULGARITY OF « PAINTING THE TOWN RED» AS A
SUPPOSED «GOOD TIME» 174
LXXI THE SCIENTIFIC USE OF FLATTERY AND DISSIMULATION 179
LXXII PICKING UP ODDS AND ENDS OF KNOWLEDGE 184
LXXIII INSIGHT WHEN VIEWING WORKS OF ART 185
LXXIV DIAMONDS AND UNPOLISHED WEARERS OF THEM 187
CONTENTS
xv
PAGB
LXXV IDLENESS THE REFUGE OF WEAK MINDS 190
LXXVI OVER-BATHING AND RHEUMATISM iQ3
LXXVII DRAWING THE LINE BETWEEN PLEASURE AND VICE. 195
LXXVIII ON MAINTAINING ONE'S PROPER DIGNITY 197
LXXIX DEFTLY HANDLE KNAVES AND FOOLS . 200
LXXX How TO TREAT OLD PRETENDERS AND OTHERS. . 203
LXXXI CHESTERFIELD PORTRAYS HIMSELF, AND THE FOOL OF
FASHION 2o6
LXXXII THE OFFENSIVENESS OF CARELESSNESS 211
LXXXIII SOME EAR-MARKS OF ESSENTIAL VULGARITY 217
LXXXIV THE POLISHING OF AN EDUCATED MAN 220
LXXXV THE TRUE UNDERSTANDING OF CAPITAL CITIES 224
LXXXVI AIM HIGH, YOU SHOOT THE HIGHER FOR IT 22?
LXXXVII ONE ADVANTAGE OF A SECOND LANGUAGE 230
LXXXVIII HIGH COURTESY NEVER OUT OF PLACE 232
LXXXIX THE FINISHING TOUCHES WHICH MAKE GOOD MANNERS 237
XC THE ART OF WINNING GOODWILL 239
XCI STYLE; THE STAMP OF A WELL-DRESSED BODY AND
MIND 244
XCII THE WORLD JUDGES FIRST BY EXTERNALS 248
XCIII THE DELUSIVE CHARM AND POSSIBLE POWER OF AC
QUIRED ELOQUENCE 252
XCIV APPEAL FIRST TO EYES AND EARS, THEN TO THE
JUDGMENT 256
XCV THE ARDENT CHARACTER OF LORD BOLINGBROKE 258
XCVI WHEN ABROAD BE ABSORBED BY NATIVE WAYS 263
XCVII THE COMPOSITE ANIMAL, MAN, AND His SIMPLER
HELP-MATE • • • 265
XCVIII THE GOOD FELLOW BETTER LOVED THAN THE GOOD
OR GREAT MAN 269
XCIX WORLDLY WISDOM MORE PROFITABLE THAN KNOWL
EDGE 271
C THE TRUE RELIGIOUSNESS OF RECTITUDE IN DAILY
LIFE 275
CI WOMEN OF THE WORLD, THEIR USEFULNESS IF DELI
CATELY MANIPULATED 280
CII THE SUPERIOR ADVANTAGE OF THE LESSER TALENTS. 284
CHI THE GRACES THAT WOMEN LIKE IN MEN 286
CIV WORTHLESS WHIPT-CREAM LITERATURE 289
CV FALSE STANDARDS AND FALSE TASTES IN READING. . 293
CVI THE DIPLOMATIC COURTIER OF GREAT LADIES OF
THE COURT 296
CVII INTELLECTUAL CANNIBALISM, DINE THE WISE AND
DINE ON THEM 298
CVIII ODIOUS MANNERS THAT POSE AS ODD WAYS 301
CIX COLD FORMALITY NOT TRUE COURTESY 303
XVI
CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS
CX THE DEXTEROUS METHOD WITH ADVENTURES 305
CXI THE POLICY OF DISCREET RESERVE 309
CXII WOMEN FAVOR THE MAN MOST PRAISED BY MEN.... 311
CXIII CHATTERING VANITY DEFEATS ITS OWN ENDS 314
CXIV WINNING WAYS MAKE SOCIAL CONQUESTS 317
CXV THE PHILOSOPHY OF PUSH 32I
CXVI THE COURT CLASS IN THE SCHOOL OF THE WORLD. . . 324
CXVII CLEAR SPEAKING STRENGTHENS PLAIN SPEECH 328
CXVIII ADAPTATION TO ONE'S SURROUNDINGS 333
CXIX ALL THE READING THAT A WOMAN NEEDS 335
CXX SELF-CONFIDENCE VEILED BY SEEMING MODESTY 339
CXXI THE PERILS AND LIMITS OF SOWING WILD OATS 343
CXXII TRUE PLEASURE ONLY WHEN ENJOYED WITH DECENCY
AND DIGNITY 347
CXXIII SOME TRITE REMINDERS NOT YET OBSOLETE 349
CXXIV THE SCHOOLMASTER'S CRIME, TOLERATION OF BAD
SPELLING ^
CXXV ON THE SILLY APING OF ALIEN FADS IN PHRASES
AND ACCENT 357
CXXVI IN MATTERS GREAT AND SMALL, AIM TO BE GRACIOUS 361
CXXVII PARISIAN POLISH FOR THE GENTLEMAN OF QUALITY 364
CXXVIII THE GIFT OF SAYING DISAGREEABLE THINGS AGREEABLY 367
CXXIX MAKE REASONABLE HASTE BUT NEVER HURRY 373
CXXX THE BALANCE BETWEEN OVER-ASSURANCE AND DIF
FIDENCE 376
CXXXI IN EVERY ACT, STYLE TELLS 379
CXXXII DOCTOR JOHNSON, URSA MAJOR, AS MY LORD
CHESTERFIELD SAW HIM 383
CXXXIII GENTLE IN MANNER, STRONG IN PURPOSE 387
CXXXIV THE DEMEANOR OF A GENTLEMAN 390
CXXXV How CHESTERFIELD PERSUADED PARLIAMENT TO
REFORM THE CALENDAR 393
CXXXVI THE ART AND SCIENCE OF HAPPY SMALL-TALK 397
CXXXVII ON WRIGGLING INTO FAVOR, PARTICULARLY WITH
IMPORTANT MEN 400
CXXXVIII MORALS OF THE PERIOD 403
CXXXIX To TALK ONE'S BEST, WHATEVER THE TOPIC 405
LETTER I
BATH, October 9, O. S. 1746.
DEAR BOY : Your distresses in your journey from Hei
delberg to Schaffhausen, your lying upon straw, your
black bread, and your broken berline, are proper sea
sonings for the greater fatigues and distresses which you
must expect in the course of your travels ; and, if one had a
mind to moralize, one might call them the samples of the acci
dents, rubs, and difficulties, which every man meets with in
his journey through life. In this journey, the understanding
is the voiture that must carry you through ; and in proportion
as that is stronger or weaker, more or less in repair, your
journey will be better or worse ; though at best you will now
and then find some bad roads, and some bad inns. Take care,
therefore, to keep that necessary voiture in perfect good re
pair; examine, improve, and strengthen it every day: it is in
the power, and ought to be the care, of every man to do it ; he
that neglects it, deserves to feel, and certainly will feel, the
fatal effects of that negligence.
A propos of negligence : I must say something to you upon
that subject. You know I have often told you, that my af
fection for you was not a weak, womanish one ; and, far from
blinding me, it makes me but more quicksighted as to your
faults ; those it is not only my right, but my duty to tell you
of ; and it is your duty and your interest to correct them. In
the strict scrutiny which I have made into you, I have (thank
God) hitherto not discovered any vice of the heart, or any pe
culiar weakness of the head : but I have discovered laziness,
inattention, and indifference ; faults which are only pardon
able in old men, who, in the decline of life, when health and
spirits fail, have a kind of claim to that sort of tranquillity.
But a young man should be ambitious to shine, and excel;
alert, active, and indefatigable in the means of doing it ; and,
like Caesar, Nil actum reputans, si quid superesset agendum.
You seem to want that vivida vis animi, which spurs and
' (O
2 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
excites most young men to please, to shine, to excel. With
out the desire and the pains necessary to be considerable, de
pend upon it, you never can be so; as, without the desire and
attention necessary to please, you never can please. Nullum
numen abest, si sit prudentia, is unquestionably true, with
regard to everything except poetry ; and I am very sure
that any man of common understanding may, by proper
culture, care, attention, and labor, make himself whatever
he pleases, except a good poet. Your destination is the
great and busy world ; your immediate object is the affairs,
the interests, and the history, the constitutions, the customs,
and the manners of the several parts of Europe. In this,
any man of common sense may, by common application, be sure
to excel. Ancient and modern history are, by attention,
easily attainable. Geography and chronology the same,
none of them requiring any uncommon share of genius or
invention. Speaking and Writing, clearly, correctly, and
with ease and grace, are certainly to be acquired, by read
ing the best authors with care, and by attention to the best
living models. These are the qualifications more particularly
necessary for you, in your department, which you may be
possessed of, if you please ; and which, I tell you fairly, I
shall be very angry at you, if you are not ; because, as
you have the means in your hands, it will be your own fault
only.
If care and application are necessary to the acquiring of
those qualifications, without which you can never be con
siderable, nor make a figure in the world, they are not less
necessary with regard to the lesser accomplishments, which
are requisite to make you agreeable and pleasing in society.
In truth, whatever is worth doing at all, is worth doing
well ; and nothing can be done well without attention : I
therefore carry the necessity of attention down to the low
est things, even to dancing and dress. Custom has made
dancing sometimes necessary for a young man ; therefore
mind it while you learn it that you may learn to do it well,
and not be ridiculous, though in a ridiculous act. Dress is
of the same nature ; you must dress ; therefore attend to it ;
not in order to rival or to excel a fop in it, but in order
to avoid singularity, and consequently ridicule. Take great
care always to be dressed like the reasonable people of your
LETTERS TO HIS SON 3
own age, in the place where you are ; whose dress is never
spoken of one way or another, as either too negligent or
too much studied.
What is commonly called an absent man, is commonly
either a very weak, or a very affected man ; but be he
which he will, he is, I am sure, a very disagreeable man
in company. He fails in all the common offices of civility;
he seems not to know those people to-day, whom yester
day he appeared to live in intimacy with. He takes no
part in the general conversation; but, on the contrary, breaks
into it from time to time, with some start of his own, as
if he waked from a dream. This (as I said before) is a
sure indication, either of a mind so weak that it is not able
to bear above one object at a time ; or so affected, that it
would be supposed to be wholly engrossed by, and directed
to, some very great and important objects. Sir Isaac New
ton, Mr. Locke, and (it may be) five or six more, since the
creation of the world, may have had a right to absence,
from that intense thought which the things they were in
vestigating required. But if a young man, and a man of
the world, who has no such avocations to plead, will claim
and exercise that right of absence in company, his pretended
right should, in my mind, be turned into an involuntary ab
sence, by his perpetual exclusion out of company. However
frivolous a company may be, still, while you are among
them, do not show them, by your inattention, that you
think them so; but rather take their tone, and conform in
some degree to their weakness, instead of manifesting1 your
contempt for them. There is nothing that people bear more
impatiently, or forgive less, than contempt; and an injury
is much sooner forgotten than an insult. If, therefore, you
would rather please than offend, rather be well than ill
spoken of, rather be loved than hated ; remember to have
that constant attention about you which flatters every man's
little vanity; and the want of which, by mortifying his pride,
never fails to excite his resentment, or at least his ill will.
For instance, most people (I might say all people) have
their weaknesses; they have their aversions and their likings,
to such or such things; so that, if you were to laugh at a
man for his aversion to a cat, or cheese (which are com
mon antipathies), or, by inattention and negligence, to let
4 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
them come in his way, where you could prevent it, he
would, in the first case, think himself insulted, and, in the
second, slighted, and would remember both. Whereas your
care to procure for him what he likes, and to remove from
him what he hates, shows him that he is at least an object
of your attention ; flatters his vanity, and makes him pos
sibly more your friend, than a more important service would
have done. With regard to women, attentions still below
these are necessary, and, by the custom of the world, in
some measure due, according to the laws of good-breeding.
My long and frequent letters, which I send you, in great
doubt of their success, put me in mind of certain papers,
which you have very lately, and I formerly, sent up to
kites, along the string, which we called messengers ; some
of them the wind used to blow away, others were torn by
the string, and but few of them got up and stuck to the
kite. But I will content myself now, as I did then, if some
of my present messengers do but stick to you. Adieu !
LETTER II
DEAR BOY : You are by this time (I suppose) quite set
tled and at home at Lausanne; therefore pray let me
know how you pass your time there, and what your
studies, your amusements, and your acquaintances are. I
take it for granted, that you inform yourself daily of the
nature of the government and constitution of the Thirteen
Cantons; and as I am ignorant of them myself, must ap
ply to you for information. I know the names, but I do not
know the nature of some of the most considerable offices there ;
such as the Avoyers, the Seizeniers, the Banderets, and the
Gros Sautter. I desire, therefore, that you will let me
know what is the particular business, department, or prov
ince of these several magistrates. But as I imagine that
there may be some, though, I believe, no essential difference,
in the governments of the several Cantons, I would not
give you the trouble of informing yourself of each of them ;
but confine my inquiries, as you may your informations, to
the Canton you reside in, that of Berne, which I take to
LETTERS TO HIS SON 5
be the principal one. I am not sure whether the Pays de
Vaud, where you are, being a conquered country, and taken
from the Dukes of Savoy, in the year 1536, has the same
share in the government of the Canton, as the German part
of it has. Pray inform yourself and me about it.
I have this moment received yours from Berne, of the 2d
October, N. S. and also one from Mr. Harte, of the same
date, under Mr. Burnaby's cover. I find by the latter, and
indeed I thought so before, that some of your letters and
some of Mr. Harte's have not reached me. Wherefore,
for the future, I desire, that both he and you will direct
your letters for me, to be left chez Monsieur Walters, Agent
de S. M. Britannique, ct Rotterdam, who will take care to
send them to me safe. The reason why you have not re
ceived letters either from me or from Grevenkop was that
we directed them to Lausanne, where we thought you long
ago : and we thought it to no purpose to direct to you
upon your ROUTE, where it was little likely that our letters
would meet with you. But you have, since your arrival
at Lausanne, I believe, found letters enough from me; and
it may be more than you have read, at least with attention.
I am glad that you like Switzerland so well; and am
impatient to hear how other matters go, after your settle
ment at Lausanne. God bless you!
LETTER III
LONDON, December 2, O. S. 1746.
DEAR BOY: I have not, in my present situation,* time
to write to you, either so much or so often as I used,
while I was in a place of much more leisure and
and profit ; but my affection for you must not be judged of by
the number of my letters; and, though the one lessens, the
other, I assure you, does not.
I have just now received your letter of the 25th past, N. S.,
and, by the former post, one from Mr. Harte ; with both
which I am very well pleased: with Mr. Harte's, for the
*His Lordship was, in the year 1746, appointed one of his Majesty's
secretaries of state.
6 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
good account which he gives me of you; with yours, for
the good account which you gave me of what I desired to
be informed of. Pray continue to give me further informa
tion of the form of government of the country you are now
in ; which I hope you will know most minutely before you
leave it. The inequality of the town of Lausanne seems to
be very convenient in this cold weather; because going up
hill and down will keep you warm. You say there is a
good deal of good company ; pray, are you got into it ?
Have you made acquaintances, and with whom? Let me
know some of their names. Do you learn German yet, to
read, write, and speak it?
Yesterday, I saw a letter from Monsieur Bochat to a
friend of mine ; which gave me the greatest pleasure that
I have felt this great while ; because it gives so very
good an account of you. Among other things which
Monsieur Bochat says to your advantage, he mentions the
tender uneasiness and concern that you showed during my
illness, for which (though I will say that you owe it to
me) I am obliged to you: sentiments of gratitude not being
universal, nor even common. As your affection for me can
only proceed from your experience and conviction of my
fondness for you (for to talk of natural affection is talking
nonsense), the only return I desire is, what it is chiefly
your interest to make me ; I mean your invariable practice
of virtue, and your indefatigable pursuit of knowledge.
Adieu! and be persuaded that I shall love you extremely,
while you deserve it ; but not one moment longer.
LETTER IV
LONDON, December 9, O. S., 1746.
DEAR BOY : Though I have very little time, and though
I write by this post to Mr. Harte, yet I cannot
send a packet to Lausanne without a word or two
to yourself. I thank you for your letter of congratulation
which you wrote me, notwithstanding the pain it gave you.
The accident that caused the pain was, I presume, owing
to that degree of giddiness, of which I have sometimes
LETTERS TO HIS SON 7
taken the liberty to speak to you. The post I am now in,
though the object of most people's views and desires, was
in some degree inflicted upon me ; and a certain concurrence
of circumstances obliged me to engage in it. But I feel
that to go through with it requires more strength of body
and mind than I have : were you three or four years older,
you should share in my trouble, and I would have taken
you into my office ; but I hope you will employ these three
or four years so well as to make yourself capable of being
of use to me, if I should continue in it so long. The read
ing, writing, and speaking the modern languages correctly ;
the knowledge of the laws of nations, and the particular
constitution of the empire; of history, geography, and
chronology, are absolutely necessary to this business, for
which I have always intended you. With these qualifications
you may very possibly be my successor, though not my
immediate one.
I hope you employ your whole time, which few people
do ; and that you put every moment to profit of some kind
or other. I call company, walking, riding, etc., employing
one's time, and, upon proper occasions, very usefully; but
what I cannot forgive in anybody is sauntering, and doing
nothing at all, with a thing so precious as time, and so
irrecoverable when lost.
Are you acquainted with any ladies at Lausanne? and do
you behave yourself with politeness enough to make them
desire your company?
I must finish : God bless you !
LETTER V
LONDON, February 24, O. S. 1747.
SIR : In order that we may, reciprocally, keep up our
French, which, for want of practice, we might forget,
you will permit me to have the honor of assuring you
of my respects in that language: and be so good to
answer me in the same. Not that I am apprehensive of
your forgetting to speak French: since it is probable that
two-thirds of your daily prattle is in that language ; and
8 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
because, if you leave off writing French, you may perhaps
neglect that grammatical purity, and accurate orthography,
which, in other languages, you excel in; and really, even
in French, it is better to write well than ill. However, as
this is a language very proper for sprightly, gay subjects-,
I shall conform to that, and reserve those which are serious
for English. I shall not therefore mention to you, at present,
your Greek or Latin, your study of the Law of Nature, or
the Law of Nations, the Rights of People, or of Individ
uals ; but rather discuss the subject of your Amusements and
Pleasures; for, to say the truth, one must have some. May
I be permitted to inquire of what nature yours are? Do
they consist in little commercial play at cards in good com
pany? are they little agreeable suppers, at which cheerful
ness and decency are united? or, do you pay court to some
fair one, who requires such attentions as may be of use in
contributing to polish you? Make me your confidant upon
this subject; you shall not find a severe censor: on the con
trary, I wish to obtain the employment of minister to your
pleasures: I will point them out, and even contribute to
them.
Many young people adopt pleasures, for which they have
not the least taste, only because they are called by that name.
They often mistake so totally, as to imagine that debauchery
is pleasure. You must allow that drunkenness, which is
equally destructive to body and mind, is a fine pleasure.
Gaming, that draws you into a thousand scrapes, leaves you
penniless, and gives you the air and manners of an outrage
ous madman, is another most exquisite pleasure; is it not?
As to running after women, the consequences of that vice are
only the loss of one's nose, the total destruction of health,
and, not unfrequently, the being run through the body.
These, you see, are all trifles; yet this is the catalogue of
pleasures of most of those young people, who never reflect
ing themselves, adopt, indiscriminately, what others choose
to call by the seducing name of pleasure. I am thoroughly
persuaded you will not fall into such errors; and that, in
the choice of your amusements, you will be directed by
reason, and a discerning taste. The true pleasures of a
gentleman are those of the table, but within the bound of
moderation; good company, that is to say, people of merit;
LETTERS TO HIS SON 9
moderate play, which amuses, without any interested views;
and sprightly gallant conversations with women of fashion
and sense.
These are the real pleasures of a gentleman; which occa
sion neither sickness, shame, nor repentance. Whatever
exceeds them, becomes low vice, brutal passion, debauchery,
and insanity of mind ; all of which, far from giving satis
faction, bring on dishonor and disgrace. Adieu.
LETTER VI
LONDON, March 6, O. S. 1747.
DEAR BOY : Whatever you do, will always affect me,
very sensibly, one way or another; and I am now
most agreeably affected, by two letters, which I have
lately seen from Lausanne, upon your subject ; the one from
Madame St. Germain, the other from Monsieur Pampigny :
they both give so good an account of you, that I thought
myself obliged, in justice both to them and to you, to let
you know it. Those who deserve a good character, ought
to have the satisfaction of knowing that they have it, both
as a reward and as an encouragement. They write, that
you are not only dtcrotfe, but tolerably well-bred ; and that
the English crust of awkward bashfulness, shyness, and
roughness (of which, by the bye, you had your share) is
pretty well rubbed off. I am most heartily glad of it; for,
as I have often told you, those lesser talents, of an engag
ing, insinuating manner, an easy good-breeding, a genteel
behavior and address, are of infinitely more advantage than
they are generally thought to be, especially here in England.
Virtue and learning, like gold, have their intrinsic value :
but if they are not polished, they certainly lose a great deal
of their luster ; and even polished brass will pass upon more
people than rough gold. What a number of sins does the
cheerful, easy good-breeding of the French frequently cover?
Many of them want common sense, many more common
learning; but in general, they make up so much by their
manner, for those defects, that frequently they pass undis
covered. I have often said, and do think, that a Frenchman,
io LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
who, with a fund of virtue, learning and good sense, has
the manners and good-breeding of his country, is the per
fection of human nature. This perfection you may, if you
please, and I hope you will, arrive at. You know what
virtue is: you may have it if you will; it is in every man's
power; and miserable is the man who has it not. Good
sense God has given you. Learning you already possess
enough of, to have, in a reasonable time, all that a man
need have. With this, you are thrown out early into the
world, where it will be your own fault if you do not
acquire all the other accomplishments necessary to complete
and adorn your character. You will do well to make your
compliments to Madame St. Germain and Monsieur Pam-
pigny ; and tell them, how sensible you are of their partiality
to you, in the advantageous testimonies which, you are
informed, they have given of you here.
Adieu. Continue to deserve such testimonies; and then
you will not only deserve, but enjoy my truest affection.
LETTER VII
LONDON, March 27, O. S. 1747.
DEAR BOY: Pleasure is the rock which most young peo
ple split upon : they launch out with crowded sails
in quest of it, but without a compass to direct their
course, or reason sufficient to steer the vessel ; for want of
which, pain and shame, instead of pleasure, are the returns
of their voyage. Do not think that I mean to snarl at
pleasure, like a Stoic, or to preach against it, like a par
son; no, I mean to point it out, and recommend it to you,
like an Epicurean: I wish you a great deal; and my only
view is to hinder you from mistaking it.
The character which most young men first aim at, is that
of a man of pleasure; but they generally take it upon trust;
and instead of consulting their own taste and inclinations,
they blindly adopt whatever those with whom they chiefly
converse, are pleased to call by the name of pleasure ; and
a man of pleasure in the vulgar acceptation of that phrase,
means only, a beastly drunkard, an abandoned whoremaster,
LETTERS TO HIS SON u
and a profligate swearer and curser. As it may be of use
to you. I am not unwilling, though at the same time ashamed
to own, that the vices of my youth proceeded much more
from my silly resolution of being, what I heard called a
man of pleasure, than from my own inclinations. I always
naturally hated drinking ; and yet I have often drunk, with
disgust at the time, attended by great sickness the next day,
only because I then considered drinking as a necessary qual
ification for a fine gentleman, and a man of pleasure.
The same as to gaming. I did not want money, and
consequently had no occasion to play for it ; but I thought
play another necessary ingredient in the composition of a
man of pleasure, and accordingly I plunged into it without
desire, at first ; sacrificed a thousand real pleasures to it ; and
made myself solidly uneasy by it, for thirty the best years
of my life.
I was even absurd enough, for a little while, to swear, by
way of adorning and completing the shining character which
I affected; but this folly I soon laid aside, upon finding
both the guilt and the indecency of it.
Thus seduced by fashion, and blindly adopting nominal
pleasures, I lost real ones ; and my fortune impaired, and
my constitution shattered, are, I must confess, the just pun
ishment of my errors.
Take warning then by them : choose your pleasures for
yourself, and do not let them be imposed upon you. Fol
low nature and not fashion: weigh the present enjoyment of
your pleasures against the necessary consequences of them,
and then let your own common sense determine your choice.
Were I to begin the world again, with the experience
which I now have of it, I would lead a life of real, not of
imaginary pleasures. I would enjoy the pleasures of the
table, and of wine; but stop short of the pains inseparably
annexed to an excess of either. I would not, at twenty
years, be a preaching missionary of abstemiousness and
sobriety; and I should let other people do as they would,
without formally and sententiously rebuking them for it ;
but I would be most firmly resolved not to destroy my own
faculties and constitution ; in complaisance to those who
have no regard to their own. I would play to give me
pleasure, but not to give me pain; that is, I would play for
12 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
trifles, in mixed companies, to amuse myself, and conform
to custom; but I would take care not to venture for sums;
which, if I won, I should not be the better for; but, if I
lost, should be under a difficulty to pay: and when paid,
would oblige me to retrench in several other articles. Not
to mention the quarrels which deep play commonly occa
sions.
I would pass some of my time in reading, and the rest
in the company of people of sense and learning, and chiefly
those above me ; and I would frequent the mixed companies
of men and women of fashion, which, though often frivo
lous, yet they unbend and refresh the mind, not uselessly,
because they certainly polish and soften the manners.
These would be my pleasures and amusements, if I were
to live the last thirty years over again; they are rational
ones ; and, moreover, I will tell you, they are really the
fashionable ones; for the others are not, in truth, the pleas
ures of what I call people of fashion, but of those who
only call themselves so. Does good company care to have
a man reeling drunk among them ? Or to see another tear
ing his hair, and blaspheming, for having lost, at play, more
than he is able to pay? Or a whoremaster with half a
nose, and crippled by coarse and infamous debauchery?
No ; those who practice, and much more those who brag of
them, make no part of good company ; and are most un
willingly, if ever, admitted into it. A real man of fashion
and pleasures observes decency: at least neither borrows nor
affects vices : and if he unfortunately has any, he gratifies
them with choice, delicacy, and secrecy.
I have not mentioned the pleasures of the mind (which
are the solid and permanent ones), because they do not
come under the head of what people commonly call pleas
ures ; which they seem to confine to the senses. The
pleasure of virtue, of charity, and of learning is true and
lasting pleasure; with which I hope you will be well and
long acquainted. Adieu!
LETTERS TO HIS SON 13
LETTER VIII
LONDON, April 3, O. S. 1747.
DEAR BOY: If I am rightly informed, I am now writ
ing to a fine gentleman, in a scarlet coat laced with
gold, a brocade waistcoat, and all other suitable or
naments. The natural partiality of every author for his
own works makes me very glad to hear that Mr. Harte
has thought this last edition of mine worth so fine a bind
ing; and, as he has bound it in red, and gilt it upon the
back, I hope he will take care that it shall be LETTERED
too. A showish binding attracts the eyes, and engages the
attention of everybody; but with this difference, that women,
and men who are like women, mind the binding more than
the book ; whereas men of sense and learning immediately
examine the inside; and if they find that it does not answer
the finery on the outside, they throw it by with the greater
indignation and contempt. I hope that, when this edition
of my works shall be opened and read, the best judges
will find connection, consistency, solidity, and spirit in it.
Mr. Harte may recensere and emendare, as much as he
pleases; but it will be to little purpose, if you do not co
operate with him. The work will be imperfect.
I thank you for your last information of our success in
the Mediterranean, and you say very rightly that a secre
tary of state ought to be well informed. I hope, therefore,
you will take care that I shall. You are near the busy
scene in Italy; and I doubt not but that, by frequently
looking at the map, you have all that theatre of the war
very perfect in your mind.
I like your account of the salt works ; which shows that
you gave some attention while you were seeing them. But
notwithstanding that, by your account, the Swiss salt is
(I dare say) very good, yet I am apt to suspect that it
falls a little short of the true Attic salt in which there was
a peculiar quickness and delicacy. That same Attic salt
seasoned almost all Greece, except Breotia, and a great deal
of it was exported afterward to Rome, where it was coun
terfeited by a composition called Urbanity, which in some
time was brought to very near the perfection of the orig-
I4 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
inal Attic salt. Th6 more you are powdered with these
two kinds of salt, the better you will keep, and the more
you will be relished.
Adieu! My compliments to Mr. Harte and Mr. Eliot.
LETTER IX
LONDON, April 14, O. S. 1747.
DEAR BOY : If you feel half the pleasure from the con
sciousness of doing well, that I do from the inform
ations I have lately received in your favor from Mr.
Harte, I shall have little occasion to exhort or admonish
you any more to do what your own satisfaction and self-
love will sufficiently prompt you to. Mr. Harte tells me
that you attend, that you apply to your studies ; and that
beginning to understand, you begin to taste them. This
pleasure will increase, and keep pace with your attention;
so that the balance will be greatly to your advantage. You
may remember, that I have always earnestly recommended
to you, to do what you are about, be that what it will;
and to do nothing else at the same time. Do not imagine
that I mean by this, that you should attend to and plod
at your book all day long; far from it; I mean that you
should have your pleasures too ; and that you should attend
to them for the time, as much as to your studies ; and, if
you do not attend equally to both, you will neither have
improvement nor satisfaction from either. A man is fit for
neither business nor pleasure, who either cannot, or does
not, command and direct his attention to the present ob
ject, and, in some degree, banish for that time all other
objects from his thoughts. If at a ball, a supper, or a
party of pleasure, a man were to be solving, in his own
mind, a problem in Euclid, he would be a very bad com
panion, and make a very poor figure in that company; or
if, in studying a problem in his closet, he were to think of
a minuet, I am apt to believe that he would make a very
poor mathematician. There is time enough for everything,
in the course of the day, if you do but one thing at once ;
but there is not time enough in the year, if you will do
LETTERS TO HIS SON 15
two things at a time. The Pensionary de Witt, who was
torn to pieces in the year 1672, did the whole business of
the Republic, and yet had time left to go to assemblies in
the evening, and sup in company. Being asked how he
could possibly find time to go through so much business,
and yet amuse himself in the evenings as he did, he an
swered, there was nothing so easy ; for that it was only
doing one thing at a time, and never putting off anything
till to-morrow that could be done to-day. This steady and
undissipated attention to one object is a sure mark of a
superior genius; as hurry, bustle, and agitation are the
never-failing symptoms of a weak and frivolous mind.
When you read Horace, attend to the justness of his
thoughts, the happiness of his diction, and the beauty of
his poetry; and do not think of Puffendorf de Homine et
Cive; and, when you are reading Puffendorf, do not think
of Madame de St. Germain ; nor of Puffendorf, when you
are talking to Madame de St. Germain.
Mr. Harte informs me, that he has reimbursed you of
part of your losses in Germany ; and I consent to his re
imbursing you of the whole, now that I know you deserve
it. I shall grudge you nothing, nor shall you want any
thing that you desire, provided you deserve it; so that you
see, it is in your own power to have whatever you please.
There is a little book which you read here with Monsieur
Coderc entitled, Manibre de bien penser dans les Outrages
d> Esprit, written by Pere Bonhours. I wish you would
read this book again at your leisure hours, for it will not
only divert you, but likewise form your taste, and give you
a just manner of thinking. Adieu!
LETTER X
LONDON, June 30, O. S. 1747.
DEAR Boy: I was extremely pleased with the account
which you gave me in your last, of the civilities that
you received in your Swiss progress ; and I have
written, by this post, to Mr. Burnaby, and to the Avoyer,
to thank them for their parts. If the attention you met
16 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
with pleased you, as I dare say it did, you will, I hope,
draw this general conclusion from it, that attention and
civility please all those to whom they are paid; and that
you will please others in proportion as you are attentive
and civil to them.
Bishop Burnet has wrote his travels through Switzerland ;
and Mr. Stanyan, from a long residence there, has written
the best account, yet extant, of the Thirteen Cantons; but
those books will be read no more, I presume, after you
shall have published your account of that country. I hope
you will favor me wifh one of the first copies. To be
serious ; though I do not desire that you should immediately
turn author, and oblige the world with your travels; yet,
wherever you go, I would have you as curious and in
quisitive as if you did intend to write them. I do not
mean that you should give yourself so much trouble, to
know the number of houses, inhabitants, signposts, and
tombstones, of every town that you go through ; but that
you should inform yourself, as well as your stay will per
mit you, whether the town is free, or to whom it belongs,
or in what manner : whether it has any peculiar privileges
or customs; what trade or manufactures; and such other
particulars as people of sense desire to know. And there
would be no manner of harm if you were to take mem
orandums of such things in a paper book to help your
memory. The only way of knowing all these things is to
keep the best company, who can best inform you of them.
I am just now called away ; so good night.
LETTER XI
LONDON, July 20, O. S. 1747.
DEAR BOY: In your Mamma's letter, which goes here
inclosed, you will find one from my sister, to thank
you for the Arquebusade water which you sent her;
and which she takes very kindly. She would not show me
her letter to you; but told me that it contained good
wishes and good advice ; and, as I know she will show
LETTERS TO HIS SON 17
your letter in answer to hers, I send you here inclosed the
draught of the letter which I would have you write to her.
I hope you will not be offended at my offering you my as
sistance upon this occasion.; because, I presume, that as yet,
you are not much used to write to ladies. A propos of
letter-writing, the best models that you can form yourself
upon are, Cicero, Cardinal d'Ossat, Madame Sevigne, and
Comte Bussy Rebutin. Cicero's Epistles to Atticus, and
to his familiar friends, are the best examples that you can
imitate, in the friendly and the familiar style. The sim
plicity and the clearness of Cardinal d'Ossat's letters show
how letters of business ought to be written ; no affected
turns, no attempts at wit, obscure or perplex his matter ;
which is always plainly and clearly stated, as business
always should be. For gay and amusing letters, for enjoue-
ment and badinage, there are none that equal Comte Bussy's
and Madame Sevigne's. They are so natural, that they
seem to be the extempore conversations of two people of
wit, rather than letters which are commonly studied, though
they ought not to be so. I would advise you to let that
book be one in your itinerant library; it will both amuse
and inform you.
I have not time to add any more now; so good night.
LETTER XII
LONDON, July 30, O. S. 1747.
DEAR BOY: It is now four posts since I have received
any letter, either from you or from Mr. Harte. I
impute this to the rapidity of your travels through
Switzerland; which I suppose are by this time finished.
You will have found by my late letters, both to you and
Mr. Harte, that you are to be at Leipsig by next Michael
mas; where you will be lodged in the house of Professor
Mascow, and boarded in the neighborhood of it, with some
young men of fashion. The professor will read you lec
tures upon Grotius de Jure Belli et Pads, the Institutes of
Justinian and the Jus Publicum Imperil; which I
1 8 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
expect that you shall not only hear, but attend to, and retain.
I also expect that you make yourself perfectly master of
the German language; which you may very soon do there,
if you please. I give you fair warning, that at Leipsig I
shall have an hundred invisible spies about you ; and shall
be exactly informed of everything that you do, and of
almost everything that you say. I hope that, in conse
quence of those minute informations, I may be able to say
of you, what Velleius Paterculus says of Scipio; that in his
whole life, nihil non laudandum aut dixit, aut fecit, aut
sensit. There is a great deal of good company in Leipsig,
which I would have you frequent in the evenings, when
the studies of the day are over. There is likewise a kind
of court kept there, by a Duchess Dowager of Courland ;
at which you should get introduced. The King of Poland
and his Court go likewise to the fair at Leipsig twice a
year; and I shall write to Sir Charles Williams, the king's
minister there, to have you presented, and introduced into
good company. But I must remind you, at the same time,
that it will be to a very little purpose for you to frequent
good company, if you do not conform to, and learn their
manners ; if you are not attentive to please, and well bred,
with the easiness of a man of fashion. As you must at
tend to your manners, so you must not neglect your person;
but take care to be very clean, well dressed, and genteel;
to have no disagreeable attitudes, nor awkward tricks; which
many people use themselves to, and then cannot leave them
off. Do you take care to keep your teeth very clean, by
washing them constantly every morning, and after every
meal? This is very necessary, both to preserve your teeth
a great while, and to save you a great deal of pain. Mine
have plagued me long, and are now falling out, merely
from want of care when I was your age. Do you dress
well, and not too well? Do you consider your air and
manner of presenting yourself enough, and not too much?
Neither negligent nor stiff? All these things deserve a de
gree of care, a second-rate attention ; they give an
additional lustre to real merit. My Lord Bacon says, that
a pleasing figure is a perpetual letter of recommendation.
It is certainly an agreeable forerunner of merit, and
smoothes the way for it.
LETTERS TO HIS SON 19
Remember that I shall see you at Hanover next summer,
and shall expect perfection; which if I do not meet with,
or at least something very near it, you and I shall not be
very well together. I shall dissect and analyze you with a
microscope ; so that I shall discover the least speck or blem
ish. This is fair warning; therefore take your measures
accordingly. Yours.
LETTER XIII
LONDON, August 21, O. S. 1747.
DEAR BOY : I reckon that this letter has but a bare
chance of finding you at Lausanne ; but I was re
solved to risk it, as it is the last that I shall write
to you till you are settled at Leipsig. I sent you by the
last post, under cover to Mr. Harte, a letter of recommen
dation to one of the first people at Munich; which you will
take care to present to him in the politest manner ; he will
certainly have you presented to the electoral family; and I
hope you will go through that ceremony with great respect,
good breeding, and ease. As this is the first court that
ever you will have been at, take care to inform yourself if
there be any particular customs or forms to be observed,
that you may not commit any mistake. At Vienna men
always make courtesies, instead of bows, to the emperor; in
France nobody bows at all to the king, nor kisses his hand;
but in Spain and England, bows are made, and hands are
kissed. Thus every court has some peculiarity or other, of
which those who go to them ought previously to inform
themselves, to avoid blunders and awkwardnesses.
I have not time to say any more now, than to wish you
a good journey to Leipsig ; and great attention, both there
and in going there. Adieu.
20 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
LETTER XIV
LONDON, September 21, O. S. 1747.
DEAR BOY : I received, by the last post, your letter of
the 8th, N. S., and I do not wonder that you are
surprised at the credulity and superstition of the
Papists at Einsiedlen, and at their absurd stories of their
chapel. But remember, at the same time, that errors and
mistakes, however gross, in matters of opinion, if they are
sincere, are to be pitied, but not punished nor laughed at.
The blindness of the understanding is as much to be pitied
as the blindness of the eye; and there is neither jest nor
guilt in a man's losing his way in either case. Charity
bids us set him right if we can, by arguments and persua
sions ; but charity, at the same time, forbids, either to
punish or ridicule his misfortune. Every man's reason is,
and must be, his guide; and I may as well expect that every
man should be of my size and complexion, as that he should
reason just as I do. Every man seeks for truth ; but God
only knows who has found it. It is, therefore, as unjust
to persecute, as it is absurd to ridicule, people for those
several opinions, which they cannot help entertaining upon
the conviction of their reason. It is the man who tells, or
who acts a lie, that is guilty, and not he who honestly and
sincerely believes the lie. I really know nothing more
criminal, more mean, and more ridiculous than lying. It is
the production either of malice, cowardice, or vanity; and
generally misses of its aim in every one of these views; for
lies are always detected sooner or later. If I tell a mali
cious lie, in order to affect any man's fortune or character,
I may indeed injure him for some time ; but I shall be sure
to be the greatest sufferer myself at last ; for as soon as ever
I am detected (and detected I most certainly shall be), I am
blasted for the infamous attempt ; and whatever is said
afterward, to the disadvantage of that person, however true,
passes for calumny. If I lie, or equivocate (for it is the
same thing) , in order to excuse myself for something that I
have said or done, and to avoid the danger and the shame
LETTERS TO HIS SON ,21
that I apprehend from it, I discover at once my fear as
well as my falsehood; and only increase, instead of avoid
ing, the danger and the shame ; I show myself to be the lowest
and the meanest of mankind, and am sure to be always treated
as such. Fear, instead of avoiding, invites danger ; for con
cealed cowards will insult known ones. If one has had the
misfortune to be in the wrong, there is something noble in
frankly owning it; it is the only way of atoning for it,
and the only way of being forgiven. Equivocating, evad
ing, shuffling, in order to remove a present danger or in-
con veniency, is something so mean, and betrays so much
fear, that whoever practices them always deserves to be,
and often will be kicked. There is another sort of lies,
inoffensive enough in themselves, but wonderfully ridicu
lous ; I mean those lies which a mistaken vanity suggests,
that defeat the very end for which they are calculated, and
terminate in the humiliation and confusion of their author,
who is sure to be detected. These are chiefly narrative and
historical lies, all intended to do infinite honor to their
author. He is always the hero of his own romances; he
has been in dangers from which nobody but himself
ever escaped ; he has seen with his own eyes, whatever
other people have heard or read of: he has had more bonnes
fortunes than ever he knew women ; and has ridden more
miles post in one day, than ever courier went in two. He
is soon discovered, and as soon becomes the object of uni
versal contempt and ridicule. Remember, then, as long as
you live, that nothing but strict truth can carry you through
the world, with either your conscience or your honor un-
wounded. It is not only your duty, but your interest ; as
a proof of which you may always observe, that the greatest
fools are the greatest liars. For my own part, I judge of
every man's truth by his degree of understanding.
This letter will, I suppose, find you at Leipsig; where I
expect and require from you attention and accuracy, in
both which you have hitherto been very deficient. Re
member that I shall see you in the summer ; shall examine
you most narrowly; and will never forget nor forgive those
faults, which it has been in your own power to prevent or
cure; and be assured that I have many eyes upon you at
Leipsig, besides Mr. Harte's. Adieu !
22 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
LETTER XV
LONDON, October 2, O. S. 1747.
DEAR BOY: By your letter of the i8th past, N. S., I
find that you are a tolerably good landscape painter,
and can present the several views of Switzerland to
the curious. I am very glad of it, as it is a proof of
some attention ; but I hope you will be as good a portrait
painter, which is a much more noble science. By portraits,
you will easily judge, that I do not mean the outlines and
the coloring of the human figure ; but the inside of the
heart and mind of man. This science requires more atten
tion, observation, and penetration, than the other; as in
deed it is infinitely more useful. Search, therefore, with
the greatest care, into the characters of those whom you
converse with ; endeavor to discover their predominant pas
sions, their prevailing weaknesses, their vanities, their fol
lies, and their humors, with ail the right and wrong, wise
and silly springs of human actions, which make such in
consistent and whimsical beings of us rational creatures.
A moderate share of penetration, with great attention, will
infallibly make these necessary discoveries. This is the
true knowledge of the world; and the world is a country
which nobody ever yet knew by description; one must
travel through it one's self to be acquainted with it. The
scholar, who in the dust of his closet talks or writes of the
world, knows no more of it, than that orator did of war,
who judiciously endeavored to instruct Hannibal in it.
Courts and camps are the only places to learn the world
in. There alone all kinds of characters resort, and human
nature is seen in all the various shapes and modes, which
education, custom, and habit give it ; whereas, in all other
places, one local mode generally prevails, and producing a
seeming though not a real sameness of character. For ex
ample, one general mode distinguishes an university, another
a trading town, a third a seaport town, and so on;
whereas, at a capital, where the Prince or the Supreme
Power resides, some of all these various modes are to be
seen, and seen in action too, exerting their utmost skill in
LETTERS TO HIS SON 23
pursuit of their several objects. Human nature is the
same all over the world; but its operations are so varied
by education and habit, that one must see it in all its
dresses in order to be intimately acquainted with it.
The passion of ambition, for instance, is the same in a
courtier, a soldier, or an ecclesiastic ; but, from their dif
ferent educations and habits, they will take very different
methods to gratify it. Civility, which is a disposition
to accommodate and oblige others, is essentially the same in
every country ; but good-breeding, as it is called, which
is the manner of exerting that disposition, is different
in almost every country, and merely local ; and every
man of sense imitates and conforms to that local good-breed
ing of the place which he is at. A conformity and flexibility
of manners is necessary in the course of the world ; that is,
with regard to all things which are not wrong in themselves.
The -versatile ingenium is the most useful of all. It can
turn itself instantly from one object to another, assuming
the proper manner for each. It can be serious with the
grave, cheerful with the gay, and trifling with the frivo
lous. Endeavor by all means, to acquire this talent, for it
is a very great one.
As I hardly know anything more useful, than to see,
from time to time, pictures of one's self drawn by dif
ferent hands, I send you here a sketch of yourself, drawn
at Lausanne, while you were there, and sent over here by
a person who little thought that it would ever fall into
my hands: and indeed it was by the greatest accident in
the world that it did.
LETTER XVI
LONDON, October 9, O.S. 1747.
DEAR BOY : People of your age have, commonly, an
unguarded frankness about them ; which makes them
the easy prey and bubbles of the artful and the ex
perienced ; they look upon every knave or fool, who tells
them that he is their friend, to be really so; and pay that
profession of simulated friendship, with an indiscreet and
24 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
unbounded confidence, always to their loss, often to their
ruin. Beware, therefore, now that you are coming into
the world, of these preferred friendships. Receive them
with great civility, but with great incredulity too ; and
pay them with compliments, but not with confidence. Do
not let your vanity and self-love make you suppose that
people become your friends at first sight, or even upon a
short acquaintance. Real friendship is a slow grower:
and never thrives unless ingrafted upon a stock of known
and reciprocal merit. There is another kind of nominal
friendship among young people, which is warm for the
time, but by good luck, of short duration. This friend
ship is hastily produced, by their being accidentally
thrown together, and pursuing the course of riot and de
bauchery. A fine friendship, truly; and well cemented by
drunkenness and lewdness. It should rather be called a
conspiracy against morals and good manners, and be pun
ished as such by the civil magistrate. However, they have
the impudence and folly to call this confederacy a friend
ship. They lend one another money, for bad purposes;
they engage in quarrels, offensive and defensive, for their
accomplices ; they tell one another all they know, and
often more too, when, of a sudden, some accident disperses
them, and they think no more of each other, unless it be
to betray and laugh at their imprudent confidence. Re
member to make a great difference between companions
and friends ; for a very complaisant and agreeable com
panion may, and often does, prove a very improper and a
very dangerous friend. People will, in a great degree,
and not without reason, form their opinion of you, upon
that which they have of your friends ; and there is a
Spanish proverb, which says very justly, TELL ME WHO
YOU LIVE WITH AND I WILL TELL YOU WHO YOU ARE.
One may fairly suppose, that the man who makes a knave
or a fool his friend, has something very bad to do or to
conceal. But, at the same time that you carefully decline
the friendship of knaves and fools, if it can be called
friendship, there is no occasion to make either of them
your enemies, wantonly and unprovoked ; for they are
numerous bodies: and I would rather choose a secure neu
trality, than alliance, or war with either of them. You
LETTERS TO HIS SON 25
may be a declared enemy to their vices and follies, with
out being marked out by them as a personal one. Their
enmity is the next dangerous thing to their friendship.
Have a real reserve with almost everybody; and have a
seeming reserve with almost nobody; for it is very dis
agreeable to seem reserved, and very dangerous not to be
so. Few people find the true medium ; many are ridicu
lously mysterious and reserved upon trifles; and many im
prudently communicative of all they know.
The next thing to the choice of your friends, is the
choice of your company. Endeavor, as much as you can,
to keep company with people above you: there you rise,
as much as you sink with people below you ; for (as I
have mentioned before) you are whatever the company you
keep is. Do not mistake, when I say company above you,
and think that I mean with regard to their birth : that is
the least consideration ; but I mean with regard to their
merit, and the light in which the world considers them.
There are two sorts of good company; one, which is
called the beau monde, and consists of the people who have
the lead in courts, and in the gay parts of life ; the other
consists of those who are distinguished by some peculiar
merit, or who excel in some particular and valuable art or
science. For my own part, I used to think myself in com
pany as much above me, when I was with Mr. Addison
and Mr. Pope, as if I had been with all the princes in
Europe. What I mean by low company, which should by
all means be avoided, is the company of those, who, abso
lutely insignificant and contemptible in themselves, think
they are honored by being in your company, and who
flatter every vice and every folly you have, in order to en
gage you to converse with them. The pride of being the
first of the company is but too common ; but it is very
silly, and very prejudicial. Nothing in the world lets down
a character quicker than that wrong turn.
You may possibly ask me, whether a man has it always
in his power to get the best company? and how? I say,
Yes, he has, by deserving it ; providing he is but in cir
cumstances which enable him to appear upon the footing
of a gentleman. Merit and good-breeding will make their
way everywhere. Knowledge will introduce him, and
26 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
good-breeding will endear him to the best companies : for,
as I have often told you, politeness and good-breeding are
absolutely necessary to adorn any, or all other good quali
ties or talents. Without them, no knowledge, no perfection
whatever, is seen in its best light. The scholar, without
good-breeding, is a pedant; the philosopher, a cynic; the
soldier, a brute ; and every man disagreeable.
I long to hear, from my several correspondents at Leip-
sig, of your arrival there, and what impression you make
on them at first; for I have Arguses, with an hundred
eyes each, who will watch you narrowly, and relate to me
faithfully. My accounts will certainly be true; it depends
upon you, entirely, of what kind they shall be. Adieu.
LETTER XVII
LONDON, October 16, O. S. 1747.
DEAR BOY: The art of pleasing is a very necessary one
to possess ; but a very difficult one to acquire. It
can hardly be reduced to rules ; and your own good
sense and observation will teach you more of it than I can.
Do as you would be done by, is the surest method that I
know of pleasing. Observe carefully what pleases you in
others, and probably the same thing in you will please
others. If you are pleased with the complaisance and at
tention of others to your humors, your tastes, or your
weaknesses, depend upon it the same complaisance and at
tention, on your part to theirs, \vill equally please them.
Take the tone of the company that you are in, and do not
pretend to give it ; be serious, gay, or even trifling, as you
find the present humor of the company ; this is an attention
due from every individual to the majority. Do not tell
stories in company; there is nothing more tedious and dis
agreeable; if by chance you know a very short story, and
exceedingly applicable to the present subject of conversa
tion, tell it in as few words as possible; and even then,
throw out that you do not love to tell stories ; but that the
shortness of it tempted you. Of all things, banish the
LETTERS TO HIS SON 27
egotism out of your conversation, and never think of
entertaining people with your own personal concerns, or pri
vate affairs ; though they are interesting to you, they are
tedious and impertinent to everybody else ; besides that, one
cannot keep one's own private affairs too secret. Whatever
you think your own excellencies may be, do not affectedly
display them in company ; nor labor, as many people do,
to give that turn to the conversation, which may supply
you with an opportunity of exhibiting them. If they are
real, they will infallibly be discovered, without your point
ing them out yourself, and with much more advantage.
Never maintain an argument with heat and clamor, though
you think or know yourself to be in the right : but give
your opinion modestly and coolly, which is the only way
to convince; and, if that does not do, try to change the
conversation, by saying, with good humor, <( We shall
hardly convince one another, nor is it necessary that we
should, so let us talk of something else."
Remember that there is a local propriety to be observed
in all companies; and that what is extremely proper in one
company, may be, and often is, highly improper in an
other.
The jokes, the bonmots, the little adventures, which may
do very well in one company, will seem flat and tedious,
when related in another. The particular characters, the
habits, the cant of one company, may give merit to a
word, or a gesture, which would have none at all if di
vested of those accidental circumstances. Here people very
commonly err; and fond of something that has entertained
them in one company, and in certain circumstances, repeat
it with emphasis in another, where it is either insipid, or,
it may be, offensive, by being ill-timed or misplaced. Nay,
they often do it with this silly preamble ; <( I will tell you
an excellent thing }> ; or, (< I will tell you the best thing in
the world. }> This raises expectations, which, when abso
lutely disappointed, make the relater of this excellent thing
look, very deservedly, like a fool.
If you would particularly gain the affection and friend
ship of particular people, whether men or women, en
deavor to find out the predominant excellency, if they have
one, and their prevailing weakness, which everybody has ;
28 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
and do justice to the one, and something more than justice
to the other. Men have various objects in which they may
excel, or at least would be thought to excel ; and, though
they love to hear justice done to them, where they know
that they excel, yet they are most and best flattered upon
those points where they wish to excel, and yet are doubt
ful whether they do or not. As, for example, Cardinal
Richelieu, who was undoubtedly the ablest statesman of his
time, or perhaps of any other, had the idle vanity of being
thought the best poet too ; he envied the great Corneille
his reputation, and ordered a criticism to be written upon
the "Cid." Those, therefore, who flattered skillfully, said
little to him of his abilities in state affairs, or at least but
en passant, and as it might naturally occur. But the in
cense which they gave him, the smoke of which they knew
would turn his head in their favor, was as a bel esprit and
a poet. Why? Because he was sure of one excellency,
and distrustful as to the other. You will easily discover
every man's prevailing vanity, by observing his favorite
topic of conversation ; for every man talks most of what
he has most a mind to be thought to excel in. Touch him
but there, and you touch him to the quick. The late Sir
Robert Walpole (who was certainly an able man) was
little open to flattery upon that head ; for he was in no
doubt himself about it ; but his prevailing weakness was,
to be thought to have a polite and happy turn to gallantry ;
of which he had undoubtedly less than any man living: it
was his favorite and frequent subject of conversation : which
proved, to those who had any penetration, that it was his
prevailing weakness. And they applied to it with success.
Women have, in general, but one object, which is their
beauty; upon which, scarce any flattery is too gross for
them to swallow. Nature has hardly formed a woman
ugly enough to be insensible to flattery upon her person ;
if her face is so shocking, that she must in some degree,
be conscious of it, her figure and her air, she trusts, make
ample amends for it. If her figure is deformed, her face,
she thinks, counterbalances it. If they are both bad, she
comforts herself that she has graces; a certain manner; a
je ne sais quoi, still more engaging than beauty. This
truth is evident, from the studied and elaborate dress of
LETTERS TO HIS SON 29
the ugliest women in the world. An undoubted, uncon-
tested, conscious beauty, is of all women, the least sensible
of flattery upon that head; she knows that it is her due,
and is therefore obliged to nobody for giving it her. She
must be flattered upon her understanding; which, though
she may possibly not doubt of herself, yet she suspects that
men may distrust.
Do not mistake me, and think that I mean to recom
mend to you abject and criminal flattery: no; flatter no
body's vices or crimes: on the contrary, abhor and discourage
them. But there is no living in the world without a com
plaisant indulgence for people's weaknesses, and innocent,
though ridiculous vanities. If a man has a mind to be
thought wiser, and a woman handsomer than they really
are, their error is a comfortable one to themselves, and an
innocent one with regard to other people; and I would
rather make them my friends, by indulging them in it,
than my enemies, by endeavoring (and that to no purpose)
to undeceive them.
There are little attentions likewise, which are infinitely
engaging, and which sensibly affect that degree of pride
and self-love, which is inseparable from human nature; as
they are unquestionable proofs of the regard and considera
tion which we have for the person to whom we pay them.
As, for example, to observe the little habits, the likings,
the antipathies, and the tastes of those whom we would
gain ; and then take care to provide them with the one,
and to secure them from the other; giving them, genteelly,
to understand, that you had observed that they liked such
a dish, or such a room; for which reason you had prepared
it: or, on the contrary, that having observed they had an aver
sion to such a dish, a dislike to such a person, etc., you
had taken care to avoid presenting them. Such attention to
such trifles flatters self-love much more than greater things,
as it makes people think themselves almost the only objects
of your thoughts and care.
These are some of the arcana necessary for your initia
tion in the great society of the world. I wish I had known
them better at your age ; I have paid the price of three-
and-fifty years for them, and shall not grudge it, if you
reap the advantage. Adieu.
3o LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
LETTER XVIII
LONDON, October 30, O. S. 1747.
DEAR BOY: I am very well pleased with your Itiner-
arium, which you sent me from Ratisbon. It shows
me that you observe and inquire as you go, which is
the true end of traveling. Those who travel heedlessly
from place to place, observing only their distance from each
other, and attending only to their accommodation at the
inn at night, set out fools, and will certainly return so.
Those who only mind the raree-shows of the places which
they go through, such as steeples, clocks, town-houses, etc.,
get so little by their travels, that they might as well stay
at home. But those who observe, and inquire into the
situations, the strength, the weakness, the trade, the manu
factures, the government, and constitution of every place
they go to ; who frequent the best companies, and attend
to their several manners and characters; those alone travel
with advantage; and as they set out wise, return wiser.
I would advise you always to get the shortest description
or history of every place where you make any stay ; and
such a book, however imperfect, will still suggest to you
matter for inquiry ; upon which you may get better infor
mations from the people of the place. For example ; while
you are at Leipsig, get some short account (and to be sure
there are many such) of the present state of the town, with
regard to its magistrates, its police, its privileges, etc., and
then inform yourself more minutely upon all those heads in
conversation with the most intelligent people. Do the same
thing afterward with regard to the Electorate of Saxony :
you will find a short history of it in Puffendorf's Intro
duction, which will give you a general idea of it, and point
out to you the proper objects of a more minute inquiry.
In short, be curious, attentive, inquisitive, as to everything ;
listlessness and indolence are always blameable, but, at your
age, they are unpardonable. Consider how precious, and
how important for all the rest of your life, are your moments
for these next three or four years ; and do not lose one of
them. Do not think I mean that you should study all day
LETTERS TO HIS SON 31
long; I am far from advising or desiring it : but I desire
that you would be doing something or other all day long ;
and not neglect half hours and quarters of hours, which, at
the year's end, amount to a great sum. For instance, there
are many short intervals during the day, between studies
and pleasures : instead of sitting idle and yawning, in those
intervals, take up any book, though ever so trifling a one,
even down to a jest-book ; it is still better than doing
nothing.
Nor do I call pleasures idleness, or time lost, provided
they are the pleasures of a rational being ; on the contrary,
a certain portion of your time, employed in those pleasures,
is very usefully employed. Such are public spectacles,
assemblies of good company, cheerful suppers, and even balls ;
but then, these require attention, or else your time is quite
lost.
There are a great many people, who think themselves
employed all day, and who, if they were to cast up their
accounts at night, would find that they had done just noth
ing. They have read two or three hours mechanically,
without attending to what they read, and consequently with
out either retaining it, or reasoning upon it. From thence
they saunter into company, without taking any part in it,
and without observing the characters of the persons, or the
subjects of the conversation; but are either thinking of some
trifle, foreign to the present purpose, or often not thinking
at all ; which silly and idle suspension of thought they would
dignify with the name of ABSENCE and DISTRACTION. They
go afterward, it may be, to the play, where they gape at the
company and the lights ; but without minding the very
thing they went to, the play.
Pray do you be as attentive to your pleasures as to your
studies. In the latter, observe and reflect upon all you read;
and, in the former, be watchful and attentive to all that you
see and hear ; and never have it to say, as a thousand fools
do, of things that were said and done before their faces,
that, truly, they did not mind them, because they were think
ing of something else. Why were they thinking of some
thing else? and if they were, why did they come there?
The truth is, that the fools were thinking of nothing. Re
member the hoc age, do what you are about, be what it will;
32 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
it is either worth doing well, or not at all. Wherever you
are, have (as the low vulgar expression is) your ears and
your eyes about you. Listen to everything that is said, and
see everything that is done. Observe the looks and coun
tenances of those who speak, which is often a surer way of
discovering the truth than from what they say. But then
keep all those observations to yourself, for your own private
use, and rarely communicate them to others. Observe, with
out being thought an observer, for otherwise people will be
upon their guard before you.
Consider seriously, and follow carefully, I beseech you, my
dear child, the advice which from time to time I have given,
and shall continue to give you; it is at once the result of
my long experience, and the effect of my tenderness for you.
I can have no interest in it but yours. You are not yet
capable of wishing yourself half so well as I wish you; fol
low therefore, for a time at least, implicitly, advice which
you cannot suspect, though possibly you may not yet see the
particular advantages of it; but you will one day feel them.
Adieu.
LETTER XIX
LONDON, November 6, O. S. 1747.
DEAR BOY : Three mails are now due from Holland, so
that I have no letter from you to acknowledge ; I
write to you, therefore, now, as usual, by way of flap
per, to put you in mind of yourself. Doctor Swift, in his
account of the island of Laputa, describes some philosophers
there who were so wrapped up and absorbed in their abstruse
speculations, that they would have forgotten all the common
and necessary duties of life, if they had not been reminded
of them by persons who flapped them, whenever they
observed them continue too long in any of those learned
trances. I do not indeed suspect you of being absorbed in
abstruse speculations ; but, with great submission to you,
may I not suspect that levity, inattention, and too little
thinking, require a flapper, as well as too deep thinking?
If my letters should happen to get to you when you are
sitting by the fire and doing nothing, or when you are gap-
LETTERS TO HIS SON 33
ing at the window, may they not be very proper flaps, to
put you in mind that you might employ your time much
better? I knew once a very covetous, sordid fellow, who
used frequently to say, <( Take care of the pence ; for the
pounds will take care of themselves.* This was a just and
sensible reflection in a miser. I recommend to you to take
care of the minutes ; for hours will take care of themselves.
I am very sure, that many people lose two or three hours
every day, by not taking care of the minutes. Never
think any portion of time whatsoever too short to be
employed ; something or other may always be done in it.
While you are in Germany, let all your historical studies
be relative to Germany ; not only the general history of
the empire as a collective body ; but the respective elec
torates, principalities, and towns ; and also the genealogy of
the most considerable families. A genealogy is no trifle in
Germany; and they would rather prove their two-and-thirty
quarters, than two-and-thirty cardinal virtues, if there were
so many. They are not of Ulysses' opinion, who says very
truly,
Genus et proavos, et qtice non fecimus ipsi;
Vix ea nostra voco.
Good night.
LETTER XX
LONDON, November 24, O. S. 1747.
DEAR BOY : As often as I write to you (and that you
know is pretty often), so often I am in doubt whether
it is to any purpose, and whether it is not labor
and paper lost. This entirely depends upon the degree of
reason and reflection which you are master of, or think
proper to exert. If you give yourself time to think, and
have sense enough to think right, two reflections must
necessarily occur to you; the one is, that I have a great deal
of experience, and that you have none: the other is, that I
am the only man living who cannot have, directly or indi
rectly, any interest concerning you, but your own. From
which two undeniable principles, the obvious and necessary
conclusion is, that you ought, for your own sake, to attend
to and follow my advice.
3
34 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
If, by the application which I recommend to you, you
acquire great knowledge, you alone are the gainer; I pay
for it. If you should deserve either a good or a bad char
acter, mine will be exactly what it is now, and will neither
be the better in the first case, nor worse in the latter. You
alone will be the gainer or the loser.
Whatever your pleasures may be, I neither can nor shall
envy you them, as old people are sometimes suspected by
young people to do; and I shall only lament, if they should
prove such as are unbecoming a man of honor, or below a
man of sense. But you will be the real sufferer, if they
are such. As therefore, it is plain that I can have no other
motive than that of affection in whatever I say to you, you
ought to look upon me as your best, and, for some years
to come, your only friend.
True friendship requires certain proportions of age and
manners, and can never subsist where they are extremely
different, except in the relations of parent and child, where
affection on one side, and regard on the other, make up
the difference. The friendship which you may contract
with people of your own age may be sincere, may be
warm; but must be, for some time, reciprocally unprofitable,
as there can be no experience on either side. The young
leading the young, is like the blind leading the blind;
<( they will both fall into the ditch. ® The only sure guide
is, he who has often gone the road which you want to go.
Let me be that guide ; who have gone all roads, and who
can consequently point out to you the best. If you ask
me why I went any of the bad roads myself, I will answer
you very truly, That it was for want of a good guide :
ill example invited me one way, and a good guide was
wanting to show me a better. But if anybody, capable of
advising me, had taken the same pains with me, which I
have taken, and will continue to take with you, I should
have avoided many follies and inconveniences, which undi
rected youth run me into. My father was neither desirous
nor able to advise me; which is what, I hope, you cannot
say of yours. You see that I make use only of the word
advice; because I would much rather have the assent of
your reason to my advice, than the submission of your will
to my authority. This, I persuade myself, will happen,
LETTERS TO HIS SON 35
from that degree of sense which I think you have; and
therefore I will go on advising, and with hopes of suc
cess.
You are now settled for some time at Leipsig ; the prin
cipal object of your stay there is the knowledge of books
and sciences ; which if you do not, by attention and appli
cation, make yourself master of while you are there, you
will be ignorant of them all the rest of your life; and,
take my word for it, a life of ignorance is not only a very
contemptible, but a very tiresome one. Redouble your at
tention, then, to Mr. Harte, in your private studies of the
Literce Humaniores, especially Greek. State your difficul
ties, whenever you have any; and do not suppress them,
either from mistaken shame, lazy indifference, or in order
to have done the sooner. Do the same when you are at
lectures with Professor Masco w, or any other professor;
let nothing pass till you are sure that you understand it
thoroughly ; and accustom yourself to write down the capital
points of what you learn. When you have thus usefully
employed your mornings, you may, with a safe conscience,
divert yourself in the evenings, and make those evenings
very useful too, by passing them in good company, and,
by observation and attention, learning as much of the world
as Leipsig can teach you. You will observe and imitate
the manners of the people of the best fashion there ; not
that they are (it may be) the best manners in the world;
but because they are the best manners of the place where
you are, to which a man of sense always conforms. The
nature of things (as I have often told you) is always and
everywhere the same ; but the modes of them vary more or
less, in every country ; and an easy and genteel conformity
to them, or rather the assuming of them at proper times,
and in proper places, is what particularly constitutes a man
of the world, and a well-bred man.
Here is advice enough, I think, and too much, it may
be, you will think, for one letter; if you follow it, you will
get knowledge, character, and pleasure by it; if you do not,
I only lose operam et oleum, which, in all events, I do not
grudge you.
I send you, by a person who sets out this day for Leip
sig, a small packet from your Mamma, containing some
36 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
valuable things which you left behind, to which I have
added, by way of new-year's gift, a very pretty tooth-pick
case ; and, by the way, pray take great care of your teeth,
and keep them extremely clean. I have likewise sent you
the Greek roots, lately translated into English from the
French of the Port Royal. Inform yourself what the Port
Royal is. To conclude with a quibble : I hope you will not
only feed upon these Greek roots, but likewise digest them
perfectly. Adieu.
LETTER XXI
LONDON, December u, O. S. 1747.
DEAR BOY : There is nothing which I more wish that
you should know, and which fewer people do know,
than the true use and value of time. It is in every
body's mouth; but in few people's practice. Every fool,
who slatterns away his whole time in nothings, utters, how
ever, some trite commonplace sentence, of which there are
millions, to prove, at once, the value and the fleetness of
time. The sun-dials, likewise all over Europe, have some
ingenious inscription to that effect ; so that nobody squanders
away their time, without hearing and seeing, daily, how
necessary it is to employ it well, and how irrecoverable it
is if lost. But all these admonitions are useless, where
there is not a fund of good sense and reason to suggest
them, rather than receive them. By the manner in which
you now tell me that you employ your time, I flatter my
self that you have that fund ; that is the fund which will
make you rich indeed. I do not, therefore, mean to give
you a critical essay upon the use and abuse of time ; but I
will only give you some hints with regard to the use of
one particular period of that long time which, I hope, you
have before you; I mean, the next two years. Remember,
then, that whatever knowledge you do not solidly lay the
foundation of before you are eighteen, you will never be
the master of while you breathe. Knowledge is a comfort
able and necessary retreat and shelter for us in an advanced
age ; and if we do not plant it while young, it will give
LETTERS TO HIS SON 37
us no shade when we grow old. I neither require nor
expect from you great application to books, after you are
once thrown out into the great world. I know it is im
possible ; and it may even, in some cases, be improper;
this, therefore, is your time, and your only time, for un
wearied and uninterrupted application. If you should
sometimes think it a little laborious, consider that labor is
the unavoidable fatigue of a necessary journey. The more
hours a day you travel, the sooner you will be at your
journey's end. The sooner you are qualified for your
liberty, the sooner you shall have it; and your manumis
sion will entirely depend upon the manner in which you
employ the intermediate time. I think I offer you a very
good bargain, when I promise you, upon my word, that if
you will do everything that I would have you do, till you
are eighteen, I will do everything that you would have
me do ever afterward.
I knew a gentleman, who was so good a manager of his
time, that he would not even lose that small portion of it,
which the calls of nature obliged him to pass in the
necessary-house; but gradually went through all the Latin
poets, in those moments. He bought, for example, a com
mon edition of Horace, of which he tore off gradually a
couple of pages, carried them with him to that necessary
place, read them first, and then sent them down as a sac
rifice to Cloacina: this was so much time fairly gained;
and I recommend you to follow his example. It is better
than only doing what you cannot help doing at those moments;
and it will made any book, which you shall read in that
manner, very present in your mind. Books of science,
and of a grave sort, must be read with continuity; but
there are very many, and even very useful ones, which
may be read with advantage by snatches, and unconnectedly ;
such are all the good Latin poets, except Virgil in his
*^Bneid* : and such are most of the modern poets, in which
you will find many pieces worth reading, that will not
take up above seven or eight minutes. Bayle's, Moreri's,
and other dictionaries, are proper books to take and shut
up for the little intervals of (otherwise) idle time, that
everybody has in the course of the day, between either
their studies or their pleasures. Good night.
38 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
LETTER XXII
LONDON, December 18, O. S. 1747*
DEAR BOY: As two mails are now due from Holland,
I have no letters of yours or Mr. Harte's to acknowl
edge; so that this letter is the effect of that scribendi
cacoethes, which my fears, my hopes, and my doubts, con
cerning you give me. When I have wrote you a very long
letter upon any subject, it is no sooner gone, but I think I
have omitted something in it, which might be of use to
you ; and then I prepare the supplement for the next post :
or else some new subject occurs to me, upon which I fancy
I can give you some informations, or point out some rules
which may be advantageous to you. This sets me to writ
ing again, though God knows whether to any purpose or
not; a few years more can only ascertain that. But, what
ever my success may be, my anxiety and my care can only
be the effects of that tender affection which I have for you;
and which you cannot represent to yourself greater than
it really is. But do not mistake the nature of that affec
tion, and think it of a kind that you may with impunity
abuse. It is not natural affection, there being in reality
no such thing; for, if there were, some inward sentiment
must necessarily and reciprocally discover the parent to the
child, and the child to the parent, without any exterior
indications, knowledge, or acquaintance whatsoever; which
never happened since the creation of the world, whatever
poets, romance, and novel writers, and such sentiment-
mongers, may be pleased to say to the contrary. Neither
is my affection for you that of a mother, of which the only,
or at least the chief objects, are health and life : I wish
you them both most heartily; but, at the same time, I con
fess they are by no means my principal care.
My object is to have you fit to live ; which, if you are
not, I do not desire that you should live at all. My
affection for you then is, and only will be. proportioned
to your merit; which is the only affection that one rational
being ought to have for another. Hitherto I have discovered
nothing wrong in your heart, or your head : on the contrary
LETTERS TO HIS SON 39
I think I see sense in the one, and sentiments in the other.
This persuasion is the only motive of my present affection;
which will either increase or diminish, according to your
merit or demerit. If you have the knowledge, the honor,
and probity, which you may have, the marks and warmth
of my affection shall amply reward them ; but if you have
them not, my aversion and indignation will rise in the
same proportion ; and, in that case, remember, that I am
under no further obligation, than to give you the necessary
means of subsisting. If ever we quarrel, do not expect or
depend upon any weakness in my nature, for a reconcilia
tion, as children frequently do, and often meet with, from
silly parents; I have no such weakness about me: and, as
I will never quarrel with you but upon some essential point ;
if once we quarrel, I will never forgive. But I hope and
believe, that this declaration (for it is no threat) will prove
unnecessary. You are no stranger to the principles of
virtue; and, surely, whoever • knows virtue must love it.
As for knowledge, you have already enough of it, to en
gage you to acquire more. The ignorant only, either de
spise it, or think that they have enough: those who have
the most are always the most desirous to have more, and
know that the most they can have is, alas! but too little.
Reconsider, from time to time, and retain the friendly
advice which I send you. The advantage will be all your
own.
LETTER XXIII
LONDON, December 29, O. S. 1747.
DEAR BOY : I have received two letters from you of
the i7th and 22d, N. S., by the last of which I
find that some of mine to you must have miscarried ;
for I have never been above two posts without writing to
you or to Mr. Harte, and even very long letters. I have
also received a letter from Mr. Harte, which gives me
great satisfaction : it is full of your praises; and he an
swers for you, that, in two years more, you will deserve
your manumission, and be fit to go into the world, upon
a footing that will do you honor, and give me pleasure.
40 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
I thank you for your offer of the new edition of Ada-
mus Adami, but I do not want it, having a good edition
of it at present. When you have read that, you will do
well to follow it with Pere Bougeant's Histoire du Traitd
de Munster, in two volumes quarto ; which contains many
important anecdotes concerning that famous treaty, that are
not in A damns Adami.
You tell me that your lectures upon the Jus Publicum
will be ended at Easter; but then I hope that Monsieur
Mascow will begin them again; for I would not have you
discontinue that study one day while you are at Leipsig.
I suppose that Monsieur Mascow will likewise give you
lectures upon the Instrumentum Pads, and upon the capit
ulations of the late emperors. — Your German will go on
of course; and I take it for granted that your stay at Leip
sig will make you a perfect master of that language, both
as to speaking and writing; for remember, that knowing
any language imperfectly, is very little better than not
knowing it at all : people being as unwilling to speak in a
language which they do not possess thoroughly, as others
are to hear them. Your thoughts are cramped, and appear
to great disadvantage, in any language of which you are
not perfect master. Let modern history share part of your
time, and that always accompanied with the maps of the
places in question; geography and history are very imper
fect separately, and, to be useful, must be joined.
Go to the Duchess of Courland's as often as she and
your leisure will permit. The company of women of fash
ion will improve your manners, though not your under
standing; and that complaisance and politeness, which are
so useful in men's company, can only be acquired in wo
men's.
Remember always, what I have told you a thousand
times, that all the talents in the world will want all their
lustre, and some part of their use too, if they are not
adorned with that easy good-breeding, that engaging man
ner, and those graces, which seduce and prepossess people
in your favor at first sight. A proper care of your person
is by no means to be neglected ; always extremely clean ;
upon proper occasions fine. Your carriage genteel, and
your motions graceful. Take particular care of your man-
LETTERS TO HIS SON 41
ner and address, when you present yourself in company.
Let them be respectful without meanness, easy without too
much familiarity, genteel without affectation, and insinuat
ing without any seeming art or design.
You need not send me any more extracts of the German
constitution; which, by the course of your present studies,
I know you must soon be acquainted with; but I would
now rather that your letters should be a sort of journal of
your own life. As, for instance, -what company you keep,
what new acquaintances you make, what your pleasures
are ; with your own reflections upon the whole : likewise
what Greek and Latin books you read and understand.
Adieu !
LETTER XXIV
January 2, O. S. 1748.
DEAR BOY : I am edified with the allotment of your
time at Leipsig ; which is so well employed from
morning till night, that a fool would say you had
none left for yourself; whereas, I am sure you have sense
enough to know, that such a right use of your time is hav
ing it all to yourself; nay, it is even more, for it is lay
ing it out to immense interest, which, in a very few years,
will amount to a prodigious capital.
Though twelve of your fourteen Commensaux may not
be the liveliest people in the world, and may want (as I
easily conceive that they do) le ton de la bonne campagnie,
et les graces, which I wish you, yet pray take care not to
express any contempt, or throw out any ridicule; which I
can assure you, is not more contrary to good manners than
to good sense: but endeavor rather to get all the good you
can out of them ; and something or other is to be got out
of everybody. They will, at least, improve you in the
German language; and, as they come from different coun
tries, you may put them upon subjects, concerning which
they must necessarily be able to give you some useful in
formations, let them be ever so dull or disagreeable in gen
eral: they will know something, at least, of the laws,
42 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
customs, government, and considerable families of their re
spective countries ; all which are better known than not,
and consequently worth inquiring into. There is hardly
any body good for every thing, and there is scarcely any
body who is absolutely good for nothing. A good chemist
will extract some spirit or other out of every substance;
and a man of parts will, by his dexterity and management,
elicit something worth knowing out of every being he con
verses with.
As you have been introduced to the Duchess of Cour-
land, pray go there as often as ever your more necessary
occupations will allow you. I am told she is extremely
well bred, and has parts. Now, though I would not rec
ommend to you, to go into women's company in search of
solid knowledge, or judgment, yet it has its use in other
respects ; for it certainly polishes the manners, and gives
une certaine tournure, which is very necessary in the course
of the world; and which Englishmen have generally less
of than any people in the world.
I cannot say that your suppers are luxurious, but you
must own they are solid; and a quart of soup, and two
pounds of potatoes, will enable you to pass the night with
out great impatience for your breakfast next morning.
One part of your supper (the potatoes) is the constant diet
of my old friends and countrymen,* the Irish, who are the
healthiest and the strongest bodies of men that I know in
Europe.
As I believe that many of my letters to you and to Mr.
Harte have miscarried, as well as some of yours and his to
me; particularly one of his from Leipsig, to which he re
fers in a subsequent one, and which I never received ; I
would have you, for the future, acknowledge the dates of
all the letters which either of you shall receive from me;
and I will do the same on my part.
That which I received by the last mail, from you, was
of the 25th November, N. S. ; the mail before that brought
me yours, of which I have forgot the date, but which in
closed one to Lady Chesterfield : she will answer it soon,
and, in the mean time, thanks you for it.
*Lord Chesterfield, from the time he was appointed Lord-lieutenant
of Ireland, 1715, used always to call the Irish his countrymen.
LETTERS TO HIS SON 43
My disorder was only a very great cold, of which I am
entirely recovered. You shall not complain for want of
accounts from Mr. Grevenkop, who will frequently write
you whatever passes here, in the German language and
character; which will improve you in both. Adieu.
LETTER XXV
LONDON, January 15, O. S. 1748.
DEAR BOY: I willingly accept the new-year's gift which
you promise me for next year; and the more valu
able you make it, the more thankful I shall be.
That depends entirely upon you; and therefore I hope to
be presented, every year, with a new edition of you, more
correct than the former, and considerably enlarged and
amended.
Since you do not care to be an assessor of the imperial
chamber, and that you desire an establishment in England;
what do you think of being Greek Professor at one of our
universities? It is a very pretty sinecure, and requires very
little knowledge (much less than, I hope, you have already)
of that language. If you do not approve of this, I am at
a loss to know what else to propose to you; and therefore
desire that you will inform me what sort of destination you
propose for yourself; for it is now time to fix it, and to
take our measures accordingly. Mr. Harte tells me that you
set up for a IIoXirtKo^ avrjp • if so, I presume it is in the
view of succeeding me in my office ; * which I will very
willingly resign to you, whenever you shall call upon me
for it. But, if you intend to be the nohruuts, or the BouXyyopo?
avyp, there are some trifling circumstances upon which you
should previously take your resolution. The first of which
is, to be fit for it : and then, in order to be so, make your
self master of ancient and modern history, and languages.
To know perfectly the constitution, and form of govern
ment of every nation; the growth and the decline of ancient
and modern empires ; and to trace out and reflect upon the
causes of both. To know the strength, the riches, and the
* A secretary of state.
44 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
commerce of every country. These little things, trifling as
they may seem, are yet very necessary for a politician to
know; and which therefore, I presume, you will condescend
to apply yourself to. There are some additional qualifica
tions necessary, in the practical part of business, which
may deserve some consideration in your leisure moments ;
such as, an absolute command of your temper, so as not to
be provoked to passion, upon any account; patience, to
hear frivolous, impertinent, and unreasonable applications ;
with address enough to refuse, without offending, or, by
your manner of granting, to double the obligation ; dexter
ity enough to conceal a truth without telling a lie ; sagacity
enough to read other people's countenances; and serenity
enough not to let them discover anything by yours ; a
seeming frankness with a real reserve. These are the rudi
ments of a politician; the world must be your grammar.
Three mails are now due from Holland ; so that I have
no letters from you to acknowledge. I therefore conclude
with recommending myself to your favor and protection
when you succeed. Yours.
LETTER XXVI
LONDON, January 29, O. S. 1748.
DEAR BOY : I find, by Mr. Harte's last letter, that
many of my letters to you and him, have been frozen
up on their way to Leipsig ; the thaw has, I sup
pose, by this time, set them at liberty to pursue their
journey to you, and you will receive a glut of them at
once. Hudibras alludes, in this verse,
Like words congealed in northern air,
to a vulgar notion, that in Greenland words were frozen in
their utterance; and that upon a thaw, a very mixed con
versation was heard in the air, of all those words set at
liberty. This conversation was, I presume, too various and
extensive to be milch attended to : and may not that be the
case of half a dozen of my long letters, when you receive
them all at once? I think that I can eventually, answer
LETTERS TO HIS SON 45
that question, thus: If you consider my letters in their
true light, as conveying to you the advice of a friend, who
sincerely wishes your happiness, and desires to promote
your pleasure, you will both read and attend to them ; but,
if you consider them in their opposite, and very false light,
as the dictates of a morose and sermonizing father, I am
sure they will be not only unattended to, but unread.
Which is the case, you can best tell me. Advice is seldom
welcome ; and those who want it the most always like it
the least. I hope that your want of experience, of which
you must be conscious, will convince you, that you want
advice ; and that your good sense will incline you to fol
low it.
Tell me how you pass your leisure hours at Leipsig; I
know you have not many ; and I have too good an opinion
of you to think, that, at this age, you would desire more.
Have you assemblies, or public spectacles? and of what kind
are they? Whatever they are, see them all; seeing every
thing, is the only way not to admire anything too much.
If you ever take up little tale-books, to amuse you by
snatches, I will recommend two French books, which I
have already mentioned; they will entertain you, and not
without some use to your mind and your manners. One is,
La Manibre de bien Denser dans les Ouvrages d* Esprit,
written by P'ere Bouhours; I believe you read it once in
England, with Monsieur Coderc ; but I think that you will do
well to read it again, as I know of no book that will form
your taste better. The other is, Z' "Art de plaire dans la
Conversation, by the Abbe de Bellegarde, and is by no means
useless, though I will not pretend to say, that the art of
pleasing can be reduced to a receipt ; if it could, I am sure
that receipt would be worth purchasing at any price. Good
sense, and good nature, are the principal ingredients ; and
your own observation, and the good advice of others, must
give the right color and taste to it. Adieu ! I shall always
love you as you shall deserve.
46 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
LETTER XXVII
LONDON, February 9, O. S. 1748.
DEAR BOY : You will receive this letter, not from a
Secretary of State but from a private man ; for whom,
at his time of life, quiet was as fit, and as neces
sary, as labor and activity are for you at your age, and for
many years yet to come. I resigned the seals, last Saturday,
to the King; who parted with me most graciously, and
(I may add, for he said so himself) with regret. As I
retire from hurry to quiet, and to enjoy, at my ease, the
comforts of private and social life, you will easily imagine
that I have no thoughts of opposition, or meddling with
business. Otium cum dignitate is my object. The former
I now enjoy; and I hope that my conduct and character
entitle me to some share of the latter. In short, I am now
happy : and I found that I could not be so in my former
public situation.
As I like your correspondence better than that of all the
kings, princes, and ministers, in Europe, I shall now have
leisure to carry it on more regularly. My letters to you
will be written, I am sure, by me, and, I hope, read by
you, with pleasure ; which, I believe, seldom happens, recip
rocally, to letters written from and to a secretary's office.
Do not apprehend that my retirement from business may
be a hindrance to your advancement in it, at a proper
time : on the contrary, it will promote it ; for, having noth
ing to ask for myself, I shall have the better title to ask
for you. But you have still a surer way than this of rising,
and which is wholly in your own power. Make yourself
necessary; which, with your natural parts, you may, by
application, do. We are in general, in England, ignorant
of foreign affairs : and of the interests, views, pretensions,
and policy of other courts. That part of knowledge never
enters into our thoughts, nor makes part of our education ;
for which reason, we have fewer proper subjects for foreign
commissions, than any other country in Europe ; and, when
foreign affairs happen to be debated in Parliament, it is
incredible with how much ignorance. The harvest of foreign
LETTERS TO HIS SON 4?
affairs being then so great, and the laborers so few, if you
make yourself master of them, you will make yourself neces
sary ; first as a foreign, and then as a domestic minister for
that department.
I am extremely well pleased with the account which you
give me of the allotment of your time. Do but go on so,
for two years longer, and I will ask no more of you. Your
labors will be their own reward ; but if you desire any other,
that I can add, you may depend upon it.
I am glad that you perceive the indecency and turpitude
of those of your Commensaux, who disgrace and foul
themselves with dirty w s and scoundrel gamesters. And
the light in which, I am sure, you see all reasonable and
decent people consider them, will be a good warning to
you. Adieu.
LETTER XXVIII
LONDON, February 13, O. S. 1748.
DEAR BOY : your last letter gave me a very satisfactory
account of your manner of employing your time at
Leipsig. Go on so but for two years more, and, I
promise you, that you will outgo all the people of your
age and time. I thank you for your explanation of the
Schriftsassen, and Amptsassen; and pray let me know the
meaning of the Landsassen. I am very willing that you
should take a Saxon servant, who speaks nothing but Ger
man, which will be a sure way of keeping up your German,
after you leave Germany. But then, I would neither have
that man, nor him whom you have already, put out of
livery ; which makes them both impertinent and useless. I
am sure, that as soon as you shall have taken the other
servant, your present man will press extremely to be out of
livery, and valet de chambre; which is as much as to say,
that he will curl your hair and shave you, but not conde
scend to do anything else. I therefore advise you, never to
have a servant out of livery ; and, though you may not
always think proper to carry the servant who dresses you
abroad in the rain and dirt, behind a coach or before a
48 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
chair, yet keep it in your power to do so, if you please,
by keeping him in livery.
I have seen Monsieur and Madame Flemming, who gave
me a very good account of you, and of your manners, which
to tell you the plain truth, were what I doubted of the most.
She told me, that you were easy, and not ashamed : which
is a great deal for an Englishman at your age.
I set out for Bath to-morrow, for a month ; only to be
better than well, and enjoy, in quiet, the liberty which I
have acquired by the resignation of the seals. You shall
hear from me more at large from thence ; and now good
night to you.
LETTER XXIX
BATH, February 18, O. S. 1748.
DEAR BOY : The first use that I made of my liberty was
to come here, where I arrived yesterday. My health,
though not fundamentally bad yet, for want of proper
attention of late, wanted some repairs, which these waters
never fail giving it. I shall drink them a month, and re
turn to London, there to enjoy the comforts of social life,
instead of groaning under the load of business. I have
given the description of the life that I propose to lead for the
future, in this motto, which I have put up in the frize of
my library in my new house: —
Nunc veterum libris, nunc somno, et inertibus horis
Ducere sollicitce jucunda oblivia vitce.
I must observe to you upon this occasion, that the unin
terrupted satisfaction which I expect to find in that library,
will be chiefly owing to my having employed some part of
my life well at your age. I wish I had employed it better,
and my satisfaction would now be complete ; but, however,
I planted while young, that degree of knowledge which is
now my refuge and my shelter. Make your plantations
still more extensive; they will more than pay you for your
trouble. I do not regret the time that I passed in pleasures ;
they were seasonable ; they were the pleasures of youth,
and I enjoyed them while young. If I had not, I should
LETTERS TO HIS SON 49
probably have overvalued them now, as we are very apt to
do what we do not know ; but, knowing them as I do, I
know their real value, and how much they are generally
overrated. Nor do I regret the time that I have passed in
business, for the same reason ; those who see only the out
side of it, imagine it has hidden charms, which they pant
after; and nothing but acquaintance can undeceive them.
I, who have been behind the scenes, both of pleasure and
business, and have seen all the springs and pullies of those
decorations which astonish and dazzle the audience, retire,
not only without regret, but with contentment and satis
faction. But what I do, and ever shall regret, is the time
which, while young, I lost in mere idleness, and in doing
nothing. This is the common effect of the inconsideracy of
youth, against which I beg you will be most carefully
upon your guard. The value of moments, when cast up, is
immense, if well employed ; if thrown away, their loss is
irrecoverable. Every moment may be put to some use, and
that with much more pleasure, than if unemployed. Do
not imagine, that by the employment of time, I mean an
uninterrupted application to serious studies. No; pleasures
are, at proper times, both as necessary and as useful; they
fashion and form you for the world; they teach you char
acters, and show you the human heart in its unguarded
minutes. But then remember to make that use of them.
I have known many people, from laziness of mind, go
through both pleasure and business with equal inattention ;
neither enjoying the one, nor doing the other; thinking
themselves men of pleasure, because they were mingled
with those who were, and men of business, because they
had business to do, though they did not do it. Whatever
you do, do it to the purpose; do it thoroughly, not super
ficially. Approfondissez : go to the bottom of things. Any
thing half done or half known, is, in my mind, neither
done nor known at all. Nay worse, it often misleads.
There is hardly any place or any company, where you may
not gain knowledge, if you please; almost everybody
knows some one thing, and is glad to talk upon that one
thing. Seek and you will find, in this world as well as in
the next. See everything ; inquire into everything ; and
you may excuse your curiosity, and the questions you ask,
4
5o LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
which otherwise might be thought impertinent, by your
manner of asking them ; for most things depend a great
deal upon the manner. As, for example, I AM AFRAID
THAT I AM VERY TROUBLESOME WITH MY OJJESTIONS ; BUT
NOBODY CAN INFORM ME so WELL AS YOU ; or something
of that kind.
Now that you are in a Lutheran country, go to their
churches, and observe the manner of their public worship ;
attend to their ceremonies, and inquire the meaning and
intention of everyone of them. And, as you will soon
understand German well enough, attend to their sermons,
and observe their manner of preaching. Inform yourself
of their church government : whether it resides in the
sovereign, or in consistories and synods. Whence arises the
maintenance of their clergy ; whether from tithes, as in
England, or from voluntary contributions, or from pensions
from the state. Do the same thing when you are in
Roman Catholic countries ; go to their churches, see all
their ceremonies: ask the meaning of them, get the terms
explained to you. As, for instance, Prime, Tierce, Sexte,
Nones, Matins, Angelus, High Mass, Vespers, Complines,
etc. Inform yourself of their several religious orders, their
founders, their rules, their vows, their habits, their rev
enues, etc. But, when you frequent places of public wor
ship, as I would have you go to all the different ones
you meet with, remember, that however erroneous, they
are none of them objects of laughter and ridicule. Honest
error is to be pitied, not ridiculed. The object of all the
public worships in the world is the same ; it is that great
eternal Being who created everything. The different man
ners of worship are by no means subjects of ridicule. Each sect
thinks its own is the best ; and I know no infallible judge
in this world, to decide which is the best. Make the same
inquiries, wherever you are, concerning the revenues, the
military establishment, the trade, the commerce, and the
police of every country. And you would do well to keep
a blank paper book, which the Germans call an ALBUM;
and there, instead of desiring, as they do, every fool they
meet with to scribble something, write down all these
things as soon as they come to your knowledge from good
authorities.
LETTERS TO HIS SON 51
I had almost forgotten one thing, which I would recom
mend as an object for your curiosity and information, that
is, the administration of justice ; which, as it is always
carried on in open court, you may, and I would have you,
go and see it with attention and inquiry.
I have now but one anxiety left, which is concerning
you. I would have you be, what I know nobody is —
perfect. As that is impossible, I would have you as near
perfection as possible. I know nobody in a fairer way
toward it than yourself, if you please. Never were so
much pains taken for anybody's education as for yours ;
and never had anybody those opportunities of knowledge
and improvement which you have had, and still have, I
hope, I wish, I doubt, and fear alternately . This only I
am sure of, that you will prove either the greatest pain or
the greatest pleasure of, Yours.
LETTER XXX
BATH, February 22, O. S. 1748.
DEAR BOY: Every excellency, and every virtue, has its
kindred vice or weakness ; and if carried beyond cer
tain bounds, sinks into one or the other. Generosity
often runs into profusion, economy into avarice, courage
into rashness, caution into timidity, and so on: — insomuch
that, I believe, there is more judgment required, for the
proper conduct of our virtues, than for avoiding their
opposite vices. Vice, in its true light, is so deformed,
that it shocks us at first sight, and would hardly ever
seduce us, if it did not, at first, wear the mask of some
virtue. But virtue is, in itself, so beautiful, that it charms
us at first sight; engages us more and more upon further
acquaintance; and, as with other beauties, we think
excess impossible; it is here that judgment is necessary, to
moderate and direct the effects of an excellent cause. I
6hall apply this reasoning, at present, not to any particular
virtue, but to an excellency, which, for want of judgment,
is often the cause of ridiculous and blamable effects; I
52 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
mean, great learning; which, if not accompanied with
sound judgment, frequently carries us into error, pride, and
pedantry. As, I hope, you will possess that excellency in
its utmost extent, and yet without its too common failings,
the hints, which my experience can suggest, may probably
not be useless to you.
Some learned men, proud of their knowledge, only speak
to decide, and give judgment without appeal; the con
sequence of which is, that mankind, provoked by the in
sult, and injured by the oppression, revolt; and, in order
to shake off the tyranny, even call the lawful authority in
question. The more you know, the modester you should
;be : and (by the bye) that modesty is the surest way of
gratifying your vanity. Even where you are sure, seem
rather doubtful ; represent, but do not pronounce, and, if
you would convince others, seem open to conviction your
self.
Others, to show their learning, or often from the preju
dices of a school-education, where they hear of nothing else,
are always talking of the ancients, as something more than
men, and of the moderns, as something less. They are
never without a classic or two in their pockets; they stick
to the old good sense ; they read none of the modern trash ;
and will show you, plainly, that no improvement has been
made, in any one art or science, these last seventeen hun
dred years. I would by no means have you disown your
acquaintance with the ancients : but still less would I have
you brag of an exclusive intimacy with them. Speak of
the moderns without contempt, and of the ancients without
idolatry; judge them all by their merits, but not by their
ages; and if you happen to have an Elzevir classic in your
pocket neither show it nor mention it.
Some great scholars, most absurdly, draw all their
maxims, both for public and private life, from what they
call parallel cases in the ancient authors ; without consider
ing, that, in the first place, there never were, since the
creation of the world, two cases exactly parallel; and, in
the next place, that there never was a case stated, or even
known, by any historian, with every one of its circum
stances; which, however, ought to be known, in order to
be reasoned from. Reason upon the case itself, and the
LETTERS TO HIS SON 53;
several circumstances that attend it, and act accordingly;
but not from the authority of ancient poets, or historians.
Take into your consideration, if you please, cases seemingly
analogous; but take them as helps only, not as guides. We
are really so prejudiced by our education, that, as the ancients
deified their heroes, we deify their madmen; of which, with
all due regard for antiquity, I take Leonidas and Curtius
to have been two distinguished ones. And yet a solid
pedant would, in a speech in parliament, relative to a tax
of two-pence in the pound upon some community or other,
quote those two heroes, as examples of what we ought to
do and suffer for our country. I have known these ab
surdities carried so far by people of injudicious learning,
that I should not be surprised, if some of them were to
propose, while we are at war with the Gauls, that a num
ber of geese should be kept in the Tower, upon account of
the infinite advantage which Rome received IN A PARALLEL
CASK, from a certain number of geese in the Capitol. This
way of reasoning, and this way of speaking, will always
form a poor politician, and a puerile declaimer.
There is another species of learned men, who, though less
dogmatical and supercilious, are not less impertinent. These
are the communicative and shining pedants, who adorn
their conversation, even with women, by happy quotations
of Greek and Latin; and who have contracted such a fa
miliarity with the Greek and Roman authors, that they call
them by certain names or epithets denoting intimacy. As
OLD Homer; that SLY ROGUE Horace; MARO, instead of
Virgil; and NASO, instead of Ovid. These are often imi
tated by coxcombs, who have no learning at all; but who
have got some names and some scraps of ancient authors
by heart, which they improperly and impertinently retail in
all companies, in hopes of passing for scholars. If, there
fore, you would avoid the accusation of pedantry on one
hand, or the suspicion of ignorance on the other, abstain
from learned ostentation. Speak the language of the com
pany that you are in ; speak it purely, and unlarded with
any other. Never seem wiser, nor more learned, than the
people you are with. Wear your learning, like your watchr
in a private pocket : and do not pull it out and strike it ;
merely to show that you have one. If you are asked what
54 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
o'clock it is, tell it; but do not proclaim it hourly and un
asked, like the watchman.
Upon the whole, remember that learning (I mean Greek
and Roman learning) is a most useful and necessary orna
ment, which it is shameful not to be master of; but, at
the same time most carefully avoid those errors and abuses
which I have mentioned, and which too often attend it.
Remember, too, that great modern knowledge is still more
necessary than ancient; and that you had better know per
fectly the present, than the old state of Europe ; though I
would have you well acquainted with both.
I have this moment received your letter of the i7th, N.
S. Though, I confess, there is no great variety in your
present manner of life, yet materials can never be wanting
for a letter; you see, you hear, or you read something new
every day; a short account of which, with your own reflec
tions thereupon, will make out a letter very well. But,
since you desire a subject, pray send me an account of the
Lutheran establishment in Germany ; their religious tenets,
their church government, the maintenance, authority, and
titles of their clergy.
Vittorio Siri, complete, is a very scarce and very dear
book here; but I do not want it. If your own library
grows too voluminous, you will not know what to do with
it, when you leave Leipsig. Your best way will be, when
you go away from thence, to send to England, by Ham
burg, all the books that you do not absolutely want.
Yours.
LETTER XXXI
BATH, March i, 0.8.1748.
DEAR BOY: By Mr. Harte's letter to Mr. Grevenkop,
of the 2ist February, N. S., I find that you had
been a great while without receiving any letters from
me ; but by this time, I daresay you think you have received
enough, and possibly more than you have read; for I am
not only a frequent, but a prolix correspondent.
Mr. Harte says, in that letter, that he looks upon Pro
fessor Mascow to be one of the ablest men in Europe, in
LETTERS TO HIS SON 55
treaty and political knowledge. I am extremely glad of it;
for that is what I would have you particularly apply to,
and make yourself perfect master of. The treaty part you
must chiefly acquire by reading the treaties themselves, and
the histories and memoirs relative to them; not but that
inquiries and conversations upon those treaties will help
you greatly, and imprint them better in your mind. In
this course of reading, do not perplex yourself, at first, by
the multitude of insignificant treaties which are to be found
in the Corps Diplomatique; but stick to the material ones,
which altered the state of Europe, and made a new arrange
ment among the great powers; such as the treaties of
Munster, Nimeguen, Ryswick, and Utrecht.
But there is one part of political knowledge, which is
only to be had by inquiry and conversation ; that is, the
present state of every power in Europe, with regard to the
three important points, of strength, revenue, and commerce.
You will, therefore, do well, while you are in Germany, to
inform yourself carefully of the military force, the revenues,
and the commerce of every prince and state of the empire;
and to write down those informations in a little book, for
that particular purpose. To give you a specimen of what
I mean: —
THE ELECTORATE OF HANOVER
The revenue is about £500,000 a year.
The military establishment, in time of war, may be about
25,000 men; but that is the utmost.
The trade is chiefly linens, exported from Stade.
There are coarse woolen manufactures for home-consump
tion.
The mines of Hartz produce about £100,000 in silver,
annually.
Such informations you may very easily get, by proper
inquiries, of every state in Germany if you will but pre
fer useful to frivolous conversations.
There are many princes in Germany, who keep very few
or no troops, unless upon the approach of danger, or for
the sake of profit, by letting them out for subsidies, to
56 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
great powers: In that case, you will inform yourself what
number of troops they could raise, either for their own
defense, or furnish to other powers for subsidies.
There is very little trouble, and an infinite use, in acquir
ing of this knowledge. It seems to me even to be a more
entertaining subject to talk upon, than la pluie et le beau
terns.
Though I am sensible that these things cannot be known
with the utmost exactness, at least by you yet, you may,
however, get so near the truth, that the difference will be
very immaterial.
Pray let me know if the Roman Catholic worship is
tolerated in Saxony, anywhere but at Court; and if public
mass-houses are allowed anywhere else in the electorate.
Are the regular Romish clergy allowed ; and have they any
convents?
Are there any military orders in Saxony, and what? Is
the White Eagle a Saxon or a Polish order? Upon what
occasion, and when was it founded? What number of
knights ?
Adieu! God bless you; and may you turn out what I
wish!
LETTER XXXII
BATH, March 9, O. S. 1748.
DEAR BOY : I must from time to time, remind you of
what I have often recommended to you, and of what
you cannot attend to too much; SACRIFICE TO THE
GRACES. The different effects of the same things, said or
done, when accompanied or abandoned by them, is almost
inconceivable. They prepare the way to the heart; and
the heart has such an influence over the understanding,
that it is worth while to engage it in our interest. It is
the whole of women, who are guided by nothing else : and
it has so much to say, even with men, and the ablest men
too, that it commonly triumphs in every struggle with the un
derstanding. Monsieur de Rochefoucault, in his <( Maxims, >x
says, that F esprit est souvent la dupe du c&ur. If he had
LETTERS TO HIS SON 57
said, instead of souvent, presque toujours, I fear he would
have been nearer the truth. This being the case, aim at the
heart. Intrinsic merit alone will not do ; it will gain you the
general esteem of all; but not the particular affection, that
is, the heart of any. To engage the affections of any par
ticular person, you must, over and above your general merit,
have some particular merit to that person by services done,
or offered ; by expressions of regard and esteem ; by com
plaisance, attentions, etc., for him. And the graceful man
ner of doing all these things opens the way to the heart,
and facilitates, or rather insures, their effects. From your
own observation, reflect what a disagreeable impression an
awkward address, a slovenly figure, an ungraceful manner
of speaking, whether stuttering, muttering, monotony, or
drawling, an unattentive behavior, etc., make upon you, at
first sight, in a stranger, and how they prejudice you against
him, though for aught you know, he may have great intrinsic
sense and merit. And reflect, on the other hand, how much
the opposites of all these things prepossess you, at first sight,
in favor of those who enjoy them. You wish to find all
good qualities in them, and are in some degree disappointed
if you do not. A thousand little things, not separately to
be defined, conspire to form these graces, this je ne sais quoi,
that always please. A pretty person, genteel motions, a
proper degree of dress, an harmonious voice, something open
and cheerful in the countenance, but without laughing ; a
distinct and properly varied manner of speaking : All these
things, and many others, are necessary ingredients in the
composition of the pleasing je ne sais quoi, which everybody
feels, though nobody can describe. Observe carefully, then,
what displeases or pleases you in others, and be persuaded,
that in general, the same things will please or displease
them in you. Having mentioned laughing, I must particu
larly warn you against it: and I could heartily wish, that
you may often be seen to smile, but never heard to laugh
while you live. Frequent and loud laughter is the char
acteristic of folly and in manners; it is the manner in which
the mob express their silly joy at silly things ; and they caD
it being merry. In my mind, there is nothing so illiberal,
and so ill-bred, as audible laughter. True wit, or sense,
never yet made anybody laugh ; they are above it : They
S8 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
please the mind, and give a cheerfulness to the countenance.
But it is low buffoonery, or silly accidents, that always excite
laughter ; and that is what people of sense and breeding
should show themselves above. A man's going to sit down,
in the supposition that he has a chair behind him, and
falling down upon his breech for want of one, sets a whole
company a laughing, when all the wit in the world would
not do it; a plain proof, in my mind, how low and unbecom
ing a thing laughter is: not to mention the disagreeable
noise that it makes, and the shocking distortion of the face
that it occasions. Laughter is easily restrained, by a very
little reflection ; but as it is generally connected with the
idea of gaiety, people do not enough attend to its absurdity.
I am neither of a melancholy nor a cynical disposition, and
am as willing and as apt to be pleased as anybody ; but I
am sure that, since I have had the full use of my reason,
nobody has ever heard me laugh. Many people, at first,
from awkwardness and mauvaise honte, have got a very
disagreeable and silly trick of laughing whenever they speak;
and I know a man of very good parts, Mr. Waller, who
cannot say the commonest thing without laughing ; which
makes those, who do not know him, take him at first for a
natural fool. This, and many other very disagreeable habits,
are owing to mauvaise honte at their first setting out in the
world. They are ashamed in company, and so disconcerted,
that they do not know what they do, and try a thousand
tricks to keep themselves in countenance; which tricks after
ward grow habitual to them. Some put their fingers in
their nose, others scratch their heads, others twirl their hats;
in short, every awkward, ill-bred body has his trick. But
the frequency does not justify the thing, and all these vulgar
habits and awkwardnesses, though not criminal indeed, are
most carefully to be guarded against, as they are great bars
in the way of the art of pleasing. Remember, that to please
is almost to prevail, or at least a necessary previous step
to it. You, who have your fortune to make, should more
particularly study this art. You had not, I must tell you,
when you left England, les manures prevenantes; and I must
confess they are not very common in England ; but I hope
that your good sense will make you acquire them abroad.
If you desire to make yourself considerable in the world
LETTERS TO HIS SON 59
(as, if you have any spirit, you do), it must be entirely
your own doing ; for I may very possibly be out of the
world at the time you come into it. Your own rank and
fortune will not assist you ; your merit and your manners
can alone raise you to figure and fortune. I have laid the
foundations of them, by the education which I have given
you; but you must build the superstructure yourself.
I must now apply to you for some informations, which
I dare say you can, and which I desire you will give
me.
Can the Elector of Saxony put any of his subjects to death
for high treason, without bringing them first to their trial in
some public court of justice?
Can he, by his own authority, confine any subject in prison
as long as he pleases, without trial?
Can he banish any subject out of his dominions by his own
authority ?
Can he lay any tax whatsoever upon his subjects, without
the consent of the states of Saxony? and what are those
states? how are they elected? what orders do they consist
of? Do the clergy make part of them? and when, and how
often do they meet?
If two subjects of the elector's are at law, for an estate
situated in the electorate, in what court must this suit be
tried? and will the decision of that court be final, or does
there lie an appeal to the imperial chamber at Wetzlaer ?
What do you call the two chief courts, or two chief
magistrates, of civil and criminal justice?
What is the common revenue of the electorate, one year
with another?
What number of troops does the elector now maintain?
and what is the greatest number that the electorate is able
to maintain?
I do not expect to have all these questions answered at
once ; but you will answer them , in proportion as you get
the necessary and authentic informations.
You are, you see, my German oracle ; and I consult you
with so much faith, that you need not, like the oracles of
old, return ambiguous answers; especially as you have this
advantage over them, too, that I only consult you about past
and present, but not about what is to come.
60 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
I wish you a good Easter-fair at Leipsig. See, with
attention all the shops, drolls, tumblers, rope-dancers, and
hoc genus omne: but inform yourself more particularly of the
several parts of trade there. Adieu.
LETTER XXXIII
LONDON, March 25, O. S. 1748.
DEAR BOY : I am in great joy at the written and the
verbal accounts which I have received lately of you.
The former, from Mr. Harte ; the latter, from Mr.
Trevanion, who is arrived here: they conspire to convince
me that you employ your time well at Leipsig. I am glad
to find you consult your own interest and your own pleasure
so much ; for the knowledge which you will acquire in
these two years is equally necessary for both. I am like
wise particularly pleased to find that you turn yourself to
that sort of knowledge which is more peculiarly necessary
for your destination: for Mr. Harte tells me you have read,
with attention, Caillieres, Pequet, and Richelieu's <( Letters. *
The (< Memoirs }) of the Cardinal de Retz will both entertain
and instruct you ; they relate to a very interesting period of the
French history, the ministry of Cardinal Mazarin, during the
minority of Lewis XIV. The characters of all the con
siderable people of that time are drawn, in a short, strong,
and masterly manner ; and the political reflections, which
are most of them printed in italics, are the justest that ever I
met with : they are not the labored reflections of a systematical
closet politician, who, without the least experience of business,
sits at home and writes maxims; but they are the reflections
which a great and able man formed from long experience
and practice in great business. They are true conclusions,
drawn from facts, not from speculations.
As modern history is particularly your business, I will give
you some rules to direct your study of it. It begins, properly
with Charlemagne, in the year 800. But as, in those times
of ignorance, the priests and monks were almost the only
people that could or did write, we have scarcely any his
tories of those times but such as they have been pleased to
LETTERS TO HIS SON 61
give us, which are compounds of ignorance, superstition, and
party zeal. So that a general notion of what is rather
supposed, than really known to be, the history of the five
or six following centuries, seems to be sufficient; and much
time would be but ill employed in a minute attention to
those legends. But reserve your utmost care, and most
diligent inquiries, from the fifteenth century, and downward.
Then learning began to revive, and credible histories to be
written; Europe began to take the form, which, to some
degree, it still retains: at least the foundations of the present
great powers of Europe were then laid. Lewis the Eleventh
made France, in truth, a monarchy, or, as he used to say
himself, la mit hors de Page. Before his time, there were
independent provinces in France, as the Duchy of Brittany,
etc., whose princes tore it to pieces, and kept it in constant
domestic confusion. Lewis the Eleventh reduced all these
petty states, by fraud, force, or marriage ; for he scrupled
no means to obtain his ends.
About that time, Ferdinand King of Aragon, and Isabella
his wife, Queen of Castile, united the whole Spanish mon
archy, and drove the Moors out of Spain, who had till then
kept position of Granada. About that time, too, the house
of Austria laid the great foundations of its subsequent
power ; first, by the marriage of Maximilian with the heiress
of Burgundy; and then, by the marriage of his son Philip,
Archduke of Austria, with Jane, the daughter of Isabella,
Queen of Spain, and heiress of that whole kingdom, and of
the West Indies. By the first of these marriages, the house
of Austria acquired the seventeen provinces, and by the lat
ter, Spain and America ; all which centered in the person of
Charles the Fifth, son of the above-mentioned Archduke
Philip, the son of Maximilian. It was upon account of these
two marriages, that the following Latin distich was made:—
Bella gerant alii, Tu felix Austria nube;
Nam qnce Mars alit's, dat tibi regna Venus.
This immense power, which the Emperor Charles the Fifth
found himself possessed of, gave him a desire for universal
power (for people never desire all till they have gotten a
great deal), and alarmed France; this sowed the seeds of
that jealousy and enmity, which have flourished ever since
62 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
between those two great powers. Afterward the House
of Austria was weakened by the division made by Charles
the Fifth of his dominions, between his son, Philip the
Second of Spain, and his brother Ferdinand ; and has ever
since been dwindling to the weak condition in which it now
is. This is a most interesting part of the history of
Europe, of which it is absolutely necessary that you should
be exactly and minutely informed.
There are in the history of most countries, certain very
remarkable eras, which deserve more particular inquiry and
attention than the common run of history. Such is the revolt
of the Seventeen Provinces, in the reign of Philip the Sec
ond of Spain, which ended in forming the present repub
lic of the Seven United Provinces, whose independency
was first allowed by Spain at the treaty of Munster. Such
was the extraordinary revolution of Portugal, in the year 1640,
in favor of the present House of Braganza. Such is the
famous revolution of Sweden, when Christian the Second of
Denmark, who was also king of Sweden, was driven out by
Gustavus Vasa. And such also is that memorable era in
Denmark, of 1660; when the states of that kingdom made
a voluntary surrender of all their rights and liberties to the
Crown, and changed that free state into the most absolute
monarchy now in Europe. The Ada Regia, upon that
occasion, are worth your perusing. These remarkable periods
of modern history deserve your particular attention, and most
of them have been treated singly by good historians, which
are worth your reading. The revolutions of Sweden, and of
Portugal, are most admirably well written by L'Abb£ de
Vertot ; they are short, and will not take twelve hours' read
ing. There is another book which very well deserves your
looking into, but not worth your buying at present, because
it is not portable ; if you can borrow or hire it, you should ;
and that is, Z' Histoire des Traitgs de Paix, in two
volumes, folio, which make part of the Corps Diplomatique.
You will there find a short and clear history, and the sub
stance of every treaty made in Europe, during the last
century, from the treaty of Vervins. Three parts in four
of this book are not worth your reading, as they relate to
treaties of very little importance; but if you select the most
considerable ones, read them with attention, and take
LETTERS TO HIS SON 63
some notes, it will be of great use to you. Attend chiefly
to those in which the great powers of Europe are the
parties ; such as the treaty of the Pyrenees, between France
and Spain ; the treaties of Nimeguen and Ryswick ; but,
above all, the treaty of Munster should be most circum
stantially and minutely known to you, as almost every
treaty made since has some reference to it. For this, Pere
Bougeant is the best book you can read, as it takes in the
thirty years' war, which preceded that treaty0 The treaty it
self, which is made a perpetual law of the empire, comes in
the course of your lectures upon the Jus Publicum Imperil.
In order to furnish you with materials for a letter, and
at the same time to inform both you and myself of what it
is right that we should know, pray answer me the follow
ing questions : —
How many companies are there in the Saxon regiments
of foot? How many men in each company?
How many troops in the regiments of horse and drag
oons ; and how many men in each ?
What number of commissioned and non-commissioned
officers in a company of foot, or in a troop of horse or
dragoons? N. B. Non-commissioned officers are all those
below ensigns and cornets.
What is the daily pay of a Saxon foot soldier, dragoon,
and trooper?
What are the several ranks of the Etat Major-general?
N. B. The Etat Major-general is everything above col
onel. The Austrians have no brigadiers, and the French
have no major-generals in their Etat Major. What have
the Saxons? Adieu!
LETTER XXXIV
LONDON, March 27, O. S. 1748.
DEAR BOY : This little packet will be delivered to you
by one Monsieur Duval, who is going to the fair at
Leipsig. He is a jeweler, originally of Geneva, but
who has been settled here these eight or ten years, and a
very sensible fellow: pray do be very civil to him.
64 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
As I advised you, some time ago, to inform yourself of
the civil and military establishments of as many of the
kingdoms and states of Europe, as you should either be in
yourself, or be able to get authentic accounts of, I send
you here a little book, in which, upon the article of Han
over, I have pointed out the short method of putting
down these informations, by way of helping your memory.
The book being lettered, you can immediately turn to
whatever article you want ; and, by adding interleaves to
each letter, may extend your minutes to what particulars
you please. You may get such books made anywhere; and
appropriate each, if you please, to a particular object. I
have myself found great utility in this method,. If I had
known what to have sent you by this opportunity I would
have done it. The French say, £)ue les petits presens en-
tretiennent Vamitib et que les grande V augmentent; but I
could not recollect that you wanted anything, or at least
anything that you cannot get as well at Leipsig as here.
Do but continue to deserve, and, I assure you, that you
shall never want anything I can give.
Do not apprehend that my being out of employment
may be any prejudice to you. Many things will hap
pen before you can be fit for business ; and \vhen you are
fit, whatever my situation may be, it will always be in
my power to help you in your first steps ; afterward you
must help yourself by your own abilities. Make yourself
necessary, and, instead of soliciting, you will be solicited.
The thorough knowledge of foreign affairs, the interests,
the views, and the manners of the several courts in
Europe, are not the common growth of this country. It is
in your power to acquire them ; you have all the means.
Adieu ! Yours.
LETTERS TO HIS SON 65
LETTER XXXV
LONDON, April i, O. S. 1748.
DFA.R BOY: I have not received any letter, either from
you or from Mr. Harte, these three posts, which I
impute wholly to accidents between this place and
Leipsig; and they are distant enough to admit of many.
1 always take it for granted that you are well, when I do
not hear to the contrary; besides, as I have often told
you, I am much more anxious about your doing well, than
about your being well; and, when you do not write, I
will suppose that you are doing something more useful.
Your health will continue, while your temperance con
tinues; and at your age nature takes sufficient care of the
body, provided she is left to herself, and that intemperance
on one hand, or medicines on the other, do not break
in upon her. But it is by no means so with the mind,
which, at your age particularly, requires great and con
stant care, and some physic. Every quarter of an hour,
well or ill employed, will do it essential and lasting good
or harm. It requires also a great deal of exercise, to
bring it to a state of health and vigor. Observe the dif
ference there is between minds cultivated, and minds
uncultivated, and you will, I am sure, think that you can
not take too much pains, nor employ too much of your
time in the culture of your own. A drayman is probably
born with as good organs as Milton, Locke, or Newton ;
but, by culture, they are as much more above him as he is
above his horse. Sometimes, indeed, extraordinary geniuses
have broken out by the force of nature, without the assist
ance of education; but those instances are too rare for any
body to trust to; and even they would make a much
greater figure, if they had the advantage of education into
the bargain. If Shakespeare's genius had been cultivated,
those beauties, which we so justly admire in him, would
have been undisgraced by those extravagancies, and that
nonsense, with which they are frequently accompanied.
People are, in general, what they are made, by education
and company, from fifteen to five-and-twenty; consider
5
66 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
well, therefore, the importance of your next eight or nine
years ; your whole depends upon them. I will tell you
sincerely, my hopes and my fears concerning you. I think
you will be a good scholar, and that you will acquire
a considerable stock of knowledge of various kinds ; but I
fear that you neglect what are called little, though, in
truth, they are very material things; I mean, a gentleness
of manners, an engaging address, and an insinuating be
havior ; they are real and solid advantages, and none but
those who do not know the world, treat them as trifles.
I am told that you speak very quick, and not distinctly;
this is a most ungraceful and disagreeable trick, which
you know I have told you of a thousand times; pray at
tend carefully to the correction of itc An agreeable and
distinct manner of speaking adds greatly to the matter ;
and I have known many a very good speech unregarded,
upon account of the disagreeable manner in which it has
been delivered, and many an indifferent one applauded,
from the contrary reason. Adieu !
LETTER XXXVI
LONDON, April 15, O0 S0 1748.
DEAR BOY: Though I have no letters from you to ac
knowledge since my last to you, I will not let three
posts go from hence without a letter from me. My
affection always prompts me to write to you ; and I am
encouraged to do it, by the hopes that my letters are not
quite useless. You will probably receive this in the midst
of the diversions of Leipsig fair ; at which, Mr. Harte tells
me, that you are to shine in fine clothes, among fine folks. I
am very glad of it, as it is time that you should begin to be
formed to the manners of the world in higher life. Courts are
the best schools for that sort of learning. You are beginning
now with the outside of a court ; and there is not a more
gaudy one than that of Saxony. Attend to it, and make
your observations upon the turn and manners of it, that
you may hereafter compare it with other courts, which you
LETTERS TO HIS SON 67
will see. And, though you are not yet able to be informed,
or to judge of the political conduct and maxims of that
court, yet you may remark the forms, the ceremonies, and
the exterior state of it. At least see everything that you
can see, and know everything that you can know of it,
by asking questions. See likewise everything at the fair,
from operas and plays, down to the Savoyard's raree-shows.
Everything is worth seeing once; and the more one sees,
the less one either wonders or admires.
Make my compliments to Mr. Harte, and tell him that I
have just now received his letter, for which I thank him.
I am called away, and my letter is therefore very much
shortened. Adieu.
I am impatient to receive your answers to the many ques
tions that I have asked you.
LETTER XXXVII
LONDON, April 26, O. S. 1748.
DEAR BOY : I am extremely pleased with your continua
tion of the history of the Reformation ; which is one
of those important eras that deserves your utmost
attention, and of which you cannot be too minutely
informed. You have, doubtless, considered the causes
of that great event, and observed that disappointment and
resentment had a much greater share in it, than a religious
zeal or an abhorrence of the errors and abuses of popery.
Luther, an Augustine monk, enraged that his order, and
consequently himself, had not the exclusive privilege of
selling indulgences, but that the Dominicans were let into
a share of that profitable but infamous trade, turns reformer,
and exclaims against the abuses, the corruption, and the
idolatry, of the church of Rome; which were certainly gross
enough for him to have seen long before, but which he
had at least acquiesced in, till what he called the rights,
that is, the profit, of his order came to be touched. It is
true, the church of Rome furnished him ample matter for
complaint and reformation, and he laid hold of it ably.
68 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
This seems to me the true cause of that great and necessary
work ; but whatever the cause was, the effect was good ;
and the Reformation spread itself by its own truth and
fitness; was conscientiously received by great numbers in
Germany, and other countries; and was soon afterward
mixed up with the politics of princes ; and, as it always
happens in religious disputes, became the specious covering
of injustice and ambition.
Under the pretense of crushing heresy, as it was called,
the House of Austria meant to extend and establish its
power in the empire ; as, on the other hand, many Protes
tant princes, under the pretense of extirpating idolatry, or
at least of securing toleration, meant only to enlarge their
own dominions or privileges. These views respectively,
among the chiefs on both sides, much more than true re
ligious motives, continued what were called the religious
wars in Germany, almost uninterruptedly, till the affairs
of the two religions were finally settled by the treaty of
Munster.
Were most historical events traced up to their true causes,
I fear we should not find them much more noble or dis
interested than Luther's disappointed avarice; and there
fore I look with some contempt upon those refining and
sagacious historians, who ascribe all, even the most com
mon events, to some deep political cause; whereas mankind
is made up of inconsistencies, and no man acts invariably
up to his predominant character. The wisest man some
times acts weakly, and the weakest sometimes wisely. Our
jarring passions, our variable humors, nay, our greater
or lesser degree of health and spirits, produce such
contradictions in our conduct, that, I believe, those are the
oftenest mistaken, who ascribe our actions to the most
seemingly obvious motives ; and I am convinced, that a
light supper, a good night's sleep, and a fine morning, have
sometimes made a hero of the same man, who, by an in
digestion, a restless night, and rainy morning, would have
proved a coward. Our best conjectures, therefore, as to
the true springs of actions, are but very uncertain; and the
actions themselves are all that we must pretend to know
from history. That Caesar was murdered by twenty-three
conspirators, I make no doubt: but I very much doubt
LETTERS TO HIS SON 69
that their love of liberty, and of their country, was their
sole, or even principal motive ; and I dare say that, if the
truth were known, we should find that many other motives
at least concurred, even in the great Brutus himself; such
as pride, envy, personal pique, and disappointment. Nay,
I cannot help carrying my Pyrrhonism still further, and
extending it often to historical facts themselves, at least to
most of the circumstances with which they are related; and
every day's experience confirms me in this historical in
credulity. Do we ever hear the most recent fact related
exactly in the same way, by the several people who were
at the same time eyewitnesses of it? No. One mistakes,
another misrepresents, and others warp it a little to their
own turn of mind, or private views. A man who has been
concerned in a transaction will not write it fairly ; and a
man who has not, cannot. But notwithstanding all this
uncertainty, history is not the less necessary to be known,
as the best histories are taken for granted, and are the fre
quent subjects both of conversation and writing. Though
I am convinced that Caesar's ghost never appeared to
Brutus, yet I should be much ashamed to be ignorant of
that fact, as related by the historians of those times. Thus
the Pagan theology is universally received as matter for
writing and conversation, though believed now by nobody;
and we talk of Jupiter, Mars, Apollo, etc., as gods,
though we know, that if they ever existed at all, it was
only as mere mortal men. This historical Pyrrhonism,
then, proves nothing against the study and knowledge of
history; which, of all other studies, is the most necessary for
a man who is to live in the world. It only points out to
us, not to be too decisive and peremptory; and to be cau
tious how we draw inferences for our own practice from
remote facts, partially or ignorantly related; of which we
can, at best, but imperfectly guess, and certainly not know
the real motives. The testimonies of ancient history must
necessarily be weaker than those of modern, as all testi
mony grows weaker and weaker, as it is more and more
remote from us. I would therefore advise you to study
ancient history, in general, as other people do ; that is, not
to be ignorant of any or those facts which are universally
received, upon the faith of the best historians; and,
70 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
whether true or false, you have them as other people have
them. But modern history, I mean particularly that of the
last three centuries, is what I would have you apply to
with the greatest attention and exactness. There the prob
ability of coming at the truth is much greater, as the
testimonies are much more recent; besides, anecdotes,
memoirs, and original letters, often come to the aid of
modern history. The best memoirs that I know of are
those of Cardinal de Retz, which I have once before
recommended to you ; and which I advise you to read more
than once, with attention. There are many political max
ims in these memoirs, most of which are printed in italics;
pray attend to, and remember them. I never read them
but my own experience confirms the truth of them. Many
of them seem trifling to people who are not used to
business ; but those who are, feel the truth of them.
It is time to put an end to this long rambling letter ; in
which if any one thing can be of use to you, it will more
than pay the trouble I hare taken to write it. Adieu !
Yours.
LETTER XXXVIII
LONDON, May 10, O. S. 1748.
DEAR BOY : I reckon that this letter will find you
just returned from Dresden, where you have made
your first court caravanne. What inclination for
courts this taste of them may have given you, I cannot
tell ; but this I think myself sure of, from your good sense,
that in leaving Dresden, you have left dissipation too; and
have resumed at Leipsig that application which, if you
like courts, can alone enable you to make a good figure at
them. A mere courtier, without parts or knowledge, is the
most frivolous and contemptible of all beings; as, on the
other hand, a man of parts and knowledge, who acquires
the easy and noble manners of a court, is the most
perfect. It is a trite, commonplace observation, that courts
are the seats of falsehood and dissimulation. That, like
many, I might say most, commonplace observations, is
LETTERS TO HIS SON 7*
false. Falsehood and dissimulation are certainly to be
found at courts; but where are they not to be found?
Cottages have them, as well as courts; only with worse
manners. A couple of neighboring farmers in a village
will contrive and practice as many tricks, to over- reach each
other at the next market, or to supplant each other in the
favor of the squire, as any two courtiers can do to sup
plant each other in the favor of their prince.
Whatever poets may write, or fools believe, of rural in
nocence and truth, and of the perfidy of courts, this is
most undoubtedly true — that shepherds and ministers are
both men; their nature and passions the same, the modes of
them only different.
Having mentioned commonplace observations, I will par
ticularly caution you against either using, believing, or
approving them. They are the common topics of witlings
and coxcombs; those, who really have wit, have the ut
most contempt for them, and scorn even to laugh at the
pert things that those would-be wits say upon such sub
jects.
Religion is one of their favorite topics; it is all priest-craft;
and an invention contrived axid carried on by priests of all
religions, for their own power and profit ; from this absurd
and false principle flow the commonplace, insipid jokes,
and insults upon the clergy. With these people, e very-
priest, of every religion, is either a public or a concealed
unbeliever, drunkard, and whoremaster ; whereas, I con
ceive, that priests are extremely like other men, and neither
the better nor the worse for wearing a gown or a surplice:
but if they are different from other people, probably it is
rather on the side of religion and morality, or, at least,
decency, from their education and manner of life.
Another common topic for false wit, and cool raillery, is
matrimony. Every man and his wife hate each other cor
dially, whatever they may pretend, in public, to the con
trary. The husband certainly wishes his wife at the devil,
and the wife certainly cuckolds her husband. Whereas, I
presume, that men and their wives neither love nor hate
each other the more, upon account of the form of matri
mony which has been said over them. The cohabitation,
indeed, which is the consequence of matrimony, makes
72 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
them either love or hate more, accordingly as they re
spectively deserve it ; but that would be exactly the same
between any man and woman who lived together without
being married.
These and many other commonplace reflections upon
nations or professions in general (which are at least as
often false as true), are the poor refuge of people who
have neither wit nor invention of their own, but endeavor
to shine in company by second-hand finery. I always put
these pert jackanapes out of countenance, by looking extremely
grave, when they expect that I should laugh at their pleas
antries ; and by saying WELL, AND so, as if they had not
done, and that the sting were still to come. This discon
certs them, as they have no resources in themselves, and
have but one set of jokes to live upon. Men of parts are
not reduced to these shifts, and have the utmost contempt
for them, they find proper subjects enough for either useful
or lively conversations ; they can be witty without satire or
commonplace, and serious without being dull. The fre-
quentation of courts checks this petulancy of manners ; the
good-breeding and circumspection which are necessary, and
only to be learned there, correct those pertnesses. I do not
doubt but that you are improved in your manners by the
short visit which you have made at Dresden ; and the other
courts, which I intend that you shall be better acquainted
with, will gradually smooth you up to the highest polish. In
courts, a versatility of genius and softness of manners are
absolutely necessary; which some people mistake for ab
ject flattery, and having no opinion of one's own; whereas
it is only the decent and genteel manner of maintaining
your own opinion, and possibly of bringing other people
to it. The manner of doing things is often more important
than the things themselves; and the very same thing may
become either pleasing or offensive, by the manner of say
ing or doing it. Materiam superabat opus, is often said of
works of sculpture; where though the materials were val
uable, as silver, gold, etc., the workmanship was still more
so. This holds true, applied to manners; which adorn
whatever knowledge or parts people may have; and even
make a greater impression upon nine in ten of mankind,
than the intrinsic value of the materials. On the other
LETTERS TO HIS SON, 73
hand, remember, that what Horace says of good writing is
justly applicable to those who would make a good figure
in courts, and distinguish themselves in the shining parts
of life; Sapere est principium et fans. A man who, with
out a good fund of knowledge and parts, adopts a court
life, makes the most ridiculous figure imaginable. He is a
machine, little superior to the court clock ; and, as this
points out the hours, he points out the frivolous employ
ment of them. He is, at most, a comment upon the clock;
and according to the hours that it strikes, tells you now it
is levee, now dinner, now supper time, etc. The end which
I propose by your education, and which (IF YOU PLEASE)
I shall certainly attain, is to unite in you all the knowledge
of a scholar with the manners of a courtier; and to join,
what is seldom joined by any of my countrymen, books
and the world. They are commonly twenty years old before
they have spoken to anybody above their schoolmaster, and
the fellows of their college. If they happen to have learn
ing, it is only Greek and Latin, but not one word of modern
history, or modern languages. Thus prepared, they go
abroad, as they call it; but, in truth, they stay at home all
that while ; for being very awkward, confoundedly ashamed,
and not speaking the languages, they go into no foreign
company, at least none good; but dine and sup with one
another only at the tavern. Such examples, I am sure, you
will not imitate, but even carefully avoid. You will always
take care to keep the best company in the place where you
are, which is the only use of traveling: and (by the way)
the pleasures of a gentleman are only to be found in the
best company; for that riot which low company, most
falsely and impudently, call pleasure, is only the sensuality
of a swine.
I ask hard and uninterrupted study from you but one
year more; after that, you shall have every day more and
more time for your amusements. A few hours each day
will then be sufficient for application, and the others cannot
be better employed than in the pleasures of good company.
Adieu.
74 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
LETTER XXXIX
LONDON, May 17, O. S. 1748.
DEAR BOY : I received yesterday your letter of the i6th,
N.S., and have, in consequence of it, written this
day to Sir Charles Williams, to thank him for all
the civilities he has shown you. Your first setting out at
court has, I find, been very favorable; and his Polish
Majesty has distinguished you. I hope you received that
mark of distinction with respect and with steadiness, which
is the proper behavior of a man of fashion. People of a
low, obscure education cannot stand the rays of greatness;
they are frightened out of their wits when kings and great
men speak to them ; they are awkward, ashamed, and do
not know what nor how to answer; whereas, les honndtes
gens are not dazzled by superior rank : they know, and pay
all the respect that is due to it; but they do it without
being disconcerted ; and can converse just as easily with a
king as with any one of his subjects. That is the great
advantage of being introduced young into good company,
and being used early to converse with one's superiors. How
many men have I seen here, who, after having had the
full benefit of an English education, first at school, and then
at the university, when they have been presented to the
king, did not know whether they stood upon their heads
or their heels ! If the king spoke to them, they were anni
hilated ; they trembled, endeavored to put their hands in
their pockets, and missed them ; let their hats fall, and were
ashamed to take them up; and in short, put themselves in
every attitude but the right, that is, the easy and natural
one. The characteristic of a well-bred man, is to converse
with his inferiors without insolence, and with his superiors
with respect and ease. He talks to kings without concern;
he trifles with women of the first condition with familiarity,
gayety, but respect; and converses with his equals, whether
he is acquainted with them or not, upon general common
topics, that are not, however, quite frivolous, without the
least concern of mind or awkwardness of body: neither of
LETTERS TO HIS SON 75
which can appear to advantage, but when they are perfectly
easy.
The tea-things which Sir Charles Williams has given you,
I would have you make a present of to your Mamma, and
send them to her by Duval when he returns. You owe her
not only duty, but likewise great obligations for her care
and tenderness ; and, consequently, cannot take too many
opportunities of showing your gratitude.
I am impatient to receive your account of Dresden, and
likewise your answers to the many questions that I asked
you.
Adieu for this time, and God bless you!
LETTER XL
LONDON, May 27, O. S. 1748.
DEAR BOY : This and the two next years make so im
portant a period of your life, that I cannot help
repeating to you my exhortations, my commands,
and (what I hope will be still more prevailing with you
than either) my earnest entreaties, to employ them well.
Every moment that you now lose, is so much character and
advantage lost ; as, on the other hand, every moment that
you now employ usefully, is so much time wisely laid out,
at most prodigious interest. These two years must lay the
foundations of all the knowledge that you will ever have ;
you may build upon them afterward as much as you please,
but it will be too late to lay any new ones. Let me beg
of you, therefore, to grudge no labor nor pains to acquire,
in time, that stock of knowledge, without which you never
can rise, but must make a very insignificant figure in the
world. Consider your own situation ; you have not the
advantage of rank or fortune to bear you up ; I shall, very
probably, be out of the world before you can properly be said
to be in it. What then will you have to rely on but your
own merit? That alone must raise you, and that alone will
raise you, if you have but enough of it. I have often
heard and read of oppressed and unrewarded merit, but I
have oftener (I might say always) seen great merit make
76 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
its way, and meet with its reward, to a certain degree at
least, in spite of all difficulties. By merit, I mean the
moral virtues, knowledge, and manners ; as to the moral
virtues, I say nothing to you ; they speak best for themselves,
nor can I suspect that they want any recommendation with
you ; I will therefore only assure you, that without them
you will be most unhappy.
As to knowledge, I have often told you, and I am per
suaded you are thoroughly convinced, how absolutely neces
sary it is to you, whatever your destination may be. But
as knowledge has a most extensive meaning, and as the life
of man is not long enough to acquire, nor his mind capa
ble of entertaining and digesting, all parts of knowledge, I
will point out those to which you should particularly apply,
and which, by application, you may make yourself perfect
master of. Classical knowledge, that is, Greek and Latin,
is absolutely necessary for everybody; because everybody
has agreed to think and to call it so. And the word ILLIT
ERATE, in its common acceptation, means a man who is
ignorant of those two languages. You are by this time, I
hope, pretty near master of both, so that a small part of
the day dedicated to them, for two years more, will make
you perfect in that study. Rhetoric, logic, a little geome
try, and a general notion of astronomy, must, in their turns,
have their hours too ; not that I desire you should be deep
in any one of these ; but it is fit you should know some
thing of them all. The knowledge more particularly use
ful and necessary for you, considering your destination,
consists of modern languages, modern history, chronology,
and geography, the laws of nations, and the jus publicum
Imperil. You must absolutely speak all the modern lan
guages, as purely and correctly as the natives of the respective
countries : for whoever does not speak a language per
fectly and easily, will never appear to advantage in con
versation, nor treat with others in it upon equal terms. As
for French, you have it very well already; and must neces
sarily, from the universal usage of that language, know it
better and better every day : so that I am in no pain about
that. German, I suppose, you know pretty well by this
time, and will be quite master of it before you leave Leip-
sig : at least, I am sure you may. Italian and Spanish will
LETTERS TO HIS SON 77
come in their turns, and, indeed, they are both so easy, to
one who knows Latin and French, that neither of them
will cost you much time or trouble. Modern history, by
which I mean particularly the history of the last three cen
turies, should be the object of your greatest and constant
attention, especially those parts of it which relate more im
mediately to the great powers of Europe. This study you
will carefully connect with chronology and geography ; that
is, you will remark and retain the dates of every important
event ; and always read with the map by you, in which
you will constantly look for every place mentioned : this is
the only way of retaining geography ; for, though it is soon
learned by the lump, yet, when only so learned, it is still
sooner forgot.
Manners, though the last, and it may be the least ingredi
ent of real merit, are, however, very far from being useless in
its composition ; they adorn, and give an additional force
and luster to both virtue and knowledge. They prepare
and smooth the way for the progress of both; and
are, I fear, with the bulk of mankind, more engaging
than either. Remember, then, the infinite advantage of
manners ; cultivate and improve your own to the utmost :
good sense will suggest the great rules to you, good com
pany will do the rest. Thus you see how much you have
to do; and how little time to do it in : for when you are
thrown out into the world, as in a couple of years you
must be, the unavoidable dissipation of company, and the
necessary avocations of some kind of business or other, will
leave you no time to undertake new branches of knowledge :
you may, indeed, by a prudent allotment of your time, reserve
some to complete and finish the building; but you will
never find enough to lay new foundations. I have such
an opinion of your understanding, that I am convinced you
are sensible of these truths; and that, however hard and
laborious your present uninterrupted application may seem
to you, you will rather increase than lessen it. For God's
sake, my dear boy, do not squander away one moment of
your time, for every moment may be now most usefully
employed. Your future fortune, character, and figure in the
world, entirely depend upon your use or abuse of the two
next years. If you do but employ them well, what may
78 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
you not reasonably expect to be, in time ? And if you do
not, what may I not reasonably fear you will be ? You are
the only one I ever knew, of this country, whose education
was, from the beginning, calculated for the department of
foreign affairs; in consequence of which, if you will inva
riably pursue, and diligently qualify yourself for that object,
you may make yourself absolutely necessary to the govern
ment, and, after having received orders as a minister
abroad, send orders, in your turn, as Secretary of State at
home. Most of our ministers abroad have taken up that
department occasionally, without having ever thought of
foreign affairs before ; many of them, without speaking any
one foreign language; and all of them without manners
which are absolutely necessary toward being well received,
and making a figure at foreign courts. They do the
business accordingly, that is, very ill : they never get into the
secrets of these courts, for want of insinuation and address:
they do not guess at their views, for want of knowing their
interests: and, at last, finding themselves very unfit for, soon
grow weary of their commissions, and are impatient to return
home, where they are but too justly laid aside and neglected.
Every moment's conversation may, if you please, be of use
to you ; in this view, every public event, which is the com
mon topic of conversation, gives you an opportunity of get
ting some information. For example, the preliminaries of
peace, lately concluded at Aix-la-Chapelle, will be the common
subject of most conversations; in which you will take care
to ask the proper questions: as, what is the meaning of the
Assiento contract for negroes, between England and Spain;
what the annual ship; when stipulated; upon what account
suspended, etc. You will likewise inform yourself about
Guastalla, now given to Don Philip, together with Parma
and Placeiitia ; who they belonged to before ; what claim or
pretensions Don Philip had to them; what they are worth;
in short, everything concerning them. The cessions made
by the Queen of Hungary to the King of Sardinia, are, by
these preliminaries, confirmed and secured to him: you will
inquire, therefore, what they are, and what they are worth.
This is the kind of knowledge which you should be most
thoroughly master of, and in which conversation will help
you almost as much as books : but both are best. There
LETTERS TO HIS SON 79
are histories of every considerable treaty, from that of
Westphalia to that of Utrecht, inclusively ; all which I would
advise you to read. Pere Bougeant's, of the treaty of West
phalia, is an excellent one; those of Nimeguen, Ryswick,
and Utrecht, are not so well written; but are, however, very
useful. U Histoire des Traites de jPaix, in two volumes,
folio, which I recommended to you some time ago, is a book
that you should often consult, when you hear mention made
of any treaty concluded in the seventeenth century.
Upon the whole, if you have a mind to be considerable,
and to shine hereafter, you must labor hard now. No
quickness of parts, no vivacity, will do long, or go far, with
out a solid fund of knowledge; and that fund of knowledge
will amply repay all the pains that you can take in acquir
ing it. Reflect seriously, within yourself, upon all this, and
ask yourself whether I can have any view, but your interest,
in all that I recommend to you. It is the result of my
experience, and flows from that tenderness and affection with
which, while you deserve them, I shall be, Yours.
Make my compliments to Mr. Harte, and tell him that
I have received his letter of the 24th, N. S.
LETTER XLI
LONDON, May 31, O. S. 1748.
DEAR BOY : I have received, with great satisfaction, your
letter of the 28th N. S., from Dresden: it finishes
your short but clear account of the Reformation ;
which is one of those interesting periods of modern history,
that can not be too much studied nor too minutely known
by you. There are many great events in history, which,
when once they are over, leave things in the situation in
which they found them. As, for instance, the late war;
which, excepting the establishment in Italy for Don Philip,
leaves things pretty much in statu quo; a mutual restitution
of all acquisitions being stipulated by the preliminaries of
the peace. Such events undoubtedly deserve your notice,
but yet not so minutely as those, which are not only
8o LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
important in themselves, but equally (or it may be more)
important by their consequences too : of this latter sort
were the progress of the Christian religion in Europe; the
invasion of the Goths ; the division of the Roman empire
into Western and Eastern ; the establishment and rapid
progress of Mahometanism; and, lastly, the Reformation; all
which events produced the greatest changes in the affairs
of Europe, and to one or other of which, the present situ
ation of all the parts of it is to be traced up.
Next to these, are those events which more immediately
affect particular states and kingdoms, and which are reckoned
merely local, though their influence may, and indeed very
often does, indirectly, extend itself further, such as civil
wars and revolutions, from which a total change in the
form of government frequently flows. The civil wars in
England, in the reign of King Charles I., produced an
entire change of the government here, from a limited mon
archy to a commonwealth, at first, and afterward to
absolute power, usurped by Cromwell, under the pretense of
protection, and the title of Protector.
The Revolution in 1688, instead of changing, preserved
our form of government; which King James II. intended to
subvert, and establish absolute power in the Crown.
These are the two great epochs in our English history,
which I recommend to your particular attention.
The league formed by the House of Guise, and fomented
by the artifices of Spain, is a most material part of the
history of France. The foundation of it was laid in the
reign of Henry II., but the superstructure was carried on
through the successive reigns of Francis II., Charles IX. and
Henry III., till at last it was crushed, partly by the armsf
but more by the apostasy of Henry IV.
In Germany, great events have been frequent, by which
the imperial dignity has always either gotten or lost; and so
far they have affected the constitution of the empire. The
House of Austria kept that dignity to itself for near two
hundred years, during which time it was always attempting
to extend its power, by encroaching upon the rights and
privileges of the other states of the empire; till at the end
of the bellum tricennale, the treaty of Munster, of which
France is guarantee, fixed the respective claims.
LETTERS TO HIS SON 81
Italy has been constantly torn to pieces, from the time of
the Goths, by the Popes and the Anti-popes, severally sup
ported by other great powers of Europe, more as their inter
ests than as their religion led them; by the pretensions also
of France, and the House of Austria, upon Naples, Sicily,
and the Milanese; not to mention the various lesser causes
of squabbles there, for the little states, such as Ferrara,
Parma, Montserrat, etc.
The Popes, till lately, have always taken a considerable
part, and had great influence in the affairs of Europe ;
their excommunications, bulls, and indulgences, stood in
stead of armies in the time of ignorance and bigotry ; but
now that mankind is better informed, the spiritual author
ity of the Pope is not only less regarded, but even despised
by the Catholic princes themselves; and his Holiness is
actually little more than Bishop of Rome, with large tem
poralities, which he is not likely to keep longer than till
the other greater powers in Italy shall find their conve-
niency in taking them from him. Among the modern
Popes, Leo the Tenth, Alexander the Sixth, and Sextus
Quintus, deserve your particular notice; the first, among
other things, for his own learning and taste, and for his
encouragement of the reviving arts and sciences in Italy.
Under his protection, the Greek and Latin classics were
most excellently translated into Italian; painting flourished
and arrived at its perfection ; and sculpture came so near
the ancients, that the works of his time, both in marble
and bronze, are now called Antico-Moderno.
Alexander the Sixth, together with his natural son Csesar
Borgia, was famous for his wickedness, in which he, and
his son too, surpassed all imagination. Their lives are well
worth your reading. They were poisoned themselves by
the poisoned wine which they had prepared for others;
the father died of it, but Caesar recovered.
Sixtus the Fifth was the son of a swineherd, and raised
himself to the popedom by his abilities : he was a great
knave, but an able and singular one.
Here is history enough for to-day: you shall have some
more soon. Adieu.
6
82 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
LETTER XLII
LONDON, June 21, O. S. 1748.
DEAR BOY: Your very bad enunciation runs so much
in my head, and gives me such real concern, that it
will be the subject of this, and, I believe, of many
more letters. I congratulate both you and myself, that I
was informed of it (as I hope) in time to prevent it : and
shall ever think myself, as hereafter you will, I am sure,
think yourself, infinitely obliged to Sir Charles Williams
for informing me of it. Good God! if this ungraceful and
disagreeable manner of speaking had, either by your neg
ligence or mine, become habitual to you, as in a couple of
years more it would have been, what a figure would you
have made in company, or in a public assembly? Who
would have liked you in the one or attended you in the
other? Read what Cicero and Quintilian say of enuncia
tion, and see what a stress they lay upon the gracefulness
of it ; nay, Cicero goes further, and even maintains, that a
good figure is necessary for an orator; and particularly that
he must not be vastus, that is, overgrown and clumsy.
He shows by it that he knew mankind well, and knew
the powers of an agreeable figure and a graceful manner.
Men, as well as women, are much oftener led by their
hearts than by their understandings. The way to the heart
is through the senses; please their eyes and their ears and
the work is half done. I have frequently known a man's
fortune decided for ever by his first address. If it is pleas
ing, people are hurried involuntarily into a persuasion that
he has a merit, which possibly he has not; as, on the
other hand, if it is ungraceful, they are immediately preju
diced against him, and unwilling to allow him the merit
which it may be he has. Nor is this sentiment so unjust
and unreasonable as at first it may seem; for if a man has
parts, he must know of what infinite consequence it is to
him to have a graceful manner of speaking, and a genteel
and pleasing address; he will cultivate and improve them
to the utmost. Your figure is a good one ; you have no
LETTERS TO HIS SON 83
natural defect in the organs of speech ; your address may be
engaging, and your manner of speaking graceful, if you
will ; so that if you are not so, neither I nor the world
can ascribe it to anything but your want of parts. What is
the constant and just observation as to all actors upon the
stage? Is it not, that those who have the best sense al
ways speak the best, though they may happen not to have
the best voices? They will speak plainly, distinctly, and
with the proper emphasis, be their voices ever so bad.
Had Roscius spoken QUICK, THICK, and UNGRACEFULLY, I
will answer for it, that Cicero would not have thought him
worth the oration which he made in his favor. Words
were given us to communicate our ideas by: and there must
be something inconceivably absurd in uttering them in such
a manner as that either people cannot understand them, or
will not desire to understand them. I tell you, truly and
sincerely, that I shall judge of your parts by your speaking
gracefully or ungracefully. If you have parts, you will
never be at rest till you have brought yourself to a habit
of speaking most gracefully ; for I aver, that it is in your
power. You will desire Mr. Harte, that you may read
aloud to him every day; and that he will interrupt and
correct you every time that you read too fast, do not ob
serve the proper stops, or lay a wrong emphasis. You will
take care to open your teeth when you speak; to articulate
every word distinctly ; and to beg of Mr. Harte, Mr. Eliot,
or whomsoever you speak to, to remind and stop you, if
you ever fall into the rapid and unintelligible mutter.
You will even read aloud to yourself, and time your utter
ance to your own ear ; and read at first much slower than
you need to do, in order to correct yourself of that shame
ful trick of speaking faster than you ought. In short, if
you think right, you will make it your business, your study,
and your pleasure to speak well. Therefore, what I have
said in this, and in my last, is more than sufficient, if you
have sense ; and ten times more would not be sufficient, if
you have not; so here I rest it.
Next to graceful speaking, a genteel carriage, and a
graceful manner of presenting yourself, are extremely neces
sary, for they are extremely engaging : and carelessness in
these points is much more unpardonable in a young fellow
84 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
than affectation. It shows an offensive indifference about
pleasing. I am told by one here, who has seen you lately,
that you are awkward in your motions, and negligent of
your person: I am sorry for both; and so will you be,
when it will be too late, if you continue so some time
longer. Awkwardness of carriage is very alienating; and
a total negligence of dress and air is an impertinent insult
upon custom and fashion. You remember Mr. very
well, I am sure, and you must consequently remember his
extreme awkwardness : which, I can assure you, has been a
great clog to his parts and merit, that have, with much
difficulty, but barely counterbalanced it at last. Many, to
whom I have formerly commended him, have answered me,
that they were sure he could not have parts, because he
was so awkward : so much are people, as I observed to you
before, taken by the eye. Women have great influence as
to a man's fashionable character; and an awkward man
will never have their votes ; which, by the way, are very
numerous, and much oftener counted than weighed. You
should therefore give some attention to your dress, and the
gracefulness of your motions. I believe, indeed, that you
have no perfect model for either at Leipsig, to form your
self upon ; but, however, do not get a habit of neglecting
either ; and attend properly to both, when you go to courts,
where they are very necessary, and where you will have
good masters and good models for both. Your exercises of
riding, fencing, and dancing, will civilize and fashion your
body and your limbs, and give you, if you will but take
it, Pair cVun honnfoe homme.
I will now conclude with suggesting one reflection to
you; which is, that you should be sensible of your good
fortune, in having one who interests himself enough in you,
to inquire into your faults, in order to inform you of them.
Nobody but myself would be so solicitous, either to know
or correct them ; so that you might consequently be ignorant
of them yourself; for our own self-love draws a thick veil
between us and our faults. But when you hear yours from
me, you may be sure that you hear them from one who for
your sake only desires to correct them; from one whom you
cannot suspect of any partiality but in your favor; and
from one who heartily wishes that his care of you, as a
LETTERS TO HIS SON 85
father, may, in a little time, render every care unnecessary
but that of a friend. Adieu.
P. S. I condole with you for the untimely and violent
death of the tuneful Matzel.
LETTER XLIII
LONDON, July i, O. S. 1748.
DEAR BOY: I am extremely well pleased with the course
of studies which Mr. Harte informs me you are now
in, and with the degree of application which he
assures me you have to them. It is your interest to do so,
as the advantage will be all your own. My affection for
you makes me both wish and endeavor that you may turn
out well; and, according as you do turn out, I shall either
be proud or ashamed of you. But as to mere interest, in
the common acceptation of that word, it would be mine
that you should turn out ill; for you may depend upon it,
that whatever you have from me shall be most exactly pro
portioned to your desert. Deserve a great deal, and you
shall have a great deal; deserve a little, and you shall have
but a little; and be good for nothing at all, and, I assure
you, you shall have nothing at all.
Solid knowledge, as I have often told you, is the first
and great foundation of your future fortune and character;
for I never mention to you the two much greater points of
Religion and Morality, because I cannot possibly suspect
you as to either of them. This solid knowledge you are in
a fair way of acquiring; you may, if you please; and I
will add, that nobody ever had the means of acquiring it
more in their power than you have. But remember, that
manners must adorn knowledge, and smooth its way through
the world. Like a great rough diamond, it may do very
well in a closet by way of curiosity, and also for its intrinsic
value; but it will never be worn or shine if it is not pol
ished. It is upon this article, I confess, that I suspect you
the most, which makes me recur to it so often; for I fear
that you are apt to show too little attention to everybody, and
86 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
too much contempt to many. Be convinced, that there are
no persons so insignificant and inconsiderable, but may,
some time or other, have it in their power to be of use to
you ; which they certainly will not, if you have once
shown them contempt. Wrongs are often forgiven, but
contempt never is. Our pride remembers it forever. It
implies a discovery of weaknesses, which we are much more
careful to conceal than crimes. Many a man will confess
his crimes to a common friend, but I never knew a man
who would tell his silly weaknesses to his most intimate
one — as many a friend will tell us our faults without reserve,
who will not so much as hint at our follies; that discovery
is too mortifying to our self-love, either to tell another, or
to be told of one's self. You must, therefore, never expect
to hear of your weaknesses, or your follies, from anybody
but me; those I will take pains to discover, and whenever
I do, shall tell you of them.
Next to manners are exterior graces of person and address,
which adorn manners, as manners adorn knowledge. To
say that they please, engage, and charm, as they most indis
putably do, is saying that one should do everything possible
to acquire them. The graceful manner of speaking is,
particularly, what I shall always holloa in your ears, as
Hotspur holloaed MORTIMER to Henry IV., and, like him
too, I have aimed to have a starling taught to say, SPEAK
DISTINCTLY AND GRACEFULLY, and send him you, to
replace your loss of the unfortunate Matzel, who, by the
way, I am told, spoke his language very distinctly and
gracefully.
As by this time you must be able to write German tol
erably well, I desire that you will not fail to write a German
letter, in the German character, once every fortnight, to
Mr. Grevenkop : which will make it more familiar to you,
and enable me to judge how you improve in it.
Do not forget to answer me the questions, which I asked
you a great while ago, in relation to the constitution of
Saxony; and also the meaning of the words Landsassii and
Amptsassii.
I hope you do not forget to inquire into the affairs of
trade and commerce, nor to get the best accounts you can
of the commodities and manufactures, exports and imports,
LETTERS TO HIS SON 87
of the several countries where you may be, and their gross
value.
I would likewise have you attend to the respective coins,
gold, silver, copper, etc., and their value, compared with
our coins; for which purpose I would advise you to put
up, in a separate piece of paper, one piece of every kind,
wherever you shall be, writing upon it the name and the
value. Such a collection will be curious enough in itself;
and that sort of knowledge will be very useful to you in
your way of business, where the different value of money
often comes in question.
I am going to Cheltenham to-morrow, less for my health,
which is pretty good, than for the dissipation and amuse
ment of the journey. I shall stay about a fortnight.
L'Abbe Mably's Droit de V Europe, which Mr. Harte is
so kind as to send me, is worth your reading. Adieu.
LETTER XLIV
CHELTENHAM, July 6, O. S. 1748.
DEAR BOY: Your school-fellow, Lord Pulteney,* set out
last week for Holland, and will, I believe, be at
Leipsig soon after this letter : you will take care to
be extremely civil to him, and to do him any service that
you can while you stay there ; let him know that I wrote
to you to do so. As being older, he should know more
than you ; in that case, take pains to get up to him ; but
if he does not, take care not to let him feel his inferiority.
He will find it out of himself without your endeavors ; and
that cannot be helped : but nothing is more insulting, more
mortifying and less forgiven, than avowedly to take pains
to make a man feel a mortifying inferiority in knowledge,
rank, fortune, etc. In the two last articles, it is unjust,
they not being in his power : and in the first it is both
ill-bred and ill-natured. Good-breeding, and good-nature,
do incline us rather to raise and help people up to our
selves, than to mortify and depress them, and, in truth,
* Only child of the Right Hon. William Pulteney, earl of Bath. He
died before his father.
88 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
our own private interest concurs in it, as it is making our
selves so many friends, instead of so many enemies. The
constant practice of what the French call les Attentions, is
a most necessary ingredient in the art of pleasing ; they
flatter the self-love of those to whom they are shown ;
they engage, they captivate, more than things of much
greater importance. The duties of social life every man is
obliged to discharge ; but these attentions are voluntary
acts, the free-will offerings of good-breeding and good
nature ; they are received, remembered, and returned as
such. Women, particularly, have a right to them ; and any
omission in that respect is downright ill-breeding.
Do you employ your whole time in the most useful man
ner? I do not mean, do you study all day long? nor do I
require it. But I mean, do you make the most of the re
spective allotments of your time? While you study, is it
with attention? When you divert yourself, is it with spirit?
Your diversions may, if you please, employ some part of
your time very usefully. It depends entirely upon the nature
of them. If they are futile and frivolous it is time worse
than lost, for they will give you an habit of futility. All
gaming, field-sports, and such sort of amusements, where
neither the understanding nor the senses have the least
share, I look upon as frivolous, and as the resources of little
minds, who either do not think, or do not love to think.
But the pleasures of a man of parts either flatter the senses
or improve the mind ; I hope at least, that there is not one
minute of the day in which you do nothing at all. Inac
tion at your age is unpardonable.
Tell me what Greek and Latin books you can now read
with ease. Can you open Demosthenes at a venture, and
understand him ? Can you get through an <( Oration w of
Cicero, or a <( Satire >J of Horace, without difficulty? What
German books do you read, to make yourself master of that
language? And what French books do you read for your
amusement? Pray give me a particular and true account of
all this ; for I am not indifferent as to any one thing that
relates to you. As, for example, I hope you take great
care to keep your whole person, particularly your mouth,
very clean ; common decency requires it, besides that great
cleanliness is very conducive to health. But if you do not
LETTERS TO HIS SON 89
keep your mouth excessively clean, by washing it carefully
every morning, and after every meal, it will not only be
apt to smell, which is very disgusting and indecent, but
your teeth will decay and ache, which is both a great loss
and a great pain. A spruceness of dress is also very proper
and becoming at your age ; as the negligence of it implies
an indifference about pleasing, which does not become a
young fellow. To do whatever you do at all to the ut
most perfection, ought to be your aim at this time of your
life ; if you can reach perfection, so much the better ; but
at least, by attempting it, you will get much nearer than
if you never attempted it at all.
Adieu ! SPEAK GRACEFULLY AND DISTINCTLY, if you
intend to converse ever with, Yours.
P. S. As I was making up my letter, I received yours
of the 6th, O. S. I like your dissertation upon Preliminary
Articles and Truces. Your definitions of both are true.
Those are matters which I would have you be master of;
they belong to your future department. But remember too,
that they are matters upon which you will much oftener
have occasion to speak than to write ; and that, conse
quently, it is full as necessary to speak gracefully and dis
tinctly upon them as to write clearly and elegantly. I find
no authority among the ancients, nor indeed among the
moderns, for indistinct and unintelligible utterance. The
Oracles indeed meant to be obscure ; but then it was by
the ambiguity of the expression, and not by the inarticula-
tion of the words. For if people had not thought, at least,
they understood them, they would neither have frequented
nor presented them as they did. There was likewise among
the ancients, and is still among the moderns, a sort of peo
ple called Ventriloqui^ who speak from their bellies, or
make the voice seem to come from some other part of the
room than that where they are. But these Ventriloqui speak
very distinctly and intelligibly. The only thing, then, that
I can find like a precedent for your way of speaking (and
I would willingly help you to one if I could) is the mod
ern art de persifler, practiced with great success by the
petits maitres at Paris. This noble art consists in picking
out some grave, serious man, who neither understands nor
90 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
expects raillery, and talking to him very quick, and in
inarticulate sounds ; while the man, who thinks that he
did not hear well, or attend sufficiently, says, Monsieur? or
Plait-il ? a hundred times ; which affords matter of much
mirth to those ingenious gentlemen. Whether you would
follow this precedent, I submit to you.
Have you carried no English or French comedies or
tragedies with you to Leipsig? If you have, I insist upon
your reciting some passages of them every day to Mr.
Harte, in the most distinct and graceful manner, as if you
were acting them upon a stage.
The first part of my letter is more than an answer to
your questions concerning Lord Pulteney.
LETTER XLV
LONDON, July 20, O. S. 1748.
DEAR BOY: There are two sorts of understandings; one
of which hinders a man from ever being consider
able, and the other commonly makes him ridiculous ;
I mean the lazy mind, and the trifling, frivolous mind.
Yours, I hope, is neither. The lazy mind will not take
the trouble of going to the bottom of anything; but, dis
couraged by the first difficulties ( and everything worth
knowing or having is attained with some), stops short,
contents itself with easy, and consequently superficial
knowledge, and prefers a great degree of ignorance to a
small degree of trouble. These people either think, or
represent most things as impossible; whereas, few things
are so to industry and activity. But difficulties seem to
them impossibilities, or at least they pretend to think them
so, by way of excuse for their laziness. An hour's atten
tion to the same subject is too laborious for them; they take
everything in the light in which it first presents itself;
never consider it in all its different views; and, in short,
never think it through. The consequence of this is, that
when they come to speak upon these subjects, before peo
ple who have considered them with attention, they only
discover their own ignorance and laziness, and lay them-
LETTERS TO HIS SON 91
selves open to answers that put them in confusion. Do
not then be discouraged by the first difficulties, but contra
audentior ito ; and resolve to go to the bottom of all those
things which every gentleman ought to know well. Those
arts or sciences which are peculiar to certain professions,
need not be deeply known by those who are not intended
for those professions. As, for instance, fortification and
navigation ; of both which, a superficial and general knowl
edge, such as the common course of conversation, with a
very little inquiry on your part, will give you, is sufficient.
Though, by the way, a little more knowledge of fortifica
tion may be of some use to you; as the events of war, in
sieges, make many of the terms of that science occur fre
quently in common conversation ; and one would be sorry
to say, like the Marquis de Mascarille in Moliere's PrS-
cieuses Ridicules, when he hears of une demie lune, Ma
foi! c* etoit bien une lune toute entiere. But those things
which every gentleman, independently of profession, should
know, he ought to know well, and dive into all the depth
of them. Such are languages, history, and geography
ancient and modern, philosophy, rational logic, rhetoric;
and, for you particularly, the constitutions and the civil
and military state of every country in Europe. This, I
confess, is a pretty large circle of knowledge, attended with
some difficulties, and requiring some trouble ; which, how
ever, an active and industrious mind will overcome, and
be amply repaid. The trifling and frivolous mind is al
ways busied, but to little purpose; it takes little objects for
great ones, and throws away upon trifles that time and atten
tion which only important things deserve. Knick-knacks,
butterflies, shells, insects, etc., are the subjects of their most
serious researches. They contemplate the dress, not the
characters of the company they keep. They attend more to
the decorations of a play than the sense of it ; and to the
ceremonies of a court more than to its politics. Such an
employment of time is an absolute loss of it. You have now,
at most, three years to employ either well or ill ; for, as I
have often told you, you will be all your life what you
shall be three years hence. For God's sake then reflect.
Will you throw this time away either in laziness, or in
trifles? Or will you not rather employ every moment of it
92 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
in a manner that must so soon reward you with so much
pleasure, figure, and character? I cannot, I will not doubt
of your choice. Read only useful books; and never quit a
subject till you are thoroughly master of it, but read and
inquire on till then. When you are in company, bring the
conversation to some useful subject, but £ portte of that
company. Points of history, matters of literature, the cus
toms of particular countries, the several orders of knight
hood, as Teutonic, Maltese, etc., are surely better subjects
of conversation, than the weather, dress, or fiddle-faddle
stories, that carry no information along with them. The
characters of kings and great men are only to be learned
in conversation ; for they are never fairly written during
their lives. This, therefore, is an entertaining and in
structive subject of conversation, and will likewise give
you an opportunity of observing how very differently
characters are given, from the different passions and views
of those who give them. Never be ashamed nor afraid of
asking questions: for if they lead to information, and if
you accompany them with some excuse, you will never be
reckoned an impertinent or rude questioner. All those
things, in the common course of life, depend entirely upon
the manner ; and, in that respect, the vulgar saying is true,
That one man can better steal a horse, than another look
over the hedge. There are few things that may not be
said, in some manner or other ; either in a seeming confi
dence, or a genteel irony, or introduced with wit ; and one
great part of the knowledge of the world consists in know
ing when and where to make use of these different man
ners. The graces of the person, the countenance, and the
way of speaking, contribute so much to this, that I am
convinced, the very same thing, said by a genteel person
in an engaging way, and GRACEFULLY and distinctly spoken,
would please, which would shock, if MUTTERED out by an
awkward figure, with a sullen, serious countenance. The
poets always represent Venus as attended by the three
Graces, to intimate that even beauty will not do without.
I think they should have given Minerva three also; for
without them, I am sure learning is very unattractive.
Invoke them, then, DISTINCTLY, to accompany all your words
and motions. Adieu.
LETTERS TO HIS SON 93
P. S. Since I wrote what goes before, I have received
your letter, OF NO DATE, with the inclosed state of the
Prussian forces: of which, I hope, you have kept a copy;
this you should lay in a portefeuille, and add to it all the
military establishments that you can get of other states and
kingdoms : the Saxon establishment you may, doubtless,
easily find. By the way, do not forget to send me answers
to the questions which I sent you some time ago, concern
ing both the civil and the ecclesiastical affairs of Saxony.
Do not mistake me, and think I only mean that you
should speak elegantly with regard to style, and the purity
of language; but I mean, that you should deliver and pro
nounce what you say gracefully and distinctly ; for which
purpose I will have you frequently read very loud, to Mr.
Harte, recite parts of orations, and speak passages of plays;
for, without a graceful and pleasing enunciation, all your
elegancy of style, in speaking, is not worth one farthing.
I am very glad that Mr. Lyttelton* approves of my new
house, and particularly of my CANONIC ALf pillars. My bust
of Cicero is a very fine one, and well preserved; it will
have the best place in my library, unless at your return
you bring me over as good a modern head of your own,
which I should like still better. I can tell you, that I shall
examine it as attentively as ever antiquary did an old one.
Make my compliments to Mr. Harte, at whose recovery
I rejoice.
LETTER XLVI
LONDON, August 2, O. S. 1748.
DEAR BOY : Duval the jeweler, is arrived, and was with
me three or four days ago. You will easily imagine
that I asked him a few questions concerning you;
and I will give you the satisfaction of knowing that, upon
the whole, I was very well pleased with the account he
gave me. But, though he seemed to be much in your inter
est, yet he fairly owned to me that your utterance was
•Brother to the late Lord Lyttelton.
tjames Brydges, duke of Chandos, built a most magnificent and
elegant house at CANNONS, about eight miles from London. It was
94 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
rapid, thick, and ungraceful. I can add nothing to what
I have already said upon this subject; but I can and do
repeat the absolute necessity of speaking distinctly and
gracefully, or else of not speaking at all, and having recourse
to signs. He tells me that you are pretty fat for one of
your age : this you should attend to in a proper way ; for
if, while very young, you should grow fat, it would be
troublesome, unwholesome, and ungraceful; you should there
fore, when you have time, take very strong exercise, and in
your diet avoid fattening things. All malt liquors fatten,
or at least bloat; and I hope you do not deal much in them.
I look upon wine and water to be, in every respect, much
wholesomer.
Duval says there is a great deal of very good company at
Madame Valentin's and at another lady's, I think one
Madame Ponce's, at Leipsig. Do you ever go to either of
those houses, at leisure times? It would not, in my mind,
be amiss if you did, and would give you a habit of ATTEN
TIONS; they are a tribute which all women expect, and
which all men, who would be well received by them, must
pay. And, whatever the mind may be, manners at least
are certainly improved by the company of women of fashion.
I have formerly told you, that you should inform yourself
of the several orders, whether military or religious, of the
respective countries where you may be. The Teutonic Order
is the great Order of Germany, of which I send you inclosed
a short account. It may serve to suggest questions to you
for more particular inquiries as to the present state of it ;
of which you ought to be minutely informed. The knights,
at present, make vows, of which they observe none, except
it be that of not marrying; and their only object now is
to arrive, by seniority, at the Commanderies in their respect
ive provinces; which are, many of them, very lucrative.
The Order of Malta is, by a very few years, prior to the
Teutonic, and owes its foundation to the same causes.
These knights were first called Knights Hospitaliers of St.
John of Jerusalem, then Knights of Rhodes; and in the
superbly furnished with fine pictures, statues, etc., which, after his
death, were sold by auction. Lord Chesterfield purchased the hall-
pillars, the floor, and staircase with double flights; which are now in
Chesterfield House, London.
LETTERS TO HIS SON 95
year 1530, Knights of Malta, the Emperor Charles V. having
granted them that island, upon condition of their defending
his island of Sicily against the Turks, which they effectually
did. L'Abb£ de Vertot has written the history of Malta,
but it is the least valuable of all his works; and moreover,
too long for you to read. But there is a short history of
all the military orders whatsoever, which I would advise
you to get, as there is also of all the religious orders; both
which are worth your having and consulting, whenever
you meet with any of them in your way; as you will very
frequently in Catholic countries. For my own part, I find
that I remember things much better, when I recur to my
books for them, upon some particular occasion, than by
reading them tout de suite. As, for example, if I were
to read the history of all the military or religious orders,
regularly one after another, the latter puts the former out
of my head; but when I read the history of any one, upon
account of its having been the object of conversation or
dispute, I remember it much better. It is the same in
geography, where, looking for any particular place in the
map, upon some particular account, fixes it in one's memory
forever. I hope you have worn out your maps by frequent
use of that sort. Adieu.
A SHORT ACCOUNT OF THE TEUTONIC ORDER
In the ages of ignorance, which is always the mother of
superstition, it was thought not only just, but meritorious,
to propagate religion by fire and sword, and to take away
the lives and properties of unbelievers. This enthusiasm
produced the several crusades, in the nth, i2th, and follow
ing centuries; the object of which was, to recover the Holy
Land out of the hands of the Infidels, who, by the way,
were the lawful possessors. Many honest enthusiasts engaged
in those crusades, from a mistaken principle of religion, and
from the pardons granted by the Popes for all the sins of
those pious adventurers; but many more knaves adopted
these holy wars, in hopes of conquest and plunder.
After Godfrey of Bouillon, at the head of these knaves
and fools, had taken Jerusalem, in the year 1099, Christians
of various nations remained in that city; among the rest,
96 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
one good honest German, that took particular care of his
countrymen who came thither in pilgrimages. He built a
house for their reception, and an hospital dedicated to the
Virgin. This little establishment soon became a great one,
by the enthusiasm of many considerable people who en
gaged in it, in order to drive the Saracens out of the Holy
Land. This society then began to take its first form ; and
its members were called Marian Teutonic Knights. Marian,
from their chapel sacred to the Virgin Mary; Teutonic,
from the German, or Teuton, who was the author of it,
and Knights from the wars which they were to carry on
against the Infidels.
These knights behaved themselves so bravely, at first,
that Duke Frederick of Suabia, who was general of the
German army in the Holy Land, sent, in the year 1191, to
the Emperor Henry VI. and Pope Celestine III. to desire
that this brave and charitable fraternity might be incor
porated into a regular order of knighthood ; which was ac
cordingly done, and rules and a particular habit were given
them. Forty knights, all of noble families, were at first
created by the King of Jerusalem and other princes then
in the army. The first grand master of this order was
Henry Wallpot, of a noble family upon the Rhine. This
order soon began to operate in Europe ; drove all the Pa
gans out of Prussia, and took possession of it. Soon after,
they got Livonia and Courland, and invaded even Russia,
where they introduced the Christian religion. In 1510,
they elected Albert, Marquis of Bradenburg, for their grand
master, who, turning Protestant, soon afterward took Prussia
from the order, and kept it for himself, with the consent
of Sigismund, King of Poland, of whom it was to hold.
He then quitted his grand mastership and made himself
hereditary Duke of that country, which is thence called
Ducal Prussia. This order now consists of twelve provinces,
viz., Alsatia, Austria, Coblentz, and Etsch, which are the
four under the Prussian jurisdiction; Franconia, Hesse,
Biessen, Westphalia, Lorraine, Thuringia, Saxony, and
Utrecht, which eight are of the German jurisdiction. The
Dutch now possess all that the order had in Utrecht. Every
one of the provinces have their particular Commanderies ;
and the most ancient of these Commandeurs is called the
LETTERS TO HIS SON 97
Commandeur Provincial. These twelve Commandeurs are
all subordinate to the Grand Master of Germany as their
chief, and have the right of electing the grand master.
The elector of Cologne is at present Grand Maitre.
This order, founded by mistaken Christian zeal, upon
the anti-Christian principles of violence and persecution,
soon grew strong by the weakness and ignorance of the
time ; acquired unjustly great possessions, of which they
justly lost the greatest part by their ambition and cruelty,
which made them feared and hated by all their neighbors.
I have this moment received your letter of the 4th, N. S.,
and have only time to tell you that I can by no means
agree to your cutting off your hair. I am very sure that
your headaches cannot proceed from thence. And as for the
pimples upon your head, they are only owing to the heat
of the season, and consequently will not last long. But
your own hair is, at your age, such an ornament, and a
wig, however well made, such a disguise, that I will upon
no account whatsoever have you cut off your hair. Nature
did not give it to you for nothing, still less to cause you
the headache. Mr. Eliot's hair grew so ill and bushy, that
he was in the right to cut it off. But you have not the same
reason.
LETTER XLVII
LONDON, August 23, O. S. 1748.
DEAR BOY : Your friend, Mr. Eliot, has dined with me
twice since I returned here, and I can say with truth
that while I had the seals, I never examined or sifted
a state prisoner with so much care and curiosity as I did him.
Nay, I did more ; for, contrary to the laws of this country,
I gave him in some manner, the OJJESTION ordinary and ex-
txaordinary ; and I have infinite pleasure in telling you
that the rack which I put him to, did not extort from him
one single word that was not such as I wished to hear of
you. I heartily congratulate you upon such an advantageous
testimony, from so creditable a witness. Laudari a laudato
7
98 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
vt'ro, is one of the greatest pleasures and honors a rational
being can have ; may you long continue to deserve it ! Your
aversion to drinking and your dislike to gaming, which
Mr. Eliot assures me are both very strong, give me
the greatest joy imaginable, for your sake : as the former
would ruin both your constitution and understanding, and
the latter your fortune and character. Mr. Harte wrote
me word some time ago, and Mr. Eliot confirms it now, that
you employ your pin money in a very different manner from
that in which pin money is commonly lavished : not in
gew-gaws and baubles, but in buying good and useful books.
This is an excellent symptom, and gives me very good hopes.
Go on thus, my dear boy, but for these next two years, and
I ask no more. You must then make such a figure and such
a fortune in the world as I wish you, and as I have taken
all these pains to enable you to do. After that time I
allow you to be as idle as ever you please ; because I am sure
that you will not then please to be so at all. The ignorant
and the weak are only idle ; but those who have once ac
quired a good stock of knowledge, always desire to increase
it. Knowledge is like power in this respect, that those
who have the most, are most desirous of having more. It
does not clog, by possession, but increases desire ; which
is the case of very few pleasures.
Upon receiving this congratulatory letter, and reading
your own praises, I am sure that it must naturally occur to
you, how great a share of them you owe to Mr. Harte's
care and attention ; and, consequently, that your regard and
affection for him must increase, if there be room for it,
in proportion as you reap, which you do daily, the fruits
of his labors.
I must not, however, conceal from you that there was
one article in which your own witness, Mr. Eliot, faltered;
for, upon my questioning him home as to your manner of
speaking, he could not say that your utterance was either
distinct or graceful. I have already said so much to you
upon this point that I can add nothing. I will therefore
only repeat this truth, which is, that if you will not speak
distinctly and graceful, nobody will desire to hear you.
I am glad to learn that Abbe Mably's Droit Public de
V Europe makes a part of your evening amusements. It is
LETTERS TO HIS SON 99
a very useful book, and gives a clear deduction of the
affairs of Europe, from the treaty of Munster to this time.
Pray read it with attention, and with the proper maps,
always recurring to them for the several countries or
towns yielded, taken, or restored. Pere Bougeant's third
volume will give you the best idea of the treaty of Mun
ster, and open to you the several views of the belligerent
and contracting parties, and there never were greater than
at that time. The House of Austria, in the war imme
diately preceding that treaty, intended to make itself abso
lute in the empire, and to overthrow the rights of the
respective states of it. The view of France was to weaken
and dismember the House of Austria to such a degree, as
that it should no longer be a counterbalance to that of
Bourbon. Sweden wanted possessions on the continent of
Germany, not only to supply the necessities of its own
poor and barren country, but likewise to hold the balance
in the empire between the House of Austria and the
States. The House of Brandenburg wanted to aggrandize
itself by pilfering in the fire ; changed sides occasionally,
and made a good bargain at last ; for I think it got, at
the peace, nine or ten bishoprics secularized. So that we
may date, from the treaty of Munster, the decline of the
House of Austria, the great power of the House of Bour
bon, and the aggrandizement of that of Bradenburg: which,
I am much mistaken, if it stops where it is now.
Make my compliments to Lord Pulteney, to whom I
would have you be not only attentive, but useful, by set
ting him (in case he wants it) a good example of applica
tion and temperance. I begin to believe that, as I shall
be proud of you, others will be proud too of imitating you.
Those expectations of mine seem now so well grounded,
that my disappointment, and consequently my anger, will
be so much the greater if they fail ; but as things stand
now, I am most affectionately and tenderly, Yours.
ioo LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
LETTER XLVIII
LONDON, August 30, O. S. 1748.
DEAR BOY: Your reflections upon the conduct of France,
from the treaty of Munster to this time, are very
just ; and I am very glad to find, by them, that you
not only read, but that you think and reflect upon what
you read. Many great readers load their memories, with
out exercising their judgments; and make lumber-rooms of
their heads instead of furnishing them usefully ; facts are
heaped upon facts without order or distinction, and may
justly be said to compose that
Rudis indigestaque moles
Quern dixere chaos.
Go on, then, in the way of reading that you are in; take
nothing for granted, upon the bare authority of the author ;
but weigh and consider, in your own mind, the probability
of the facts and the justness of the reflections. Consult
different authors upon the same facts, and form your opin
ion upon the greater or lesser degree of probability arising
from the whole, which, in my mind, is the utmost stretch
of historical faith; certainty (I fear) not being to be found.
When a historian pretends to give you the causes and
motives of events, compare those causes and motives with
the characters and interests of the parties concerned, and
judge for yourself whether they correspond or not. Con
sider whether you cannot assign others more probable; and
in that examination, do not despise some very mean and
trifling causes of the actions of great men ; for so various
and inconsistent is human nature, so strong and changeable
are our passions, so fluctuating are our wills, and so much
are our minds influenced by the accidents of our bodies
that every man is more the man of the day, than a regu
lar consequential character. The best have something bad,
and something little ; the worst have something good, and
sometimes something great ; for I do not believe what Vel-
leius Paterculus (for the sake of saying a pretty thing) says
LETTERS TO HIS SON 101
of Scipio, %jui nihil non laudandum aut fecit, aut
aut sensit. As for the reflections of historians, with which
they think it necessary to interlard their histories, or at
least to conclude their chapters (and which, in the French
histories, are always introduced with a tant il est vrai,
and in the English, so TRUE IT is), do not adopt them
implicitly upon the credit of the author, but analyze them
yourself, and judge whether they are true or not.
But to return to the politics of France, from which I
have digressed. You have certainly made one further
reflection, of an advantage which France has, over and
above its abilities in the cabinet and the skill of its
negotiators, which is (if I may use the expression ) its
SOLENESS, continuity of riches and power within itself, and
the nature of its government. Near twenty millions of
people, and the ordinary revenue of above thirteen millions
sterling a year, are at the absolute disposal of the Crown.
This is what no other power in Europe can say ; so that
different powers must now unite to make a balance against
France ; which union, though formed upon the principle of
their common interest, can never be so intimate as to com
pose a machine so compact and simple as that of one great
kingdom, directed by one will, and moved by one interest.
The Allied Powers (as we have constantly seen) have,
besides the common and declared object of their alliance,
some separate and concealed view to which they often
sacrifice the general one ; which makes them, either directly
or indirectly, pull different ways. Thus, the design upon
Toulon failed in the year 1706, only from the secret view
of the House of Austria upon Naples: which made the
Court of Vienna, notwithstanding the representations of the
other allies to the contrary, send to Naples the 12,000 men
that would have done the business at Toulon. In this last
war too, the same causes had the same effects: the Queen
of Hungary in secret thought of nothing but recovering of
Silesia, and what she had lost in Italy ; and, therefore,
never sent half that quota which she promised, and we
paid for, into Flanders ; but left that country to the mari
time powers to defend as they could. The King of Sar
dinia's real object was Savona and all the Riviera di
Ponente; for which reason he concurred so lamely in the
102 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
invasion of Provence, where the Queen of Hungary, like
wise, did not send one-third of the force stipulated, engrossed
as she was by her oblique views upon the plunder of
Genoa, and the recovery of Naples. Insomuch that the
expedition into Provence, which would have distressed
France to the greatest degree, and have caused a great
detachment from their army in Flanders, failed shamefully,
for want of every one thing necessary for its success. Sup
pose, therefore, any four or five powers who, all together,
shall be equal, or even a little superior, in riches and strength
to that one power against which they are united ; the
advantage will still be greatly on the side of that single
power, because it is but one. The power and riches of
Charles V. were, in themselves, certainly superior to those
of Frances I., and yet, upon the whole, he was not an
overmatch for him. Charles V.'s dominions, great as they
were, were scattered and remote from each other ; their
constitutions different ; wherever he did not reside, dis
turbances arose ; whereas the compactness of France made
up the difference in the strength. This obvious reflection
convinced me of the absurdity of the treaty of Hanover, in
1725, between France and England, to which the Dutch
afterward acceded ; for it was made upon the apprehensions,
either real or pretended, that the marriage of Don Carlos
with the eldest archduchess, now Queen of Hungary, was
settled in the treaty of Vienna, of the same year, between
Spain and the late Emperor Charles VI., which marriage,
those consummate politicians said would revive in Europe
the exorbitant power of Charles V. I am sure, I heartily
wish it had ; as, in that case, there had been, what there
certainly is not now, — one power in Europe to counter
balance that of France ; and then the maritime powers
would, in reality, have held the balance of Europe in their
hands. Even supposing that the Austrian power would
then have been an overmatch for that of France (which,
by the way, is not clear), the weight of the maritime
powers, then thrown into the scale of France, would
infallibly have made the balance at least even. In which
case too, the moderate efforts of the maritime powers on
the side of France would have been sufficient ; whereas
now, they are obliged to exhaust and beggar themselves ;
LETTERS TO HIS SON 103
and that too ineffectually, in hopes to support the shattered,
beggared, and insufficient House of Austria.
This has been a long political dissertation ; but I am
informed that political subjects are your favorite ones ;
which I am glad of, considering your destination. You do
well to get your materials all ready, before you begin your
work. As you buy and (I am told) read books of this
kind, I will point out two or three for your purchase and
perusal ; I am not sure that I have not mentioned them
before, but that is no matter, if you have not got them.
Memoir es pour servir a V Histoire du i*ji%me Siecle, is a
most useful book for you to recur to for all the facts and
chronology of that country : it is in four volumes octavo,
and very correct and exact. If I do not mistake, I have
formerly recommended to you, Les Memoir es du Cardinal
de Retz; however, if you have not yet read them, pray do,
and with the attention which they deserve. You will there
find the best account of a very interesting period of the
minority of Lewis XIV. The characters are drawn short,
but in a strong and masterly manner ; and the political
reflections are the only just and practical ones that I ever
saw in print : they are well worth your transcribing. Le
Commerce des Anciens, par Monsieur Huet. Eveque d* Av-
ranche, in one little volume octavo, is worth your perusal,
as commerce is a very considerable part of political knowl
edge. I need not, I am sure, suggest to you, when you
read the course of commerce, either of the ancients or of
the moderns, to follow it upon your map ; for there is no
other way of remembering geography correctly, but by
looking perpetually in the map for the places one reads of,
even though one knows before, pretty near, where they are.
Adieu ! As all the accounts which I receive of you grow
better and better, so I grow more and more affectionately,
Yours.
104 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
LETTER XLIX
LONDON, September 5, O. S. 1748.
DEAR BOY : I have received yours, with the inclosed
German letter to Mr. Gravenkop, which he assures
me is extremely well written, considering the little
time that you have applied yourself to that language. As
you have now got over the most difficult part, pray go on dili
gently, and make yourself absolutely master of the rest.
Whoever does not entirely possess a language, will never
appear to advantage, or even equal to himself, either in
speaking or writing it. His ideas are fettered, and seem
imperfect or confused, if he is not master of all the words
and phrases necessary to express them. I therefore desire,
that you will not fail writing a German letter once every
fortnight to Mr. Gravenkop ; which will make the writing
of that language familiar to you ; and moreover, when you
shall have left Germany and be arrived at Turin, I shall
require you to write even to me in German ; that you may
not forget with ease what you have with difficulty learned.
I likewise desire, that while you are in Germany, you will
take all opportunities of conversing in German, which is
the only way of knowing that, or any other language,
accurately. You will also desire your German master to
teach you the proper titles and superscriptions to be used to
people of all ranks; which is a point so material, in Ger
many, that I have known many a letter returned unopened,
because one title in twenty has been omitted in the
direction.
St. Thomas's day now draws near, when you are to leave
Saxony and go to Berlin ; and I take it for granted, that
if anything is yet wanting to complete your knowledge of the
state of that electorate, you will not fail to procure it be
fore you go away. I do not mean, as you will easily
believe, the number of churches, parishes, or towns ; but I
mean the constitution, the revenues, the troops, and the
trade of that electorate. A few questions, sensibly asked, of
sensible people, will produce you the necessary informa
tions; which I desire you will enter in your little book.
LETTERS TO HIS SON 105
Berlin will be entirely a new scene to you, and I look
upon it, in a manner, as your first step into the great
world ; take care that step be not a false one, and that you
do not stumble at the threshold. You will there be in
more company than you have yet been ; manners and at
tentions will therefore be more necessary. Pleasing in com
pany is the only way of being pleased in it yourself.
Sense and knowledge are the first and necessary founda
tions for pleasing in company ; but they will by no means
do alone, and they will never be perfectly welcome if they
are not accompanied with manners and attentions. You will
best acquire these by frequenting the companies of people
of fashion ; but then you must resolve to acquire them, in
those companies, by proper care and observation ; for I
have known people, who, though they have frequented
good company all their lifetime, have done it in so inat
tentive and unobserving a manner, as to be never the better
for it, and to remain as disagreeable, as awkward, and as
vulgar, as if they had never seen any person of fashion.
When you go into good company (by good company is
meant the people of the first fashion of the place) observe
carefully their turn, their manners, their address ; and conform
your own to them. But this is not all neither ; go deeper
still ; observe their characters, and pry, as far as you can,
into both their hearts and their heads. Seek for their par
ticular merit, their predominant passion, or their prevailing
weakness; and you will then know what to bait your hook
with to catch them. Man is a composition of so many,
and such various ingredients, that it requires both time and
care to analyze him: for though we have all the same in
gredients in our general composition, as reason, will, pas
sions, and appetites; yet the different proportions and
combinations of them in each individual, produce that in
finite variety of characters, which, in some particular or
other, distinguishes every individual from another. Reason
ought to direct the whole, but seldom does. And he who
addresses himself singly to another man's reason, without
endeavoring to engage his heart in his interest also, is no
more likely to succeed, than a man who should apply only
to a king's nominal minister, and neglect his favorite. I
will recommend to your attentive perusal, now that you
io6 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
are going into the world, two books, which will let you
as much into the characters of men, as books can do. I
mean, Les Reflections Morales de Monsieur de la Roche
foucault, and Les Caracftres de la BruyZre: but remember,
at the same time, that I only recommend them to you as
the best general maps to assist you in your journey, and
not as marking out every particular turning and winding
that you will meet with. There your own sagacity and
observation must come to their aid. La Rochefoucault, is, I
know, blamed, but I think without reason, for deriving all
our actions from the source of self-love. For my own part,
I see a great deal of truth, and no harm at all, in that
opinion. It is certain that we seek our own happiness in
everything we do; and it is as certain, that we can only
find it in doing well, and in conforming all our actions to
the rule of right reason, which is the great law of nature.
It is only a mistaken self-love that is a blamable motive,
when we take the immediate and indiscriminate gratification
of a passion, or appetite, for real happiness. But am I blam
able if I do a good action, upon account of the happiness
which that honest consciousness will give me? Surely not.
On the contrary, that pleasing ' consciousness is a proof of
my virtue. The reflection which is the most censured in
Monsieur de la Rochefoucault' s book as a very ill-natured
one, is this, On trouve dans le malheur de son meilleur ami,
quelque chose qui ne deplait pas. And why not? Why
may I not feel a very tender and real concern for the mis
fortune of my friend, and yet at the same time feel a
pleasing consciousness at having discharged my duty to
him, by comforting and assisting him to the utmost of my
power in that misfortune? Give me but virtuous actions,
and I will not quibble and chicane about the motives.
And I will give anybody their choice of these two truths,
which amount to the same thing: He who loves himself
best is the honestest man ; or, The honestest man loves him
self best.
The characters of La Bruyere are pictures from the life ;
most of them finely drawn, and highly colored. Furnish
your mind with them first, and when you meet with their
likeness, as you will every day, they will strike you the more.
You will compare every feature with the original ; and both
LETTERS TO HIS SON 107
will reciprocally help you to discover the beauties and the
blemishes.
As women are a considerable, or at least a pretty numer
ous part of company; and as their suffrages go a great
way toward establishing a man's character in the fashion
able part of the world (which is of great importance to
the fortune and figure he proposes to make in it), it is
necessary to please them. I will therefore, upon this subject,
let you into certain Arcana that will be very useful for
you to know, but which you must, with the utmost care,
conceal and never seem to know. Women, then, are only
children of a larger growth; they have an entertaining
tattle, and sometimes wit ; but for solid reasoning, good
sense, I never knew in my life one that had it, or who
reasoned or acted consequentially for four-and-twenty hours
together. Some little passion or humor always breaks upon
their best resolutions. Their beauty neglected or contro
verted, their age increased, or their supposed understandings
depreciated, instantly kindles their little passions, and over
turns any system of consequential conduct, that in their
most reasonable moments they might have been capable of
forming. A man of sense only trifles with them, plays
with them, humors and flatters them, as he does with a
sprightly forward child ; but he neither consults them about,
nor trusts them with serious matters ; though he often
makes them believe that he does both; which is the thing
in the world that they are proud of ; for they love mightily
to be dabbling in business (which by the way they always
spoil) ; and being justly distrustful that men in general look
upon them in a trifling light, they almost adore that man
who talks more seriously to them, and who seems to consult
and trust them; I say, who seems; for weak men really do,
but wise ones only seem to do it. No flattery is either too
high or too low for them. They will greedily swallow the
highest, and gratefully accept of the lowest; and you may
safely flatter any woman from her understanding down to
the exquisite taste of her fan. Women who are either in
disputably beautiful, or indisputably ugly, are best flattered
upon the score of their understandings; but those who are
in a state of mediocrity, are best flattered upon their beauty,
or at least their graces; for every woman who is not
io8 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
absolutely ugly thinks herself handsome ; but not hearing
often that she is so, is the more grateful and the more
obliged to the few who tell her so; whereas a decided and
conscious beauty looks upon every tribute paid to her
beauty only as her due ; but wants to shine, and to be con
sidered on the side of her understanding ; and a woman who
is ugly enough to know that she is so, knows that she has
nothing left for it but her understanding, which is consequently
and probably (in more senses than one) her weak side.
But these are secrets which you must keep inviolably, if
you would not, like Orpheus, be torn to pieces by the whole
sex; on the contrary, a man who thinks of living in the
great world, must be gallant, polite, and attentive to please
the women. They have, from the weakness of men, more
or less influence in all courts ; they absolutely stamp every
man's character in the beau monde, and make it either cur
rent, or cry it down, and stop it in payments. It is, there
fore, absolutely necessary to manage, please, and flatter them :
and never to discover the least marks of contempt, which
is what they never forgive; but in this they are not singu
lar, for it is the same with men; who will much sooner
forgive an injustice than an insult. Every man is not
ambitious, or courteous, or passionate; but every man has
pride enough in his composition to feel and resent the least
slight and contempt. Remember, therefore, most carefully
to conceal your contempt, however just, wherever you would
not make an implacable enemy. Men are much more un
willing to have their weaknesses and their imperfections
known than their crimes; and if you hint to a man that
you think him silly, ignorant, or even ill-bred, or awkward,
he will hate you more and longer, than if you tell him
plainly, that you think him a rogue. Never yield to that
temptation, which to most young men is very strong, of
exposing other people's weaknesses and infirmities, for the
sake either of diverting the company, or showing your own
superiority. You may get the laugh on your side by it for
the present; but you will make enemies by it forever; and
even those who laugh with you then, will, upon reflection,
fear, and consequently hate you; besides that it is ill-natured,
and a good heart desires rather to conceal than expose
other people's weaknesses or misfortunes. If you have wit,
LETTERS TO HIS SON 109
use it to please, and not to hurt : you may shine, like the
sun in the temperate zones, without scorching. Here it is
wished for; under the Line it is dreaded.
These are some of the hints which my long experience
in the great world enables me to give you ; and which, if
you attend to them, may prove useful to you in your journey
through it. I wish it may be a prosperous one; at least, I
am sure that it must be your own fault if it is not.
Make my compliments to Mr. Harte, who, I am very
sorry to hear, is not well. I hope by this time he is recov
ered. Adieu !
LETTER L
LONDON, September 13, O. S. 1748.
DEAR BOY : I have more than once recommended to you
the <( Memoirs w of the Cardinal de Retz, and to attend
particularly to the political reflections interspersed in
that excellent work. I will now preach a little upon two
or three of those texts.
In the disturbances at Paris, Monsieur de Beaufort, who
was a very popular, though a very weak man, was the
Cardinal's tool with the populace.
Proud of his popularity, he was always for assembling
the people of Paris together, thinking that he made a great
figure at the head of them. The Cardinal, who was factious
enough, was wise enough at the same time to avoid gath
ering the people together, except when there was occasion,
and when he had something particular for them to do.
However, he could not always check Monsieur de Beaufort;
who having assembled them once very unnecessarily, and
without any determined object, they ran riot, would not
be kept within bounds by their leaders, and did their cause
a great deal of harm: upon which the Cardinal observes
most judiciously, ^ue Monsieur de Beaufort ne savoit pas,
que qui assemble le peuple, Vemeut. It is certain, that great
numbers of people met together, animate each other, and
will do something, either good or bad, but oftener bad ;
and the respective individuals, who were separately very
quiet, when met together in numbers, grow tumultuous as
no LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
a body, and ripe for any mischief that may be pointed out
to them by the leaders ; and, if their leaders have no busi
ness for them, they will find some for themselves. The
demagogues, or leaders of popular factions, should therefore
be very careful not to assemble the people unnecessarily,
and without a settled and well-considered object. Besides
that, by making those popular assemblies too frequent, they
make them likewise too familiar, and consequently less
respected by their enemies. Observe any meetings of people,
and you will always find their eagerness and impetuosity
rise or fall in proportion to their numbers: when the num
bers are very great, all sense and reason seem to subside,
and one sudden frenzy to seize on all, even the coolest of
them.
Another very just observation of the Cardinal's is, That
the things which happen in our own times, and which
we see ourselves, do not surprise us near so much as the
things which we read of in times past, though not in the
least more extraordinary ; and adds, that he is persuaded
that when Caligula made his horse a Consul, the people of
Rome, at that time, were not greatly surprised at it, having
necessarily been in some degree prepared for it, by an
insensible gradation of extravagances from the same quarter.
This is so true that we read every day, with astonishment,
things which we see every day without surprise. We
wonder at the intrepidity of a Leonidas, a Codrus, and a
Curtius ; and are not the least surprised to hear of a sea-
captain, who has blown up his ship, his crew, and himself,
that they might not fall into the hands of the enemies of
his country. I cannot help reading of Porsenna and Reg-
ulus, with surprise and reverence, and yet I remember that
I saw, without either, the execution of Shepherd,* a boy
of eighteen years old, who intended to shoot the late king,
and who would have been pardoned, if he would have
expressed the least sorrow for his intended crime ; but, on
the contrary, he declared that if he was pardoned he
would attempt it again ; that he thought it a duty which
he owed to his country, and that he died with pleasure for
having endeavored to perform it. Reason equals Shepherd
* James Shepherd, a coach-painter's apprentice, was executed at
Tyburn for high treason, March 17, 1718, in the reign of George I.
LETTERS TO HIS SON in
to Regulus ; but prejudice, and the recency of the fact,
make Shepherd a common malefactor and Regulus a hero.
Examine carefully, and reconsider all your notions of things ;
analyze them, and discover their component parts, and see
if habit and prejudice are not the principal ones ; weigh
the matter upon which you are to form your opinion, in
the equal and impartial scales of reason. It is not to be
conceived how many people, capable of reasoning, if they
would, live and die in a thousand errors, from laziness ;
they will rather adopt the prejudices of others, than give
themselves the trouble of forming opinions of their own.
They say things, at first, because other people have said
them, and then they persist in them, because they have said
them themselves.
The last observation that I shall now mention of the
Cardinal's is, (( That a secret is more easily kept by a good
many people, than one commonly imagines. )} By this he
means a secret of importance, among people interested in
the keeping of it. And it is certain that people of business
know the importance of secrecy, and will observe it, where
they are concerned in the event. To go and tell any friend,
wife, or mistress, any secret with which they have nothing
to do, is discovering to them such an unretentive weakness,
as must convince them that you will tell it to twenty others,
and consequently that they may reveal it without the risk
of being discovered. But a secret properly communicated
only to those who are to be concerned in the thing in
question, will probably be kept by them though they should
be a good many. Little secrets are commonly told again,
but great ones are generally kept. Adieu !
LETTER LI
LONDON, September 20, O. S. 1748.
DEAR BOY : I wait with impatience for your accurate
history of the Chevaliers Porte Epees, which you
promised me in your last, and which I take to be
the forerunner of a larger work that you intend to give
the public, containing a general account of all the religious
ii2 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
and military orders of Europe. Seriously, you will do well
to have a general notion of all those orders, ancient and
modern ; both as they are frequently the subjects of conver
sation, and as they are more or less interwoven with the
histories of those times. Witness the Teutonic Order, which,
as soon as it gained strength, began its unjust depredations
in Germany, and acquired such considerable possessions
there ; and the Order of Malta also, which continues to this
day its piracies upon the Infidels. Besides one can go into
no company in Germany, without running against Monsieur
le Chevalier, or Monsieur le Commandeur de /' Ordre Teu-
tonique. It is the same in all the other parts of Europe
with regard to the Order of Malta, where you never go into
company without meeting two or three Chevaliers or Com-
mandeurs, who talk of their Preuves, their Langues, their
Caravanes, etc., of all which things I am sure you would
not willingly be ignorant. On the other hand, I do not
mean that you should have a profound and minute knowl
edge of these matters, which are of a nature that a general
knowledge of them is fully sufficient. I would not recom
mend you to read Abb6 Vertot's (< History of the Order of
Malta, w in four quarto volumes; that would be employing a
great deal of good time very ill. But I would have you
know the foundations, the objects, the INSIGNIA, and the
short general history of them all.
As for the ancient religious military orders, which were
chiefly founded in the eleventh and twelfth centuries, such as
Malta, the Teutonic, the Knights Templars, etc., the injustice
and the wickedness of those establishments cannot, I am
sure, have escaped your observation. Their pious object was,
to take away by force other people's property, and to mas
sacre the proprietors themselves if they refused to give up
that property, and adopt the opinions of these invaders.
What right or pretense had these confederated Christians
of Europe to the Holy Land? Let them produce their
grant of it in the Bible. Will they say, that the Saracens
had possessed themselves of it by force, and that, conse
quently, they had the same right? Is it lawful then to
steal goods because they were stolen before ? Surely
not. The truth is, that the wickedness of many, and
the weakness of more, in those ages of ignorance and
LETTERS TO HIS SON 113
superstition, concurred to form those flagitious conspira
cies against the lives and properties of unoffending
people. The Pope sanctified the villany, and annexed the
pardon of sins to the perpetration of it. This gave rise
to the Crusaders, and carried such swarms of people from
Europe to the conquests of the Holy Land. Peter the
Hermit, an active and ambitious priest, by his indefatigable
pains, was the immediate author of the first crusade ; kings,
princes, all professions and characters united, from different
motives, in this great undertaking, as every sentiment, ex
cept true religion and morality, invited to it. The ambitious
hoped for kingdoms ; the greedy and the necessitous for
plunder ; and some were enthusiasts enough to hope for sal
vation, by the destruction of a considerable number of their
fellow creatures, who had done them no injury. I cannot
omit, upon this occasion, telling you that the Eastern em
perors at Constantinople (who, as Christians, were obliged
at least to seem to favor these expeditions), seeing the
immense numbers of the Croisez, and fearing that the West
ern Empire might have some mind to the Eastern Empire
too, if it succeeded against the Infidels, as V appe'tit vient
en mangeant; these Eastern emperors, very honestly, poisoned
the waters where the Croisez were to pass, and so destroyed
infinite numbers of them.
The later orders of knighthood, such as the Garter in
England ; the Elephant in Denmark ; the Golden Fleece in
Burgundy; the St. Esprit, St. Michel, St. Louis, and St.
Lazare, in France, etc., are of a very different nature and
institution. They were either the invitations to, or the
rewards of, brave actions in fair war ; and are now rather
the decorations of the favor of the prince, than the proofs
of the merit of the subject. However, they are worth
your inquiries to a certain degree, and conversation will
give you frequent opportunities for them. Wherever you
are, I would advise you to inquire into the respective
orders of that country, and to write down a short account
of them. For example, while you are in Saxony, get an
account of V Aigle Blanc and of what other orders there
may be, either Polish or Saxon ; and, when you shall be
at Berlin, inform yourself of three orders, V Aigle Noir^ la
Grfnerositd et le Vrai M6rite, which are the only ones
8
ii4 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
that I know of there. But whenever you meet with strag
gling ribands and stars, as you will with a thousand in
Germany, do not fail to inquire what they are, and to
take a minute of them in your memorandum book ; for it
is a sort of knowledge that costs little to acquire, and yet
it is of some use. Young people have frequently an incuri-
ousness about them, arising either from laziness, or a con
tempt of the object, which deprives them of several such
little parts of knowledge, that they afterward wish they
had acquired. If you will put conversation to profit, great
knowledge may be gained by it ; and is it not better (since
it is full as easy) to turn it upon useful than upon useless
subjects? People always talk best upon what they know
most, and it is both pleasing them and improving one's
self, to put them upon that subject. With people of a
particular profession, or of a distinguished eminency in any
branch of learning, one is not at a loss ; but with those,
whether men or women, who properly constitute what is
called the beau monde, one must not choose deep subjects,
nor hope to get any knowledge above that of orders, ranks,
families, and court anecdotes ; which are therefore the pro
per (and not altogether useless) subjects of that kind of
conversation. Women, especially, are to be talked to as
below men and above children. If you talk to them too
deep, you only confound them, and lose your own labor ;
if you talk to them too frivolously, they perceive and
resent the contempt. The proper tone for them is, what
the French call the Entregent, and is, in truth, the polite
jargon of good company. Thus, if you are a good chem
ist, you may extract something out of everything.
A propos of the beau monde, I must again and again
recommend the Graces to you. There is no doing without
them in that world ; and, to make a good figure in that
world, is a great step toward making one in the world of
business, particularly that part of it for which you are
destined. An ungraceful manner of speaking, awkward
motions, and a disagreeable address, are great clogs to the
ablest man of business, as the opposite qualifications are of
infinite advantage to him. I am told there is a very good
dancing-master at Leipsig. I would have you dance a min
uet very well, not so much for the sake of the minuet
LETTERS TO HIS SON 115
itself (though that, if danced at all, ought to be danced
well), as that it will give you a habitual genteel carriage
and manner of presenting yourself.
Since I am upon little things, I must mention another,
which, though little enough in itself, yet as it occurs at
least once in every day, deserves some attention ; I mean
Carving. Do you use yourself to carve ADROITLY and gen
teelly, without hacking half an hour across a bone ; with-
out bespattering the company with the sauce ; and without
overturning the glasses into your neighbor's pockets? These
awkwardnesses are extremely disagreeable ; and, if often
repeated, bring ridicule. They are very easily avoided by
a little attention and use.
How trifling soever these things may seem, or really be
in themselves, they are no longer so when above half the
world thinks them otherwise. And, as I would have you
omnibus ornatum — excellere rebus, I think nothing above or
below my pointing out to you, or your excelling in. You
have the means of doing it, and time before you to make
use of them. Take my word for it, I ask nothing now
but what you will, twenty years hence, most heartily wish
that you had done. Attention to all these things, for the
next two or three years, will save you infinite trouble and
endless regrets hereafter. May you, in the whole course of
your life, have no reason for any one just regret! Adieu.
Your Dresden china is arrived, and I have sent it to,
your Mamma.
LETTER LII
LONDON, September 27, O. S. 1748.
DEAR BOY: I have received your Latin « Lecture upon
War,» which though it is not exactly the same Latin
that Caesar, Cicero, Horace, Virgil, and Ovid spoke,
is, however, as good Latin as the erudite Germans speak
or write. I have always observed that the most learned
people, that is, those who have read the most Latin, write
the worst; and that distinguishes the Latin of a gentleman
scholar from that of a pedant. A gentleman has, probably,
n6 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
read no other Latin than that of the Augustan age ; and
therefore can write no other, whereas the pedant has read
much more bad Latin than good, and consequently writes
so too. He looks upon the best classical books, as books
for school-boys, and consequently below him ; but pores
over fragments of obscure authors, treasures up the obsolete
words which he meets with there, and uses them upon all
occasions to show his reading at the expense of his judg
ment. Plautus is his favorite author, not for the sake of
the wit and the vis comica of his comedies, but upon
account of the many obsolete words, and the cant of low
characters, which are to be met with nowhere else. He
will rather use olli than illi, optume than optim%, and any
bad word rather than any good one, provided he can but
prove, that strictly speaking, it is Latin ; that is, that it
was written by a Roman. By this rule, I might now write
to you in the language of Chaucer or Spenser, and assert
that I wrote English, because it was English in their days ;
but I should be a most affected puppy if I did so, and you
would not understand three words of my letter. All these,
and such like affected peculiarities, are the characteristics
of learned coxcombs and pedants, and are carefully avoided
by all men of sense.
I dipped accidentally, the other day, into Pitiscus's pref
ace to his (< Lexicon, )} where I found a word that puzzled
me, and which I did not remember ever to have met with
before. It is the adverb prcefiscirib, which means, IN A
GOOD HOUR ; an expression which, by the superstition of
it, appears to be low and vulgar. I looked for it : and
at last I found that it is once or twice made use of in
Plautus, upon the strength of which this learned pedant
thrusts it into his preface. Whenever you write Latin,
remember that every word or phrase which you make use
of, but cannot find in Caesar, Cicero, Livy, Horace, Virgil,
and Ovid, is bad, illiberal Latin, though it may have been
written by a Roman.
I must now say something as to the matter of the (< Lec
ture, » in which I confess there is one doctrine laid down
that surprises me : It is this, <%uum vero hostis sit lent a
citave morte omnia dira nobis minitans quocunque bellan-
tibus negotium est, parum sank interfuerit quo modo cum
LETTERS TO HIS SON 117
obruere et inter ficere satagamus, si feroci am exuere cuncte-
tur. Ergo veneno quoque uti fas est, etc., whereas I cannot
conceive that the use of poison can, upon any account,
come within the lawful means of self-defense. Force may,
without doubt, be justly repelled by force, but not by
treachery and fraud; for I do not call the stratagems of
war, such as ambuscades, masked batteries, false attacks,
etc., frauds or treachery: They are mutually to be expected
and guarded against; but poisoned arrows, poisoned waters,
or poison administered to your enemy (which can only be
done by treachery), I have always heard, read, and thought,
to be unlawful and infamous means of defense, be your
danger ever so great: But si ferociam exuere cunctetur;
must I rather die than poison this enemy? Yes, certainly,
much rather die than do a base or criminal action ; nor can
I be sure, beforehand, that this enemy may not, in the last
moment, ferociam exuere. But the public lawyers, now,
seem to me rather to warp the law, in order to authorize,
than to check, those unlawful proceedings of princes and
states; which, by being become common, appear less crim
inal, though custom can never alter the nature of good
and ill.
Pray let no quibbles of lawyers, no refinements of casuists,
break into the plain notions of right and wrong, which
every man's right reason and plain common sense suggest
to him. To do as you would be done by, is the plain,
sure, and undisputed rule of morality and justice. Stick to
that; and be convinced that whatever breaks into it, in
any degree, however speciously it may be turned, and
however puzzling it may be to answer it, is, notwithstand
ing, false in itself, unjust, and criminal. I do not know a
crime in the world, which is not by the casuists among
the Jesuits (especially the twenty-four collected, I think,
by Escobar) allowed, in some, or many cases, not to be
criminal. The principles first laid down by them are often
specious, the reasonings plausible, but the conclusion always
a lie: for it is contrary to that evident and undeniable
rule of justice which I have mentioned above, of not doing
to anyone what you would not have him do to you. But,
however, these refined pieces of casuistry and sophistry,
being very convenient and welcome to people's passions
u8 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
and appetites, they gladly accept the indulgence, without
desiring to detect the fallacy of the reasoning : and indeed
many, I might say most people, are not able to do it;
which makes the publication of such quibblings and refine
ments the more pernicious. I am no skillful casuist nor
subtle disputant ; and yet I would undertake to justify and
qualify the profession of a highwayman, step by step, and
so plausibly, as to make many ignorant people embrace the
profession, as an innocent, if not even a laudable one ; and
to puzzle people of some degree of knowledge, to answer
me point by point. I have seen a book, entitled ^uidlibet
ex Quolibet, or the art of making anything out of any
thing; which is not so difficult as it would seem, if once one
quits certain plain truths, obvious in gross to every under
standing, in order to run after the ingenious refinements of
warm imaginations and speculative reasonings. Doctor Berke
ley, Bishop of Cloyne, a very worthy, ingenious, and learned
man, has written a book to prove that there is no such
thing as matter, and that nothing exists but in idea: that
you and I only fancy ourselves eating, drinking, and sleep
ing; you at Leipsig, and I at London: that we think we
have flesh and blood, legs, arms, etc., but that we are only
spirit. His arguments are, strictly speaking, unanswerable ;
but yet I am so far from being convinced by them, that
I am determined to go on to eat and drink, and walk
and ride, in order to keep that MATTER, which I so mis
takenly imagine my body at present to consist of, in as
good plight as possible. Common sense (which, in truth,
is very uncommon) is the best sense I know of: abide by
it, it will counsel you best. Read and hear, for your amuse
ment, ingenious systems, nice questions subtilly agitated,
with all the refinements that warm imaginations suggest ;
but consider them only as exercitations for the mind, and
return always to settle with common sense.
I stumbled, the other day, at a bookseller's, upon (< Comte
de Gabalis," in two very little volumes, which I had formerly
read. I read it over again, and with fresh astonishment.
Most of the extravagances are taken from the Jewish Rab
bins, who broached those wild notions, and delivered them
in the unintelligible jargon which the Caballists and Rosi-
crucians deal in to this day. Their number is, I believe,
LETTERS TO HIS SON 119
much lessened, but there are still some ; and I myself have
known two, who studied and firmly believed in that mys
tical nonsense. What extravagancy is not man capable of
entertaining, when once his shackled reason is led in triumph
by fancy and prejudice! The ancient alchemists give very
much into this stuff, by which they thought they should
discover the philosopher's stone; and some of the most cele
brated empirics employed it in the pursuit of the universal
medicine. Paracelsus, a bold empiric and wild Caballist,
asserted that he had discovered it, and called it his Alka
hest. Why or wherefore, God knows; only that those
madmen call nothing by an intelligible name. You may
easily get this book from The Hague: read it, for it will
both divert and astonish you, and at the same time teach
you nil admirari; a very necessary lesson.
Your letters, except when upon a given subject, are exceed
ingly laconic, and neither answer my desires nor the purpose
of letters ; which should be familiar conversations, between
absent friends. As I desire to live with you upon the
footing of an intimate friend, and not of a parent, I could
wish that your letters gave me more particular accounts of
yourself, and of your lesser transactions. When you write
to me, suppose yourself conversing freely with me by the
fireside. In that case, you would naturally mention the
incidents of the day ; as where you had been, who you had
seen, what you thought of them, etc. Do this in your
letters: acquaint me sometimes with your studies, sometimes
with your diversions ; tell me of any new persons and char
acters that you meet with in company, and add your own
observations upon them: in short, let me see more of you
in your letters. How do you go on with Lord Pulteney,
and how does he go on at Leipsig? Has he learning, has
he parts, has he application? Is he good or ill-natured?
In short, What is he? at least, what do you think him?
You may tell me without reserve, for I promise you
secrecy. You are now of an age that I am desirous to
begin a confidential correspondence with you; and as I
shall, on my part, write you very freely my opinion upon
men and things, which I should often be very unwilling
that anybody but you and Mr. Harte should see, so, on
your part, if you write me without reserve, you may
120 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
depend upon my inviolable secrecy. If you have ever looked
into the (< Letters }> of Madame de Sevigne to her daughter,
Madame de Grignan, you must have observed the ease, free*
dom, and friendship of that correspondence; and yet, I hope
and I believe, that they did not love one another better than
we do. Tell me what books you are now reading, either
by way of study or amusement ; how you pass your even
ings when at home, and where you pass them when abroad. I
know that you go sometimes to Madame Valentin's assembly;
What do you do there? Do you play, or sup, or is it only
la belle conversation? Do you mind your dancing while
your dancing-master is with you? As you will be often
under the necessity of dancing a minuet, I would have you
dance it very well. Remember, that the graceful motion
of the arms, the giving your hand, and the putting on and
pulling off your hat genteelly, are the material parts of a
gentleman's dancing. But the greatest advantage of dancing
well is, that it necessarily teaches you to present yourself,
to sit, stand, and walk, genteelly; all of which are of real
importance to a man of fashion.
I should wish that you were polished before you go to
Berlin ; where, as you will be in a great deal of good com
pany, I would have you have the right manners for it. It
is a very considerable article to have le ton de la bonne
compagnie, in your destination particularly. The principal
business of a foreign minister is, to get into the secrets,
and to know all les allures of the courts at which he
resides ; this he can never bring about but by such a pleas
ing address, such engaging manners, and such an insinuat
ing behavior, as may make him sought for, and in some
measure domestic, in the best company and the best families
of the place. He will then, indeed, be well informed of all
that passes, either by the confidences made him, or by
the carelessness of people in his company, who are ac
customed to look upon him as one of them, and conse
quently are not upon their guard before him. For a minister
who only goes to the court he resides at, in form, to ask an
audience of the prince or the minister upon his last
instructions, puts them upon their guard, and will never
know anything more than what they have a mind that he
should know. Here women may be put to some use. A
LETTERS TO HIS SON 121
king's mistress, or a minister's wife or mistress, may give
great and useful informations ; and are very apt to do it,
being proud to show that they have been trusted. But
then, in this case, the height of that sort of address, which
strikes women, is requisite ; I mean that easy politeness,
genteel and graceful address, and that exterieur brilliant
which they cannot withstand. There is a sort of men so
like women, that they are to be taken just in the same
way ; I mean those who are commonly called FINE MEN ;
who swarm at all courts ; who have little reflection, and
less knowledge; but, who by their good breeding, and
train-tran of the world, are admitted into all companies ;
and, by the imprudence or carelessness of their superiors,
pick up secrets worth knowing, which are easily got out
of them by proper address. Adieu.
LETTER LIII
BATH, October 12, O. S. 1748.
DEAR BOY: I came here three days ago upon account
of a disorder in my stomach, which affected my head
and gave me vertigo. I already find myself some
thing better ; and consequently do not doubt but that the
course of these waters will set me quite right. But
however and wherever I am, your welfare, your character,
your knowledge, and your morals, employ my thoughts more
than anything that can happen to me, or that I can fear
or hope for myself. I am going off the stage, you are com
ing upon it; with me what has been, has been, and reflec
tion now would come too late ; with you everything is to
come, even, in some manner, reflection itself; so that this is
the very time when my reflections, the result of experience,
may be of use to you, by supplying the want of yours.
As soon as you leave Leipsig, you will gradually be going
into the great world ; where the first impressions that you
shall give of yourself will be of great importance to you ;
but those which you shall receive will be decisive, for they
always stick. To keep good company, especially at your
122 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
first setting out, is the way to receive good impressions.
If you ask me what I mean by good company, I will con
fess to you that it is pretty difficult to define ; but I will
endeavor to make you understand it as well as I can.
Good company is not what respective sets of company
are pleased either to call or think themselves, but it is that
company which all the people of the place call, and
acknowledge to be, good company, notwithstanding some
objections which they may form to some of the individuals
who compose it. It consists chiefly (but by no means
without exception) of people of considerable birth, rank,
and character ; for people of neither birth nor rank are fre
quently, and very justly admitted into it, if distinguished
by any peculiar merit, or eminency in any liberal art or
science. Nay, so motly a thing is good company, that
many people, without birth, rank, or merit, intrude into it
by their own forwardness, and others slide into it by the
protection of some considerable person ; and some even of
indifferent characters and morals make part of it. But in
the main, the good part preponderates, and people of
infamous and blasted characters are never admitted. In
this fashionable good company, the best manners and the
best language of the place are most unquestionably to be
learned ; for they establish and give the tone to both, which
are therefore called the language and manners of good com
pany : there being no legal tribunal to ascertain either.
A company, consisting wholly of people of the first
quality, cannot, for that reason, be called good company, in
the common acceptation of the phrase, unless they are, into
the bargain, the fashionable and accredited company of the
place ; for people of the very first quality can be as silly,
as ill-bred, and as worthless, as people of the meanest
degree. On the other hand, a company consisting entirely
of people of very low condition, whatever their merit or
parts may be, can never be called good company ; and
consequently should not be much frequented, though by no
means despised.
A company wholly composed of men of learning, though
greatly to be valued and respected, is not meant by the words
GOOD COMPANY ; they cannot have the easy manners and
tournure of the world, as they do not live in it. If you
LETTERS TO HIS SON 123
can bear your part well in such a company, it is extremely
right to be in it sometimes, and you will be but more
esteemed in other companies, for having a place in that.
But then do not let it engross you ; for if you do, you will
be only considered as one of the literati by profession ; which
is not the way either to shine, or rise in the world.
The company of professed wits and poets is extremely
inviting to most young men ; who if they have wit them
selves, are pleased with it, and if they have none, are sillily
proud of being one of it : but it should be frequented with
moderation and judgment, and you should by no means give
yourself up to it. A wit is a very unpopular denomination,
as it carries terror along with it ; and people in general
are as much afraid of a live wit, in company, as a woman
is of a gun, which she thinks may go off of itself, and do
her a mischief. Their acquaintance is, however, worth seek
ing, and their company worth frequenting ; but not ex
clusively of others, nor to such a degree as to be considered
only as one of that particular set.
But the company, which of all others you should
most carefully avoid, is that low company, which, in every
sense of the word, is low indeed ; low in rank, low in
parts, low in manners, and low in merit. You will, per
haps, be surprised that I should think it necessary to warn
you against such company, but yet I do not think it wholly
unnecessary, from the many instances which I have seen
of men of sense and rank, discredited, verified, and undone,
by keeping such company.
Vanity, that source of many of our follies, and of some
of our crimes, has sunk many a man into company, in every
light infinitely below himself, for the sake of being the
first man in it. There he dictates, is applauded, admired ;
and, for the sake of being the Coryphaus of that wretched
chorus, disgraces and disqualifies himself soon for any better
company. Depend upon it, you will sink or rise to the
level of the company which you commonly keep : people
will judge of you, and not unreasonably, by that. There is
good sense in the Spanish saying, (<Tell me whom you live
with, and I will tell you who you are.** Make it therefore
your business, wherever you are, to get into that company
which everybody in the place allows to be the best com-
124 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
pany next to their own ; which is the best definition that
I can give you of good company. But here, too, one
caution is very necessary, for want of which many young
men have been ruined, even in good company.
Good company (as I have before observed) is composed
of a great variety of fashionable people, whose characters
and morals are very different, though their manners are
pretty much the same. When a young man, new in the
world, first gets into that company, he very rightly deter
mines to conform to, and imitate it. But then he too often,
and fatally, mistakes the objects of his imitation. He has
often heard that absurd term of genteel and fashionable
vices. He there sees some people who shine, and who in
general are admired and esteemed; and observes that these
people are whoremasters, drunkards, or gamesters, upon
which he adopts their vices, mistaking their defects for their
perfections, and thinking that they owe their fashions and
their luster to those genteel vices. Whereas it is exactly
the reverse ; for these people have acquired their reputation
by their parts, their learning, their good-breeding, and other
real accomplishments : and are only blemished and lowered,
in the opinions of all reasonable people, and of their own,
in time, by these genteel and fashionable vices. A whore-
master, in a flux, or without a nose, is a very genteel per
son, indeed, and well worthy of imitation. A drunkard,
vomiting up at night the wine of the day, and stupe
fied by the headache all the next, is, doubtless, a fine
model to copy from. And a gamester, tearing his hair, and
blaspheming, for having lost more than he had in the world,
is surely a most amiable character. No ; these are alloys,
and great ones too, which can never adorn any character,
but will always debase the best. To prove this, suppose
any man, without parts and some other good qualities, to
be merely a whoremaster, a drunkard, or a gamester ; how
will he be looked upon by all sorts of people ? Why, as a
most contemptible and vicious animal. Therefore it is
plain, that in these mixed characters, the good part only
makes people forgive, but not approve, the bad.
I will hope and believe that you will have no vices ; but
if, unfortunately, you should have any, at least I beg of you
to be content with your own, and to adopt no other body's.
LETTERS TO HIS SON 125
The adoption of vice has, I am convinced, ruined ten times
more young men than natural inclinations.
As I make no difficulty of confessing my past errors,
where I think the confession may be of use to you, I will
own that when I first went to the university, I drank and
smoked, notwithstanding the aversion I had to wine and
tobacco, only because I thought it genteel, and that it made
me look like a man. When I went abroad, I first went to
The Hague, where gaming was much in fashion, and where
I observed that many people of shining rank and character
gamed too. I was then young enough, and silly enough,
to believe that gaming was one of their accomplishments ;
and, as I aimed at perfection, I adopted gaming as a neces
sary step to it. Thus I acquired by error the habit of a
vice which, far from adorning my character, has, I am
conscious, been a great blemish in it.
Imitate then, with discernment and judgment, the real
perfections of the good company into which you may get ;
copy their politeness, their carriage, their address, and the
easy and well-bred turn of their conversation ; but remem
ber that, let them shine ever so bright, their vices, if they
have any, are so many spots which you would no more
imitate, than you would make an artificial wart upon your
face, because some very handsome man had the misfortune
to have a natural one upon his : but, on the contrary,
think how much handsomer he would have been without
it.
Having thus confessed some of my egaremens, I will now
show you a little of my right side. I always endeavored
to get into the best company wherever I was, and com
monly succeeded. There I pleased to some degree by show
ing a desire to please. I took care never to be absent or
distrait; but on the contrary, attended to everything that
was said, done, or even looked, in company ; I never failed
in the minutest attentions and was never journalier. These
things, and not my egaremens, made me fashionable. Adieu!
This letter is full long enough.
126 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
LETTER LIV
BATH, October 19, O. S. 1748.
DEAR BOY : Having in my last pointed out what sort of
company you should keep, I will now give you some
rules for your conduct in it ; rules which my own ex
perience and observation enable me to lay down, and com
municate to you, with some degree of confidence. I have
often given you hints of this kind before, but then it has
been by snatches ; I will now be more regular and method
ical. I shall say nothing with regard to your bodily
carriage and address, but leave them to the care of your
dancing-master, and to your own attention to the best
models ; remember, however, that they are of conse
quence.
Talk often, but never long : in that case, if you do not
please, at least you are sure not to tire your hearers. Pay
your own reckoning, but do not treat the whole company,
this being one of the very few cases in which people do
not care to be treated, everyone being fully convinced that
he has wherewithal to pay.
Tell stories very seldom, and absolutely never but where
they are very apt and very short. Omit every circumstance
that is not material, and beware of digressions. To have
frequent recourse to narrative betrays great want of imag
ination.
Never hold anybody by the button or the hand, in order
to be heard out ; for, if people are not willing to hear you,
you had much better hold your tongue than them.
Most long talkers single out some one unfortunate man
in company (commonly him whom they observe to be the
most silent, or their next neighbor) to whisper, or at least in
a half voice, to convey a continuity of words to. This is
excessively ill-bred, and in some degree a fraud ; conversa
tion-stock being a joint and common property. But, on the
other hand, if one of these unmerciful talkers lays hold of you,
hear him with patience (and at least seeming attention)
if he is worth obliging; for nothing will oblige him more
LETTERS TO HIS SON 127
than a patient hearing, as nothing would hurt him more
than either to leave him in the midst of his discourse, or
to discover your impatience under your affliction.
Take, rather than give, the tone of the company you are
in. If you have parts, you will show them, more or less,
upon every subject ; and if you have not, you had better
talk sillily upon a subject of other people's than of your
own choosing.
Avoid as much as you can, in mixed companies, argu
mentative, polemical conversations; which, though they
should not, yet certainly do, indispose for a time the con
tending parties toward each other ; and, if the controversy
grows warm and noisy, endeavor to put an end to it by
some genteel levity or joke. I quieted such a conversation-
hubbub once, by representing to them that though I was
persuaded none there present would repeat, out of company,
what passed in it, yet I could not answer for the discretion
of the passengers in the street, who must necessarily hear
all that was said.
Above all things, and upon all occasions, avoid speaking
of yourself, if it be possible. Such is the natural pride and
vanity of our hearts, that it perpetually breaks out, even in
people of the best parts, in all the various modes and figures
of the egotism.
Some, abruptly, speak advantageously of themselves, with
out either pretense or provocation. They are impudent.
Others proceed more artfully, as they imagine ; and forge
accusations against themselves, complain of calumnies which
they never heard, in order to justify themselves, by ex
hibiting a catalogue of their many virtues. They ac
knowledge it may, indeed, seem odd that they should talk
in that manner of themselves; it is what they do not like,
and what they never would have done; no; no tortures
should ever have forced it from them, if they had not been
thus unjustly and monstrously accused. But, in these cases,
justice is surely due to one's self, as well as to others; and
when our character is attacked, we may say in our own
justification, what otherwise we never would have said.
This thin veil of Modesty drawn before Vanity, is much
too transparent to conceal it, even from very moderate
discernment.
128 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
Others go more modestly and more slyly still (as they
think) to work ; but in my mind still more ridiculously.
They confess themselves (not without some degree of shame
and confusion) into all the Cardinal Virtues, by first degrad
ing them into weaknesses and then owning their misfortune
in being made up of those weaknesses. They cannot see
people suffer without sympathizing with, and endeavoring to
help them. They cannot see people want, without relieving
them, though truly their own circumstances cannot very
well afford it. They cannot help speaking truth, though they
know all the imprudence of it. In short, they know that,
with all these weaknesses, they are not fit to live in the
world, much less to thrive in it. But they are now too old
to change, and must rub on as well as they can. This
sounds too ridiculous and outr£, almost, for the stage ; and
yet, take my word for it, you will frequently meet with it
upon the common stage of the world. And here I will
observe, by the bye, that you will often meet with charac
ters in nature so extravagant, that a discreet dramatist
would not venture to set them upon the stage in their true
and high coloring.
This principle of vanity and pride is so strong in human
nature that it descends even to the lowest objects ; and
one often sees peopie angling for praise, where, admitting
all they say to be true (which, by the way, it seldom
is), no just praise is to be caught. One man affirms that
he has rode post an hundred miles in six hours ; probably
it is a lie : but supposing it to be true, what then ? Why
he is a very good post-boy, that is all. Another asserts,
and probably not without oaths, that he has drunk six or
eight bottles of wine at a sitting ; out of charity, I will be
lieve him a liar ; for, if I do not, I must think him a beast.
Such, and a thousand more, are the follies and extrava
gances, which vanity draws people into, and which always
defeat their own purpose; and as Waller says, upon an
other subject, —
"Make the wretch the most despised,
Where most he wishes to be prized.*
The only sure way of avoiding these evils, is never to speak
of yourself at all. But when, historically, you are obliged
to mention yourself, take care not to drop one single word
LETTERS TO HIS SON 129
that can directly or indirectly be construed as fishing for
applause. Be your character what it will, it will be known ;
and nobody will take it upon your own word. Never
imagine that anything you can say yourself will varnish
your defects, or add lustre to your perfections ! but, on the
contrary, it may, and nine times in ten, will, make the
former more glaring and the latter obscure. If you are
silent upon your own subject, neither envy, indignation,
nor ridicule, will obstruct or allay the applause which you
may really deserve; but if you publish your own panegyric
upon any occasion, or in any shape whatsoever, and how
ever artfully dressed or disguised, they will all conspire
against you, and you will be disappointed of the very end
you aim at.
Take care never to seem dark and mysterious ; which is
not only a very unamiable character, but a very suspicious
one too ; if you seem mysterious with others, they will be
really so with you, and you will know nothing. The
height of abilities is to have volto sciolto and pensieri stretti;
that is, a frank, open, and ingenuous exterior, with a
prudent interior; to be upon your own guard, and yet, by
a seeming natural openness, to put people off theirs. De
pend upon it nine in ten of every company you are in will
avail themselves of every indiscreet and unguarded expres
sion of yours, if they can turn it to their own advantage.
A prudent reserve is therefore as necessary as a seeming
openness is prudent. Always look people in the face when
you speak to them: the not doing it is thought to imply
conscious guilt; besides that you lose the advantage of ob
serving by their countenances what impression your discourse
makes upon them. In order to know people's real senti
ments, I trust much more to my eyes than to my ears: for
they can say whatever they have a mind I should hear;
but they can seldom help looking, what they have no in
tention that I should know.
Neither retail nor receive scandal willingly ; defamation
of others may for the present gratify the malignity of the
pride of our hearts ; cool reflection will draw very disad
vantageous conclusions from such a disposition; and in the
case of scandal, as in that of robbery, the receiver is always
thought as bad as the thief.
9
I3o LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
Mimicry, which is the common and favorite amusement of
little low minds, is in the utmost contempt with great ones.
It is the lowest and most illiberal of all buffoonery. Pray,
neither practice it yourself, nor applaud it in others. Besides
that the person mimicked is insulted; and, as I have often
observed to you before, an insult is never forgiven.
I need not (I believe) advise you to adapt your conver
sation to the people you are conversing with: for I suppose
you would not, without this caution, have talked upon the
same subject, and in the same manner, to a minister of
state, a bishop, a philosopher, a captain, and a woman.
A man of the world must, like the chameleon, be able to
take every different hue ; which is by no means a criminal
or abject, but a necessary complaisance ; for it relates only
to manners and not to morals.
One word only as to swearing, and that, I hope and be
lieve, is more than is necessary. You may sometimes hear
some people in good company interlard their discourse
with oaths, by way of embellishment, as they think, but
you must observe, too, that those who do so are never
those who contribute, in any degree, to give that company
the denomination of good company. They are always sub
alterns, or people of low education; for that practice,
besides that it has no one temptation to plead, is as silly
and as illiberal as it is wicked.
Loud laughter is the mirth of the mob, who are only
pleased with silly things ; for true wit or good sense never
excited a laugh since the creation of the world. A man
of parts and fashion is therefore only seen to smile, but
never heard to laugh.
But to conclude this long letter; all the above-mentioned
rules, however carefully you may observe them, will lose
half their effect, if unaccompanied by the Graces. What
ever you say, if you say it with a supercilious, cynical
face, or an embarrassed countenance, or a silly, disconcerted
grin, will be ill received. If, into the bargain, YOU MUT
TER IT, OR UTTER IT INDISTINCTLY AND UNGRACEFULLY,
it will be still worse received. If your air and address are
vulgar, awkward, and gauche, you may be esteemed indeed,
if you have great intrinsic merit; but you will never please;
and without pleasing you will rise but heavily. Venus,
LETTERS TO HIS SON 131
among the ancients, was synonymous with the Graces, who
were always supposed to accompany her; and Horace tells
us that even Youth and Mercury, the god of Arts and
Eloquence, would not do without her: —
Parum comis sine te Juventas Mercuriusque.
They are not inexorable Ladies, and may be had if
properly and diligently pursued. Adieu.
LETTER LV
BATH, October 29, O. S. 1748.
DEAR BOY: My anxiety for your success increases in
proportion as the time approaches of your taking
your part upon the great stage of the world. The
audience will form their opinion of you upon your first
appearance (making the proper allowance for your inex
perience), and so far it will be final, that, though it may
vary as to the degrees, it will never totally change. This
consideration excites that restless attention with which I
am constantly examining how I can best contribute to the
perfection of that character, in which the least spot or
blemish would give me more real concern, than I am now
capable of feeling upon any other account whatsoever.
I have long since done mentioning your great religious
and moral duties, because I could not make your under
standing so bad a compliment as to suppose that you
wanted, or could receive, any new instructions upon those
two important points. Mr. Harte, I am sure, has not
neglected them; and, besides, they are so obvious to com
mon sense and reason, that commentators may (as they
often do) perplex, but cannot make them clearer. My
province, therefore, is to supply by my experience your
hitherto inevitable inexperience in the ways of the world.
People at your age are in a state of natural ebriety; and
want rails, and gardcfous, wherever they go, to hinder
them from breaking their necks. This drunkenness of
youth is not only tolerated, but even pleases, if kept within
certain bounds of discretion and decency. These bounds
I32 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
are the point which it is difficult for the drunken man
himself to find out ; and there it is that the experience of
a friend may not only serve, but save him.
Carry with you, and welcome, into company all the
gaiety and spirits, but as little of the giddiness, of youth
as you can. The former will charm ; but the latter will
often, though innocently, implacably offend. Inform your
self of the characters and situations of the company, before
you give way to what your imagination may prompt you
to say. There are, in all companies, more wrong heads
than right ones, and many more who deserve, than who
like censure. Should you therefore expatiate in the praise
of some virtue, which some in company notoriously want;
or declaim against any vice, which others are notoriously
infected with, your reflections, however general and unap
plied, will, by being applicable, be thought personal and
leveled at those people. This consideration points out to
you, sufficiently, not to be suspicious and captious yourself,
nor to suppose that things, because they may be, are there
fore meant at you. The manners of well-bred people se
cure one from those indirect and mean attacks ; but if, by
chance, a flippant woman or a pert coxcomb lets off any
thing of that kind, it is much better not to seem to under
stand, than to reply to it.
Cautiously avoid talking of either your own or other
people's domestic affairs. Yours are nothing to them but
tedious ; theirs are nothing to you. The subject is a tender
one : and it is odds but that you touch somebody or
other's sore place: for, in this case, there is no trusting to
specious appearances ; which may be, and often are, so con
trary to the real situations of things, between men and
their wives, parents and their children, seeming friends,
etc., that, with the best intentions in the world, one often
blunders disagreeably.
Remember that the wit, humor, and jokes, of most mixed
companies are local. They thrive in that particular soil,
but will not often bear transplanting. Every company is dif
ferently circumstanced, has its particular cant and jargon ;
which may give occasion to wit and mirth within that
circle, but would seem flat and insipid in any other, and
therefore will not bear repeating. Nothing makes a man
LETTERS TO HIS SON 133
look sillier than a pleasantry not relished or not under
stood; and if he meets with a profound silence when he
expected a general applause, or, what is worse, if he is
desired to explain the bon mot, his awkward and embar
rassed situation is easier imagined than described. A pro-
'pos of repeating; take great care never to repeat (I do not
mean here the pleasantries) in one company what you
hear in another. Things, seemingly indifferent, may, by
circulation, have much graver consequences than you would
imagine. Besides, there is a general tacit trust in conver
sation, by which a man is obliged not to report anything
out of it, though he is not immediately enjoined to secrecy.
A retailer of this kind is sure to draw himself into a
thousand scrapes and discussions, and to be shyly and un
comfortably received wherever he goes.
You will find, in most good company, some people who
only keep their place there by a contemptible title
enough ; these are what we call VERY GOOD-NATURED FEL
LOWS, and the French, bans diables. The truth is, they
are people without any parts or fancy, and who, having
no will of their own, readily assent to, concur in, and ap
plaud, whatever is said or done in the company ; and
adopt, with the same alacrity, the most virtuous or the
most criminal, the wisest or the silliest scheme, that hap
pens to be entertained by the majority of the company.
This foolish, and often criminal complaisance flows from a.
foolish cause, — the want of any other merit. I hope that
you will hold your place in company by a nobler tenure,,
and that you will hold it (you can bear a quibble, I be
lieve, yet) in capite. Have a will and an opinion of vour
own, and adhere to them steadily; but then do it with
good humor, good-breeding, and (if you have it) with
urbanity ; for you have not yet beard enough either to
preach or censure. 4
All other kinds of complaisance are not only blameless,
but necessary in good company. Not to seem to perceive
the little weaknesses, and the idle but innocent affectations
of the company, but even to flatter them, in a certain
manner, is not only very allowable, but, in truth, a sort
of polite duty. They will be pleased with you, if you do;
and will certainly not be reformed by you if you do not.
i34 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
For instance: you will find, in every groupe of company,
two principal figures, viz., the fine lady and the fine gen
tleman who absolutely give the law of wit, language,
fashion, and taste, to the rest of that . society. There is
always a strict, and often for the time being, a tender al
liance between these two figures. The lady looks upon
her empire as founded upon the divine right of beauty
(and full as good a divine right it is as any king, em
peror, or pope, can pretend to) ; she requires, and com
monly meets with, unlimited passive obedience. And why
should she not meet with it? Her demands go no higher
than to have her unquestioned pre-eminence in beauty, wit,
and fashion, firmly established. Few sovereigns (by the
way) are so reasonable. The fine gentleman's claims of
right are, mutatis mutandis, the same ; and though, in
deed, he is not always a wit de jure, yet, as he is the wit
de facto of that company, he is entitled to a share of your
allegiance, and everybody expects at least as much as they
are entitled to, if not something more. Prudence bids you
make your court to these joint sovereigns ; and no duty,
that I know of, forbids it. Rebellion here is exceedingly
dangerous, and inevitably punished by banishment, and
immediate forfeiture of all your wit, manners, taste, and
fashion ; as, on the other hand, a cheerful submission, not
without some flattery, is sure to procure you a strong
recommendation and most effectual pass, throughout all
their, and probably the neighboring, dominions. With a
moderate share of sagacity, you will, before you have been
half an hour in their company, easily discover those two
principal figures: both by the deference which you will ob
serve the whole company pay them, and by that easy,
careless, and serene air, which their consciousness of power
gives them. As in this case, so in all others, aim always
at the highest; get always into the highest company, and
address yourself particularly to the highest in it. The
search after the unattainable philosopher's stone has occa
sioned a thousand useful discoveries, which otherwise would
never have been made.
What the French justly call les manures nobles are only
to be acquired in the very best companies. They are the
distinguishing characteristics of men of fashion: people of
LETTERS TO HIS SON 135
low education never wear them so close, but that some
part or other of the original vulgarism appears. Les man-
itres nobles equally forbid insolent contempt, or low envy
and jealousy. Low people, in good circumstances, fine
clothes, and equipages, will insolently show contempt for
all those who cannot afford as fine clothes, as good an
equipage, and who have not (as their term is) as much
money in their pockets : on the other hand, they are gnawed
with envy, and cannot help discovering it, of those who
surpass them in any of these articles ; which are far from
being sure criterions of merit. They are likewise jealous
of being slighted ; and, consequently, suspicious and cap
tious ; they are eager and hot about trifles because trifles
were, at first, their affairs of consequence. Les manures
nobles imply exactly the reverse of all this. Study them
early ; you cannot make them too habitual and familiar to
you.
Just as I had written what goes before, I received your
letter of the 24th, N. S., but I have not received that
which you mention for Mr. Harte. Yours is of the kind
that I desire ; for I want to see your private picture, drawn
by yourself, at different sittings ; for though, as it is drawn
by yourself, I presume you will take the most advantageous
likeness, yet I think that I have skill enough in that kind
of painting to discover the true features, though ever so
artfully colored, or thrown into skillful lights and shtades.
By your account of the German play, which I do not
know whether I should call tragedy or comedy, the only
shining part of it (since I am in a way of quibbling) seems
to have been the fox's tail. I presume, too, that the play
has had the same fate with the squib, and has gone off no
more. I remember a squib much better applied, when it
was made the device of the colors of a French regiment of
grenadiers ; it was represented bursting, with this motto
under it : — Peream dum luceam.
I like the description of your PIC-NIC ; where I take it
for granted, that your cards are only to break the formality
of a circle, and your SYMPOSION intended more to promote
conversation than drinking. Such an AMICABLE COLLISION,
as Lord Shaftesbury very prettily calls it, rubs off and
smooths those rough corners which mere nature has given
I36 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
to the smoothest of us. I hope some part, at least, of the
conversation is in German. A propos: tell me do you
speak that language correctly, and do you write it with
ease? I have no doubt of your mastering the other modern
languages, which are much easier, and occur much oftener ;
for which reason, I desire that you will apply most dili
gently to German, while you are in Germany, that you
may speak and write that language most correctly.
I expect to meet Mr. Eliot in London, in about three
weeks, after which you will soon see him at Leipsig.
Adieu.
LETTER LVI
LONDON, November 18, O. S. 1748.
DEAR BOY : Whatever I see or whatever I hear, my
first consideration is, whether it can in any way be
useful to you. As a proof of this, I went acciden
tally the other day into a print-shop, where, among many
others, I found one print from a famous design of Carlo
Maratti, who died about thirty years ago, and was the last
eminent painter in Europe : the subject is il Studio del
Disegno ; or <( The School of Drawing." An old man, sup
posed to be the master, points to his scholars, who are
variously employed in perspective, geometry, and the observa
tion of the statues of antiquity. With regard to per
spective, of which there are some little specimens, he has
wrote, Tanto che basti, that is, <( As much as is sufficient";
with regard to geometry, Tanto che basti again ; with
regard to the contemplation of the ancient statues, there
is written, Non mat a bastanza, — <( There never can be
enough." But in the clouds, at the top of the piece, are
represented the three Graces, with this just sentence written
over them, Senza di not ogni fatica 'e vana, that is,
<( Without us, all labor is vain." This everybody allows
to be true in painting; but all people do not seem to con
sider, as I hope you will, that this truth is full as applic
able to every other art or science ; indeed to everything
that is to be said or done. I will send you the print itself
LETTERS TO HIS SON 137
by Mr. Eliot, when he returns ; and I will advise you to
make the same use of it that the Roman Catholics say they
do of the pictures and images of their saints, which is,
only to remind them of those ; for the adoration they dis
claim. Nay, I will go further, as the transition from
Popery to Paganism is short and easy, I will classically and
poetically advise you to invoke, and sacrifice to them every
day, and all the day. It must be owned, that the Graces
do not seem to be natives of Great Britain ; and, I doubt,
the best of us here have more of rough than polished dia
mond. Since barbarism drove them out of Greece and
Rome, they seem to have taken refuge in France, where
their temples are numerous, and their worship the estab
lished one. Examine yourself seriously, why such and such
people please and engage you, more than such and such
others, of equal merit ; and you will always find that it is
because the former have the Graces and the latter not. I
have known many a woman with an exact shape, and a
symmetrical assemblage of beautiful features, please nobody;
while others, with very moderate shapes and features, have
charmed everybody. Why? because Venus will not charm
so much, without her attendant Graces, as they will with
out her. Among men, how often have I seen the most
solid merit and knowledge neglected, unwelcome, or even
rejected, for want of them ! While flimsy parts, little
knowledge, and less merit, introduced by the Graces, have
been received, cherished, and admired. Even virtue, which
is moral beauty, wants some of its charms if unaccom
panied by them.
If you ask me how you shall acquire what neither you
nor I can define or ascertain, I can only answer, BY OBSERVA
TION. Form yourself, with regard to others, upon what
you feel pleases you in them. I can tell you the importance,
the advantage, of having the Graces ; but I cannot give
them you : I heartily wish I could, and I certainly would ;
for I do not know a better present that I could make you.
To show you that a very wise, philosophical, and retired
man thinks upon that subject as I do, who have always
lived in the world, I send you, by Mr. Eliot, the famous
Mr. Locke's book upon education ; in which you will find
the stress that he lays upon the Graces, which he calls
i38 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
(and very truly) good-breeding. I have marked all the
parts of that book that are worth your attention ; for as
he begins with the child, almost from its birth, the parts
relative to its infancy would be useless to you. Germany
is, still less than England, the seat of the Graces ; however,
you had as good not say so while you are there. But the
place which you are going to, in a great degree, is; for I
have known as many well-bred, pretty men come from
Turin, as from any part of Europe. The late King Victor
Amed<§e took great pains to form such of his subjects as
were of any consideration, both to business and manners ;
the present king, I am told, follows his example : this,
however, is certain, that in all courts and congresses, where
there are various foreign ministers, those of the King of
Sardinia are generally the ablest, the politest, and les plus
delies. You will therefore, at Turin, have very good models
to form yourself upon : and remember, that with regard to
the best models, as well as to the antique Greek statues in
the print, non mai a bastanza. Observe every word, look,
and motion of those who are allowed to be the most
accomplished persons there. Observe their natural and
careless, but genteel air; their unembarrassed good-breeding;
their unassuming, but yet unprostituted dignity. Mind
their decent mirth, their discreet frankness, and that entre-
gent which, as much above the frivolous as below the
important and the secret, is the proper medium for con
versation in mixed companies. I will observe, by the bye,
that the talent of that light entregent is often of great use
to a foreign minister ; not only as it helps him to domesti
cate himself in many families, but also as it enables him to
put by, and parry some subjects of conversation, which
might possibly lay him under difficulties both what to say
and how to look.
Of all the men that ever I knew in my life (and I knew
him extremely well), the late Duke of Marlborough pos
sessed the graces in the highest degree, not to say engrossed
them; and indeed he got the most by them ; for I will venture
(contrary to the custom of profound historians, who always
assign deep causes for great events), to ascribe the better
half of the Duke of Marlborough's greatness and riches to
those graces. He was eminently illiterate ; wrote bad Eng-
LETTERS TO HIS SON 139
lish and spelled it still worse. He had no share of what is
commonly called PARTS : that is, he had no brightness,
nothing shining in his genius. He had, most undoubtedly,
an excellent good plain understanding with sound judg
ment. But these alone, would probably have raised him
but something higher than they found him ; which was
page to King James the Second's queen. There the Graces
protected and promoted him ; for while he was an ensign
of the Guards, the Duchess of Cleveland, then favorite mis
tress to King Charles the Second, struck by those very
Graces, gave him five thousand pounds, with which he
immediately bought an annuity for his life of five hundred
pounds a-year, of my grandfather Halifax ; which was the
foundation of his subsequent fortune. His figure was
beautiful ; but his manner was irresistible, by either man or
woman. It was by this engaging, graceful manner, that he
was enabled, during all his war, to connect the various and
jarring powers of the Grand Alliance, and to carry them on
to the main object of the war, notwithstanding their private
and separate views, jealousies, and wrongheadednesses. What
ever court he went to (and he was often obliged to go
himself to some resty and refractory ones), he as constantly
prevailed, and brought them into his measures. The Pen
sionary Heinsius, a venerable old minister, grown gray in
business, and who had governed the republic of the United
Provinces for more than forty years, was absolutely gov
erned by the Duke of Marlborough, as that republic feels
to this day. He was always cool ; and nobody ever ob
served the least variation in his countenance ; he could
refuse more gracefully than other people could grant; and
those who went away from him the most dissatisfied as to
the substance of their business, were yet personally charmed
with him and, in some degree, comforted by his manner.
With all his gentleness and gracefulness, no man living was
more conscious of his situation, nor maintained his dignity
better.
With the share of knowledge which you have already
gotten, and with the much greater which I hope you will
soon acquire, what may you not expect to arrive at, if you
join all these graces to it? In your destination particularly,
they are in truth half your business : for, if you once gain
HO LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
the affections as well as the esteem of the prince or minister
of the court to which you are sent, I will answer for it,
that will effectually do the business of the court that sent
you ; otherwise it is up-hill work. Do not mistake, and
think that these graces which I so often and so earnestly recom
mend to you, should only accompany important transactions,
and be worn only les jours de gala; no, they should, if
possible, accompany every, the least thing you do or say;
for, if you neglect them in little things, they will leave you
in great ones. I should, for instance, be extremely concerned
to see you even drink a cup of coffee ungracefully, and slop
yourself with it, by your awkward manner of holding it ;
nor should I like to see your coat buttoned, or your shoes
buckled awry. But I should be outrageous, if I heard you
mutter your words unintelligibly, stammer in your speech,
or hesitate, misplace, and mistake in your narrations ; and I
should run away from you with greater rapidity, if possible,
than I should now run to embrace you, if I found you
destitute of all those graces which I have set my heart
upon their making you one day, omnibus ornatum excellere
rebus.
This subject is inexhaustible, as it extends to everything
that is to be said or done : but I will leave it for the
present, as this letter is already pretty long. Such is my
desire, my anxiety for your perfection, that I never think I
have said enough, though you may possibly think that I have
said too much ; and though, in truth, if your own good
sense is not sufficient to direct you, in many of these plain
points, all that I or anybody else can say will be insufficient.
But where you are concerned, I am the insatiable man in
Horace, who covets still a little corner more to complete the
figure of his field. I dread every little corner that may
deform mine, in which I would have (if possible) no one
defect.
I this moment receive yours of the i7th, N. S., and can
not condole with you upon the secession of your German
Commensaux; who both by your and Mr. Harte's descrip
tion, seem to be des gens d>une amiable absence; and, if
you can replace them by any other German conversation,
you will be a gainer by the bargain. I cannot conceive, if
you understand German well enough to read any German
LETTERS TO HIS SON 141
book, how the writing of the German character can be so
difficult and tedious to you, the twenty-four letters being
very soon learned ; and I do not expect that you should
write yet with the utmost purity and correctness, as to the
language : what I meant by your writing once a fortnight
to Grevenkop, was only to make the written character fa
miliar to you. However, I will be content with one in
three weeks or so.
I believe you are not likely to see Mr. Eliot again soon,
he being still in Cornwall with his father; who, I hear, is
not likely to recover. Adieu.
LETTER LVII
LONDON, November 29, O. S. 1748.
DEAR BOY: I delayed writing to you till I could give
you some account of the motions of your friend Mr.
Eliot; for whom I know you have, and very justly,
the most friendly concern. His father and he came to town
together, in a post-chaise a fortnight ago, the rest of the
family remaining in Cornwall. His father, with difficulty,
survived the journey, and died last Saturday was seven-
night. Both concern and decency confined your friend, till
two days ago, when I saw him ; he has determined, and I
think very prudently, to go abroad again ; but how soon,
it is yet impossible for him to know, as he must neces
sarily put his own private affairs in some order first; but I
conjecture that he may possibly join you at Turin; sooner,
to be sure, not. I am very sorry that you are likely to be
so long without the company and the example of so val
uable a friend; and therefore I hope that you will make it
up to yourself, as well as you can at this distance, by
remembering and following his example. Imitate that ap
plication of his, which has made him know all thoroughly,
and to the bottom. He does not content himself with the
surface of knowledge; but works in the mine for it, know
ing that it lies deep. Pope says, very truly, in his <( Essay
on Criticism * : —
142 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
A little learning is a dangerous thing;
Drink deep, or taste not the Pierian spring.
I shall send you by a ship that goes to Hamburg next
week (and by which Hawkins sends Mr. Harte some things
that he wrote for) all those which I propose sending you
by Mr. Eliot, together with a very little box that I am
desired to forward to Mr. Harte. There will be, likewise,
two letters of recommendation for you to Monsieur Andri6
and Comte Algarotti, at Berlin, which you will take care
to deliver to them, as soon as you shall be rigged and fitted
out to appear there. They will introduce you into the best
company, and I depend upon your own good sense for
your avoiding of bad. If you fall into bad and low com
pany there, or anywhere else, you will be irrecoverably lost;
whereas, if you keep good company, and company above
yourself, your character and your fortune will be immovably
fixed.
I have not time to-day, upon account of the meeting of
the parliament, to make this letter of the usual length; and
indeed, after the volumes that I have written to you, all
I can add must be unnecessary. However, I shall prob
ably, ex abundanti^ return soon to my former prolixity;
and you will receive more and more last words from, Yours.
LETTER LVIII
LONDON, December 6, O. S. 1748.
DEAR BOY : I am at present under very great concern
for the loss of a most affectionate brother, with
whom I had always lived in the closest friendship.
My brother John died last Friday night, of a fit of the
gout, which he had had for about a month in his hands
and feet, and which fell at last upon his stomach and head.
As he grew, toward the last, lethargic, his end was not
painful to himself. At the distance which you are at from
hence, you need not go into mourning upon this occasion,
as the time of your mourning would be near over, before
you could put it on.
LETTERS TO HIS SON 143
By a ship which sails this week for Hamburg, I shall send
you those things which I proposed to have sent you by
Mr. Eliot, viz., a little box from your Mamma; a less box
for Mr. Harte; Mr. Locke's book upon education; the
print of Carlo Maratti, which I mentioned to you some
time ago ; and two letters of recommendation, one to
Monsieur Andrie and the other to Comte Algarotti, at
Berlin. Both those gentlemen will, I am sure, be as will
ing as they are able to introduce you into the best company ;
and I hope you will not (as many of your countrymen are
apt to do) decline it. It is in the best companies only,
that you can learn the best manners and that tournure,
and those graces, which I have so often recommended to
you, as the necessary means of making a figure in the
world.
I am most extremely pleased with the account which Mr.
Harte gives me of your progress in Greek, and of your
having read Hesiod almost critically. Upon this subject I
suggest but one thing to you, of many that I might sug
gest; which is, that you have now got over the difficulties
of that language, and therefore it would be unpardonable
not to persevere to your journey's end, now that all the
rest of your way is down hill.
I am also very well pleased to hear that you have such a
knowledge of, and taste for curious books and scarce and
valuable tracts. This is a kind of knowledge which very
well becomes a man of sound and solid learning, but which
only exposes a man of slight and superficial reading ; there
fore, pray make the substance and matter of such books
your first object, and their title-pages, indexes, letter, and
binding, but your second. It is the characteristic of a man
of parts and good judgment to know, and give that de
gree of attention that each object deserves. Whereas little
minds mistake little objects for great ones, and lavish away
upon the former that time and attention which only the
latter deserve. To such mistakes we owe the numerous
and frivolous tribes of insect-mongers, shell-mongers, and
pursuers and driers of butterflies, etc. The strong mind
distinguishes, not only between the useful and the use
less, but likewise between the useful and the curious.
He applies himself intensely to the former ; he only amuses
144 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
himself with the latter. Of this little sort of knowledge,
which I have just hinted at, you will find at least as much
as you need wish to know, in a superficial but pretty
French book, entitled, Spectacle de la Nature ; which
will amuse you while you read it, and give you a sufficient
notion of the various parts of nature. I would advise you
to read it, at leisure hours. But that part of nature, which
Mr. Harte tells me you have begun to study with the
Rector magnificus, is of much greater importance, and
deserves much more attention ; I mean astronomy. The
vast and immense planetary system, the astonishing order
and regularity of those innumerable worlds, will open a
scene to you, which not only deserves your attention as a
matter of curiosity, or rather astonishment; but still more,
as it will give you greater, and consequently justcr, ideas
of that eternal and omnipotent Being, who contrived, made,
and still preserves that universe, than all the contemplation
of this, comparatively, very little orb, which we at present
inhabit, could possibly give you. Upon this subject, Mon
sieur Fontenelle's Pluralite des Mondes, which you may
read in two hours' time, will both inform and please you.
God bless you ! Yours.
LETTER LIX
LONDON, December 13, O. S. 1748.
DEAR BOY: The last four posts have brought me no let
ters, either from you or from Mr. Harte, at which
I am uneasy ; not as a mamma would be, but as a
father should be : for I do not want your letters as bills of
health; you are young, strong, and healthy, and I am,
consequently, in no pain about that : moreover, were either
you or Mr. Harte ill, the other would doubtless write
me word of it. My impatience for yours or Mr. Harte's
letters arises from a very different cause, which is my de
sire to hear frequently of the state and progress of your mind.
You are now at that critical period of life when every week
ought to produce fruit or flowers answerable to your cul
ture, which I am sure has not been neglected; and it is by
LETTERS TO HIS SON 145
your letters, and Mr. Harte's accounts of you, that, at this
distance, I can only judge at your gradations to maturity;
I desire, therefore, that one of you two will not fail to
write to me once a week. The sameness of your present
way of life, I easily conceive, would not make out a very
interesting letter to an indifferent bystander; but so deeply
concerned as I am in the game you are playing, even the
least move is to me of importance, and helps me to judge
of the final event.
As you will be leaving Leipsig pretty soon after you
shall have received this letter, I here send you one inclosed
to deliver to Mr. Mascow. It is to thank him for his at
tention and civility to you, during your stay with him : and
I take it for granted, that you will not fail making him the
proper compliments at parting ; for the good name that we
leave behind at one place often gets before us to another,
and is of great use. As Mr. Mascow is much known and
esteemed in the republic of letters, I think it would be of
advantage to you, if you got letters of recommendation
from him to some of the learned men at Berlin. Those
testimonials give a lustre, which is not to be despised ; for
the most ignorant are forced to seem, at least, to pay a re
gard to learning, as the most wicked are to virtue. Such
is their intrinsic worth.
Your friend Duval dined with me the other day, and
complained most grievously that he had not heard from
you above a year ; I bid him abuse you for it himself ; and
advised him to do it in verse, which, if he was really angry,
his indignation would enable him to do. He accordingly
brought me, yesterday, the inclosed reproaches and chal
lenge, which he desired me to transmit to you. As this is
his first essay in English poetry, the inaccuracies in the
rhymes and the numbers are very excusable. He insists,
as you will find, upon being answered in verse; which I
should imagine that you and MR. HARTE, together, could
bring about ; as the late Lady Dorchester used to say, that she
and Dr. Radcliffe, together, could cure a fever. This is
however sure, that it now rests upon you ; and no man can
say what methods Duval may take, if you decline his chal
lenge. I am sensible that you are under some disadvan
tages in this proffered combat. Your climate, at this time
10
i46 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
of the year especially, delights more in the wood fire, than
in the poetic firej and I conceive the Muses, if there are
any at Leipsig, to be rather shivering than singing ; nay,
I question whether Apollo is even known there as god of
Verse, or as god of Light : perhaps a little as god of Physic.
These will be fair excuses, if your performance should fall
something short ; though I do not apprehend that it will.
While you have been at Leipsig, which is a place of study
more than of pleasure or company, you have had all oppor
tunities of pursuing your studies uninterruptedly ; and have
had, I believe, very few temptations to the contrary. But
the case will be quite different at Berlin, where the splen
dor and dissipation of a court and the beau monde, will
present themselves to you in gaudy shapes, attractive enough
to all young people. Do not think, now, that like an old
fellow, I am going to advise you to reject them, and shut
yourself up in your closet : quite the contrary ; I advise you
to take your share, and enter into them with spirit and
pleasure ; but then I advise you, too, to allot your time
so prudently, as that learning may keep pace with pleas
ures ; there is full time, in the course of the day, for both,
if you do but manage that time right and like a good
economist. The whole morning, if diligently and attentively
devoted to solid studies, will go a great way at the year's
end ; and the evenings spent in the pleasures of good com
pany, will go as far in teaching you a knowledge, not
much less necessary than the other, I mean the knowledge
of the world. Between these two necessary studies, that of
books in the morning, and that of the world in the even
ing, you see that you will not have one minute to squander
or slattern away. Nobody ever lent themselves more than
I did, when I was young, to the pleasures and dissipation
of good company. I even did it too much. But then, I
can assure you, that I always found time for serious studies ;
and, when I could find it no other way, I took it out of
my sleep, for I resolved always to rise early in the morn
ing, however late I went to bed at night ; and this resolution
I have kept so sacred, that, unless when I have been
confined to my bed by illness, I have not, for more than
forty years, ever been in bed at nine o'clock in the morning
but commonly up before eight.
LETTERS TO HIS SON 147
When you are at Berlin, remember to speak German as
often as you can, in company ; for everybody there will
speak French to you, unless you let them know that you
can speak German, which then they will choose to speak.
Adieu.
LETTER LX
LONDON, December 20, O. S. 1748.
DEAR BOY : I received last Saturday by three mails,
which came in at once, two letters from Mr. Harte,
and yours of the 8th, N. S.
It was I who mistook your meaning, with regard to your
German letters, and not you who expressed it ill. I thought
it was the writing of the German character that took up
so much of your time, and therefore I advised you, by the
frequent writing of that character, to make it easy and
familiar to you. But, since it is only the propriety and
purity of the German language which make your writing
it so tedious and laborious, I will tell you I shall not be
nice upon that article ; and did not expect that you should
yet be master of all the idioms, delicacies, and peculiarities of
that difficult language. That can only come by use, espe
cially frequent speaking ; therefore, when you shall be at Ber
lin, and afterward at Turin, where you will meet many
Germans, pray take all opportunities of conversing in German,
in order not only to keep what you have got of that lan
guage, but likewise to improve and perfect yourself in it.
As to the characters, you form them very well, and as you
yourself own, better than your English ones; but then let
me ask you this question: Why do you not form your
Roman characters better? for I maintain, that it is in every
man's power to write what hand he pleases ; and, con
sequently, that he ought to write a good one. You form,
particularly, your ee and your // in zigzag, instead of mak
ing them straight, as thus, ee, II; a fault very easily mended.
You will not, I believe, be angry with this little criticism,
when I tell you, that by all the accounts I have had of
late from Mr. Harte and others, this is the only criticism
i48 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
that you give me occasion to make. Mr. Harte's last let
ter, of the I4th, N. S., particularly, makes me extremely
happy, by assuring me that, in every respect, you do ex
ceedingly well. I am not afraid, by what I now say, of
making you too vain ; because I do not think that a just
consciousness and an honest pride of doing well, can be
called vanity ; for vanity is either the silly affectation of
good qualities which one has not, or the sillier pride of
what does not deserve commendation in itself. By Mr.
Harte's account, you are got very near the goal of Greek
and Latin ; and therefore I cannot suppose that, as your
sense increases, your endeavors and your speed will slacken
in finishing the small remains of your course. Consider
what lustre and eclat it will give you, when you return
here, to be allowed to be the best scholar, for a gentleman,
in England; not to mention the real pleasure and solid com
fort which such knowledge will give you throughout your
whole life. Mr. Harte tells me another thing, which, I own,
I did not expect : it is, that when you read aloud, or repeat
parts of plays, you speak very properly and distinctly.
This relieves me from great uneasiness, which I was under
upon account of your former bad enunciation. Go on, and
attend most diligently to this important article. It is, of all
Graces (and they are all necessary), the most necessary one.
Comte Pertingue, who has been here about a fortnight,
far from disavowing, confirms all that Mr. Harte has said to
your advantage. He thinks that he shall be at Turin much
about the time of your arrival there, and pleases himself
with the hopes of being useful to you. Though, should you
get there before him, he says that Comte du Perron, with
whom you are a favorite, will take that care. You see, by
this one instance, and in the course of your life you will
see by a million of instances, of what use a good reputation
is, and how swift and advantageous a harbinger it is,
wherever one goes. Upon this point, too, Mr. Harte does
you justice, and tells me that you are desirous of praise
from the praiseworthy. This is a right and generous am
bition ; and without which, I fear, few people would deserve
praise.
But here let me, as an old stager upon the theatre of
the world, suggest one consideration to you; which is, to
LETTERS TO HIS SON 149
extend your desire of praise a little beyond the strictly
praiseworthy; or else you may be apt to discover too
much contempt for at least three parts in five of the world,
who will never forgive it you. In the mass of mankind,
I fear, there is too great a majority of fools and knaves;
who, singly from their number, must to a certain degree be
respected, though they are by no means respectable. And a
man who will show every knave or fool that he thinks
him such, will engage in a most ruinous war, against num
bers much superior to those that he and his allies can bring
into the field. Abhor a knave, and pity a fool in your
heart ; but let neither of them, unnecessarily, see that you
do so. Some complaisance and attention to fools is prudent,
and not mean; as a silent abhorrence of individual knaves
is often necessary and not criminal.
As you will now soon part with Lord Pulteney, with
whom, during your stay together at Leipsig, I suppose you
have formed a connection, I imagine that you will continue
it by letters, which I would advise you to do. They tell
me that he is good-natured, and does not want parts ; which
are of themselves two good reasons for keeping it up ; but
there is also a third reason, which, in the course of the
world, is not to be despised: His father cannot live long,
and will leave him an immense fortune; which, in all
events, will make him of some consequence; and, if he has
parts into the bargain, of very great consequence; so that his
friendship may be extremely well worth your cultivating, es
pecially as it will not cost you above one letter in one month.
I do not know whether this letter will find you at Leip
sig : at least, it is the last that I shall direct there. My
next to either you or Mr. Harte will be directed to Berlin ;
but as I do not know to what house or street there, I sup
pose it will remain at the post-house till you send for it.
Upon your arrival at Berlin you will send me your par
ticular direction ; and also, pray be minute in your accounts
of your reception there, by those whom I recommend you
to, as well as by those to whom they present you. Remem
ber, too, that you are going to a polite and literate court,
where the Graces will best introduce you.
Adieu. God bless you, and may you continue to deserve
my love, as much as you now enjoy it!
1 5o LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
P. S. Lady Chesterfield bids me tell you, that she de
cides entirely in your favor against Mr. Grevenkop, and
even against herself; for she does not think that she could,
at this time, write either so good a character or so good
German. Pray write her a German letter upon that sub
ject, in which you may tell her, that, like the rest of the
world, you approve of her judgment, because it is in your
favor; and that you true Germans cannot allow Danes to
be competent judges of your language, etc.
LETTER LXI
LONDON, December 30, O. S. 1748.
DEAR BOY: I direct this letter to Berlin, where, I sup
pose, it will either find you, or at least wait but a
very little time for you. I cannot help being anx
ious for your success, at this your first appearance upon the
great stage of the world; for, though the spectators are
always candid enough to give great allowances, and to
show great indulgence to a new actor ; yet, from the first
impressions which he makes upon them, they are apt to
decide, in their own minds, at least, whether he will ever
be a good one, or not. If he seems to understand what he
says, by speaking it properly ; if he is attentive to his part,
instead of staring negligently about him; and if, upon the
whole, he seems ambitious to please, they willingly pass over
little awkwardnesses and inaccuracies, which they ascribe
to a commendable modesty in a young and inexperienced
actor. They pronounce that he will be a good one in
time; and, by the encouragement which they give him,
make him so the sooner. This, I hope, will be your case :
you have sense enough to understand your part ; a constant
attention, and ambition to excel in it, with a careful ob
servation of the best actors, will inevitably qualify you, if
not for the first, at least for considerable parts.
Your dress (as insignificant a thing as dress is in itself)
is now become an object worthy of some attention; for, I
confess, I cannot help forming some opinion of a man's
sense and character from [his dress; and I believe most
LETTERS TO HIS SON 151
people do as well as myself. Any affectation whatsoever in
dress implies, in my mind, a flaw in the understanding.
Most of our young fellows here display some character or
other by their dress ; some affect the tremendous, and wear
a great and fiercely cocked hat, an enormous sword, a short
waistcoat and a black cravat ; these I should be almost
tempted to swear the peace against, in my own defense, if
I were not convinced that they are but meek asses in lions'
skins. Others go in brown frocks, leather breeches, great
oaken cudgels in their hands, their hats uncocked, and
their hair unpowdered ; and imitate grooms, stage-coachmen,
and country bumpkins so well in their outsides, that I do
not make the least doubt of their resembling them equally
in their insides. A man of sense carefully avoids any par
ticular character in his dress; he is accurately clean for his
own sake ; but all the rest is for other people's. He dresses
as well, and in the same manner, as the people of sense
and fashion of the place where he is. If he dresses better,
as he thinks, that is, more than they, he is a fop; if he
dresses worse, he is unpardonably negligent. But, of the
two, I would rather have a young fellow too much than
too little dressed; the excess on that side will wear off,
with a little age and reflection ; but if he is negligent at
twenty, he will be a sloven at forty, and stink at fifty
years old. Dress yourself fine, where others are fine; and
plain where others are plain; but take care always that
your clothes are well made, and fit you, for otherwise they
will give you a very awkward air. When you are once
well dressed for the day think no more of it afterward;
and, without any stiffness for fear of discomposing that
dress, let all your motions be as easy and natural as if you
had no clothes on at all. So much for dress, which I
maintain to be a thing of consequence in the polite world.
As to manners, good-breeding, and the Graces, I have so
often entertained you upon those important subjects, that I
can add nothing to what I have formerly said. Your own
good sense will suggest to you the substance of them ; and
observation, experience, and good company, the several
modes of them. Your great vivacity, which I hear of from
many people, will be no hindrance to your pleasing in
good company: on the contrary, will be of use to you, if
i52 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
tempered by good-breeding and accompanied by the Graces*
But then, I suppose your vivacity to be a vivacity of parts,
and not a constitutional restlessness ; for the most disagreeable
composition that I know in the world, is that of strong
animal spirits, with a cold genius. Such a fellow is trouble-
somely active, frivolously busy, foolishly lively; talks much
with little meaning, and laughs more, with less reason :
whereas, in my opinion, a warm and lively genius with a
cool constitution, is the perfection of human nature.
Do what you will at Berlin, provided you do but do
something all day long. All that I desire of you is, that
you will never slattern away one minute in idleness and
in doing of nothing. When you are in company, learn
what either books, masters, or Mr. Harte, can teach you ;
and when you are in company, learn (what company can
only teach you) the characters and manners of mankind.
I really ask your pardon for giving you this advice; be
cause, if you are a rational creature and thinking being,
as I suppose, and verily believe you are, it must be un
necessary, and to a certain degree injurious. If I did not
know by experience, that some men pass their whole time
in doing nothing, I should not think it possible for any be
ing, superior to Monsieur Descartes' automatons, to squander
away, in absolute idleness, one single minute of that small
portion of time which is allotted us in this world.
I have lately seen one Mr. Cranmer, a very sensible
merchant, who told me that he had dined with you, and
seen you often at Leipsig. And yesterday I saw an old
footman of mine, whom I made a messenger, who told me
that he had seen you last August. You will easily imag
ine, that I was not the less glad to see them because they
had seen you ; and I examined them both narrowly, in
their respective departments ; the former as to your mind,
the latter, as to your body. Mr. Cranmer gave me great
satisfaction, not only by what he told me of himself con
cerning you, but by what he was commissioned to tell me
from Mr. Mascow. As he speaks German perfectly him
self, I asked him how you spoke it ; and he assured me
very well for the time, and that a very little more practice
would make you perfectly master of it. The messenger
told me that you were much grown, and, to the best of
LETTERS TO HIS SON 153
his guess, within two inches as tall as I am ; that you were
plump, and looked healthy and strong; which was all that
I could expect, or hope, from the sagacity of the person.
I send you, my dear child (and you will not doubt it),
very sincerely, the wishes of the season. May you deserve
a great number of happy New-years ; and, if you deserve,
may you have them. Many New-years, indeed, you may
see, but happy ones you cannot see without deserving them.
These, virtue, honor, and knowledge, alone can merit, alone
can procure, Dii tibi dent annos, de te nam ccetera sumes,
was a pretty piece of poetical flattery, where it was said :
I hope that, in time, it may be no flattery when said to
you. But I assure you, that wherever I cannot apply the
latter part of the line to you with truth, I shall neither
say, think, or wish the former. Adieu !
LETTER LXII
LONDON, January 10, O. S. 1749.
DEAR BOY : I have received your letter of the 3ist Decem
ber, N. S. Your thanks for my present, as you call
it, exceed the value of the present ; but the use,
which you assure me that you will make of it, is the thanks
which I desire to receive. Due attention to the inside of
books, and due contempt for the outside, is the proper rela
tion between a man of sense and his books.
Now that you are going a little more into the world, I
will take this occasion to explain my intentions as to your
future expenses, that you may know what you have to
expect from me, and make your plan accordingly. I shall
neither deny nor grudge you any money, that may be neces
sary for either your improvement or your pleasures: I
mean the pleasures of a rational being. Under the head of
improvement, I mean the best books, and the best masters,
cost what they will ; I also mean all the expense of lodg
ings, coach, dress, servants, etc., which, according to the
several places where you may be, shall be respectively nec
essary to enable you to keep the best company. Under the
154 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
head of rational pleasures, I comprehend, first, proper char
ities, to real and compassionate objects of it; secondly,
proper presents to those to whom you are obliged, or whom
you desire to oblige ; thirdly, a conformity of expense to
that of the company which you keep ; as in public specta
cles ; your share of little entertainments ; a few pistoles at
games of mere commerce ; and other incidental calls of
good company. The only two articles which I will never
supply, are the profusion of low riot, and the idle lavish-
ness of negligence and laziness. A fool squanders away,
without credit or advantage to himself, more than a man of
sense spends with both. The latter employs his money as
he does his time, and never spends a shilling of the one,
nor a minute of the other, but in something that is either
useful or rationally pleasing to himself or others. The
former buys whatever he does not want, and does not pay
for what he does want. He cannot withstand the charms
of a toy-shop; snuff-boxes, watches, heads of canes, etc.,
are his destruction. His servants and tradesmen conspire
with his own indolence to cheat him ; and, in a very little
time, he is astonished, in the midst of all the ridiculous
superfluities, to find himself in want of all the real com
forts and necessaries of life. Without care and method, the
largest fortune will not, and with them, almost the smallest
will, supply all necessary expenses. As far as you can
possibly, pay ready money for everything you buy and
avoid bills. Pay that money, too, yourself, and not through
the hands of any servant, who always either stipulates
poundage, or requires a present for his good word, as they
call it. Where you must have bills (as for meat and
drink, clothes, etc.), pay them regularly every month, and
with your own hand. Never, from a mistaken economy,
buy a thing you do not want, because it is cheap ; or from
a silly pride, because it is dear. Keep an account in a
book of all that you receive, and of all that you pay ; for
no man who knows what he receives and what he pays
ever runs out. I do not mean that you should keep an
account of the shillings and half-crowns which you may
spend in chair-hire, operas, etc. : they are unworthy of the
time, and of the ink that they would consume ; leave such
minutice to dull, penny- wise fellows; but remember, in
LETTERS TO HIS SON i$5
economy, as well as in every other part of life, to have the
proper attention to proper objects, and the proper contempt
for little ones. A strong mind sees things in their true
proportions ; a weak one views them through a magnifying
medium, which, like the microscope, makes an elephant of
a flea : magnifies all little objects, but cannot receive great
ones. I have known many a man pass for a miser, by
saving a penny and wrangling for twopence, who was
undoing himself at the same time by living above his
income, and not attending to essential articles which were
above his portde. The sure characteristic of a sound and
strong mind, is to find in everything those certain bounds,
quos ultra citrave nequit consistere rectum. These bound
aries are marked out by a very fine line, which only good
sense and attention can discover ; it is much too fine for
vulgar eyes. In manners, this line is good-breeding ; beyond
it, is troublesome ceremony ; short of it, is unbecoming
negligence and inattention. In morals, it divides ostenta
tious puritanism from criminal relaxation ; in religion, super
stition from impiety : and, in short, every virtue from its
kindred vice or weakness. I think you have sense enough
to discover the line; keep it always in your eye, and learn
to walk upon it; rest upon Mr. Harte, and he will poise
you till you are able to go alone. By the way, there are
fewer people who walk well upon that line, than upon the
slack rope ; and therefore a good performer shines so much
the more.
Your friend Comte Pertingue, who constantly inquires
after you, has written to Comte Salmour, the Governor of
the Academy at Turin, to prepare a room for you there
immediately after the Ascension : and has recommended
you to him in a manner which I hope you will give him
no reason to repent or be ashamed of. As Comte Salmour's
son, now residing at The Hague, is my particular acquaint
ance, I shall have regular and authentic accounts of all that
you do at Turin.
During your stay at Berlin, I expect that you should in
form yourself thoroughly of the present state of the civil,
military, and ecclesiastical government of the King of Prussia's
dominions; particularly of the military, which is upon a
better footing in that country than in any other in Europe.
iS6 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
You will attend at the reviews, see the troops exercised,
and inquire into the numbers of troops and companies in
the respective regiments of horse, foot, and dragoons; the
numbers and titles of the commissioned and non-commissioned
officers in the several troops and companies; and also take
care to learn the technical military terms in the German
language; for though you are not to be a military man, yet
these military matters are so frequently the subject of con
versation, that you will look very awkwardly if you are
ignorant of them. Moreover, they are commonly the objects
of negotiation, and, as such, fall within your future pro
fession. You must also inform yourself of the reformation
which the King of Prussia has lately made in the law; by
which he has both lessened the number, and shortened the
duration of law-suits; a great work, and worthy of so great
a prince ! As he is indisputably the ablest prince in Europe,
every part of his government deserves your most diligent
inquiry, and your most serious attention. It must be owned
that you set out well, as a young politician, by beginning
at Berlin, and then going to Turin, where you will see the
next ablest monarch to that of Prussia; so that, if you are
capable of making political reflections, those two princes
will furnish you with sufficient matter for them.
I would have you endeavor to get acquainted with Mon
sieur de Maupertuis, who is so eminently distinguished by
all kinds of learning and merit, that one should be both
sorry and ashamed of having been even a day in the same
place with him, and not to have seen him. If you should
have no other way of being introduced to him, I will send
you a letter from hence. Monsieur Cagenoni, at Berlin, to
whom I know you are recommended, is a very able man of
business, thoroughly informed of every part of Europe ; and
his acquaintance, if you deserve and improve it as you should
do, may be of great use to you.
Remember to take the best dancing-master at Berlin,
more to teach you to sit, stand, and walk gracefully, than
to dance finely. The Graces, the Graces ; remember the
Graces ! Adieu !
LETTERS TO HIS SON 157
LETTER LXIII
LONDON, January 24, O. S. 1749-
DEAR BOY: I have received your letter of the I2th, N.
S., in which I was surprised to find no mention of
your approaching journey to Berlin, which, accord
ing to the first plan, was to be on the 2oth, N. S., and
upon which supposition I have for some time directed my
letters to you, and Mr. Harte, at Berlin. I should be glad
that yours were more minute with regard to your motions
and transactions; and I desire that, for the future, they
may contain accounts of what and who you see and hear, in
your several places of residence; for I interest myself as much
in the company you keep, and the pleasures you take, as in
the studies you pursue ; and therefore, equally desire to be
informed of them all. Another thing I desire, which is,
that you will acknowledge my letters by their dates, that I
may know which you do, and which you do not receive.
As you found your brain considerably affected by the
cold, you were very prudent not to turn it to poetry in
that situation ; and not less judicious in declining the bor
rowed aid of a stove, whose fumigation, instead of inspiration,
would at best have produced what Mr. Pope calls a souterkin
of wit. I will show your letter to Duval, by way of jus
tification for not answering his challenge ; and I think he
must allow the validity of it ; for a frozen brain is as unfit
to answer a challenge in poetry, as a blunt sword is for a
single combat.
You may if you please, and therefore I flatter myself
that you will, profit considerably by your stay at Berlin, in
the article of manners and useful knowledge. Attention to
what you will see and hear there, together with proper
inquiries, and a little care and method in taking notes of
what is more material, will procure you much useful know
ledge. Many young people are so light, so dissipated, and
so incurious, that they can hardly be said to see what they
see, or hear what they hear: that is, they hear in so super
ficial and inattentive a manner, that they might as well not
see nor hear at all. For instance, if they see a public
i S8 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
building, as a college, an hospital, an arsenal, etc., they
content themselves with the first coup <T&il, and neither
take the time nor the trouble of informing themselves of
the material parts of them; which are the constitution, the
rules, and the order and economy in the inside. You
will, I hope, go deeper, and make your way into the sub
stance of things. For example, should you see a regiment
reviewed at Berlin or Potsdam, instead of contenting yourself
with the general glitter of the collective corps, and saying,
par manilre cT acquit, that is very fine, I hope you will ask
what number of troops or companies it consists of; what
number of officers of the Etat Major, and what number of
subalternes; how many bas officiers, or non-commissioned
officers, as sergeants, corporals, anspessades, frey cor
porals, etc., their pay, their clothing, and by whom; whether
by the colonels, or captains, or commissaries appointed
for that purpose; to whom they are accountable; the method
of recruiting, completing, etc.
The same in civil matters : inform yourself of the juris
diction of a court of justice ; of the rules and numbers and
endowments of a college, or an academy, and not only of
the dimensions of the respective edifices; and let your letters
to me contain these informations, in proportion as you
acquire them.
I often reflect, with the most flattering hopes, how proud
I shall be of you, if you should profit, as you may, of the
opportunities which you have had, still have, and will have,
of arriving at perfection; and, on the other hand, with
dread of the grief and shame you will give me if you do
not. May the first be the case! God bless you!
LETTER LXIV
LONDON, February 7, O. S. 1749.
DEAR BOY : You are now come to an age capable of
reflection, and I hope you will do, what, however
few people at your age do, exert it for your own
sake in the search of truth and sound knowledge. I
will confess (for I am not unwilling to discover my
LETTERS TO HIS SON 159
secrets .to you) that it is not many years since I have
presumed to reflect for myself. Till sixteen or seven
teen I had no reflection ; and for many years after
that, I made no use of what I had. I adopted the notions
of the books I read, or the company I kept, without ex
amining whether they were just or not ; and I rather chose
to run the risk of easy error, than to take the time and
trouble of investigating truth. Thus, partly from laziness,
partly from dissipation, and partly from the mauvaise honte
of rejecting fashionable notions, I was (as I have since
found) hurried away by prejudices, instead of being guided
by reason ; and quietly cherished error, instead of seek
ing for truth. But since I have taken the trouble of reason
ing for myself, and have had the courage to own that I do
so, you cannot imagine how much my notions of things are
altered, and in how different a light I now see them, from
that in which I formerly viewed them, through the deceit
ful medium of prejudice or authority. Nay, I may possibly
still retain many errors, which, from long habit, have perhaps
grown into real opinions ; for it is very difficult to distinguish
habits, early acquired and long entertained, from the result
of our reason and reflection.
My first prejudice (for I do not mention the prejudices
of boys and women, such as hobgoblins, ghosts, dreams,
spilling salt, etc.) was my classical enthusiasm, which I re
ceived from the books I read, and the masters who explained
them to me. I was convinced there had been no common
sense nor common honesty in the world for these last fifteen
hundred years ; but that they were totally extinguished with
the ancient Greek and Roman governments. Homer and
Virgil could have no faults, because they were ancient;
Milton and Tasso could have no merit, because they were
modern. And I could almost have said, with regard to the
ancients, what Cicero, very absurdly and unbecomingly for
a philosopher, says with regard to Plato, Cum quo err are
malim quam cum aliis recte sentire. Whereas now, with
out any extraordinary effort of genius, I have discovered
that nature was the same three thousand years ago as it is
at present ; that men were but men then as well as now ;
that modes and customs vary often, but that human nature
is always the same. And I can no more suppose that men
160 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
were better, braver, or wiser, fifteen hundred or three
thousand years ago, than I can suppose that the animals or
vegetables were better then than they are now. I dare
assert too, in defiance of the favorers of the ancients, that
Homer's hero, Achilles, was both a brute and a scoundrel,
and consequently an improper character for the hero of an
epic poem; he had so little regard for his country, that he
would not act in defense of it, because he had quarreled
with Agamemnon about a w e ; and then afterward, ani
mated by private resentment only, he went about killing
people basely, I will call it, because he knew himself invul
nerable; and yet, invulnerable as he was, he wore the
strongest armor in the world; which I humbly apprehend
to be a blunder; for a horse-shoe clapped to his vulnerable
heel would have been sufficient. On the other hand, with
submission to the favorers of the moderns, I assert with
Mr. Dryden, that the devil is in truth the hero of Milton's
poem; his plan, which he lays, pursues, and at last executes,
being the subject of the poem. From all which consider
ations I impartially conclude that the ancients had their
excellencies and their defects, their virtues and their vices,
just like the moderns; pedantry and affectation of learning
decide clearly in favor of the former; vanity and ignorance,
as peremptorily in favor of the latter. Religious prejudices
kept pace with my classical ones; and there was a time
when I thought it impossible for the honestest man in the
world to be saved out of the pale of the Church of Eng
land, not considering that matters of opinion do not depend
upon the will ; and that it is as natural, and as allowable,
that another man should differ in opinion from me, as that
I should differ from him; and that if we are both sincere,
we are both blameless ; and should consequently have mutual
indulgence for each other.
The next prejudices that I adopted were those of the
beau monde, in which as I was determined to shine, I took
what are commonly called the genteel vices to be neces
sary. I had heard them reckoned so, and without further
inquiry I believed it, or at least should have been ashamed
to have denied it, for fear of exposing myself to the ridi
cule of those whom I considered as the models of fine
gentlemen. But I am now neither ashamed nor afraid to
LETTERS TO HIS SON 161
assert that those genteel vices, as they are falsely called,
are only so many blemishes in the character of even a man
of the world and what is called a fine gentleman, and de
grade him in the opinions of those very people, to whom
he hopes to recommend himself by them. Nay, this prej
udice often extends so far, that I have known people
pretend to vices they had not, instead of carefully conceal
ing those they had.
Use and assert your own reason; reflect, examine, and
analyze everything, in order to form a sound and mature
judgment; let no owro? sQa impose upon your understanding,
mislead your actions, or dictate your conversation. Be early
what, if you are not, you will when too late wish you had
been. Consult your reason betimes: I do not say that it
will always prove an unerring guide; for human reason is
not infallible; but it will prove the least erring guide that
you can follow. Books and conversation may assist it ; but
adopt neither blindly and implicitly; try both by that best
rule, which God has given to direct us, reason. Of all the
troubles, do not decline, as many people do, that of think
ing. The herd of mankind can hardly be said to think;
their notions are almost all adoptive; and, in general, I be
lieve it is better that it should be so, as such common prej
udices contribute more to order and quiet than their own
separate reasonings would do, uncultivated and unimproved
as they are. We have many of those useful prejudices in
this country, which I should be very sorry to see removed.
The good Protestant conviction, that the Pope is both Anti
christ and the Whore of Babylon, is a more effectual pre
servative in this country against popery, than all the solid
and unanswerable arguments of Chillingworth.
The idle story of the pretender's having been introduced
in a warming pan into the Queen's bed, though as desti
tute of all probability as of all foundation, has been much
more prejudicial to the cause of Jacobitism than all that
Mr. Locke and others have written, to show the unreason
ableness and absurdity of the doctrines of indefeasible he
reditary right, and unlimited passive obedience. And that
silly, sanguine notion, which is firmly entertained here, that
one Englishman can beat three Frenchmen, encourages, and
has sometimes enabled, one Englishman in reality to beat two.
ii
162 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
A Frenchman ventures his life with alacrity pour Ihon-
neur du Roi ; were you to change the object, which he has
been taught to have in view, and tell him that it was ^> our
le bien de la Patrie, he would very probably run away.
Such gross local prejudices prevail with the herd of man
kind, and do not impose upon cultivated, informed, and
reflecting minds. But then they are notions equally false,
though not so glaringly absurd, which are entertained by
people of superior and improved understandings, merely for
want of the necessary pains to investigate, the proper atten
tion to examine, and the penetration requisite to determine
the truth. Those are the prejudices which I would have
you guard against by a manly exertion and attention of
your reasoning faculty. To mention one instance of a
thousand that I could give you: It is a general prejudice,
and has been propagated for these sixteen hundred years,
that arts and sciences cannot flourish under an absolute
government ; and that genius must necessarily be cramped
where freedom is restrained. This sounds plausible, but is
false in fact. Mechanic arts, as agriculture, etc., will in
deed be discouraged where the profits and property are,
from the nature of the government, insecure. But why
the despotism of a government should cramp the genius of
a mathematician, an astronomer, a poet, or an orator, I
confess I never could discover. It may indeed deprive the
poet or the orator of the liberty of treating of certain sub
jects in the manner they would wish, but it leaves them
subjects enough to exert genius upon, if they "have it. Can
an author with reason complain that he is cramped and
shackled, if he is not at liberty to publish blasphemy,
bawdry, or sedition? all which are equally prohibited in
the freest governments, if they are wise and well regulated
ones. This is the present general complaint of the French
authors ; but indeed chiefly of the bad ones. No wonder,
say they, that England produces so many great geniuses ;
people there may think as they please, and publish what
they think. Very true, but what hinders them from thinking
as they please? If indeed they think in manner destructive
of all religion, morality, or good manners, or to the disturb
ance of the state, an absolute government will certainly more
effectually prohibit them from, or punish them for publishing
LETTERS TO HIS SON 163
such thoughts, than a free one could do. But how does that
cramp the genius of an epic, dramatic, or lyric poet? or
how does it corrupt the eloquence of an orator in the pul
pit or at the bar? The number of good French authors,
such as Corneille, Racine, Moliere, Boileau, and La Fon
taine, who seemed to dispute it with the Augustan age,
flourished under the despotism of Lewis XIV. ; and the
celebrated authors of the Augustan age did not shine till
after the fetters were riveted upon the Roman people by
that cruel and worthless Emperor. The revival of letters
was not owing, neither, to any free government, but to the
encouragement and protection of Leo X. and Francis I. ;
the one as absolute a pope, and the other as despotic a
prince, as ever reigned. Do not mistake, and imagine that
while I am only exposing a prejudice, I am speaking in
favor of arbitrary power ; which from my soul I abhor, and
look upon as a gross and criminal violation of the natural
rights of mankind. Adieu.
LETTER LXV
LONDON, February 28, O. S. 1749.
DEAR BOY: I was very much pleased with the account
that you gave me of your reception at Berlin; but I
was still better pleased with the account which Mr.
Harte sent me of your manner of receiving that reception ;
for he says that you behaved yourself to those crowned
heads with all the respect and modesty due to them ; but at
the same time, without being any more embarrassed than
if you had been conversing with your equals. This easy
respect is the perfection of good-breeding, which nothing
but superior good sense, or a long usage of the world, can
produce; and as in your case it could not be the latter,
it is a pleasing indication to me of the former.
You will now, in the course of a few months, have been
rubbed at three of the considerable courts of Europe, — Ber
lin, Dresden, and Vienna; so that I hope you will arrive
at Turin tolerably smooth and fit for the last polish. There
you may get the best, there being no court I know of that
1 64 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
forms more well-bred and agreeable people. Remember
now, that good-breeding, genteel carriage, address, and even
dress (to a certain degree), are become serious objects,
and deserve a part of your attention.
The day, if well employed, is long enough for them all.
One half of it bestowed upon your studies and your exer
cises, will finish your mind and your body ; the remaining
part of it, spent in good company, will form your man
ners, and complete your character. What would I not give
to have you read Demosthenes critically in the morning,
and understand him better than anybody ; at noon, be
have yourself better than any person at court ; and in the
evenings, trifle more agreeably than anybody in mixed com
panies ? All this you may compass if you please ; you have
the means, you have the opportunities. Employ them, for
God's sake, while you may, and make yourself that all-
accomplished man that I wish to have you. It entirely
depends upon these two years ; they are the decisive ones.
I send you here inclosed a letter of recommendation to
Monsieur Capello, at Venice, which you will deliver him
immediately upon your arrival, accompanying it with com
pliments from me to him and Madame, both of whom you
have seen here. He will, I am sure, be both very civil
and very useful to you there, as he will also be afterward
at Rome, where he is appointed to go ambassador. By the
way, wherever you are, I would advise you to frequent, as
much as you can, the Venetian Ministers ; who are always
better informed of the courts they reside at than any other
minister; the strict and regular accounts, which they are
obliged to give to their own government, making them very
diligent and inquisitive.
You will stay at Venice as long as the Carnival lasts ;
for though I am impatient to have you at Turin, yet I
would wish you to see thoroughly all that is to be seen at
so singular a place as Venice, and at so showish a time as
the Carnival. You will take also particular care to view
all those meetings of the government, which strangers are
allowed to see; as the Assembly of the Senate, etc., and
also to inform yourself of that peculiar and intricate form
of government. There are books which give an account of
it, among which the best is Amelot de la Houssaye, which
LETTERS TO HIS SON 165
I would advise you to read previously; it will not only
give you a general notion of that constitution, but also
furnish you with materials for proper questions and oral
informations upon the place, which are always the best.
There are likewise many very valuable remains, in sculpture
and paintings, of the best masters, which deserve your
attention.
I suppose you will be at Vienna as soon as this letter
will get thither; and I suppose, too, that I must not direct
above one more to you there. After which, my next shall
be directed to you at Venice, the only place where a letter
will be likely to find you, till you are at Turin; but you
may, and I desire that you will write to me, from the
several places in your way, from whence the post goes.
I will send you some other letters for Venice, to Vienna,
or to your banker at Venice, to whom you will, upon your
arrival there, send for them: For I will take care to have
you so recommended from place to place, that you shall
not run through them, as most of your countrymen do,
without the advantage of seeing and knowing what best
deserves to be seen and known; I mean the men and the
manners.
God bless you, and make you answer my wishes : I will
now say, my hopes ! Adieu.
LETTER LXVI
DEAR BOY: I direct this letter to your banker at Venice,
the surest place for you to meet with it, though I
suppose that it will be there some time before you ;
for, as your intermediate stay anywhere else will be short,
and as the post from hence, in this season of easterly winds
is uncertain, I direct no more letters to Vienna; where I
hope both you and Mr. Harte will have received the two
letters which I sent you respectively; with a letter of
recommendation to Monsieur Capello, at Venice, which was
inclosed in mine to you. I will suppose too, that the
inland post on your side of the water has not done you
justice; for I received but one single letter from you, and
i66 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
one from Mr. Harte, during your whole stay at Berlin;
from whence I hoped for, and expected very particular
accounts.
I persuade myself, that the time you stay at Venice will
be properly employed, in seeing all that is to be seen in
that extraordinary place : and in conversing with people
who can inform you, not of the raree-shows of the town,
but of the constitution of the government; for which pur
pose I send you the inclosed letters of recommendation
from Sir James Grey, the King's Resident at Venice, but
who is now in England. These, with mine to Monsieur
Capello, will carry you, if you will go, into all the best
company at Venice.
But the important point, and the important place, is
Turin; for there I propose your staying a considerable time,
to pursue your studies, learn your exercises, and form your
manners. I own, I am not without my anxiety for the
consequence of your stay there, which must be either very
good or very bad. To you it will be entirely a new scene.
Wherever you have hitherto been, you have conversed,
chiefly, with people wiser and discreeter than yourself; and
have been equally out of the way of bad advice or bad
example ; but in the Academy at Turin you will probably
meet with both, considering the variety of young fellows
about your own age ; among whom it is to be expected
that some will be dissipated and idle, others vicious and
profligate. I will believe, till the contrary appears, that
you have sagacity enough to distinguish the good from the
bad characters; and both sense and virtue enough to shun
the latter, and connect, yourself with the former: but how
ever, for greater security, and for your sake alone, I must
acquaint you that I have sent positive orders to Mr. Harte
to carry you off, instantly, to a place which I have named
to him, upon the very first symptom which he shall discover
in you, of drinking, gaming, idleness, or disobedience to
his orders ; so that, whether Mr. Harte informs me or not
of the particulars, I shall be able to judge of your conduct
in general by the time of your stay at Turin. If it is
short, I shall know why ; and I promise you, that you shall
soon find that I do ; but if Mr. Harte lets you continue
there, as long as I propose that you should, I shall then be
LETTERS TO HIS SON 167
convinced that you make the proper use of your time;
which is the only thing I have to ask of you. One year
is the most that I propose you should stay at Turin; and
that year, if you employ it well, perfects you. One year
more of your late application, with Mr. Harte, will com
plete your classical studies. You will be likewise master
of your exercises in that time ; and will have formed your
self so well at that court, as to be fit to appear advantageously
at any other. These will be the happy effects of your
year's stay at Turin, if you behave, and apply yourself
there as you have done at Leipsig ; but if either ill advice,
or ill example, affect and seduce you, you are ruined forever.
I look upon that year as your decisive year of probation;
go through it well, and you will be all accomplished, and
fixed in my tenderest affection forever; but should the con
tagion of vice or idleness lay hold of you there, your
character, your fortune, my hopes, and consequently my
favor are all blasted, and you are undone. The more I
love you now, from the good opinion I have of you, the
greater will be my indignation if I should have reason to
change it. Hitherto you have had every possible proof of
my affection, because you have deserved it ; but when you
cease to deserve it, you may expect every possible mark of
my resentment. To leave nothing doubtful upon this im
portant point I will tell you fairly, beforehand, by what
rule I shall judge of your conduct — by Mr. Harte's accounts.
He will not I am sure, nay, I will say more, he cannot be
in the wrong with regard to you. He can have no other
view but your good ; and you will, I am sure, allow that
he must be a better judge of it than you can possibly be
at your age. While he is satisfied, I shall be so too; but
whenever he is dissatisfied with you, I shall be much more
so. If he complains, you must be guilty; and I shall not
have the least regard for anything that you may allege in
your own defense.
I will now tell you what I expect and insist upon from
you at Turin: First, that you pursue your classical and
other studies every morning with Mr. Harte, as long and
in whatever manner Mr. Harte shall be pleased to require ;
secondly, that you learn, uninterruptedly, your exercises of
riding, dancing, and fencing; thirdly, that you make
168 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
yourself master of the Italian language; and lastly, that
you pass your evenings in the best company. I also require
a strict conformity to the hours and rules of the Academy.
If you will but finish your year in this manner at Turin, I
have nothing further to ask of you ; and I will give you
everything that you can ask of me. You shall after that
be entirely your own master ; I shall think you safe ; shall
lay aside all authority over you, and friendship shall be
our mutual and only tie. Weigh this, I beg of you, delib
erately in your own mind; and consider whether the
application and the degree of restraint which I require but
for one year more, will not be amply repaid by all the
advantages, and the perfect liberty, which you will receive
at the end of it. Your own good sense will, I am sure,
not allow you to hesitate one moment in your choice.
God bless you ! Adieu.
P. S. Sir James Grey's letters not being yet sent to me,
as I thought they would, I shall inclose them in my next,
which I believe will get to Venice as soon as you.
LETTER LXVII
LONDON, April 12, O. S. 1749.
DEAR BOY : I received, by the last mail, a letter from
Mr. Harte, dated Prague, April the ist, N. S., for
which I desire you will return him my thanks, and
assure him that I extremely approve of what he has done,
and proposes eventually to do, in your way to Turin.
Who would have thought you were old enough to have
been so well acquainted with the heroes of the Bellum
Tricennale, as to be looking out for their great-grandsons
in Bohemia, with that affection with which, I am informed,
you seek for the Wallsteins, the Kinskis, etc. As I can
not ascribe it to your age, I must to your consummate
knowledge of history, that makes every country, and every
century, as it were, your own. Seriously, I am told, that
you are both very strong and very correct in history; of
which I am extremely glad. This is useful knowledge.
LETTERS TO HIS SON 169
Cornte du Perron and Comte Lascaris are arrived here:
the former gave me a letter from Sir Charles Williams, the
latter brought me your orders. They are very pretty men,
and have both knowledge and manners ; which, though they
always ought, seldom go together. I examined them, par
ticularly Comte Lascaris, concerning you ; their report is a
very favorable one, especially on the side of knowledge ;
the quickness of conception which they allow you I can
easily credit ; but the attention which they add to it
pleases me the more, as I own I expected it less. Go on
in the pursuit and the increase of knowledge ; nay, I am
sure you will, for you now know too much to stop ; and,
if Mr. Harte would let you be idle, I am convinced you
would not. But now that you have left Leipsig, and are
entered into the great world, remember there is another
object that must keep pace with, and accompany knowl
edge ; I mean manners, politeness, and the Graces ; in
which Sir Charles Williams, though very much your friend,
owns that you are very deficient. The manners of Leipsig
must be shook off; and in that respect you must put on
the new man. No scrambling at your meals, as at a Ger
man ordinary ; no awkward overturns of glasses, plates, and
salt-cellars ; no horse play. On the contrary, a gentleness
of manners, a graceful carriage, and an insinuating address,
must take their place. I repeat, and shall never cease
repeating to you, THE GRACES, THE GRACES.
I desire that as soon as ever you get to Turin you will
apply yourself diligently to the Italian language ; that before
you leave that place, you may know it well enough to be
able to speak tolerably when you get to Rome ; where you
will soon make yourself perfectly master of Italian, from
the daily necessity you will be under of speaking it. In the
mean time, I insist upon your not neglecting, much less
forgetting, the German you already know ; which you may
not only continue but improve, by speaking it constantly
to your Saxon boy, and as often as you can to the several
Germans you will meet in your travels. You remember, no
doubt, that you must never write to me from Turin, but in
the German language and character.
I send you the inclosed letter of recommendation to Mr.
Smith the King's Consul at Venice; who can, and I dare
170 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
say will, be more useful to you there than anybody. Pray
make your court, and behave your best, to Monsieur and
Madame Capello, who will be of great use to you at Rome.
Adieu! Yours tenderly.
LETTER LXVIII
LONDON, April 19, O. S. 1749.
DEAR BOY : This letter will, I believe, still find you at
Venice in all the dissipation of masquerades, ridottos,
operas, etc. With all my heart; they are decent
evening's amusements, and very properly succeed that seri
ous application to which I am sure you devote your morn
ings. There are liberal and illiberal pleasures as well as
liberal and illiberal arts. There are some pleasures that
degrade a gentleman as much as some trades could do.
Sottish drinking, indiscriminate gluttony, driving coaches,
rustic sports, such as fox-chases, horse-races, etc., are in
my opinion infinitely below the honest and industrious
profession of a tailor and a shoemaker, which are said to
dtroger.
As you are now in a musical country, where singing, fid
dling, and piping, are not only the common topics of conversa
tion, but almost the principal objects of attention, I cannot help
cautioning you against giving in to those (I will call them
illiberal) pleasures (though music is commonly reckoned
one of the liberal arts) to the degree that most of your
countrymen do, when they travel in Italy. If you love
music, hear it; go to operas, concerts, and pay fiddlers to
play to you ; but I insist upon your neither piping nor
fiddling yourself. It puts a gentleman in a very frivolous,
contemptible light; brings him into a great deal of bad
company; and takes up a great deal of time, which might
be much better employed. Few things would mortify me
more, than to see you bearing a part in a concert, with a
fiddle under your chin, or a pipe in your mouth.
I have had a great deal of conversation with Comte du
Perron and Comte Lascaris upon your subject : and I will
tell you, very truly, what Comte du Perron (who is, in my
LETTERS TO HIS SON 171
opinion, a very pretty man) said of you: // a de V esprit,
un s avoir peu commun & son age, une grande vivacite", et
quand il aura pris des manures il sera parfait; car il
faut avouer qu'il sent encore le college; mais cela viendra.
I was very glad to hear, from one whom I think so good
a judge, that you wanted nothing but des manures, which
I am convinced you will now soon acquire, in the company
which henceforward you are likely to keep. But I must
add, too, that if you should not acquire them, all the rest
will be of little use to you. By manieres, I do not mean
bare common civility ; everybody must have that who would
not be kicked out of company ; but I mean engaging, in
sinuating, shining manners ; distinguished politeness, an
almost irresistible address ; a superior gracefulness in all
you say and do. It is this alone that can give all your
other talents their full lustre and value ; and, consequently,
it is this which should now be the principal object of your
attention. Observe minutely, wherever you go, the allowed
and established models of good-breeding, and form yourself
upon them. Whatever pleases you most in others, will in
fallibly please others in you. I have often repeated this to
you; now is your time of putting it in practice.
Pray make my compliments to Mr. Harte, and tell him
I have received his letter from Vienna of the i6th N. S.,
but that I shall not trouble him with an answer to it till
I have received the other letter which he promises me, upon
the subject of one of my last. I long to hear from him
after your settlement at Turin: the months that you are to
pass there will be very decisive ones for you. The exercises
of the Academy, and the manners of courts must be at
tended to and acquired ; and, at the same time, your other
studies continued. I am sure you will not pass, nor desire,
one single idle hour there : for I do not foresee that you
can, in any part of your life, put out six months to greater
interest, than those next six at Turin.
We will talk hereafter about your stay at Rome and in
other parts of Italy. This only I will now recommend to
you ; which is, to extract the spirit of every place you go
to. In those places which are only distinguished by clas
sical fame, and valuable remains of antiquity, have your
classics in your hand and in your head; compare the ancient
172 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
geography and descriptions with the modern, and never
fail to take notes. Rome will furnish you with business
enough of that sort; but then it furnishes you with many
other objects well deserving your attention, such as deep
ecclesiastical craft and policy. Adieu.
LETTER LXIX
LONDON, April 27, O. S. 1749.
DEAR BOY: I have received your letter from Vienna, of
the I9th N. S., which gives me great uneasiness
upon Mr. Harte's account. You and I have reason
to interest ourselves very particularly in everything that re
lates to him. I am glad, however, that no bone is broken
or dislocated; which being the case, I hope he will have
been able to pursue his journey to Venice. In that sup
position I direct this letter to you at Turin ; where it will
either find, or at least not wait very long for you, as I
calculate that you will be there by the end of next month,
N. S. I hope you reflect how much you have to do there,
and that you are determined to employ every moment of
your time accordingly. You have your classical and severer
studies to continue with Mr. Harte; you have your exercises
to learn; the turn and manners of a court to acquire; re
serving always some time for the decent amusements and
pleasures of a gentleman. You see I am never against
pleasures; I loved them myself when I was of your age,
and it is as reasonable that you should love them now.
But I insist upon it that pleasures are very combinable
with both business and studies, and have a much better
relish from the mixture. The man who cannot join business
and pleasure is either a formal coxcomb in the one, or a
sensual beast in the other. Your evenings I therefore allot
for company, assemblies, balls, and such sort of amusements,
as I look upon those to be the best schools for the manners
of a gentleman; which nothing can give but use, observa
tion, and experience. You have, besides, Italian to learn,
to which I desire you will diligently apply; for though
LETTERS TO HIS SON 173
French is, I believe, the language of the court at Turin, yet
Italian will be very necessary for you at Rome, and in
other parts of Italy; and if you are well grounded in it
while you are at Turin (as you easily may, for it is a very
easy language), your subsequent stay at Rome will make
you perfect in it. I would also have you acquire a general
notion of fortification; I mean so far as not to be ignorant
of the terms, which you will often hear mentioned in company,
such as ravelin, bastion, glacis, contrescarpe, etc. In order
to this, I do not propose that you should make a study of
fortification, as if you were to be an engineer, but a very
easy way of knowing as much as you need know of them,
will be to visit often the fortifications of Turin, in com
pany with some old officer or engineer, who will show and
explain to you the several works themselves; by which
means you will get a clearer notion of them than if you
were to see them only upon paper for seven years together.
Go to originals whenever you can, and trust to copies and
descriptions as little as possible. At your idle hours, while
you are at Turin, pray read the history of the House of
Savoy, which has produced a great many very great men.
The late king, Victor Amedee, was undoubtedly one, and
the present king is, in my opinion, another. In general, I
believe that little princes are more likely to be great men
than those whose more extensive dominions and superior
strength flatter them with a security, which commonly pro
duces negligence and indolence. A little prince, in the
neighborhood of great ones, must be alert and look out
sharp, if he would secure his own dominions: much more
still if he would enlarge them. He must watch for con
junctures or endeavor to make them. No princes have ever
possessed this art better than those of the House of
Savoy ; who have enlarged their dominions prodigiously
within a century by profiting of conjunctures.
I send you here inclosed a letter from Comte Lascaris,
who is a warm friend of yours : I desire that you will
answer it very soon and cordially, and remember to make
your compliments in it to Comte du Perron. A young
man should never be wanting in those attentions ; they cost
little and bring in a great deal, by getting you people's good
word and affection. They gain the heart, to which I have
i?4 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
always advised you to apply yourself particularly ; it guides
ten thousand for one that reason influences.
I cannot end this letter or (I believe) any other, without
repeating my recommendation of THE GRACES. They are
to be met with at Turin : for God's sake, sacrifice to them,
and they will be propitious. People mistake grossly, to
imagine that the least awkwardness, either in matter or
manner, mind or body, is an indifferent thing and not
worthy of attention. It may possibly be a weakness in me,
but in short we are all so made: I confess to you fairly,
that when you shall come home and that I first see you,
if I find you ungraceful in your address, and awkward in
your person and dress, it will be impossible for me to love
you half so well as I should otherwise do, let your intrinsic
merit and knowledge be ever so great. If that would be
your case with me, as it really would, judge how much
worse it might be with others, who have not the same affec
tion and partiality for you, and to whose hearts you must
make your own way.
Remember to write to me constantly while you are in
Italy, in the German language and character, till you can
write to me in Italian ; which will not be till you have
been some time at Rome.
Adieu, my dear boy : may you turn out what Mr. Harte
and I wish you. I must add that if you do not, it will
be both your own fault and your own misfortune.
LETTER LXX
LONDON, May 15, O. S. 1749.
DEAR BOY : This letter will, I hope, find you settled to
your serious studies, and your necessary exercises at
Turin, after the hurry and the dissipation of the Carni
val at Venice. I mean that your stay at Turin should, and I
flatter myself that it will, be an useful and ornamental
period of your education ; but at the same time I must tell
you, that all my affection for you has never yet given me
so much anxiety, as that which I now feel. While you
LETTERS TO HIS SON 175
are in danger, I shall be in fear; and you are in danger
at Turin. Mr. Harte will by his care arm you as well
as he can against it ; but your own good sense and resolution
can alone make you invulnerable. I am informed, there are
now many English at the Academy at Turin ; and I fear
those are just so many dangers for you to encounter. Who
they are, I do not know; but I well know the general ill
conduct, the indecent behavior, and the illiberal views, of
my young countrymen abroad ; especially wherever they
are in numbers together. Ill example is of itself dangerous
enough ; but those who give it seldom stop there ; they
add their infamous exhortations and invitations ; and, if they
fail, they have recourse to ridicule, which is harder for one
of your age and inexperience to withstand than either of
the former. Be upon your guard, therefore, against these
batteries, which will all be played upon you. You are not
sent abroad to converse with your own countrymen : among
them, in general, you will get little knowledge, no lan
guages, and, I am sure, no manners. I desire that you will
form no connections, nor (what they impudently call)
friendships with these people ; which are, in truth, only
combinations and conspiracies against good morals and good
manners. There is commonly, in young people, a facility
that makes them unwilling to refuse anything that is asked
of them ; a mauvaise honte that makes them ashamed to
refuse ; and, at the same time, an ambition of pleasing and
shining in the company they keep : these several causes
produce the best effect in good company, but the very worst
in bad, If people had no vices but their own, few would
have so many as they have. For my own part, I would
sooner wear other people's clothes than their vices ; and
they would sit upon me just as well. I hope you will have
none ; but if ever you have, I beg, at least, they may be
all your own. Vices of adoption are, of all others, the
most disgraceful and unpardonable. There are degrees in
vices, as well as in virtues ; and I must do my countrymen
the justice to say, that they generally take their vices in
the lower degree. Their gallantry is the infamous mean
debauchery of stews, justly attended and rewarded by the
loss of their health, as well as their character. Their
pleasures of the table end in beastly drunkenness, low riot,
1 76 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
broken windows, and very often (as they well deserve)
broken bones. They game for the sake of the vice, not of
the amusement ; and therefore carry it to excess ; undo, or
are undone by their companions. By such conduct, and in
such company abroad, they come home, the unimproved,
illiberal, and ungentlemanlike creatures that one daily sees
them, that is, in the park and in the streets, for one never
meets them in good company ; where they have neither
manners to present themselves, nor merit to be received.
But, with the manners of footmen and grooms, they assume
their dress too ; for you must have observed them in the
streets here, in dirty blue frocks, with oaken sticks in their
hands, and their hair greasy and unpowdered, tucked up
under their hats of an enormous size. Thus finished and
adorned by their travels, they become the disturbers of
play-houses; they break the windows, and commonly the
landlords, of the taverns where they drink ; and are at once
the support, the terror, and the victims, of the bawdy-
houses they frequent. These poor mistaken people think
they shine, and so they do indeed ; but it is as putrefaction
shines in the dark.
I am not now preaching to you, like an old fellow, upon
either religious or moral texts ; I am persuaded that you do
not want the best instructions of that kind : but I am ad
vising you as a friend, as a man of the world, as one who
would not have you old while you are young, but would
have you to take all the pleasures that reason points out,
and that decency warrants. I will therefore suppose, for
argument's sake ( for upon no other account can it be
supposed), that all the vices above mentioned were perfectly
innocent in themselves: they would still degrade, vilify, and
sink those who practiced them ; would obstruct their rising
in the world by debasing their characters; and give them
a low turn of mind, and manners absolutely inconsistent
with their making any figure in upper life and great
business.
What I have now said, together with your own good
sense, is, I hope, sufficient to arm you against the seduction,
the invitations, or the profligate exhortations (for I cannot
call them temptations) of those unfortunate young people.
On the other hand, when they would engage you in these
LETTERS TO HIS SON 177
schemes, content yourself with a decent but steady refusal ;
avoid controversy upon such plain points. You are too
young to convert them ; and, I trust, too wise to be con
verted by them. Shun them not only in reality, but even
in appearance, if you would be well received in good com'
pany ; for people will always be shy of receiving a man
who comes from a place where the plague rages, let him
look ever so healthy. There are some expressions, both in
French and English, and some characters, both in those
two and in other countries, which have, I dare say, misled
many young men to their ruin. Une honnete debauche, une
jolie debauche; « An agreeable rake, a man of pleasure. » Do
not think that this means debauchery and profligacy;
nothing like it. It means, at most, the accidental and
unfrequent irregularities of youth and vivacity, in opposi
tion to dullness, formality, and want of spirit. A commerce
galant, insensibly formed with a woman of fashion; a glass
of wine or two too much, unwarily taken in the warmth
and joy of good company ; or some innocent frolic, by
which nobody is injured, are the utmost bounds of that
life of pleasure, which a man of sense and decency, who
has a regard for his character, will allow himself, or be
allowed by others. Those who transgress them in the hopes
of shining, miss their aim, and become infamous, or at
least, contemptible.
The length or shortness of your stay at Turin will suf
ficiently inform me (even though Mr. Harte should not) of
your conduct there ; for, as I have told you before, Mr.
Harte has the strictest orders to carry you away immediately
from thence, upon the first and least symptom of infection
that he discovers about you ; and I know him to be too
conscientiously scrupulous, and too much your friend <ind
mine not to execute them exactly. Moreover, I will inform
you, that I shall have constant accounts of your behavior
from Comte Salmour, the Governor of the Academy, whose
son is now here, and my particular friend. I have, also,
other good channels of intelligence, of which I do not
apprise you. But, supposing that all turns out well at
Turin, yet, as I propose your being at Rome for the
Jubilee, at Christmas, I desire that you will apply yourself
diligently to your exercises of dancing, fencing, and riding
12
i;8 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
at the Academy; as well for the sake of your health and
growth, as to fashion and supple you. You must not
neglect your dress neither, but take care to be bien mis.
Pray send for the best operator for the teeth at Turin,
where I suppose there is some famous one ; and let him
put yours in perfect order; and then take care to keep
them so, afterward, yourself. You had very good teeth,
and I hope they are so still ; but even those who have bad
ones, should keep them clean; for a dirty mouth is, in my
mind, ill manners. In short, neglect nothing that can
possibly please. A thousand nameless little things, which
nobody can describe, but which everybody feels, conspire to
form that WHOLE of pleasing; as the several pieces of a
Mosaic work though, separately, of little beauty or value,
when properly joined, form those beautiful figures which
please everybody. A look, a gesture, an attitude, a tone of
voice, all bear their parts in the great work of pleasing.
The art of pleasing is more particularly necessary in your
intended profession than perhaps in any other; it is, in
truth, the first half of your business ; for if you do not
please the court you are sent to, you will be of very little
use to the court you are sent from. Please the eyes and
the ears, they will introduce you to the heart; and nine
times in ten, the heart governs the understanding.
Make your court particularly, and show distinguished
attentions to such men and women as are best at court,
highest in the fashion, and in the opinion of the public ;
speak advantageously of them behind their backs, in com
panies whom you have reason to believe will tell them
again. Express your admiration of the many great men
that the House of Savoy has produced ; observe that nature,
instead of being exhausted by those efforts, seems to have
redoubled them, in the person of the present King, and the
Duke of Savoy; wonder, at this rate, where it will end,
and conclude that it must end in the government of all
Europe. Say this, likewise, where it will probably be
repeated; but say it unaffectedly, and, the last especially,
with a kind of enjouement. These little arts are very
allowable, and must be made use of in the course of the
world; they are pleasing to one party, useful to the other,
and injurious to nobody.
LETTERS TO HIS SON 179
What I have said with regard to my countrymen in
general, does not extend to them all without exception ;
there are some who have both merit and manners. Your
friend, Mr. Stevens, is among the latter ; and I approve of
your connection with him. You may happen to meet with
some others, whose friendship may be of great use to you
hereafter, either from their superior talents, or their rank
and fortune ; cultivate them ; but then I desire that Mr.
Harte may be the judge of those persons.
Adieu, my dear child ! Consider seriously the importance
of the two next years to your character, your figure, and
your fortune.
LETTER LXXI
LONDON, May 22, O. S. 1749.
DEAR BOY : I recommended to you, in my last, an inno
cent piece of art; that of flattering people behind
their backs, in presence of those who, to make their
own court, much more than for your sake, will not fail to
repeat and even amplify the praise to the party concerned.
This is, of all flattery, the most pleasing, and consequently
the most effectual. There are other, and many other, in
offensive arts of this kind, which are necessary in the course
of the world, and which he who practices the earliest, will
please the most, and rise the soonest. The spirits and
vivacity of youth are apt to neglect them as useless, or re
ject them as troublesome. But subsequent knowledge and
experience of the world reminds us of their importance,
commonly when it is too late. The principal of these
things is the mastery of one's temper, and that coolness of
mind, and serenity of countenance, which hinders us from
discovering by words, actions, or even looks, those passions
or sentiments by which we are inwardly moved or agitated;
and the discovery of which gives cooler and abler people
such infinite advantages over us, not only in great business,
but in all the most common occurrences of life. A man
who does not possess himself enough to hear disagreeable
things without visible marks of anger and change of
i8o LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
countenance, or agreeable ones, without sudden bursts of joy
and expansion of countenance, is at the mercy of every art
ful knave or pert coxcomb ; the former will provoke or
please you by design, to catch unguarded words or looks
by which he will easily decipher the secrets of your heart,
of which you should keep the key yourself, and trust it
with no man living. The latter will, by his absurdity, and
without intending it, produce the same discoveries of which
other people will avail themselves. You will say, possibly,
that this coolness must be constitutional, and consequently
does not depend upon the will: and I will allow that con
stitution has some power over us; but I will maintain, too,
that people very often, to excuse themselves, very unjustly
accuse their constitutions. Care and reflection, if properly
used, will get the better : and a man may as surely get a
habit of letting his reason prevail over his constitution, as
of letting, as most people do, the latter prevail over the
former. If you find yourself subject to sudden starts of
passion or madness ( for I see no difference between them
but in their duration), resolve within yourself, at least,
never to speak one word while you feel that emotion
within you. Determine, too, to keep your countenance as
unmoved and unembarrassed as possible; which steadiness
you may get a habit of, by constant attention. I should
desire nothing better, in any negotiation, than to have to
do with one of those men of warm, quick passions ; which
I would take care to set in motion. By artful provoca
tions I would extort rash unguarded expressions ; and, by
hinting at all the several things that I could suspect, in
fallibly discover the true one, by the alteration it occasioned
in the countenance of the person. Volto sciolto con pensieri
stretti, is a most useful maxim in business. It is so neces
sary at some games, such as Berlan Quinze, etc., that a
man who had not the command of his temper and counte
nance, would infallibly be outdone by those who had, even
though they played fair. Whereas, in business, you always
play with sharpers ; to whom, at least, you should give no
fair advantages. It may be objected, that I am now recom
mending dissimulation to you ; I both own and justify it.
It has been long said, Qui nescit dissimulare nescit regnare:
I go still further, and say, that without some dissimulation
LETTERS TO HIS SON 181
no business can be carried on at all. It is SIMULATION that is
false, mean, and criminal: that is the cunning which Lord
Bacon calls crooked or left-handed wisdom, and which is
never made use of but by those who have not true wisdom.
And the same great man says, that dissimulation is only to
hide our own cards, whereas simulation is put on, in order
to look into other people's. Lord Bolingbroke, in his (< Idea
of a Patriot King," which he has lately published, and
which I will send you by the first opportunity, says very
justly that simulation is a STILETTO, — not only an unjust
but an unlawful weapon, and the use of it very rarely to
be excused, never justified. Whereas dissimulation is a
shield, as secrecy is armor; and it is no more possible to
preserye secrecy in business, without some degree of dis
simulation, than it is to succeed in business without secrecy.
He goes on, and says, that those two arts of dissimulation
and secrecy are like the alloy mingled with pure ore: a
little is necessary, and will not debase the coin below its
proper standard; but if more than that little be employed
(that is, simulation and cunning), the coin loses its currency,
and the coiner his credit.
Make yourself absolute master, therefore, of your temper
and your countenance, so far, at least, as that no visible
change do appear in either, whatever you may feel in
wardly. This may be difficult, but it is by no means im
possible ; and, as a man of sense never attempts impossibilities
on one hand, on the other, he is never discouraged by diffi
culties: on the contrary, he redoubles his industry and his
diligence; he perseveres, and infallibly prevails at last. In
any point which prudence bids you pursue, and which a
manifest utility attends, let difficulties only animate your
industry, not deter you from the pursuit. If one way has
failed, try another; be active, persevere, and you will con
quer. Some people are to be reasoned, some flattered, some
intimidated, and some teased into a thing; but, in general,
all are to be brought into it at last, if skillfully applied to,
properly managed, and indefatigably attacked in their several
weak places. The time should likewise be judiciously chosen ;
every man has his mollia tempora, but that is far from being
all day long; and you would choose your time very ill, if you
applied to a man about one business, when his head was
182 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
full of another, or when his heart was full of grief, anger,
or any other disagreeable sentiment.
In order to judge of the inside of others, study your own ;
for men in general are very much alike ; and though one
has one prevailing passion, and another has another, yet
their operations are much the same ; and whatever engages
or disgusts, pleases or offends you, in others will, mutatis
mutandis, engage, disgust, please, or offend others, in you.
Observe with the utmost attention all the operations of
your own mind, the nature of your passions, and the vari
ous motives that determine your will ; and you may, in a
great degree, know all mankind. For instance, do you find
yourself hurt and mortified when another makes you feel
his superiority, and your own inferiority, in knowledge,
parts, rank, or fortune? You will certainly take great care
not to make a person whose good will, good word, inter
est, esteem, or friendship, you would gain, feel that supe
riority in you, in case you have it. If disagreeable insinua
tions, sly sneers, or repeated contradictions, tease and irri
tate you, would you use them where you wish to engage
and please? Surely not, and I hope you wish to engage
and please, almost universally. The temptation of saying
a smart and witty thing, or bon mot; and the malicious
applause with which it is commonly received, has made
people who can say them, and, still oftener, people who
think they can, but cannot, and yet try, more enemies, and
implacable ones too, than any one other thing that I know
of. When such things, then, shall happen to be said at
your expense (as sometimes they certainly will), reflect
seriously upon the sentiments of uneasiness, anger, and
resentment which they excite in you ; and consider whether
it can be prudent, by the same means, to excite the same
sentiments in others against you. It is a decided folly to
lose a friend for a jest ; but, in my mind, it is not a much
less degree of folly to make an enemy of an indifferent
and neutral person, for the sake of a bon mot. When
things of this kind happen to be said of you, the most
prudent way is to seem not to suppose that they are meant
at you, but to dissemble and conceal whatever degree of
anger you may feel inwardly; but, should they be so plain
that you cannot be supposed ignorant of their meaning, to
LETTERS TO HIS SON 183
join in the laugh of the company against yourself ; acknowl
edge the hit to be a fair one, and the jest a good one, and
play off the whole thing in seeming good humor ; but by
no means reply in the same way ; which only shows that
you are hurt, and publishes the victory which you might
have concealed. Should the thing said, indeed injure your
honor or moral character, there is but one proper reply;
which I hope you never will have occasion to make.
As the female part of the world has some influence, and
often too much, over the male, your conduct with regard
to women ( I mean women of fashion, for I cannot sup
pose you capable of conversing with any others) deserves
some share in your reflections. They are a numerous and
loquacious body : their hatred would be more prejudicial
than their friendship can be advantageous to you. A gen
eral complaisance and attention to that sex is therefore
established by custom, and certainly necessary. But where
you would particularly please anyone, whose situation,
interest, or connections, can be of use to you, you must
show particular preference. The least attentions please, the
greatest charm them. The innocent but pleasing flattery of
their persons, however gross, is greedily swallowed and
kindly digested : but a seeming regard for their understand
ings, a seeming desire of, and deference for, their advice,
together with a seeming confidence in their moral virtues,
turns their heads entirely in your favor. Nothing shocks
them so much as the least appearance of that contempt
which they are apt to suspect men of entertaining of their
capacities ; and you may be very sure of gaining their
friendship if you seem to think it worth gaining. Here
dissimulation is very often necessary, and even simulation
sometimes allowable ; which, as it pleases them, may be
useful to you, and is injurious to nobody.
This torn sheet,* which I did not observe when I began
upon it, as it alters the figure, shortens, too, the length of
my letter. It may very well afford it : my anxiety for you
carries me insensibly to these lengths. I am apt to flatter
myself, that my experience, at the latter end of my life,
may be of use to you at the beginning of yours ; and I do
*The original is written upon a sheet of paper, the corner of which
is torn.
184 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
not grudge the greatest trouble, if it can procure you the
least advantage. I even repeat frequently the same things,
the better to imprint them on your young, and, I suppose,
yet giddy mind; and I shall think that part of my time
the best employed, that contributes to make you employ
yours well. God bless you, child !
LETTER LXXII
LONDON, June 16, O. S. 1749.
DEAR BOY : I do not guess where this letter will find
you, but I hope it will find you well : I direct it
eventually to Laubach ; from whence I suppose you
have taken care to have your letters sent after you. I
received no account from Mr. Harte by last post, and the
mail due this day is not yet come in ; so that my infor
mations come down no lower than the 2d June, N. S., the
date of Mr. Harte's last letter. As I am now easy about
your health, I am only curious about your motions, which
I hope have been either to Inspruck or Verona ; for I dis
approve extremely of your proposed long and troublesome
journey to Switzerland. Wherever you may be, I recom
mend to you to get as much Italian as you can, before you
go either to Rome or Naples : a little will be of great use
to you upon the road ; and the knowledge of the grammat
ical part, which you can easily acquire in two or three
months, will not only facilitate your progress, but accelerate
your perfection in that language, when you go to those
places where it is generally spoken ; as Naples, Rome,
Florence, etc.
Should the state of your health not yet admit of your
usual application to books, you may, in a great degree, and
I hope you will, repair that loss by useful and instructive
conversations with Mr. Harte : you may, for example, desire
him to give you in conversation the outlines, at least, of
Mr. Locke's logic ; a general notion of ethics, and a verbal
epitome of rhetoric ; of all which Mr. Harte will give you
clearer ideas in half an hour, by word of mouth, than the
LETTERS TO HIS SON 185
books of most of the dull fellows who have written upon
those subjects would do in a week.
I have waited so long for the post, which I hoped would
come, that the post, which is just going out, obliges me to
cut this letter short. God bless you, my dear child! and
restore you soon to perfect health !
My compliments to Mr. Harte ; to whose care your life
is the least thing that you owe.
LETTER LXXIII
LONDON, June 22, O. S. i749-
EAR BOY: The outside of your letter of the yth N.S.,
directed by your own hand, gave me more pleasure
than the inside of any other letter ever did. I received
it yesterday at the same time with one from Mr. Harte of
the 6th. They arrived at a very proper time, for they
found a consultation of physicians in my room, upon account
of a fever which I had for four or five days, but which has
now entirely left me. As Mr. Harte says THAT YOUR
LUNGS NOW AND THEN GIVE YOU A LITTLE PAIN, and that
YOUR SWELLINGS COME AND GO VARIABLY, but as he men-
tions nothing of your coughing, spitting, or sweating, the
doctors take it for granted that you are entirely free from
those three bad symptoms: and from thence conclude, that
the pain which you sometimes feel upon your lungs is
only symptomatical of your rheumatic disorder, from the
pressure of the muscles which hinders the free play of the
lungs. But, however, as the lungs are a point of the utmost
importance and delicacy, they insist upon your drinking, in
all events, asses' milk twice a day, and goats' whey as often
as you please, the oftener the better : in your common diet,
they recommend an attention to pectorals, such as sago,
barley, turnips, etc. These rules are equally good in rheumatic
as in consumptive cases; you will therefore, I hope, strictly
observe them; for I take it for granted that you are above
the silly likings or dislikings, in which silly people indulge
their tastes, at the expense of their health.
186 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
I approve of your going to Venice, as much as I disap
proved of your going to Switzerland. I suppose that you
are by this time arrived; and, in that supposition, I direct
this letter there. But if you should find the heat too great,
or the water offensive, at this time of the year, I would
have you go immediately to Verona, and stay there till the
great heats are over, before you return to Venice.
The time which you will probably pass at Venice will
allow you to make yourself master of that intricate and
singular form of government, of which few of our travelers
know anything. Read, ask, and see everything that is
relative to it. There are likewise many valuable remains
of the remotest antiquity, and many fine pieces of the
Antico-moderno •, all which deserve a different sort of
attention from that which your countrymen commonly give
them. They go to see them, as they go to see the lions,
and kings on horseback, at the Tower here, only to say
that they have seen them. You will, I am sure, view them
in another light; you will consider them as you would a
poem, to which indeed they are akin. You will observe
whether the sculptor has animated his stone, or the painter
his canvas, into the just expression of those sentiments and
passions which should characterize and mark their several
figures. You will examine, likewise, whether in their
groups there be a unity of action, or proper relation ; a
truth of dress and manners. Sculpture and painting are
very justly called liberal arts ; a lively and strong imagina
tion, together with a just observation, being absolutely
necessary to excel in either; which, in my opinion, is by no
means the case of music, though called a liberal art, and
now in Italy placed even above the other two; a proof of
the decline of that country. The Venetian school produced
many great painters, such as Paul Veronese, Titian, Palma,
etc., of whom you will see, as well in private houses as in
churches, very fine pieces. The Last Supper, of Paul
Veronese, in the church of St. George, is reckoned his
capital performance, and deserves your attention ; as does
also the famous picture of the Cornaro Family, by Titian.
A taste for sculpture and painting is, in my mind, as
becoming as a taste for fiddling and piping is unbecoming,
a man of fashion. The former is connected with history
LETTERS TO HIS SON 187
and poetry; the latter, with nothing that I know of but
bad company.
Learn Italian as fast as ever you can, that you may be
able to understand it tolerably, and speak it a little before
you go to Rome and Naples. There are many good historians
in that language, and excellent translations of the ancient
Greek and Latin authors ; which are called the Collana;
but the only two Italian poets that deserve your acqaintance
are Ariosto and Tasso; and they undoubtedly have great
merit.
Make my compliments to Mr. Harte, and tell him that I
have consulted about his leg, and that if it was only a
sprain, he ought to keep a tight bandage about the part,
for a considerable time, and do nothing else to it. Adieu!
Jubeo te bene valere.
LETTER LXXIV
LONDON, July 6, O. S. 1749.
DEAR BOY: As I am now no longer in pain about your
health, which I trust is perfectly restored ; and as, by
the various accounts I have had of you, I need not
be in pain about your learning, our correspondence may,
for the future, turn upon less important points, comparatively;
though still very important ones: I mean, the knowledge
of the world, decorum, manners, address, and all those
(commonly called little) accomplishments, which are abso
lutely necessary to give greater accomplishments their full
value and lustre.
Had I the admirable ring of Gyges, which rendered the
wearer invisible ; and had I, at the same time, those
magic powers, which were very common formerly, but are
now very scarce, of transporting myself, by a wish, to any
given place, my first expedition would be to Venice, there to
RECONNOITRE you, unseen myself. I would first take you
in the morning, at breakfast with Mr. Harte, and attend
to your natural and unguarded conversation with him ; from
whence, I think, I could pretty well judge of your natural
turn of mind. How I should rejoice if I overheard you
i88 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
asking him pertinent questions upon useful subjects ! or
making judicious reflections upon the studies of that morn
ing, or the occurrences of the former day ! Then I would
follow you into the different companies of the day, and
carefully observe in what manner you presented yourself
to, and behaved yourself with, men of sense and dignity ;
whether your address was respectful, and yet easy ; your
air modest, and yet unembarrassed ; and I would, at the same
time, penetrate into their thoughts, in order to know whether
your first abord made that advantageous impression upon
their fancies, which a certain address, air, and manners,
never fail doing. I would afterward follow you to the
mixed companies of the evening ; such as assemblies, sup
pers, etc., and there watch if you trifled gracefully and
genteelly : if your good-breeding and politeness made way
for your parts and knowledge. With what pleasure should
I hear people cry out, Che garbato- Cavaliere, com"1 e pulito,
disinvolto, spiritoso ! If all these things turned out to my
mind, I would immediately assume my own shape, become
visible, and embrace you : but if the contrary happened, I
would preserve my invisibility, make the best of my way
home again, and sink my disappointment upon you and the
world. As, unfortunately, these supernatural powers of
genii, fairies, sylphs, and gnomes, have had the fate of
the oracles they succeeded, and have ceased for some time,
I must content myself (till we meet naturally, and in the
common way) with Mr. Harte's written accounts of you,
and the verbal ones which I now and then receive from
people who have seen you. However, I believe it would
do you no harm, if you would always imagine that I were
present, and saw and heard everything you did and said.
There is a certain concurrence of various little circum
stances which compose what the French call Faimable;
and which, now that you are entering into the world, you
ought to make it your particular study to acquire. With
out them, your learning will be pedantry, your conversation
often improper, always unpleasant, and your figure, how
ever good in itself, awkward and unengaging. A diamond,
while rough, has indeed its intrinsic value; but, till polished,
is of no use, and would neither be sought for nor worn.
Its great lustre, it is true, proceeds from its solidity and
LETTERS TO HIS SON 189
strong cohesion of parts ; but without the last polish, it
would remain forever a dirty, rough mineral, in the cabi
nets of some few curious collectors. You have, I hope,
that solidity and cohesion of parts ; take now as much pains
to get the lustre. Good company, if you make the right
use of it, will cut you into shape, and give you the true
brilliant polish. A propos of diamonds : I have sent you
by Sir James Gray, the King's Minister, who will be at
Venice about the middle of September, my own diamond
buckles ; which are fitter for your young feet than for my
old ones : they will properly adorn you ; they would only
expose me. If Sir James finds anybody whom he can trust,
and who will be at Venice before him, he will send them
by that person; but if he should not, and that you should
be gone from Venice before he gets there, he will in that
case give them to your banker, Monsieur Cornet, to for
ward to you, wherever you may then be. You are now
of an age, at which the adorning your person is not only
not ridiculous, but proper and becoming. Negligence would
imply either an indifference about pleasing, or else an in
solent security of pleasing, without using those means to
which others are obliged to have recourse. A thorough
cleanliness in your person is as necessary for your own
health, as it is not to be offensive to other people. Wash
ing yourself, and rubbing your body and limbs frequently
with a flesh-brush, will conduce as much to health as to
cleanliness. A particular attention to the cleanliness of
your mouth, teeth, hands, and nails, is but common decency,
in order not to offend people's eyes and noses.
I send you here inclosed a letter of recommendation to
the Duke of Nivernois, the French Ambassador at Rome ;
who is, in my opinion, one of the prettiest men I ever
knew in my life. I do not know a better model for you
to form yourself upon ; pray observe and frequent him as
much as you can. He will show you what manners and
graces are. I shall, by successive posts, send you more let
ters, both for Rome and Naples, where it will be your
own fault entirely if you do not keep the very best com
pany.
As you will meet swarms of Germans wherever you go,
I desire that you will constantly converse with them in
i9o LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
their own language, which will improve you in that lan
guage, and be, at the same time, an agreeable piece of
civility to them.
Your stay in Italy will, I do not doubt, make you critic
ally master of Italian ; I know it may, if you please, for
it is a very regular, and consequently a very easy language.
Adieu! God bless you!
LETTER LXXV
LONDON, July 20, O. S. 1749.
DEAR BOY: I wrote to Mr. Harte last Monday, the i7th,
O. S., in answer to his letter of the 2oth June, N. S.,
which I had received but the day before, after an
interval of eight posts ; during which I did not know
whether you or he existed, and indeed I began to think
that you did not. By that letter you ought at this time to
be at Venice ; where I hope you are arrived in perfect
health, after the baths of Tieffer, in case you have made
use of them. I hope they are not hot baths, if your lungs
are still tender.
Your friend, the Comte d'Einsiedlen, is arrived here : he-
has been at my door, and I have been at his ; but we have
not yet met. He will dine with me some day this week.
Comte Lascaris inquires after you very frequently, and with
great affection ; pray answer the letter which I forwarded
to you a great while ago from him. You may inclose your
answer to me, and I will take care to give it him. Those
attentions ought never to be omitted ; they cost little, and
please a great deal ; but the neglect of them offends more
than you can yet imagine. Great merit, or great failings,
will make you be respected or despised; but trifles, little
attentions, mere nothings, either done, or neglected, will
make you either liked or disliked, in the general run of the
world. Examine yourself why you like such and such people,
and dislike such and such others; and you will find, that those
different sentiments proceed from very slight causes. Moral
virtues are the foundation of society in general, and of
friendship in particular ; but attentions, manners, and graces,
LETTERS TO HIS SON 191
both adorn and strengthen them. My heart is so set upon
your pleasing, and consequently succeeding in the world,
that possibly I have already (and probably shall again) repeat
the same things over and over to you. However, to err, if
I do err, on the surer side, I shall continue to communicate
to you those observations upon the world which long expe
rience has enabled me to make, and which I have generally
found to hold true. Your youth and talents, armed with
my experience, may go a great way ; and that armor is
very much at your service, if you please to wear it. 1
premise that it is not my imagination, but my memory,
that gives you these rules : I am not writing pretty, but
useful reflections. A man of sense soon discovers, because
he carefully observes, where, and how long, he is welcome ;
and takes care to leave the company, at least as soon as he
is wished out of it. Fools never perceive where they are
either ill-timed or ill-placed.
I am this moment agreeably stopped, in the course of my
reflections, by the arrival of Mr. Harte's letter of the I3th
July, N. S., to Mr. Grevenkop, with one inclosed for your
Mamma. I find by it that many of his and your letters to
me must have miscarried ; for he says that I have had regu
lar accounts of you : whereas all those accounts have been
only his letter of the 6th and yours of the ^th June, N.
S.; his of the 2oth June, N. S., to me; and now his of
the i3th July, N. S., to Mr. Grevenkop. However, since
you are so well, as Mr. Harte says you are, all is well. I
am extremely glad that you have no complaint upon your
lungs; but I desire that you will think you have, for three
or four months to come. Keep in a course of asses' or
goats' milk, for one is as good as the other, and possibly
the latter is the best ; and let your common food be as
pectoral as you can conveniently make it. Pray tell Mr.
Harte that, according to his desire, I have wrote a letter
of thanks to Mr. Firmian. I hope you write to him too,
from time to time. The letters of recommendation of a
man of his merit and learning will, to be sure, be of great
use to you among the learned world in Italy ; that is, pro
vided you take care to keep up to the character he gives
you in them ; otherwise they will only add to your dis
grace.
192 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
Consider that you have lost a good deal of time by your
illness ; fetch it up now that you are well. At present you
should be a good economist of your moments, of which
company and sights will claim a considerable share; so that
those which remain for study must be not only attentively,
but greedily employed. But indeed I do not suspect you
of one single moment's idleness in the whole day. Idle
ness is only the refuge of weak minds, and the holiday of
fools. I do not call good company and liberal pleasures,
idleness ; far from it : I recommend to you a good share of
both.
I send you here inclosed a letter for Cardinal Alex
ander Albani, which you will give him, as soon as you
get to Rome, and before you deliver any others ; the Purple
expects that preference; go next to the Due de Nivernois,
to whom you are recommended by several people at Paris,
as well as by myself. Then you may carry your other let
ters occasionally.
Remember to pry narrowly into every part of the gov
ernment of Venice : inform yourself of the history of that
republic, especially of its most remarkable eras; such as
the Ligue de Cambray, in 1509, by which it had like to
have been destroyed ; and the conspiracy formed by the
Marquis de Bedmar, the Spanish Ambassador, to subject it
to the Crown of Spain. The famous disputes between that
republic and the Pope are worth your knowledge ; and the
writings of the celebrated and learned Fra Paolo di Sarpi,
upon that occasion, worth your reading. It was once the
greatest commercial power in Europe, and in the I4th and
1 5th centuries made a considerable figure; but at present
its commerce is decayed, and its riches consequently de
creased ; and, far from meddling now with the affairs of
the Continent, it owes its security to its neutrality and in
efficiency ; and that security will last no longer than till
one of the great Powers in Europe engrosses the rest ot
Italy; an event which this century possibly may, but which
the next probably will see.
Your friend Comte d'Ensiedlen and his governor, have
been with me this moment, and delivered me your letter
from Berlin, of February the 28th, N. S. I like them both
so well that I am glad you did; and still gladder to hear
LETTERS TO HIS SON 193
what they say of you. Go on, and continue to deserve the
praises of those who deserve praises themselves. Adieu.
I break open this letter to acknowledge yours of the 3Oth
June, N. S., which I have but this instant received, though
thirteen days antecedent in date to Mr. Harte's last. I
never in my life heard of bathing four hours a day; and I
am impatient to hear of your safe arrival at Venice, after
so extraordinary an operation.
LETTER LXXVI
LONDON, July 30, O. S. 1749.
DEAR BOY: Mr. Harte's letters and yours drop in upon
me most irregularly ; for I received, by the last post,
one from Mr. Harte, of the 9th, N. S., and that
which Mr. Grevenkop had received from him, the post be
fore, was of the i3th; at last, I suppose, I shall receive
them all.
I am very glad that my letter, with Dr. Shaw's opinion,
has lessened your bathing ; for since I was born, I never
heard of bathing four hours a-day ; which would surely be
too much, even in Medea's kettle, if you wanted (as you
do not yet) new boiling.
Though, in that letter of mine, I proposed your going to
Inspruck, it was only in opposition to Lausanne, which I
thought much too long and painful a journey for you ; but
you will have found, by my subsequent letters, that I en
tirely approved of Venice ; where I hope you have now
been some time, and which is a much better place for you
to reside at, till you go to Naples, than either Tieffer or
Laubach. I love capitals extremely ; it is in capitals that
the best company is always to be found; and consequently,
the best manners to be learned. The very best provincial
places have some awkwardness, that distinguish their man
ners from those of the metropolis. A propos of capitals, I
send you here two letters of recommendation to Naples,
from Monsieur Finochetti, the Neapolitan Minister at The
13
194 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
Hague ; and in my next I shall send you two more, from
the same person, to the same place.
I have examined Comte d'Einsiedlen so narrowly con
cerning you, that I have extorted from him a confession
that you do not care to speak German, unless to such as
understand no other language. At this rate, you will never
speak it well, which I am very desirous that you should
do, and of which you would, in time, find the advantage.
Whoever has not the command of a language, and does not
speak it with facility, will always appear below himself
when he converses in that language; the want of words
and phrases will cramp and lame his thoughts. As you
now know German enough to express yourself tolerably,
speaking it very often will soon make you speak it very
well : and then you will appear in it whatever you are.
What with your own Saxon servant and the swarms of
Germans you will meet with wherever you go, you may
have opportunities of conversing in that language half the
day; and I do very seriously desire that you will, or else
all the pains that you have already taken about it are lost.
You will remember likewise, that, till you can write in
Italian, you are always to write to me in German.
Mr. Harte's conjecture concerning your distemper seems
to be a very reasonable one; it agrees entirely with mine,
which is the universal rule by which every man judges of
another man's opinion. But, whatever may have been the
cause of your rheumatic disorder, the effects are still to be
attended to ; and as there must be a remaining acrimony
in your blood, you ought to have regard to that, in your
common diet as well as in your medicines ; both which should
be of a sweetening alkaline nature, and promotive of perspira
tion. Rheumatic complaints are very apt to return, and those
returns would be very vexatious and detrimental to you, at
your age, and in your course of travels. Your time is, now
particularly, inestimable ; and every hour of it, at present,
worth more than a year will be to you twenty years hence.
You are now laying the foundation of your future char
acter and fortune ; and one single stone wanting in that
foundation is of more consequence than fifty in the super
structure ; which can always be mended and embellished if
the foundation is solid. To carry on the metaphor of
LETTERS TO HIS SON 195
building : I would wish you to be a Corinthian edifice
upon a Tuscan foundation ; the latter having the utmost
strength and solidity to support, and the former all possible
ornaments to decorate. The Tuscan column is coarse, clumsy,
and unpleasant ; nobody looks at it twice ; the Corinthian
fluted column is beautiful and attractive ; but without a
solid foundation, can hardly be seen twice, because it must
soon tumble down. Yours affectionately.
LETTER LXXVIT
LONDON, August 7, O. S. 1749.
DEAR BOY: By Mr. Harte's letter to me of the i8th
July N. S., which I received by the last post, I am
at length informed of the particulars both of your
past distemper, and of your future motions. As to the
former, I am now convinced, and so is Dr. Shaw, that
your lungs were only symptomatically affected; and that the
rheumatic tendency is what you are chiefly now to guard
against, but (for greater security) with due attention still to
your lungs, as if they had been, and still were, a little
affected. In either case, a cooling, pectoral regimen is
equally good. By cooling, I mean cooling in its conse
quences, not cold to the palate ; for nothing is more dan
gerous than very cold liquors, at the very time that one
longs for them the most ; which is, when one is very hot.
Fruit, when full ripe, is very wholesome; but then it must
be within certain bounds as to quantity ; for I have known
many of my countrymen die of bloody-fluxes, by indulging
in too great a quantity of fruit, in those countries where,
from the goodness and ripeness of it, they thought it could
do them no harm. Ne quid nimis, is a most excellent rule in
everything; but commonly the least observed, by people of
your age, in anything.
As to your future motions, I am very well pleased with
them, and greatly prefer your intended stay at Verona to
Venice, whose almost stagnating waters must, at this time
of the year, corrupt the air. Verona has a pure and clear
air, and, as I am informed, a great deal of good company.
I96 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
Marquis Maffei, alone, would be worth going there for.
You may, I think, very well leave Verona about the mid
dle of September, when the great heats will be quite over,
and then make the best of your way to Naples ; where, I
own, I want to have you by way of precaution ( I hope
it is rather over caution) in case of the last remains of a
pulmonic disorder. The amphitheatre at Verona is worth
your attention ; as are also many buildings there and at
Vicenza, of the famous Andrea Palladio, whose taste and
style of buildings were truly antique. It would not be
amiss, if you employed three or four days in learning the
five orders of architecture, with their general proportions;
and you may know all that you need know of them in
that time. Palladio' s own book of architecture is the best
you can make use of for that purpose, skipping over the
mechanical part of it, such as the materials, the cement, etc.
Mr. Harte tells me, that your acquaintance with the
classics is renewed; the suspension of which has been so
short, that I dare say it has produced no coldness. I hope
and believe, you are now so much master of them, that
two hours every day, uninterruptedly, for a year or two
more, will make you perfectly so; and I think you cannot
now allot them a greater share than that of your time, consid
ering the many other things you have to learn and to do.
You must know how to speak and write Italian perfectly;
you must learn some logic, some geometry, and some
astronomy; not to mention your exercises, where they are
to be learned; and, above all, you must learn the world,
which is not soon learned; and only to be learned by fre
quenting good and various companies.
Consider, therefore, how precious every moment of time
is to you now. The more you apply to your business, the
more you will taste your pleasures. The exercise of the
mind in the morning whets the appetite for the pleasures
of the evening, as much as the exercise of the body whets
the appetite for dinner. Business and pleasure, rightly
understood, mutually assist each other, instead of being
enemies, as silly or dull people often think them. No man
tastes pleasures truly, who does not earn them by previous
business ; and few people do business well, who do noth
ing else. Remember that when I speak of pleasures, I
LETTERS TO HIS SON 197
always mean the elegant pleasures of a rational being, and
not the brutal ones of a swine. I mean la bonne Chere,
short of gluttony ; wine, infinitely short of drunkenness ; play,
without the least gaming ; and gallantry without debauchery.
There is a line in all these things which men of sense,
for greater security, take care to keep a good deal on the
right side of; for sickness, pain, contempt and infamy, lie
immediately on the other side of it. Men of sense and
merit, in all other respects, may have had some of these fail
ings; but then those few examples, instead of inviting us
to imitation, should only put us the more upon our guard
against such weaknesses : and whoever thinks them fash
ionable, will not be so himself; I have often known a fash
ionable man have some one vice ; but I never in my life
knew a vicious man a fashionable man. Vice is as degrad
ing as it is criminal. God bless you, my dear child!
LETTER LXXVIII
LONDON, August 20, O. S. 1/49.
DEAR BOY: Let us resume our reflections upon men,
their characters, their manners, in a word, our reflec
tions upon the world. They may help you to form
yourself, and to know others; a knowledge very useful at
all ages, very rare at yours. It seems as if it were nobody's
business to communicate it to young men. Their masters
teach them, singly, the languages or the sciences of their
several departments ; and are indeed generally incapable of
teaching them the world: their parents are often so too, or
at least neglect doing it, either from avocations, indifference,
or from an opinion that throwing them into the world (as
they call it) is the best way of teaching it them. This last
notion is in a great degree true ; that is, the world can
doubtless never be well known by theory: practice is abso
lutely necessary ; but surely it is of great use to a young
man, before he sets out for that country full of mazes,
windings, and turnings, to have at least a general map of
it, made by some experienced traveler.
I98 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
There is a certain dignity of manners absolutely neces
sary, to make even the most valuable character either respected
or respectable.*
Horse-play, romping, frequent and loud fits of laughter,
jokes, waggery, and indiscriminate familiarity, will sink both
merit and knowledge into a degree of contempt. They
compose at most a merry fellow; and a merry fellow was
never yet a respectable man. Indiscriminate familiarity
either offends your superiors, or else dubbs you their de
pendent and led captain. It gives your inferiors just, but
troublesome and improper claims of equality. A joker is
near akin to a buffoon ; and neither of them is the least re
lated to wit. Whoever is admitted or sought for, in com
pany, upon any other account than that of his merit and
manners, is never respected there, but only made use of.
We will have such-a-one, for he sings prettily; we will in
vite such-a-one to a ball, for he dances well; we will have
such-a-one at supper, for he is always joking and laughing;
we will ask another, because he plays deep at all games,
or because he can drink a great deal. These are all vilify
ing distinctions, mortifying preferences, and exclude all ideas
of esteem and regard. Whoever is HAD (as it is called) in
company for the sake of any one thing singly, is singly
that thing and will never be considered in any other light ;
consequently never respected, let his merits be what they
will.
This dignity of manners, which I recommend so much to
you, is not only as different from pride, as true courage is
from blustering, or true wit from joking; but is absolutely
inconsistent with it; for nothing vilifies and degrades more
than pride. The pretensions of the proud man are oftener
treated with sneer and contempt, than with indignation ; as
we offer ridiculously too little to a tradesman, who asks
ridiculously too much for his goods ; but we do not haggle
with one who only asks a just and reasonable price.
Abject flattery and indiscriminate assentation degrade as
much as indiscriminate contradiction and noisy debate dis
gust. But a modest assertion of one's own opinion, and a
complaisant acquiescence to other people's, preserve dig
nity.
* Meaning worthy of respect.
LETTERS TO HIS SON 199
Vulgar, low expressions, awkward motions and address,
vilify, as they imply either a very low turn of mind, or
low education and low company.
Frivolous curiosity about trifles, and a laborious attention
to little objects which neither require nor deserve a moment's
thought, lower a man; who from thence is thought (and
not unjustly) incapable of greater matters. Cardinal de
Retz, very sagaciously, marked out Cardinal Chigi for a
little mind, from the moment that he told him he had wrote
three years with the same pen, and that it was an excellent
good one still.
A certain degree of exterior seriousness in looks and
motions gives dignity, without excluding wit and decent
cheerfulness, which are always serious themselves. A con
stant smirk upon the face, and a whiffling activity of the
body, are strong indications of futility. Whoever is in a
hurry, shows that the thing he is about is too big for him.
Haste and hurry are very different things.
I have only mentioned some of those things which may,
and do, in the opinion of the world, lower and sink
characters, in other respects valuable enough, but I have
taken no notice of those that affect and sink the moral
characters. They are sufficiently obvious. A man who has
patiently been kicked may as well pretend to courage, as a
man blasted by vices and crimes may to dignity of any
kind. But an exterior decency and dignity of manners
will even keep such a man longer from sinking, than other
wise he would be: of such consequence is the TO 7r/>e7roy,
even though affected and put on ! Pray read frequently,
and with the utmost attention, nay, get by heart, if you
can, that incomparable chapter in Cicero's (< Offices, w upon
the TO TATTOO, or the Decorum. It contains whatever is
necessary for the dignity of manners.
In my next I will send you a general map of courts; a
region yet unexplored by you, but which you are one day
to inhabit. The ways are generally crooked and full of
turnings, sometimes strewed with flowers, sometimes choked
up with briars ; rotten ground and deep pits frequently lie
concealed under a smooth and pleasing surface; all the paths
are slippery, and every slip is dangerous. Sense and dis
cretion must accompany you at your first setting out ; but,
200 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
notwithstanding those, till experience is your guide, you
will every now and then step out of your way, or stum
ble.
Lady Chesterfield has just now received your German
letter, for which she thanks you ; she says the language is
very correct ; and I can plainly see that the character is
well formed, not to say better than your English character.
Continue to write German frequently, that it may become
quite familiar to you. Adieu.
LETTER LXXIX
LONDON, August 21, O. S. 1749.
DEAR BOY : By the last letter that I received from Mr.
Harte, of the 3ist July, N. S., I suppose you are
now either at Venice or Verona, and perfectly re
covered of your late illness : which I am daily more and
more convinced had no consumptive tendency ; however,
for some time still, faites comme s: '•// y en avoit, be regular,
and live pectorally.
You will soon be at courts, where, though you will not
be concerned, yet reflection and observation upon what
you see and hear there may be of use to you, when here
after you may come to be concerned in courts yourself.
Nothing in courts is exactly as it appears to be ; often very
different ; sometimes directly contrary. Interest, which is
the real spring of everything there, equally creates and
dissolves friendship, produces and reconciles enmities: or,
rather, allows of neither real friendships nor enmities ; for,
as Dryden very justly observes, POLITICIANS NEITHER LOVE
NOR HATE. This is so true, that you may think you con
nect yourself with two friends to-day, and be obliged to
morrow to make your option between them as enemies;
observe, therefore, such a degree of reserve with your
friends as not to put yourself in their power, if they
should become your enemies ; and such a degree of modera
tion with your enemies, as not to make it impossible for
them to become your friends.
LETTERS TO HIS SON 201
Courts are, unquestionably, the seats of politeness and
good-breeding; were they not so, they would be the seats
of slaughter and desolation. Those who now smile upon
and embrace, would affront and stab each other, if manners
did not interpose ; but ambition and avarice, the two pre
vailing passions at courts, found dissimulation more effectual
than violence ; and dissimulation introduced that habit of
politeness, which distinguishes the courtier from the country
gentleman. In the former case the strongest body would
prevail ; in the latter, the strongest mind.
A man of parts and efficiency need not flatter everybody
at court ; but he must take great care to offend nobody
personally; it being in the power of every man to hurt
him, who cannot serve him. Homer supposes a chain let
down from Jupiter to the earth, to connect him with
mortals. There is, at all courts, a chain which connects the
prince or the minister with the page of the back stairs, or the
chamber-maid. The king's wife, or mistress, has an influence
over him ; a lover has an influence over her ; the chamber
maid, or the valet de chambre, has an influence over both,
and so ad infinitum. You must, therefore, not break a
link of that chain, by which you hope to climb up to the
prince.
You must renounce courts if you will not connive at
knaves, and tolerate fools. Their number makes them con
siderable. You should as little quarrel as connect yourself
with either.
Whatever you say or do at court, you may depend upon
it, will be known ; the business of most of those, who
crowd levees and anti-chambers, being to repeat all that
they see or hear, and a great deal that they neither see nor
hear, according as they are inclined to the persons con
cerned, or according to the wishes of those to whom they
hope to make their court. Great caution is therefore
necessary; and if, to great caution, you can join seeming
frankness and openness, you will unite what Machiavel
reckons very difficult but very necessary to be united ;
volto sciolto 2 pensieri stretti.
Women are very apt to be mingled in court intrigues ;
but they deserve attention better than confidence; to hold
by them is a very precarious tenure.
202 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
I am agreeably interrupted in these reflections by a letter
which I have this moment received from Baron Firmian.
It contains your panegyric, and with the strongest protesta
tions imaginable that he does you only justice. I received
this favorable account of you with pleasure, and I com
municate it to you with as much. While you deserve
praise, it is reasonable you should know that you meet with
it; and I make no doubt, but that it will encourage you in
persevering to deserve it. This is one paragraph of the
Baron's letter : Ses mceurs dans un age si tendre, reglees
selon toutes les loix dune morale exacte et sensee; son appli
cation (that is what I like) a tout ce qui s" appelle etude
serieuse, et Belles Lettres, tloignee de r ombre meme d'un
Paste Pedantesque, le rendent tr'es digne de vos tendres
soins; et f ai V honneur de vous assurer que chacun se
louera beaucoup de son commerce aise, et de son amitit; ;'
en ai proflte avec plasir id et a Vienne, et je me crois
tr^s heureux de la permission, qu* il m? a accordee, de la
continuer par la voie de lettres.* — Reputation, like health,
is preserved and increased by the same means by which it
is acquired. Continue to desire and deserve praise, and
you will certainly find it. Knowledge, adorned by manners,
will infallibly procure it. Consider, that you have but a
little way further to get to your journey's end; therefore,
for God's sake, do not slacken your pace ; one year and
a half more of sound application, Mr. Hartc assures me,
will finish this work ; and when this work is finished well,
your own will be very easily done afterward. Les Manures
et les Graces are no immaterial parts of that work ; and I
beg that you will give as much of your attention to them
as to your books. Everything depends upon them ; senza
di noi ogni fatica % vana. The various companies you now go
*" Notwithstanding his great youth, his manners are regulated by
the most unexceptionable rules of sense and of morality. His applica
tion (THAT is WHAT i LIKE) to every kind of serious study, as well
as to polite literature, without even the least appearance of ostenta
tious pedantry, render him worthy of your most tender affection ;
and I have the honor of assuring you, that everyone cannot but be
pleased with the acquisition of his acquaintance or of his friend
ship. I have profited of it, both here and at Vienna; and shall
esteem myself very happy to make use of the permission he has
given me of continuing it by letter."
LETTERS TO HIS SON 203
into will procure them you, if you will carefully observe,
and form yourself upon those who have them.
Adieu! God bless you! and may you ever deserve that
affection with which I am now, Yours.
LETTER LXXX
LONDON, September 5, O. S. 1749.
DEAR BOY : I have received yours from Laubach, of the
iyth of August, N. S., with the inclosed for Comte
Lascaris; which I have given him, and with which
he is extremely pleased, as I am with your account of
Carniola. I am very glad that you attend to, and inform
yourself of, the political objects of the country you go
through. Trade and manufactures are very considerable,
not to say the most important ones ; for, though armies
and navies are the shining marks of the strength of coun
tries, they would be very ill paid, and consequently fight
very ill, if manufactures and commerce did not support
them. You have certainly observed in Germany the ineffi
ciency of great powers, with great tracts of country and
swarms of men ; which are absolutely useless, if not paid
by other powers who have the resources of manufactures
and commerce. This we have lately experienced to be the
case of the two empresses of Germany and Russia : Eng
land, France, and Spain, must pay their respective allies,
or they may as well be without them.
I have not the least objection to your taking, into the
bargain, the observation of natural curiosities ; they are very
welcome, provided they do not take up the room of better
things. But the forms of government, the maxims of pol
icy, the strength or weakness, the trade and commerce, of
the several countries you see or hear of are the important
objects, which I recommend to your most minute inquiries,
and most serious attention. I thought that the republic of
Venice had by this time laid aside that silly and frivolous
piece of policy, of endeavoring to conceal their form of
government ; which anybody may know, pretty nearly, by
204 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
taking the pains to read four or five books, which explain
all the great parts of it ; and as for some of the little
wheels of that machine, the knowledge of them would be
as little useful to others as dangerous to themselves. Their
best policy (I can tell them) is to keep quiet, and to offend
no one great power, by joining with another. Their escape,
after the Ligue of Cambray, should prove a useful lesson
to them.
I am glad you frequent the assemblies at Venice. Have
you seen Monsieur and Madame Capello, and how did they
receive you? Let me know who are the ladies whose houses
you frequent the most. Have you seen the Comptesse
d'Orselska, Princess of Holstein? Is Comte Algarotti, who
was the TENANT there, at Venice?
You will, in many parts of Italy, meet with numbers of
the Pretender's people (English, Scotch, and Irish fugitives),
especially at Rome ; probably the Pretender himself. It is
none of your business to declare war to these people, as
little as it is your interest, or, I hope, your inclination, to
connect yourself with them ; and therefore I recommend to
you a perfect neutrality. Avoid them as much as you can
with decency and good manners ; but when you cannot,
avoid any political conversation or debates with them ; tell
them that you do not concern yourself with political mat
ters : that you are neither maker nor a deposer of kings ;
that when you left England, you left a king in it, and
have not since heard either of his death, or of any revolu
tion that has happened ; and that you take kings and king
doms as you find them ; but enter no further into matters
with them, which can be of no use, and might bring on
heats and quarrels. When you speak of the old Pretender,
you will call him only the Chevalier de St. George ; but
mention him as seldom as possible. Should he chance to
speak to you at any assembly (as, I am told, he sometimes
does to the English), be sure that you seem not to know
him ; and answer him civilly, but always either in French
or in Italian ; and give him, in the former, the appellation
of Monsieur, and in the latter, of Signore. Should you
meet with the Cardinal of York, you will be under no dif
ficulty ; for he has, as Cardinal, an undoubted right to
Eminenza. Upon the whole, see any of those people as
LETTERS TO HIS SON 205
little as possible ; when you do see them, be civil to them,
upon the footing of strangers ; but never be drawn into
any altercations with them about the imaginary right of
their king, as they call him.
It is to no sort of purpose to talk to those people of the
natural rights of mankind, and the particular constitution
of this country. Blinded by prejudices, soured by misfor
tunes, and tempted by their necessities, they are as inca
pable of reasoning rightly, as they have hitherto been of
acting wisely. The late Lord Pembroke never would know
anything that he had not a mind to know ; and, in this
case, I advise you to follow his example. Never know
either the father or the two sons, any otherwise than as
foreigners ; and so, not knowing their pretensions, you have
no occasion to dispute them.
I can never help recommending to you the utmost atten
tion and care, to acquire les Mani&res, la Tournure, et les
Graces, cTun galant homme, et <Tun homme de cour. They
should appear in every look, in every action ; in your
address, and even in your dress, if you would either please
or rise in the world. That you may do both (and both are
in your power) is most ardently wished you, by Yours.
P. S. I made Comte Lascaris show me your letter,
which I liked very well ; the style was easy and natural,
and the French pretty correct. There were so few faults
in the orthography, that a little more observation of the
best French authors would make you a correct master of
that necessary language.
I will not conceal from you, that I have lately had extraor
dinary good accounts of you, from an unexpected and
judicious person, who promises me that, with a little more
of the world, your manners and address will equal your
knowledge. This is the more pleasing to me, as those were
the two articles of which I was the most doubtful. These
commendations will not, I am persuaded, make you vain
and coxcomical, but only encourage you to go on in the
right way
206 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
LETTER LXXXI
LONDON, September 12, O. S. 1749.
DEAR BOY : It seems extraordinary, but it is very true,
that my anxiety for you increases in proportion to the
good accounts which I receive of you from all
hands. I promise myself so much from you, that I dread
the least disappointment. You are now so near the port,
which I have so long wished and labored to bring you safe
into, that my concern would be doubled, should you be
shipwrecked within sight of it. The object, therefore, of
this letter is (laying aside all the authority of a parent)
to conjure you as a friend, by the affection you have for
me (and surely you have reason to have some), and by the
regard you have for yourself, to go on, with assiduity and
attention, to complete that work which, of late, you have
carried on so well, and which is now so near being finished.
My wishes and my plan were to make you shine and dis
tinguish yourself equally in the learned and the polite
world. Few have been able to do it. Deep learning is
generally tainted with pedantry, or at least unadorned by
manners: as, on the other hand, polite manners and the
turn of the world are too often unsupported by knowledge,
and consequently end contemptibly, in the frivolous dis
sipation of drawing-rooms and ruelles. You are now got
over the dry and difficult parts of learning; what remains
requires much more time than trouble. You have lost time
by your illness ; you must regain it now or never. I there
fore most earnestly desire, for your own sake, that for these
next six months, at least six hours every morning, uninter
ruptedly, may be inviolably sacred to your studies with Mr.
Harte. I do not know whether he will require so much ;
but I know that I do, and hope you will, and consequently
prevail with him to give you that time ; I own it is a good
deal: but when both you and he consider that the work
will be so much better, and so much sooner done, by such
an assiduous and continued application, you will, neither of
you, think it too much, and each will find his account in
LETTERS TO HIS SON 207
it. So much for the mornings, which from your own good
sense, and Mr. Harte's tenderness and care of you, will, I
am sure, be thus well employed. It is not only reasonable,
but useful too, that your evenings should be devoted to
amusements and pleasures: and therefore I not only allow,
but recommend, that they should be employed at assemblies,
balls, SPECTACLES, and in the best companies; with this
restriction only, that the consequences of the evening's
diversions may not break in upon the morning's studies, by
breakfastings, visits, and idle parties into the country. At
you age, you need not be ashamed, when any of these
morning parties are proposed, to say that you must beg to
be excused, for you are obliged to devote your mornings to
Mr. Harte; that I will have it so; and that you dare not
do otherwise. Lay it all upon me; though I am persuaded
it will be as much your own inclination as it is mine. But
those frivolous, idle people, whose time hangs upon their
own hands, and who desire to make others lose theirs too,
are not to be reasoned with: and indeed it would be doing
them too much honor. The shortest civil answers are the
best; I CANNOT, I DARE NOT, instead of I WILL NOT; for
if you were to enter with them into the necessity of study
and the usefulness of knowledge, it would only furnish them
with matter for silly jests ; which, though I would not have
you mind, I would not have you invite. I will suppose
you at Rome studying six hours uninterruptedly with Mr.
Harte, every morning, and passing your evenings with the
best company of Rome, observing their manners and form
ing your own ; and I will suppose a number of idle, saun
tering, illiterate English, as there commonly is there, living
entirely with one another, supping, drinking, and sitting up
late at each other's lodgings ; commonly in riots and scrapes
when drunk, and never in good company when sober. I
will take one of these pretty fellows, and give you the
dialogue between him and yourself; such as, I dare say, it
will be on his side; and such as, I hope, it will be on
yours : —
Englishman. Will you come and breakfast with me to
morrow? there will be four or five of our countrymen; we
have provided chaises, and we will drive somewhere out of
town after breakfast.
2o8 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
Stanhope. I am very sorry I cannot ; but I am obliged to
be at home all morning.
Englishman. Why, then, we will come and breakfast
with you.
Stanhope. I can't do that neither ; I am engaged.
Englishman. Well, then, let it be the next day.
Stanhope. To tell you the truth, it can be no day in the
morning; for I neither go out, nor see anybody at home
before twelve.
Englishman. And what the devil do you do with your
self till twelve o'clock?
Stanhope. I am not by myself; I am with Mr. Harte.
Englishman. Then what the devil do you do with him?
Stanhope. We study different things ; we read, we con
verse.
Englishman. Very pretty amusement indeed! Are you
to take orders then?
Stanhope. Yes, my father's orders, I believe I must take.
Englishman. Why hast thou no more spirit, than to mind
an old fellow a thousand miles off?
Stanhope. If I don't mind his orders he won't mind my
draughts.
Englishman. What, does the old prig threaten then?
threatened folks live long; never mind threats.
Stanhope. No, I can't say that he has ever threatened me
in his life ; but I believe I had best not provoke him.
Englishman. Pooh ! you would have one angry letter from
the old fellow, and there would be an end of it.
Stanhope. You mistake him mightily ; he always does
more than he says. He has never been angry with me
yet, that I remember, in his life; but if I were to provoke
him, I am sure he would never forgive me; he would be
coolly immovable, and I might beg and pray, and write my
heart out to no purpose.
Englishman. Why, then, he is an old dog, that's all I can
say; and pray are you to obey your dry-nurse too, this
same, and what's his name — Mr. Harte?
Stanhope. Yes.
Englishman. So he stuffs you all morning with Greek,
and Latin, and Logic, and all that. Egad I have a dry-
nurse too, but I never looked into a book with him in my
LETTERS TO HIS SON 209
life ; I have not so much as seen the face of him this week,
and don't care a louse if I never see it again.
Stanhope. My dry-nurse never desires anything of me
that is not reasonable, and for my own good; and therefore
I like to be with him.
Englishman. Very sententious and edifying, upon my
word ! at this rate you will be reckoned a very good young
man.
Stanhope. Why, that will do me no harm.
Englishman. Will you be with us to-morrow in the even
ing, then ? We shall be ten with you ; and I have got some
excellent good wine ; and we'll be very merry.
Stanhope. I am very much obliged to you, but I am
engaged for all the evening, to-morrow ; first at Cardinal
Albani's ; and then to sup at the Venetian Ambassadress's.
Englishman. How the devil can you like being always
with these foreigners? I never go among them with all
their formalities and ceremonies. I am never easy in com
pany with them, and I don't know why, but I am ashamed.
Stanhope. I am neither ashamed nor afraid ; I am very
easy with them; they are very easy \vith me; I get the
language, and I see their characters, by conversing with
them ; and that is what we are sent abroad for, is it not ?
Englishman. I hate your modest women's company; your
women of fashion as they call 'em ; I don't know what to
say to them, for my part.
Stanhope. Have you ever conversed with them?
Englishman. No; I never conversed with them; but I
have been sometimes in their company, though much against
my will.
Stanhope. But at least they have done you no hurt; which
is, probably, more than you can say of the women you do
converse with.
Englishman. That's true, I own ; but for all that, I would
rather keep company with my surgeon half the year, than
with your women of fashion the year round.
Stanhope. Tastes are different, you know, and every man
follows his own.
Englishman. That's true ; but thine's a devilish odd one,
Stanhope. All morning with thy dry-nurse; all the evening
in formal fine company ; and all day long afraid of Old
14
210 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
Daddy in England. Thou art a queer fellow, and I am
afraid there is nothing to be made of thee.
Stanhope. I am afraid so too.
Englishman. Well, then, good night to you ; you have no
objection, I hope, to my being drunk to-night, which I
certainly will be.
Stanhope. Not in the least; nor to your being sick to
morrow, which you as certainly will be ; and so good night,
too.
You will observe, that I have not put into your mouth
those good arguments which upon such an occasion would,
I am sure, occur to you; as piety and affection toward me ;
regard and friendship for Mr. Harte ; respect for your own
moral character, and for all the relative duties of man, son,
pupil, and citizen. Such solid arguments would be thrown
away upon such shallow puppies. Leave them to their
ignorance and to their dirty, disgraceful vices. They will
severely feel the effects of them, when it will be too late.
Without the comfortable refuge of learning, and with all
the sickness and pains of a ruined stomach, and a rotten
carcass, if they happen to arrive at old age, it is an uneasy
and ignominious one. The ridicule which such fellows
endeavor to throw upon those who are not like them, is,
in the opinion of all men of sense, the most authentic
panegyric. Go on, then, my dear child, in the way you
are in, only for a year and a half more: that is all I ask
of you. After that, I promise that you shall be your own
master, and that I will pretend to no other title than that
of your best and truest friend. You shall receive advice,
but no orders, from me ; and in truth you will want no
other advice but such as youth and inexperience must
necessarily require. You shall certainly want nothing that
is requisite, not only for your conveniency, but also for
your pleasures, which I always desire shall be gratified.
You will suppose that I mean the pleasures (Tun honnete
homme.
While you are learning Italian, which I hope you do
with diligence, pray take care to continue your German,
which you may have frequent opportunities of speaking. I
would also have you keep up your knowledge of the Jus
Publicum Imperil, by looking over, now and then, those
LETTERS TO HIS SON 211
INESTIMABLE MANUSCRIPTS which Sir Charles Williams, who
arrived here last week, assures me you have made upon
that subject. It will be of very great use to you, when
you come to be concerned in foreign affairs; as you shall
be (if you qualify yourself for them) younger than ever
any other was: I mean before you are twenty. Sir Charles
tells me, that he will answer for your learning; and that,
he believes, you will acquire that address, and those graces,
which are so necessary to give it its full lustre and value.
But he confesses, that he doubts more of the latter than of
the former. The justice which he does Mr. Harte, in his
panegyrics of him, makes me hope that there is likewise a
great deal of truth in his encomiums of you. Are you
pleased with, and proud of the reputation which you have
already acquired? Surely you are, for I am sure I am.
Will you do anything to lessen or forfeit it? Surely you
will not. And will you not do all you can to extend and
increase it? Surely you will. It is only going on for a
a year and a half longer, as you have gone on for the two
years last past, and devoting half the day only to applica
tion; and you will be sure to make the earliest figure and
fortune in the world, that ever man made. Adieu.
LETTER LXXXII
LONDON, September 22, O. S. 1749.
DEAR BOY: If I had faith in philters and love potions,
I should suspect that you had given Sir Charles
Williams some, by the manner in which he speaks
of you, not only to me, but to everybody else. I will not
repeat to you what he says of the extent and correctness
of your knowledge, as it might either make you vain, or
persuade you that you had already enough of what nobody
can have too much. You will easily imagine how many
questions I asked, and how narrowly I sifted him upon
your subject ; he answered me, and I dare say with truth,
just as I could have wished ; till satisfied entirely with his
accounts of your character and learning, I inquired into
other matters, intrinsically indeed of less consequence, but
212 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
still of great consequence to every man, and of more to you
than to almost any man: I mean, your address, manners,
and air. To these questions, the same truth which he had
observed before, obliged him to give me much less satis
factory answers. And as he thought himself, in friendship
both to you and me, obliged to tell me the disagreeable as
well as the agreeable truths, upon the same principle I
think myself obliged to repeat them to you.
He told me then, that in company you were frequently
most PROVOKINGLY inattentive, absent, and distrait; that
you came into a room, and presented yourself, very awk
wardly ; that at table you constantly threw down knives,
forks, napkins, bread, etc., and that you neglected your
person and dress, to a degree unpardonable at any age, and
much more so at yours.
These things, howsoever immaterial they may seem to peo
ple who do not know the world, and the nature of man
kind, give me, who know them to be exceedingly material,
very great concern. I have long distrusted you, and there
fore frequently admonished you, upon these articles ; and I
tell you plainly, that I shall not be easy till I hear a very
different account of them. I know no one thing more offen
sive to a company than that inattention and DISTRACTION.
It is showing them the utmost contempt ; and people never
forgive contempt. No man is distrait with the man he
fears, or the woman he loves ; which is a proof that every
man can get the better of that DISTRACTION, when he
thinks it worth his while to do so ; and, take my word for
it, it is always worth his while. For my own part, I
would rather be in company with a dead man, than with
an absent one ; for if the dead man gives me no pleasure,
at least he shows me no contempt; whereas, the absent
man, silently indeed, but very plainly, tells me that he does
not think me worth his attention. Besides, can an absent
man make any observations upon the characters, customs,
and manners of the company? No. He may be in the
best companies all his lifetime (if they will admit him,
which, if I were they, I would not) and never be one jot
the wiser. I never will converse with an absent man ; one
may as well talk to a deaf one. It is, in truth, a practical
blunder, to address ourselves to a man who we see plainly
LETTERS TO HIS SON 213
neither hears, minds, or understands us. Moreover, I aver
that no man is, in any degree, fit for either business or con
versation, who cannot and does not direct and command
his attention to the present object, be that what it will.
You know, by experience, that I grudge no expense in
your education, but I will positively not keep you a Flap
per. You may read, in Dr. Swift, the description of these
flappers, and the use they were of to your friends the Lapu-
tans ; whose minds (Gulliver says) are so taken up with
intense speculations, that they neither can speak nor attend
to the discourses of others, without being roused by some
external taction upon the organs of speech and hearing;
for which reason, those people who are able to afford it,
always keep a flapper in their family, as one of their do
mestics ; nor ever walk about, or make visits without him.
This flapper is likewise employed diligently to attend his
master in his walks ; and, upon occasion, to give a soft
flap upon his eyes, because he is always so wrapped up in
cogitation, that he is in manifest danger of falling down
every precipice, and bouncing his head against every post,
and, in the streets, of jostling others, or being jostled into
the kennel himself. If CHRISTIAN will undertake this prov
ince into the bargain, with all my heart ; but I will not
allow him any increase of wages upon that score. In short,
I give you fair warning, that, when we meet, if you are
absent in mind, I will soon be absent in body ; for it will
be impossible for me to stay in the room ; and if at table
you throw down your knife, plate, bread, etc., and hack
the wing of a chicken for half an hour, without being able
to cut it off, and your sleeve all the time in another dish,
I must rise from the table to escape the fever you would
certainly give me. Good God! how I should be shocked, if
you came into my room, for the first time, with two left legs,
presenting yourself with all the graces and dignity of a
tailor, and your clothes hanging upon you, like those in
Monmouth street, upon tenter-hooks! whereas, I expect,
nay, require, to see you present yourself with the easy and
genteel air of a man of fashion, who has kept good com
pany. I expect you not only well dressed but very well
dressed; I expect a gracefulness in all your motions, and
something particularly engaging in your address, All this 1
214 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
expect, and all this it is in your power, by care and atten
tion, to make me find ; but to tell you the plain truth, if I
do not find it, we shall not converse very much together ; for
I cannot stand inattention and awkwardness ; it would en
danger my health. You have often seen, and I have as
often made you observe L — 's distinguished inattention and
awkwardness. Wrapped up, like a Laputan, in intense
thought, and possibly sometimes in no thought at all
(which, I believe, is very often the case with absent people),
he does not know his most intimate acquaintance by sight,
or answers them as if he were at cross purposes. He leaves
his hat in one room, his sword in another, and would leave
his shoes in a third, if his buckles, though awry, did not
save them : his legs and arms, by his awkward management
of them, seem to have undergone the question extraor
dinaire; and his head, always hanging upon one or
other of his shoulders, seems to have received the first
stroke upon a block. I sincerely value and esteem him
for his parts, learning, and virtue ; but, for the soul of me,
I cannot love him in company. This will be universally
the case, in common life, of every inattentive, awkward
man, let his real merit and knowledge be ever so great.
When I was of your age, I desired to shine, as far as I
was able, in every part of life ; and was as attentive to
my manners, my dress, and my air, in company of even
ings, as to my books and my tutor in the mornings. A
young fellow should be ambitious to shine in everything;
and, of the two, always rather overdo than underdo. These
things are by no means trifles : they are of infinite conse
quence to those who are to be thrown into the great world,
and who would make a figure or a fortune in it. It is not
sufficient to deserve well ; one must please well too. Awk
ward, disagreeable merit will never carry anybody far.
Wherever you find a good dancing-master, pray let him
put you upon your haunches ; not so much for the sake
of dancing, as for coming into a room, and presenting
yourself genteelly and gracefully. Women, whom you
ought to endeavor to please, cannot forgive vulgar and
awkward air and gestures ; it leur faut du brillant. The
generality of men are pretty like them, and are equally
taken by the same exterior graces.
LETTERS TO HIS SON 215
I am very glad that you have received the diamond buck
les safe ; all I desire in return for them is, that they may
be buckled even upon your feet, and that your stockings
may not hide them. I should be sorry that you were an
egregious fop; but, I protest, that of the two, I would
rather have you a fop than a sloven. I think negligence
in my own dress, even at my age, when certainly I expect
no advantages from my dress, would be indecent with re
gard to others. I have done with fine clothes; but I will
have my plain clothes fit me, and made like other people's.
In the evenings, I recommend to you the company of
women of fashion, who have a right to attention and will
be paid it. Their company will smooth your manners, and
give you a habit of attention and respect, of which you
will find the advantage among men.
My plan for you, from the beginning, has been to make
you shine equally in the learned and in the polite world ;
the former part is almost completed to my wishes, and will,
I am persuaded, in a little time more, be quite so. The
latter part is still in your power to complete ; and I flatter
myself that you will do it, or else the former part will
avail you very little ; especially in your department, where
the exterior address and graces do half the business; they
must be the harbingers of your merit, or your merit will
be very coldly received; all can, and do judge of the former,
few of the latter.
Mr. Harte tells me that you have grown very much since
your illness ; if you get up to five feet ten, or even nine
inches, your figure will probably be a good one ; and if well
dressed and genteel, will probably please ; which is a much
greater advantage to a man than people commonly think.
Lord Bacon calls it a letter of recommendation.
I would wish you to be the omnis homo, riiomme universel.
You are nearer it, if you please, than ever anybody was at
your age ; and if you will but, for the course of this next
year only, exert your whole attention to your studies in the
morning, and to your address, manners, air and tournure
in the evenings, you will be the man I wish you, and the
man that is rarely seen.
Our letters go, at best, so irregularly, and so often mis
carry totally, that for greater security I repeat the same
216 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
things. So, though I acknowledged by last post Mr. Harte's
letter of the 8th September, N. S., I acknowledge it again
by this to you. If this should find you still at Verona, let
it inform you that I wish you would set out soon for
Naples; unless Mr. Harte should think it better for you to
stay at Verona, or any other place on this side Rome, till
you go there for the Jubilee. Nay, if he likes it better, I
am very willing that you should go directly from Verona
to Rome ; for you cannot have too much of Rome, whether
upon account of the language, the curiosities, or the com
pany. My only reason for mentioning Naples, is for the
sake of the climate, upon account of your health ; but if
Mr. Harte thinks that your health is now so well restored
as to be above climate, he may steer your course wherever
he thinks proper: and, for aught I know, your going di
rectly to Rome, and consequently staying there so much the
longer, may be as well as anything else. I think you and
I cannot put our affairs in better hands than in Mr. Harte's ;
and I will stake his infallibility against the Pope's, with
some odds on his side. A propos of the Pope: remember
to be presented to him before you leave Rome, and go
through the necessary ceremonies for it, whether of kissing
his slipper or his b — h; for I would never deprive myself
of anything that I wanted to do or see, by refusing to
comply with an established custom. When I was in Cath
olic countries, I never declined kneeling in their churches
at the elevation, nor elsewhere, when the Host went by.
It is a complaisance due to the custom of the place, and by
no means, as some silly people have imagined, an implied
approbation of their doctrine. Bodily attitudes and situa
tions are things so very indifferent in themselves, that I
would quarrel with nobody about them. It may, indeed,
be improper for Mr. Harte to pay that tribute of com
plaisance, upon account of his character.
This letter is a very long, and possibly a very tedious
one; but my anxiety for your perfection is so great, and
particularly at this critical and decisive period of your life,
that I am only afraid of omitting, but never of repeating, or
dwelling too long upon anything that I think may be of the
least use to you. Have the same anxiety for yourself, that
I have for you, and all will do well. Adieu! my dear child.
LETTERS TO HIS SON 217
LETTER LXXXIII
LONDON, September 27, O. S. 1749-
DEAR BOY : A vulgar, ordinary way of thinking, act
ing, or speaking, implies a low education, and a habit
of low company. Young people contract it at school,
or among servants, with whom they are too often used to
converse; but after they frequent good company, they must
want attention and observation very much, if they do not
lay it quite aside ; and, indeed, if they do not, good com
pany will be very apt to lay them aside. The various
kinds of vulgarisms are infinite; I cannot pretend to point
them out to you; but I will give some samples, by which
you may guess at the rest.
A vulgar man is captious and jealous ; eager and impet
uous about trifles. He suspects himself to be slighted, thinks
everything that is said meant at him : if the company hap
pens to laugh, he is persuaded they laugh at him ; he grows
angry and testy, says something very impertinent, and
draws himself into a scrape, by showing what he calls a
proper spirit, and asserting himself. A man of fashion does
not suppose himself to be either the sole or principal object
of the thoughts, looks, or words of the company ; and never
suspects that he is either slighted or laughed at, unless he
is conscious that he deserves it. And if (which very seldom
happens) the company is absurd or ill-bred enough to do
either, he does not care twopence, unless the insult be so
gross and plain as to require satisfaction of another kind.
As he is above trifles, he is never vehement and eager
about them ; and, wherever they are concerned, rather ac
quiesces than wrangles. A vulgar man's conversation al
ways savors strongly of the lowriess of his education and
company. It turns chiefly upon his domestic affairs, his
servants, the excellent order he keeps in his own family,
and the little anecdotes of the neighborhood; all which he
relates with emphasis, as interesting matters. He is a man
gossip.
Vulgarism in language is the next and distinguishing
characteristic of bad company and a bad education. A
218 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
man of fashion avoids nothing with more care than that.
Proverbial expressions and trite sayings are the flowers of
the rhetoric of a vulgar man. Would he say that men dif
fer in their tastes ; he both supports and adorns that opinion
by the good old saying, as he respectfully calls it, that
WHAT IS ONE MAN'S MEAT, IS ANOTHER MAN'S POISON. If
anybody attempts being SMART, as he calls it, upon him,
he gives them TIT FOR TAT, aye, that he does. He has
always some favorite word for the time being ; which, for
the sake of using often, he commonly abuses. Such as
VASTLY angry, VASTLY kind, VASTLY handsome, and VASTLY
ugly. Even his pronunciation of proper words carries the
mark of the beast along with it. He calls the earth
YEARTH ; he is OBLEIGED, not OBLIGED to you. He goes
TO WARDS, and not TOWARDS, such a place. He some
times affects hard words, by way of ornament, which he
always mangles like a learned woman. A man of fashion
never has recourse to proverbs and vulgar aphorisms ; uses
neither favorite words nor hard words ; but takes great care
to speak very correctly and grammatically, and to pro
nounce properly ; that is, according to the usage of the best
companies.
An awkward address, ungraceful attitudes and actions,
and a certain left-handedness (if I may use that word),
loudly proclaim low education and low company ; for it is
impossible to suppose that a man can have frequented good
company, without having catched something, at least, of
their air and motions. A new raised man is distinguished
in a regiment by his awkwardness ; but he must be impene
trably dull, if, in a month or two's time, he cannot per
form at least the common manual exercise, and look like a
soldier. The very accoutrements of a man of fashion are
grievous encumbrances to a vulgar man. He is at a loss
what to do with his hat, when it is not upon his head ;
his cane (if unfortunately he wears one) is at perpetual
war with every cup of tea or coffee he drinks ; destroys
them first, and then accompanies them in their fall. His
sword is formidable only to his own legs, which would
possibly carry him fast enough out of the way of any
sword but his own. His clothes fit him so ill, and con
strain him so much, that he seems rather their prisoner
LETTERS TO HIS SON 219
than their proprietor. He presents himself in company like
a criminal in a court of justice; his very air condemns him;
and people of fashion will no more connect themselves with
the one, than people of character will with the other. This
repulse drives and sinks him into low company; a gulf
from whence no man, after a certain age, ever emerged.
Les manieres nobles et aisees, la tournure d'un homme de
condition, le ton de la bonne compagnie, les graces, le jeune
sais quoi, qui plait, are as necessary to adorn and introduce
your intrinsic merit and knowledge, as the polish is to the
diamond; which, without that polish, would never be worn,
whatever it might weigh. Do not imagine that these
accomplishments are only useful with women ; they are
much more so with men. In a public assembly, what an
advantage has a graceful speaker, with genteel motions, a
handsome figure, and a liberal air, over one who shall speak
full as much good sense, but destitute of these ornaments?
In business, how prevalent are the graces, how detrimental
is the want of them? By the help of these I have known
some men refuse faTors less offensively than others granted
them. The utility of them in courts and negotiations is
inconceivable. You gain the hearts, and consequently the
secrets, of nine in ten, that you have to do with, in spite
even of their prudence ; which will, nine times in ten, be
the dupe of their hearts and of their senses. Consider the
importance of these things as they deserve, and you will
not lose one minute in the pursuit of them.
You are traveling now in a country once so famous both
for arts and arms, that (however degenerate at present) it
still deserves your attention and reflection. View it there
fore with care, compare its former with its present state,
and examine into the causes of its rise and its decay. Con
sider it classically and politically, and do not run through
it, as too many of your young countrymen do, musically,
and (to use a ridiculous word) KNICK-KNACKICALLY. No
piping nor riddling, I beseech you ; no days lost in poring
upon almost imperceptible intaglios and cameos: and do
not become a virtuoso of small wares. Form a taste of
painting, sculpture, and architecture, if you please, by a
careful examination of the works of the best ancient and
modern artists ; those are liberal arts, and a real taste and
220 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
knowledge of them become a man of fashion very well.
But, beyond certain bounds, the man of taste ends, and the
frivolous virtuoso begins.
Your friend Mendes, the good Samaritan, dined with me
yesterday. He has more good-nature and generosity than
parts. However, I will show him all the civilities that his
kindness to you so justly deserves. He tells me that you
are taller than I am, which I am very glad of: I desire
that you may excel me in everything else too; and, far
from repining, I shall rejoice at your superiority. He com
mends your friend Mr. Stevens extremely ; of whom too I
have heard so good a character from other people, that I
am very glad of your connection with him. It may prove
of use to you hereafter. When you meet with such sort of
Englishmen abroad, who, either from their parts or their
rank, are likely to make a figure at home, I would advise
you to cultivate them, and get their favorable testimony of
you here, especially those who are to return to England
before you. Sir Charles Williams has puffed you (as the
mob call it) here extremely. If three or four more people
of parts do the same, before you come back, your first
appearance in London will be to great advantage. Many
people do, and indeed ought, to take things upon trust;
many more do, who need not; and few dare dissent from
an established opinion. Adieu !
LETTER LXXXIV
LONDON, October 2, O. S. 1749.
DEAR BOY : I received by the last post your letter of the
32d September, N. S., but I have not received that
from Mr. Harte to which you refer, and which you
say contained your reasons for leaving Verona, and return
ing to Venice; so that I am entirely ignorant of them,
ideed the irregularity and negligence of the post provoke
they break the thread of the accounts I want to
eive from you, and of the instructions and orders which
send you, almost every post. Of these last twenty posts
LETTERS TO HIS SON 221
I am sure that I have wrote eighteen, either to you or to
Mr. Harte, and it does not appear by your letter, that all
or even any of my letters have been received. I desire for
the future, that both you and Mr. Harte will constantly, in
your letters, mention the dates of mine. Had it not been
for their miscarriage, you would not have been in the uncer
tainty you seem to be in at present, with regard to your
future motions. Had you received my letters, you would
have been by this time at Naples : but we must now take
things where they are.
Upon the receipt, then, of this letter, you will as soon
as conveniently you can, set out for Rome; where you will
not arrive too long before the Jubilee, considering the
difficulties of getting lodgings, and other accommodations
there at this time. I leave the choice of the route to you ;
but I do by no means intend that you should leave Rome
after the Jubilee, as you seem to hint in your letter : on
the contrary, I will have Rome your headquarters for six
months at least ; till you shall have, ill a manner, acquired
the Jus Civitatis there. More things are to be seen and
learned there, than in any other town in Europe ; there
are the best masters to instruct, and the best companies to
polish you. In the spring you may make (if you please)
frequent excursions to Naples ; but Rome must still be
your headquarters, till the heats of June drive you from
thence to some other place in Italy, which we shall think
of by that time. As to the expense which you mention, I
do not regard it in the least ; from your infancy to this
day, I never grudged any expense in your education, and
still less do it now, that it is become more important and
decisive. I attend to the objects of your expenses, but not
to the sums. I will certainly not pay one shilling for your
losing your nose, your money, or your reason; that is, I
will not contribute to women, gaming, and drinking. But
I will most cheerfully supply, not only every necessary,
but every decent expense you can make. I do not care
what the best masters cost. I would have you as well
dressed, lodged, and attended, as any reasonable man of
fashion is in his travels. I would have you have that
pocket-money that should enable you to make the proper
expense d'un honnete homme. In short, I bar no expense,
222 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
that has neither vice nor folly for its object ; and under
those two reasonable restrictions, draw, and welcome.
As for Turin, you may go there hereafter, as a traveler,
for a month or two ; but you cannot conveniently reside
there as an academician, for reasons which I have formerly
communicated to Mr. Harte, and which Mr. Villettes, since
his return here, has shown me in a still stronger light than
he had done by his letters from Turin, of which I sent copies
to Mr. Harte, though probably he never received them.
After you have left Rome, Florence is one of the places
with which you should be thoroughly acquainted. I know
that there is a great deal of gaming there ; but, at the same
time, there are in every place some people whose fortunes
are either too small, or whose understandings are too good
to allow them to play for anything above trifles ; and with
those people you will associate yourself, if you have not
(as I am assured you have not, in the least) the spirit of
gaming in you. Moreover, at suspected places, such as
Florence, Turin, and Paris, I shall be more attentive to
your draughts, and such as exceed a proper and handsome
expense will not be answered; for I can easily know whether
you game or not without being told.
Mr. Harte will determine your route to Rome as he
shall think best; whether along the coast of the Adriatic,
or that of the Mediterranean, it is equal to me; but you
will observe to come back a different way from that you
went.
Since your health is so well restored, I am not sorry
that you have returned to Venice, for I love capitals.
Everything is best at capitals ; the best masters, the best
companions, and the best manners. Many other places are
worth seeing, but capitals only are worth residing at. I
am very glad that Madame Capello received you so well.
Monsieur I was sure would : pray assure them both of my re
spects, and of my sensibility of their kindness to you. Their
house will be a very good one for you at Rome ; and I would
advise you to be domestic in it if you can. But Madame,
I can tell you, requires great attentions. Madame Micheli
has written a very favorable account of you to my friend
the Abbe Grossa Testa, in a letter which he showed me,
and in which there are so many civil things to myself, that
LETTERS TO HIS SON 223
I would wish to tell her how much I think myself obliged
to her. I approve very much of the allotment of your
time at Venice ; pray go on so for a twelvemonth at least,
wherever you are. You will find your own account in it.
I like your last letter, which gives me an account of
yourself, and your own transactions ; for though I do not
recommend the EGOTISM to you, with regard to anybody
else, I desire that you will use it with me, and with me
only. I interest myself in all that you do ; and as yet
(excepting Mr. Harte) nobody else does. He must of
course know all, and I desire to know a great deal.
I am glad you have received, and that you like the dia
mond buckles. I am very willing that you should make, but
very unwilling that you should CUT a figure with them at
the Jubilee; the CUTTING A FIGURE being the very lowest
vulgarism in the English language ; and equal in elegancy
to Yes, my Lady, and No, my Lady. The word VAST and
VASTLY, you will have found by my former letter that I
had proscribed out of the diction of a gentleman, unless
in their proper signification of SIZE and BULK. Not only
in language, but in everything else, take great care that
the first impressions you give of yourself may be not
only favorable, but pleasing, engaging, nay, seducing.
They are often decisive ; I confess they are a good deal
so with me : and I cannot wish for further acquaint
ance with a man whose first abord and address dis
please me.
So many of my letters have miscarried, and I know so lit
tle which, that I am forced to repeat the same thing over and
over again eventually. This is one. I have wrote twice
to Mr. Harte, to have your picture drawn in miniature,
while you were at Venice ; and send it me in a letter : it
is all one to me whether in enamel or in water-colors,
provided it is but very like you. I would have you drawn
exactly as you are, and in no whimsical dress : and I lay
more stress upon the likeness of the picture, than upon
the taste and skill of the painter. If this be not already
done, I desire that you will have it done forthwith before you
leave Venice ; and inclose it in a letter to me, which letter, for
greater security, I would have you desire Sir James Gray
to inclose in his packet to the office ; as I, for the same
224 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
reason, send this under his cover. If the picture be done
upon vellum, it will be the most portable. Send me, at
the same time, a thread of silk of your own length exactly.
I am solicitous about your figure ; convinced, by a thou
sand instances, that a good one is a real advantage. Mens
sana in corpore sano, is the first and greatest blessing. I
would add et pulchro, to complete it. May you have that
and every other! Adieu.
Have you received my letters of recommendation to Car
dinal Albani and the Duke de Nivernois, at Rome?
LETTER LXXXV
LONDON, October 9, O. S. 1749.
DEAR BOY : If this letter finds you at all, of which I am
very doubtful, it will find you at Venice, preparing
for your journey to Rome ; which, by my last letter
to Mr. Harte, I advised you to make along the coast of the
Adriatic, through Rimini, Loretto, Ancona, etc., places that
are all worth seeing, but not worth staying at. And such
I reckon all places where the eyes only are employed. Re
mains of antiquity, public buildings, paintings, sculptures,
etc., ought to be seen, and that with a proper degree of
attention; but this is soon done, for they are only outsides.
It is not so with more important objects; the insides of
which must be seen; and they require and deserve much
more attention. The characters, the heads, and the hearts
of men, are the useful science of which I would have you
perfect master. That science is best taught and best learned
in capitals, where every human passion has its object, and
exerts all its force or all its art in the pursuit. I believe
there is no place in the world, where every passion is busier,
appears in more shapes, and is conducted with more art,
than at Rome. Therefore, when you are there, do not
imagine that the Capitol, the Vatican, and the Pantheon, are
the principal objects of your curiosity. But for one minute
that you bestow upon those, employ ten days in informing
yourself of the nature of that government, the rise and
LETTERS TO HIS SON 225
decay of the papal power, the politics of that court, the
Brigues of the cardinals, the tricks of the Conclaves ; and,
in general, everything that relates to the interior of that
extraordinary government, founded originally upon the
ignorance and superstition of mankind, extended by the
weakness of some princes, and the ambition of others ; de
clining of late in proportion as knowledge has increased;
and owing its present precarious security, not to the religion,
the affection, or the fear of the temporal powers, but to the
jealousy of each other* The Pope's excommunications are
no longer dreaded; his indulgences little solicited, and sell
very cheap ; and his territories formidable to no power, are
coveted by many, and will, most undoubtedly, within a
century, be scantled out among the gieat powers, who have
now a footing in Italy, whenever they can agree upon the
division of the bear's skin. Pray inform yourself thoroughly
of the history of the popes and the popedom ; which, for
many centuries, is interwoven with the history of all Europe.
Read the best authors who treat of these matters, and
especially Fra Paolo, De Beneficiis, a short, but very
material book. You will find at Rome some of all the
religious orders in the Christian world. Inform yourself
carefully of their origin, their founders, their rules, their
reforms, and even their dresses : get acquainted with some
of all of them, but particularly with the Jesuits ; whose
society I look upon to be the most able and best
governed society in the world. Get acquainted, if you can,
with their General, who always resides at Rome; and who,
though he has no seeming power out of his own society, has
(it may be) more real influence over the whole world, than
any temporal prince in it. They have almost engrossed the
education of youth; they are, in general, confessors to most
of the princes of Europe ; and they are the principal mis
sionaries out of it ; which three articles give them a most
extensive influence and solid advantages ; witness their
settlement in Paraguay. The Catholics in general declaim
against that society ; and yet are all governed by individuals
of it. They have, by turns, been banished, and with infamy,
almost every country in Europe; and have always found
means to be restored, even with triumph. In short, I know
no government in the world that is carried on upon such
15
226 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
deep principles of policy, I will not add morality. Con
verse with them, frequent them, court them; but know
them.
Inform yourself, too, of that infernal court, the Inquisition ;
which, though not so considerable at Rome as in Spain and
Portugal, will, however, be a good sample to you of what
the villainy of some men can contrive, the folly of others
receive, and both together establish, in spite of the first
natural principles of reason, justice, and equity.
These are the proper and useful objects of the attention
of a man of sense, when he travels ; and these are the ob
jects for which I have sent you abroad; and I hope you
will return thoroughly informed of them.
I receive this very moment Mr. Harte's letter of the ist
October, N. S., but I never received his former, to which he
refers in this, and you refer in your last ; in which he gave
me the reasons for your leaving Verona so soon ; nor have
I ever received that letter in which your case was stated
by your physicians. Letters to and from me have worse
luck than other people's ; for you have written to me, and
I to you, for these last three months, by way of Germany,
with as little success as before.
I am edified with your morning applications, and your
evening gallantries at Venice, of \vhich Mr. Harte gives
me an account. Pray go on with both there, and afterward
at Rome; where, provided you arrive in the beginning of
December, you may stay at Venice as much longer as you
please.
Make my compliments to Sir James Gray and Mr.
Smith, with my acknowledgments for the great civilities
they show you.
I wrote to Mr. Harte by the last post, October the 6th,
O. S., and will write to him in a post or two upon the
contents of his last. Adieu ! Point de distractions; and
remember the GRACES.
LETTERS TO HIS SON 227
LETTER LXXXVI
LONDON, October 17, O. S. 1749.
DEAR BOY : I have at last received Mr. Harte's letter
of the i9th September, N. S., from Verona. Your
reasons for leaving that place were very good ones;
and as you stayed there long enough to see what was to be
seen, Venice (as a capital) is, in my opinion, a much better
place for your residence. Capitals are always the seats of
arts and sciences, and the best companies. I have stuck to
them all my lifetime, and I advise you to do so too.
You will have received in my three or four last letters
my directions for your further motions to another capital,
where I propose that your stay shall be pretty considerable.
The expense, I am well aware, will be so too ; but that, as
I told you before, will have no weight when your improve
ment and advantage are in the other scale. I do not care
a groat what it is, if neither vice nor folly are the objects
of it, and if Mr. Harte gives his sanction.
I am very well pleased with your account of Carniola;
those are the kind of objects worthy of your inquiries and
knowledge. The produce, the taxes, the trade, the manu
factures, the strength, the weakness, the government of the
several countries which a man of sense travels through, are
the material points to which he attends; and leaves the
steeples, the market-places, and the signs, to the laborious
and curious researches of Dutch and German travelers.
Mr. Harte tells me, that he intends to give you, by
means of Signor Vicentini, a general notion of civil and
military architecture ; with which I am very well pleased.
They are frequent subjects of conversation ; and it is very
right that you should have some idea of the latter, and
a good taste of the former ; and you may very soon learn
as much as you need know of either. If you read about
one-third of Palladio's book of architecture with some
skillful person, and then, with that person, examine the
best buildings by those rules, you will know the different
proportions of the different orders ; the several diameters of
228 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
their columns ; their intercolumniations, their several uses,
etc. The Corinthian Order is chiefly used in magnificent
buildings, where ornament and decoration are the principal
objects ; the Doric is calculated for strength, and the Ionic
partakes of the Doric strength, and of the Corinthian orna
ments. The Composite and the Tuscan orders are more
modern, and were unknown to the Greeks ; the one is too
light, the other too clumsy. You may soon be acquainted
with the considerable parts of civil architecture ; and for
the minute and mechanical parts of it, leave them to
masons, bricklayers, and Lord Burlington, who has, to a
certain extent, lessened himself by knowing them too well.
Observe the same method as to military architecture; under
stand the terms, know the general rules, and then see them
in execution with some skillful person. Go with some
engineer or old officer, and view with care the real forti
fications of some strong place ; and you will get a clearer
idea of bastions, half-moons, horn-works, ravelins, glacis,
etc., than all the masters in the world could give you upon
paper. And thus much I would, by all means, have you
know of both civil and military architecture.
I would also have you acquire a liberal taste of the two
liberal arts of painting and sculpture ; but without descend
ing into those minutice, which our modern virtuosi most
affectedly dwell upon. Observe the great parts attentively;
see if nature be truly represented; if the passions are
strongly expressed ; if the characters are preserved ; and
leave the trifling parts, with their little jargon, to affected
puppies. I would advise you also, to read the history of
the painters and sculptors, and I know none better than
Felibien's. There are many in Italian ; you will inform
yourself which are the best. It is a part of history
very entertaining, curious enough, and not quite useless.
All these sort of things I would have you know, to a
certain degree; but remember, that they must only be the
amusements, and not the business of a man of parts.
Since writing to me in German would take up so much
of your time, of which I would not now have one moment
wasted, I will accept of your composition, and content my
self with a moderate German letter once a fortnight, to
Lady Chesterfield or Mr. Gravenkop. My meaning was
LETTERS TO HIS SON 229
only that you should not forget what you had already
learned of the German language and character; but, on the
contrary, that by frequent use it should grow more easy
and familiar. Provided you take care of that, I do not
care by what means: but I do desire that you will every
day of your life speak German to somebody or other (for
you will meet with Germans enough), and write a line or
two of it every day to keep your hand in. Why should
you not (for instance) write your little memorandums and
accounts in that language and character? by which, too, you
would have this advantage into the bargain, that, if mis
laid, few but yourself could read them.
I am extremely glad to hear that you like the assemblies
at Venice well enough to sacrifice some suppers to them;
for I hear that you do not dislike your suppers neither. It
is therefore plain, that there is somebody or something at
those assemblies, which you like better than your meat.
And as I know that there is none but good company at
those assemblies, I am very glad to find that you like good
company so well. I already imagine that you are a little
smoothed by it; and that you have either reasoned your
self, or that they have laughed you out of your absences
and DISTRACTIONS ; for I cannot suppose that you go there
to insult them. I likewise imagine, that you wish to be
welcome where you wish to go; and consequently, that you
both present and behave yourself there en galant homme, et
pas in bourgeois.
If you have vowed to anybody there one of those eternal
passions which I have sometimes known, by great accident,
last three months, I can tell you that without great attention,
infinite politeness, and engaging air and manners, the omens
will be sinister, and the goddess unpropitious. Pray tell
me what are the amusements of those assemblies? Are
they little commercial play, are they music, are they la
belle conversation, or are they all three? T file-t-on le par-
fait amour? T debite-t-on les beaux sentimens? Ou est-ce
qu'on y parle Epigramme? And pray which is your de
partment? Tutis depone in auribus. Whichever it is,
endeavor to shine and excel in it. Aim at least at the
perfection of everything that is worth doing at all; and
you will come nearer it than you would imagine ; but those
230 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
always crawl infinitely short of it whose aim is only
mediocrity. Adieu.
P. S. By an uncommon diligence of the post, I have
this moment received yours of the 9th, N. S.
LETTER LXXXVII
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 i2th, 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 con
verse 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 unwill
ingly obeyed its generals only from the fear of punishment,
says, they obeyed indeed, Sed ut qut mallent jussa Impera-
torum interpretari, quam exequi. For my own part, I dis
claim 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 who
ever 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, & tort ou a travers,
as soon as ever you have got words enough to ask a com
mon question, or give a common answer. If you can only
say buon giorno, say it, instead of saying bon jour, I mean
LETTERS TO HIS SON 231
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 thaler s,
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. // est vrai quVil ne paie pas beaucoup de sa
figure; but he has sense and knowledge at bottom, with a
great experience of business, having been already Ambassa
dor 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 re
maining 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 busi
ness.
232 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
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.
D
LETTER LXXXVIII
LONDON, November 3, O. S. 1749.
EAR BOY : From the time that you have had life, it has
been the principle and favorite object of mine, to
make you as perfect as the imperfections of human
nature will allow : in this view, I have grudged no pains
nor expense in your education ; convinced that education,
more than nature, is the cause of that great difference which
you see in the characters of men. While you were a child,
I endeavored to form your heart habitually to virtue and
honor, before your understanding was capable of showing
you their beauty and utility. Those principles, which you
then got, like your grammar rules, only by rote, are now,
I am persuaded, fixed and confirmed by reason. And in
deed they are so plain and clear, that they require but a
very moderate degree of understanding, either to comprehend
or practice them. Lord Shaftesbury says, very prettily, that
he would be virtuous for his own sake, though nobody
were to know it; as he would be clean for his own sake,
though nobody were to see him. I have therefore, since you
have had the use of your reason, never written to you upon
those subjects : they speak best for themselves ; and I should
now just as soon think of warning you gravely not to fall
into the dirt or the fire, as into dishonor or vice. This
view of mine, I consider as fully attained. My next object
was sound and useful learning. My own care first, Mr.
Harte's afterward, and OF LATE (I will own it to your
praise) your own application, have more than answered my
expectations in that particular ; and, I have reason to believe,
LETTERS TO HIS SON 233
will answer even my wishes. All that remains for me
then to wish, to recommend, to inculcate, to order, and to
insist upon, is good-breeding; without which, all your other
qualifications will be lame, unadorned, and to a certain
degree unavailing. And here I fear, and have too much
reason to believe, that you are greatly deficient. The re
mainder of this letter, therefore, shall be (and it will not
be the last by a great many) upon that subject.
A friend of yours and mine has very justly defined good-
breeding tO be, THE RESULT OF MUCH GOOD SENSE, SOME
GOOD NATURE, AND A LITTLE SELF-DENIAL FOR THE SAKE
OF OTHERS, AND WITH A VIEW TO OBTAIN THE SAME IN
DULGENCE FROM THEM. Taking this for granted (as I
think it cannot be disputed), it is astonishing to me that
anybody who has good sense and good nature (and I be
lieve you have both), can essentially fail in good-breeding.
As to the modes of it, indeed., they vary according to per
sons, and places, and circumstances ; and are only to be ac
quired by observation and experience : but the substance of
it is everywhere and eternally the same. Good manners
are, to particular societies, what good morals are to society
in general ; their cement and their security. And, as laws
are enacted to enforce good morals, or at least to prevent
the ill effects of bad ones ; so there are certain rules of
civility, universally implied and received, to enforce good
manners and punish bad ones. And, indeed, there seems
to me to be less difference, both between the crimes and
between the punishments than at first one would imagine.
The immoral man, who invades another man's property,
is justly hanged for it; and the ill-bred man, who, by his
ill-manners, invades and disturbs the quiet and comforts
of private life, is by common consent as justly banished
society. Mutual complaisances, attentions, and sacrifices of
little conveniences, are as natural an implied compact be
tween civilized people, as protection and obedience are be
tween kings and subjects ; whoever, in either case, violates
that compact, justlv forfeits all advantages arising from it.
For my own part, I really think, that next to the conscious
ness of doing a good action, that of doing a civil one is
the most pleasing; and the epithet which I should covet
the most, next to that of Aristides, would be that of well-
234 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
bred. Thus much for good-breeding in general ; I will
now consider some of the various modes and degrees of it.
Very few, scarcely any, are wanting in the respect which
they should show to those whom they acknowledge to be
infinitely their superiors ; such as crowned heads, princes,
and public persons of distinguished and eminent posts. It
is the manner of showing that respect which is different.
The man of fashion and of the world, expresses it in its
fullest extent ; but naturally, easily, and without concern :
whereas a man, who is not used to keep good company,
expresses it awkwardly; one sees that he is not used to it,
and that it costs him a great deal : but I never saw the
worst-bred man living guilty of lolling, whistling, scratch
ing his head, and such-like indecencies, in company that
he respected. In such companies, therefore, the only point
to be attended to is to show that respect, which every
body means to show, in an easy, unembarrassed, and grace
ful manner. This is what observation and experience must
teach you.
In mixed companies, -whoever is admitted to make part
of them, is, for the time at least, supposed to be upon a
footing of equality with the rest : and consequently, as
there is no one principal object of awe and respect, people
are apt to take a greater latitude in their behavior, and to
be less upon their guard ; and so they may, provided it be
within certain bounds, which are upon no occasion to be
transgressed. But, upon these occasions, though no one is
entitled to distinguished marks of respect, everyone claims,
and very justly, every mark of civility and good-breeding.
Ease is allowed, but carelessness and negligence are strictly
forbidden. If a man accosts you, and talks to you ever so
dully or frivolously, it is worse than rudeness, it is brutality,
to show him, by a manifest inattention to what he says, that
you think him a fool or a blockhead, and not worth hear
ing. It is much more so with regard to women ; who, of
whatever rank they are, are entitled, in consideration of their
sex, not only to an attentive, but an officious good-breeding
from men. Their little wants, likings, dislikes, preferences,
antipathies, fancies, whims, and even impertinencies, must
be officiously attended to, flattered, and, if possible, guessed
at and anticipated by a well-bred man. You must never
LETTERS TO HIS SON 235
usurp to yourself those conveniences and agremens which
are of common right ; such as the best places, the best
dishes, etc., but on the contrary, always decline them your
self, and offer them to others ; who, in their turns, will
offer them to you ; so that, upon the whole, you will in
your turn enjoy your share of the common right. It would
be endless for me to enumerate all the particular instances
in which a well-bred man shows his good-breeding in good
company ; and it would be injurious to you to suppose that
your own good sense will not point them out to you ; and
then your own good-nature will recommend, and your self-
interest enforce the practice.
There is a third sort of good-breeding, in which people
are the most apt to fail, from a very mistaken notion that
they cannot fail at all. I mean with regard to one's most
familiar friends and acquaintances, or those who really are
our inferiors ; and there, undoubtedly, a greater degree of
ease is not only allowed, but proper, and contributes much
to the comforts of a private, social life. But that ease and
freedom have their bounds too, which must by no means be
violated. A certain degree of negligence and carelessness
becomes injurious and insulting, from the real or supposed
inferiority of the persons : and that delightful liberty of
conversation among a few friends is soon destroyed, as lib
erty often has been, by being carried to licentiousness. But
example explains things best, and I will put a pretty strong
case. Suppose you and me alone together ; I believe you
will allow that I have as good a right to unlimited free
dom in your company, as either you or I can possibly
have in any other ; and I am apt to believe too, that you
would indulge me in that freedom as far as anybody
would. But, notwithstanding this, do you imagine that I
should think there were no bounds to that freedom? I assure
you, I should not think so ; and I take myself to be as
much tied down by a certain degree of good manners
to you, as by other degrees of them to other people. Were
I to show you, by a manifest inattention to what you said
to me, that I was thinking of something else the whole
time ; were I to yawn extremely, snore, or break wind in
your company, I should think that I behaved myself to you
like a beast, and should not expect that you would care to
236 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
frequent me. No. The most familiar and intimate habi
tudes, connections, and friendships, require a degree of good-
breeding, both to preserve and cement them. If ever a
man and his wife, or a man and his mistress, who pass
nights as well as days together, absolutely lay aside all
good-breeding, their intimacy will soon degenerate into a
coarse familiarity, infallibly productive of contempt or dis
gust. The best of us have our bad sides, and it is as im
prudent, as it is ill-bred, to exhibit them. I shall certainly
not use ceremony with you ; it would be misplaced between
us : but I shall certainly observe that degree of good-breeding
with you, which is, in the first place, decent, and which
I am sure is absolutely necessary to make us like one an
other's company long.
I will say no more, now, upon this important subject of
good-breeding, upon which I have already dwelt too long,
it may be, for one letter ; and upon which I shall fre
quently refresh your memory hereafter ; but I will conclude
with these axioms : —
That the deepest learning, without good-breeding, is un
welcome and tiresome pedantry, and of use nowhere but
in a man's own closet ; and consequently of little or no use
at all.
That a man, who is not perfectly well-bred, is unfit for
good company and unwelcome in it ; will consequently dis
like it soon, afterward renounce it; and be reduced to soli
tude, or, what is worse, low and bad company.
That a man who is not well-bred, is full as unfit for busi
ness as for company.
Make then, my dear child, I conjure you, good-breeding
the great object of your thoughts and actions, at least half
the day. Observe carefully the behavior and manners of
those who are distinguished by their good-breeding; imitate,
nay, endeavor to excel, that you may at least reach them ;
and be convinced that good-breeding is, to all worldly quali
fications, what charity is to all Christian virtues. Observe
how it adorns merit, and how often it covers the want of
it. May you wear it to adorn, and not to cover you!
Adieu.
LETTERS TO HIS SON 237
LETTER LXXXIX
LONDON, November 14, O. S. i749-
DEAR BOY: There is a natural good-breeding which
occurs to every man of common sense, and is prac
ticed by every man of common good-nature. This
good-breeding is general, independent of modes, and con
sists in endeavors to please and oblige our fellow-creatures
by all good offices, short of moral duties. This will be
practiced by a good-natured American savage, as essentially
as by the best-bred European. But then, I do not take it
to extend to the sacrifice of our own conveniences, for the
sake of other people's. Utility introduced this sort of good-
breeding as it introduced commerce ; and established a truck
of the little agremens and pleasures of life. I sacrifice such
a conveniency to you, you sacrifice another to me; this com
merce circulates, and every individual finds his account in
it upon the whole. The third sort of good-breeding is local,
and is variously modified, in not only different countries,
but in different towns of the same country. But it must
be founded upon the two former sorts; they are the mat
ter to which, in this case, fashion and custom only give
the different shapes and impressions. Whoever has the two
first sorts will easily acquire this third sort of good-breeding,
which depends singly upon attention and observation. It
is, properly, the polish, the lustre, the last finishing stroke
of good-breeding. It is to be found only in capitals, and
even there it varies; the good-breeding of Rome differing,
in some things, from that of Paris ; that of Paris, in others,
from that of Madrid ; and that of Madrid, in many things,
from that of London. A man of sense, therefore, care
fully attends to the local manners of the respective places
where he is, and takes for his models those persons whom
he oberves to be at the head of fashion and good-breeding.
He watches how they address themselves to their superiors,
how they accost their equals, and how they treat their in
feriors ; and lets none of those little niceties escape him
which are to good-breeding what the last delicate and mas
terly touches are to a good picture ; and of which the vulgar
238 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
have no notion, but by which good judges distinguish the
master. He attends even to their air, dress, and motions,
and imitates them, liberally, and not servilely ; he copies,
but does not mimic. These personal graces are of very
great consequence. They anticipate the sentiments, before
merit can engage the understanding ; they captivate the
heart, and give rise, I believe, to the extravagant notions
of charms and philters. Their effects were so surprising,
that they were reckoned supernatural. The most graceful
and best-bred men, and the handsomest and genteelest
women, give the most philters ; and, as I verily believe, with
out the least assistance of the devil. Pray be not only well
dressed, but shining in your dress ; let it have du brillant.
I do not mean by a clumsy load of gold and silver, but by
the taste and fashion of it. The women like and require
it; they think it an attention due to them; but, on the other
hand, if your motions and carriage are not graceful, gen
teel, and natural, your fine clothes will only display your
awkwardness the more. But I am unwilling to suppose
you still awkward ; for surely, by this time, you must have
catched a good air in good company. When you went from
hence you were naturally awkward ; but your awkwardness
was adventitious and Westmonasterial. Leipsig, I appre
hend, is not the seat of the Graces ; and I presume you ac
quired none there. But now, if you will be pleased to ob
serve what people of the first fashion do with their legs and
arms, heads and bodies, you will reduce yours to certain de
cent laws of motion. You danced pretty well here, and
ought to dance very well before you come home ; for what
one is obliged to do sometimes, one ought to be able to do
well. Besides, la belle danse donne du brillant a un jeune
homme. And you should endeavor to shine. A calm seren
ity, negative merit and graces, do not become your age.
You should be alerte, adroit, vif; be wanted, talked of, im
patiently expected, and unwillingly parted with in com
pany. I should be glad to hear half a dozen women of fash
ion say, Ou est done le petit Stanhope? ^jie ne vient-il ?
II faut avouer qu^il est aimable. All this I do not mean
singly with regard to women as the principal object ; but,
with regard to men, and with a view of your making your
self considerable. For with very small variations, the same
^I >.";f
^^V AFFAIR OF HONOR
Photogravure after the original painting by J. Munsch,
LETTERS TO HIS SON 239
things that please women please men ; and a man whose
manners are softened and polished by women of fashion,
and who is formed by them to an habitual attention and
complaisance, will please, engage, and connect men, much
easier and more than he would otherwise. You must be
sensible that you cannot rise in the world, without forming
connections, and engaging different characters to conspire
in your point. You must make them your dependents with
out their knowing it, and dictate to them while you seem
to be directed by them. Those necessary connections can
never be formed, or preserved, but by an uninterrupted
series of complaisance, attentions, politeness, and some con
straint. You must engage their hearts, if you would have
their support; you must watch the mollia tempora,&n.d. cap
tivate them by the agremens and charms of conversation.
People will not be called out to your service, only when
you want them; and, if you expect to receive strength from
them, they must receive either pleasure or advantage from
you.
I received in this instant a letter from Mr. Harte, of the
2d N.S., which I will answer soon; in the meantime, I
return him my thanks for it, through you. The constant
good accounts which he gives me of you, will make me
suspect him of partiality, and think him le medecin tant
mieux. Consider, therefore, what weight any future depo
sition of his against you must necessarily have with me.
As, in that case, he will be a very unwilling, he must
consequently be a very important witness. Adieu !
LETTER XC
DEAR BOY : My last was upon the subject of good-
breeding; but I think it rather set before you the
unfitness and disadvantages of ill-breeding, than the
utility and necessity of good; it was rather negative than
positive. This, therefore, should go further, and explain to
you the necessity, which you, of all people living, lie
under, not only of being positively and actively well-bred,
but of shining and distinguishing yourself by your good-
240 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
breeding. Consider your own situation in every particular,
and judge whether it is not essentially your interest, by
your own good-breeding to others, to secure theirs to you :
and that, let me assure you, is the only way of doing it ;
for people will repay, and with interest too, inattention
with inattention, neglect with neglect, and ill manners with
worse : which may engage you in very disagreeable affairs.
In the next place, your profession requires, more than any
other, the nicest and most distinguished good-breeding.
You will negotiate with very little success, if you do not
previously, by your manners, conciliate and engage the
affections of those with whom you are to negotiate. Can
you ever get into the confidence and the secrets of the
courts where you may happen to reside, if you have
not those pleasing, insinuating manners, which alone can
procure them? Upon my word, I do not say too much,
when I say that superior good-breeding, insinuating man
ners, and genteel address, are half your business. Your
knowledge will have but very little influence upon the mind, if
your manners prejudice the heart against you; but, on the other
hand, how easily will you DUPE the understanding, where you
have first engaged the heart? and hearts are by no means to
be gained by that mere common civility which everybody prac
tices. Bowing again to those who bow to you, answering
dryly those who speak to you, and saying nothing offensive to
anybody, is such negative good-breeding that it is only
not being a brute; as it would be but a very poor com
mendation of any man's cleanliness to say that he did not
stink. It is an active, cheerful, officious, seducing, good-
breeding that must gain you the good-will and first
sentiments of men, and the affections of the women. You
must carefully watch and attend to their passions, their
tastes, their little humors and weaknesses, and aller au devant.
You must do it at the same time with alacrity and em-
pressement, and not as if you graciously condescended to
humor their weaknesses.
For instance, suppose you invited anybody to dine or
sup with you, you ought to recollect if you had observed
that they had any favorite dish, and take care to provide
it for them ; and wrhen it came you should say, You
SEEMED TO ME, AT SUCH AND SUCH A PLACE, TO GIVE
LETTERS TO HIS SON 241
THIS DISH A PREFERENCE, AND THEREFORE I ORDERED IT;
THIS IS THE WINE THAT I OBSERVED YOU LIKED, AND
THEREFORE I PROCURED SOME. The more trifling these
things are, the more they prove your attention for the
person, and are consequently the more engaging. Consult
your own breast, and recollect how these little attentions,
when shown you by others, flatter that degree of self-love
and vanity from which no man living is free. Reflect
how they incline and attract you to that person, and how
you are propitiated afterward to all which that person
says or does. The same causes will have the same effects
in your favor. Women, in a great degree, establish or
destroy every man's reputation of good-breeding ; you must,
therefore, in a manner, overwhelm them with these atten
tions: they are used to them, they expect them, and, to
do them justice, they commonly requite them. You must
be sedulous, and rather over officious than under, in pro
curing them their coaches, their chairs, their conveniences
in public places : not see what you should not see ; and
rather assist, where you cannot help seeing. Opportunities
of showing these attentions present themselves perpetually ;
but if they do not, make them. As Ovid advises his lover,
when he sits in the Circus near his mistress, to wipe the
dust off her neck, even if there be none : Si nullus, tamen
excute nullum. Your conversation with women should
always be respectful ; but, at the same time, enjoue, and
always addressed to their vanity. Everything you say or
do should convince them of the regard you have (whether
you have it or not) for their beauty, their wit, or their
merit. Men have possibly as much vanity as women,
though of another kind; and both art and good-breeding
require, that, instead of mortifying, you should please and
flatter it, by words and looks of approbation. Suppose
(which is by no means improbable) that, at your return to
England, I should place you near the person of some one
of the royal family; in that situation, good-breeding, engag
ing address, adorned with all the graces that dwell at
courts, would very probably make you a favorite, and,
from a favorite, a minister ; but all the knowledge and
learning in the world, without them, never would. The
penetration of princes seldom goes deeper than the surface.
16
242 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
It is the exterior that always engages their hearts; and I
would never advise you to give yourself much trouble about
their understanding. Princes in general (I mean those
P orphyrogenets who are born and bred in purple) are about
the pitch of women ; bred up like them, and are to be
addressed and gained in the same manner. They always
see, they seldom weigh. Your lustre, not your solidity,
must take them ; your inside will afterward support and
secure what your outside has acquired. With weak people
(and they undoubtedly are three parts in four of mankind)
good-breeding, address, and manners are everything; they
can go no deeper ; but let me assure you that they are a
great deal even with people of the best understandings.
Where the eyes are not pleased, and the heart is not flat
tered, the mind will be apt to stand out. Be this right or
wrong, I confess I am so made myself. Awkwardness and
ill-breeding shock me to that degree, that where I meet
with them, I cannot find in my heart to inquire into the
intrinsic merit of that person : I hastily decide in myself
that he can have none; and am not sure that I should not
even be sorry to know that he had any. I often paint you
in my imagination, in your present lontananza, and, while I
view you in the light of ancient and modern learning, useful
and ornamental knowledge, I am charmed with the pros
pect ; but when I view you in another light, and represent
you awkward, ungraceful, ill-bred, with vulgar air and
manners, shambling toward me with inattention and DIS
TRACTIONS, I shall not pretend to describe to you what I
feel ; but will do as a skillful painter did formerly — draw
a veil before the countenance of the father.
I dare say you know already enough of architecture, to
know that the Tuscan is the strongest and most solid of all
the orders ; but at the same time, it is the coarsest and
clumsiest of them. Its solidity does extremely well for the
foundation and base floor of a great edifice ; but if the
whole building be Tuscan, it will attract no eyes, it will
stop no passengers, it will invite no interior examination ;
people will take it for granted that the finishing and fur
nishing cannot be worth seeing, where the front is so
unadorned and clumsy. But if, upon the solid Tuscan
foundation, the Doric, the Ionic, and the Corinthian orders
LETTERS TO HIS SON 245,
rise gradually with all their beauty, proportions, and orna
ments, the fabric seizes the most incurious eye, and stops
the most careless passenger ; who solicits admission as a
favor, nay, often purchases it. Just so will it fare with
your little fabric, which, at present, I fear, has more of the
Tuscan than of the Corinthian order. You must absolutely
change the whole front, or nobody will knock at the door.
The several parts, which must compose this new front, are
elegant, easy, natural, superior good-breeding; an engaging
address ; genteel motions ; an insinuating softness in your
looks, words, and actions ; a spruce, lively air, fashiona
ble dress; and all the glitter that a young fellow should
have.
I am sure you would do a great deal for my sake ; and
therefore consider at your return here, what a disappoint
ment and concern it would be to me, if I could not safely
depute you to do the honors of my house and table ; and if
I should be ashamed to present you to those who frequent
both. Should you be awkward, inattentive, and distrait^
and happen to meet Mr. L at my table, the consequences
of that meeting must be fatal; you would run your heads-
against each other, cut each other's ringers, instead of
your meat, or die by the precipitate infusion of scalding
soup.
This is really so copious a subject, that there is no end
of being either serious or ludicrous upon it. It is impos
sible, too, to enumerate or state to you the various cases in
good-breeding ; they are infinite ; there is no situation or
relation in the world so remote or so intimate, that doe&
not require a degree of it. Your own good sense must
point it out to you; your own good-nature must incline^
and your interest prompt you to practice it ; and observa
tion and experience must give you the manner, the air and
the graces which complete the whole.
This letter will hardly overtake you, till you are at or
near Rome. I expect a great deal in every way from your
six months' stay there. My morning hopes are justly placed
in Mr. Harte, and the masters he will give you; my even
ing ones, in the Roman ladies : pray be attentive to both.
But I must hint to you, that the Roman ladies are not les
femmes savantes^ et ne vous embrasseront point pour V amour
244 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
du Grec. They must have il garbato, il leggiadro, it disin*
volto, il lusinghiero, quel non sb che, che pi ace, che alletta,
-che incanta.
I have often asserted, that the profoundest learning and
the politest manners were by no means incompatible,
though so seldom found united in the same person ; and I
have engaged myself to exhibit you, as a proof of the truth
of this assertion. Should you, instead of that, happen to
disprove me, the concern indeed would be mine, but the
loss will be yours. Lord Bolingbroke is a strong instance
on my side of the question ; he joins to the deepest erudi
tion, the most elegant politeness and good-breeding that
ever any courtier and man of the world was adorned \vith.
And Pope very justly called him <( All-accomplished St.
John," with regard to his knowledge and his manners. He
had, it is true, his faults; which proceeded from unbounded
ambition, and impetuous passions ; but they have now sub
sided by age and experience ; and I can wish you nothing
better than to be, what he is now, without being what he
has been formerly. His address pre-engages, his eloquence
persuades, and his knowledge informs all who approach
him. Upon the whole, I do desire, and insist, that from
after dinner till you go to bed, you make good-breeding,
address, and manners, your serious object and your only
care. Without them, you will be nobody; with them, you
may be anything.
Adieu, my dear child! My compliments to Mr. Harte.
LETTER XCI
LONDON, November 24, O. S. i749«
DEAR BOY: Every rational being (I take it for granted)
proposes to himself some object more important than
mere respiration and obscure animal existence. He
desires to distinguish himself among his fellow-creatures;
and, alicui negotio intentus, prceclari facinoris, aut artis
bonce, faman qucerit. Caesar, when embarking in a storm,
said, that it was not necessary he should live; but that it
was absolutely necessary he should get to the place to which
LETTERS TO HIS SON 245
he was going. And Pliny leaves mankind this only alter
native; either of doing what deserves to be written, or of
writing what deserves to be read. As for those who do
neither, eorum vitam mortemque juxta cestumo; quoniam de
utraque siletur. You have, I am convinced, one or both of
these objects in view ; but you must know and use the
necessary means, or your pursuit will be vain and frivolous.
In either case, Sapere est principium et fons; but it is by
no means all. That knowledge must be adorned, it must
have lustre as well as weight, or it will be oftener taken
for lead than for gold. Knowledge you have, and will
have: I am easy upon that article. But my business, as
your friend, is not to compliment you upon what you have,
but to tell you with freedom what you want ; and I must
tell you plainly, that I fear you want everything but
knowledge.
I have written to you so often, of late, upon good-breeding,
address, les manures liantes, the Graces, etc., that I shall
confine this letter to another subject, pretty near akin to
them, and which, I am sure, you are full as deficient in ;
I mean Style.
Style is the dress of thoughts ; and let them be ever so
just, if your style is homely, coarse, and vulgar, they will
appear to as much disadvantage, and be as ill received as
your person, though ever so well proportioned, would, if
dressed in rags, dirt, and tatters. It is not every under
standing that can judge of matter; but every ear can and
does judge, more or less, of style: and were I either to
speak or write to the public, I should prefer moderate mat
ter, adorned with all the beauties and elegancies of style,
to the strongest matter in the world, ill-worded and ill-
delivered. Your business is negotiation abroad, and oratory
in the House of Commons at home. What figure can you
make, in either case, if your style be inelegant, I do not
say bad? Imagine yourself writing an office-letter to a
secretary of state, which letter is to be read by the whole
Cabinet Council, and very possibly afterward laid before
parliament; any one barbarism, solecism, or vulgarism in it,
would, in a very few days, circulate through the whole
kingdom, to your disgrace and ridicule. For instance, I
will suppose you had written the following letter from The
246 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
Hague to the Secretary of State at London ; and leave you
to suppose the consequences of it: —
MY LORD: I HAD, last night, the honor of your Lordship's
letter of the 24th; and will SET ABOUT DOING the orders
contained THEREIN ; and IF so BE that I can get that affair
done by the next post, I will not fail FOR TO give your Lord
ship an account of it by NEXT POST. I have told the
French Minister, AS HOW THAT IF that affair be not soon
concluded, your Lordship would think it ALL LONG OF HIM;
and that he must have neglected FOR TO have wrote to his
court about it. I must beg leave to put your Lordship in
mind AS HOW, that I am now full three quarter in arrear ;
and if so BE that I do not very soon receive at least one-
half year, I shall CUT A VERY BAD FIGURE ; FOR THIS HERE
place is very dear. I shall be VASTLY BEHOLDEN to your
Lordship for THAT THERE mark of your favor; and so I
REST or REMAIN, Your, etc.
You will tell me, possibly, that this is a caricatura of an
illiberal and inelegant style: I will admit it; but assure
you, at the same time, that a dispatch with less than half
these faults would blow you up forever. It is by no means
sufficient to be free from faults, in speaking and writing;
but you must do both correctly and elegantly. In faults of
this kind, it is not ille optimus qui minimis arguetur; but
he is unpardonable who has any at all, because it is his
own fault : he need only attend to, observe, and imitate
the best authors.
It is a very true saying, that a man must be born a poet,
but that he may make himself an orator ; and the very first
principle of an orator is to speak his own language, par
ticularly, with the utmost purity and elegance. A man
will be forgiven even great errors in a foreign language;
but in his own, even the least slips are justly laid hold of
and ridiculed.
A person of the House of Commons, speaking two years
ago upon naval affairs, asserted, that we had then the finest
navy UPON THE FACE OF THE YEARTH. This happy mixture
of blunder and vulgarism, you may easily imagine, was
-matter of immediate ridicule; but I can assure you that it
LETTERS TO HIS SON 247
continues so still, and will be remembered as long as he
lives and speaks. Another, speaking in defense of a gentle
man, upon whom a censure was moved, happily said that he
thought that gentleman was more LIABLE to be thanked and
rewarded, than censured. You know, I presume, that LIABLE
can never be used in a good sense.
You have with you three or four of the best English
authors, Dryden, Atterbury, and Swift ; read them with the
utmost care, and with a particular view to their language,
and they may possibly correct that CURIOUS INFELICITY OF
DICTION, which you acquired at Westminster. Mr. Harte
excepted, I will admit that you have met with very few
English abroad, who could improve your style ; and with
many, I dare say, who speak as ill as yourself, and, it may
be, worse ; you must, therefore, take the more pains, and
consult your authors and Mr. Harte the more. I need not
tell you how attentive the Romans and Greeks, particularly
the Athenians, were to this object. It is also a study among
the Italians and the French ; witness their respective
academies and dictionaries for improving and fixing their
languages. To our shame be it spoken, it is less attended
to here than in any polite country ; but that is no reason why
you should not attend to it ; on the contrary, it will dis
tinguish you the more. Cicero says, very truly, that it is
glorious to excel other men in that very article, in which
men excel brutes; SPEECH.
Constant experience has shown me, that great purity and
elegance of style, with a graceful elocution, cover a multi
tude of faults, in either a speaker or a writer. For my
own part, I confess (and I believe most people are of my
mind) that if a speaker should ungracefully mutter or
stammer out to me the sense of an angel, deformed by bar
barism and solecisms, or larded with vulgarisms, he should
never speak to me a second time, if I could help it. Gain
the heart, or you gain nothing; the eyes and the ears are
the only roads to the heart. Merit and knowledge will not
gain hearts, though they will secure them when gained.
Pray, have that truth ever in your mind. Engage the eyes
by your address, air, and motions ; soothe the ears by the
elegance and harmony of your diction ; the heart will cer
tainly follow; and the whole man, or woman, will as
248 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
certainly follow the heart. I must repeat it to you, over
and over again, that with all the knowledge which you may
have at present, or hereafter acquire, and with all merit
that ever man had, if you have not a graceful address,
liberal and engaging manners, a prepossessing air, and a
good degree of eloquence in speaking and writing, you
will be nobody ; but will have the daily mortification of
seeing people, with not one-tenth part of your merit or
knowledge, get the start of you, and disgrace you, both in
company and in business.
You have read <( Quint ilian,® the best book in the world
to form an orator ; pray read Cicero de Oratore, the
best book in the world to finish one. Translate and re
translate from and to Latin, Greek, and English ; make
yourself a pure and elegant English style : it requires noth
ing but application. I do not find that God has made you
a poet ; and I am very glad that he has not : therefore, for
God's sake, make yourself an orator, which you may do.
Though I still call you boy, I consider you no longer as
such ; and when I reflect upon the prodigious quantity of
manure that has been laid upon you, I expect that you
should produce more at eighteen, than uncultivated soils do
at eight-and-twenty.
Pray tell Mr. Harte that I have received his letter of the
1 3th, N. S. Mr. Smith was much in the right not to let
you go, at this time of the year, by sea ; in the summer
you may navigate as much as you please ; as, for example,
from Leghorn to Genoa, etc. Adieu.
LETTER XCII
LONDON, November 27, O. S. 1749.
DEAR BOY : While the Roman Republic flourished, while
glory was pursued, and virtue practiced, and while
even little irregularities and indecencies, not cognizable
by law, were, however, not thought below the public care,
censors were established, discretionally to supply, in par
ticular cases, the inevitable defects of the law, which must
LETTERS TO HIS SON 249
and can only be general. This employment I assume to
myself with regard to your little republic, leaving the legis
lative power entirely to Mr. Harte ; I hope, and believe,
that he will seldom, or rather never, have occasion to exert
his supreme authority ; and I do by no means suspect you
of any faults that may require that interposition. But, to
tell you the plain truth, I am of opinion that my censorial
power will not be useless to you, nor a sinecure to me.
The sooner you make it both, the better for us both. I
can now exercise this employment only upon hearsay, or,
at most, written evidence; and therefore shall exercise it
with great lenity and some diffidence ; but when we meet,
and that I can form my judgment upon ocular and auric
ular evidence, I shall no more let the least impropriety, in
decorum, or irregularity pass uncensured, than my prede
cessor Cato did. I shall read you with the attention of a critic,
not with the partiality of an author: different in this respect,
indeed, from most critics, that I shall seek for faults only
to correct and not to expose them. I have often thought,
and still think, that there are few things which people in
general know less, than how to love and how to hate.
They hurt those they love by a mistaken indulgence, by a
blindness, nay, often by a partiality to their faults. Where
they hate they hurt themselves, by ill-timed passion and rage.
Fortunately for you, I never loved you in that mistaken
manner. From your infancy, I made you the object of my
most serious attention, and not my plaything. I consulted
your real good, not your humors or fancies ; and I shall
continue to do so while you want it, which will probably
be the case during our joint lives; for, considering the dif
ference of our ages, in the course of nature, you will hardly
have acquired experience enough of your own, while I shall be
in condition of lending you any of mine. People in general
will much better bear being told of their vices or crimes,
than of their little failings and weaknesses. They, in some
degree, justify or excuse (as they think) the former, by
strong passions, seductions, and artifices of others; but to
be told of, or to confess, their little failings and weak
nesses, implies an inferiority of parts, too mortifying to
that self-love and vanity, which are inseparable from our
natures. I have been intimate enough with several people
250 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
to tell them that they had said or done a very criminal
thing; but I never was intimate enough with any man, to
tell him, very seriously, that he had said or done a very
foolish one. Nothing less than the relation between you
and me can possibly authorize that freedom ; but fortunately
for you, my parental rights, joined to my censorial powers,
give it me in its fullest extent, and my concern for you
will make me exert it. Rejoice, therefore, that there is
one person in the world who can and will tell you what
will be very useful to you to know, and yet what no other
man living could or would tell you. Whatever I shall tell
you of this kind, you are very sure, can have no other
motive than your interest ; I can neither be jealous nor en
vious of your reputation or fortune, which I must be both
desirous and proud to establish and promote ; I cannot be
your rival either in love or in business ; on the contrary, I
want the rays of your rising to reflect new lustre upon my
setting light. In order to this, I shall analyze you
minutely, and censure you freely, that you may not (if
possible) have one single spot, when in your meridian.
There is nothing that a young fellow, at his first appear
ance in the world, has more reason to dread, and conse
quently should take more pains to avoid, than having any
ridicule fixed upon him. It degrades him with the most reas
onable part of mankind; but it ruins him with the rest; and
I have known many a man undone by acquiring a ridicu
lous nickname: I would not, for all the riches in the world,
that you should acquire one when you return to England.
Vices and crimes excite hatred and reproach; failings,
weaknesses, and awkwardnesses, excite ridicule ; they are
laid hold of by mimics, who, though very contemptible
wretches themselves, often, by their buffoonery, fix ridicule
upon their betters. The little defects in manners, elocution,
address, and air (and even of figure, though very unjustly),
are the objects of ridicule, and the causes of nicknames.
You cannot imagine the grief it would give me, and the
prejudice it would do you, if, by way of distinguishing
you from others of your name, you should happen to be
called Muttering Stanhope, Absent Stanhope, Ill-bred Stan
hope, or Awkward, Left-legged Stanhope : therefore, take
great care to put it out of the power of Ridicule itself to give
LETTERS TO HIS SON 251
you any of these ridiculous epithets ; for, if you get one, it
will stick to you, like the envenomed shirt. The very first
day that I see you, I shall be able to tell you, and cer
tainly shall tell you, what degree of danger you are in ;
and I hope that my admonitions, as censor, may prevent
the censures of the public. Admonitions are always useful ;
is this one or not? You are the best judge; it is your own
picture which I send you, drawn, at my request, by a lady
at Venice : pray let me know how far, in your conscience,
you think it like; for there are some parts of it which I
wish may, and others, which I should be sorry were. I
send you, literally, the copy of that part of her letter, to
her friend here, which relates to you.*
Tell Mr. Harte that I have this moment received his let
ter of the 22d, N. S., and that I approve extremely of the
long stay you have made at Venice. I love long residences
at capitals ; running post through different places is a most
*(<In compliance to your orders, I have examined young Stanhope
carefully, and think I have penetrated into his character. This is his
portrait, which I take to be a faithful one. His face is pleasing, his
countenance sensible, and his look clever. His figure is at present
rather too square ; but if he shoots up, which he has matter and years
for, he will then be of a good size. He has, undoubtedly, a great fund
of acquired knowledge ; I am assured that he is master of the learned
languages. As for French, I know he speaks it perfectly, and, I am
told, German as well. The questions he asks are judicious, and de
note a thirst after knowledge. I cannot say that he appears equally de
sirous of pleasing, for he seems to neglect attentions and the graces.
He does not come into a room well, nor has he that easy, noble car
riage, which would be proper for him. It is true, he is as yet young
and inexperienced ; one may therefore reasonably hope that his exer
cises, which he has not yet gone through, and good company, in
which he is still a novice, will polish, and give all that is wanting
to complete him. What seems necessary for that purpose, would be
an attachment to some woman of fashion, and who knows the world.
Some Madame de 1'Ursay would be the proper person. In short, I
can assure you, that he has everything which Lord Chesterfield can
wish him, excepting that carriage, those graces, and the style used
in the best company; which he will certainly acquire in time, and
by frequenting the polite world. If he should not, it would be great
pity, since he so well deserves to possess them. You know their im
portance. My Lord, his father, knows it too, he being master of
them all. To conclude, if little Stanhope acquires the graces, I
promise you he will make his way; if not, he will be stopped in a
course, the goal of which he might attain with honor. w
252 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
unprofitable way of traveling, and admits of no applica
tion. Adieu.
You see, by this extract, of what consequence other peo
ple think these things. Therefore, I hope you will no
longer look upon them as trifles. It is the character of an
able man to despise little things in great business : but then
he knows what things are little, and what not. He does
not suppose things are little, because they are commonly
called so : but by the consequences that may or may not
attend them. If gaining people's affections, and interesting
their hearts in your favor, be of consequence, as it un
doubtedly is, he knows very well that a happy concurrence
of all those, commonly called little things, manners, air,
address, graces, etc., is of the utmost consequence, and will
never be at rest till he has acquired them. The world is
taken by the outside of things, and we must take the world
as it is; you nor I cannot set it right. I know, at this
time, a man of great quality and station, who has not
the parts of a porter; but raised himself to the station he
is in, singly by having a graceful figure, polite manners,
and an engaging address; which, by the way, he only ac
quired by habit ; for he had not sense enough to get them
by reflection. Parts and habit should conspire to complete
you. You will have the habit of good company, and you
have reflection in your power.
LETTER XCIII
LONDON, December 5, O. S. 1749.
DEAR BOY: Those who suppose that men in general
act rationally, because they are called rational crea
tures, know very little of the world, and if they act
themselves upon that supposition, will nine times in ten
find themselves grossly mistaken. That man is, animal
bipes, implume, risibile, I entirely agree ; but for the ration
ale, I can only allow it him in actu primo (to talk logic)
and seldom in actu secundo. Thus, the speculative, clois
tered pedant, in his solitary cell, forms systems of things as
they should be, not as they are ; and writes as decisively
LETTERS TO HIS SON 253
and absurdly upon war, politics, manners, and characters,
as that pedant talked, who was so kind as to instruct
Hannibal in the art of war. Such closet politicians never
fail to assign the deepest motives for the most trifling
actions; instead of often ascribing the greatest actions to
the most trifling causes, in which they would be much sel-
domer mistaken. They read and write of kings, heroes,
and statesmen, as never doing anything but upon the deep
est principles of sound policy. But those who see and ob
serve kings, heroes, and statesmen, discover that they have
headaches, indigestions, humors, and passions, just like other
people ; everyone of which, in their turns, determine their
wills, in defiance of their reason. Had we only read in the
<(Life of Alexander, }> that he burned Persepolis, it would
doubtless have been accounted for from deep policy : we
should have been told, that his new conquest could not
have been secured without the destruction of that capital,
which would have been the constant seat of cabals, con
spiracies, and revolts. But, luckily, we are informed at the
same time, that this hero, this demi-god, this son and heir of
Jupiter Ammon, happened to get extremely drunk with his
w — e ; and, by way of frolic, destroyed one of the finest cities
in the world. Read men, therefore, yourself, not in books
but in nature. Adopt no systems, but study them your
self. Observe their weaknesses, their passions, their humors,
of all which their understandings are, nine times in ten, the
dupes. You will then know that they are to be gained,
influenced, or led, much oftener by little things than by
great ones ; and, consequently, you will no longer think
those things little, which tend to such great purposes.
Let us apply this now to the particular object of this
letter; I mean, speaking in, and influencing public assem
blies. The nature of our constitution makes eloquence
more useful, and more necessary, in this country than in
any other in Europe. A certain degree of good sense and
knowledge is requisite for that, as well as for everything
else; but beyond that, the purity of diction, the elegance
of style, the harmony of periods, a pleasing elocution, and
a graceful action, are the things which a public speaker
should attend to the most; because his audience certainly
does, and understands them the best ; or rather indeed
254 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
understands little else. The late Lord Chancellor Cowper's
strength as an orator lay by no means in his reasonings,
for he often hazarded very weak ones. But such was the
purity and elegance of his style, such the propriety and
charms of his elocution, and such the gracefulness of his
action, that he never spoke without universal applause ; the
ears and the eyes gave him up the hearts and the under
standings of the audience. On the contrary, the late Lord
Townshend always spoke materially, with argument and
knowledge, but never pleased. Why? His diction was
not only inelegant, but frequently ungrammatical, always
vulgar ; his cadences false, his voice unharmonious, and his
action ungraceful. Nobody heard him with patience; and
the young fellows used to joke upon him, and repeat his
inaccuracies. The late Duke of Argyle, though the weakest
reasoner, was the most pleasing speaker I ever knew in my
life. He charmed, he \varmed, he forcibly ravished the
audience ; not by his matter certainly, but by his manner
of delivering it. A most genteel figure, a graceful, noble
air, an harmonious voice, an elegance of style, and a
strength of emphasis, conspired to make him the most
affecting, persuasive, and applauded speaker I ever saw. I
was captivated like others ; but when I came home, and
coolly considered what he had said, stripped of all those
ornaments in which he had dressed it, I often found the
matter flimsy, the arguments weak, and I was convinced
of the power of those adventitious concurring circumstances,
which ignorance of mankind only calls trifling ones. Cicero,
in his book De Oratore, in order to raise the dignity of
that profession which he well knew himself to be at the
head of, asserts that a complete orator must be a complete
everything, lawyer, philosopher, divine, etc. That would
be extremely well, if it were possible : but man's life is
not long enough ; and I hold him to be the completest
orator, who speaks the best upon that subject which occurs ;
whose happy choice of words, whose lively imagination,
whose elocution and action adorn and grace his matter, at
the same time that they excite the attention and engage the
passions of his audience.
You will be of the House of Commons as soon as you
are of age ; and you must first make a figure there, if you
LETTERS TO HIS SON 255
would make a figure, or a fortune, in your country. This
you can never do without that correctness and elegance in
your own language, which you now seem to neglect, and
which you have entirely to learn. Fortunately for you, it
is to be learned. Care and observation will do it; but do
not flatter yourself, that all the knowledge, sense, and
reasoning in the world will ever make you a popular and
applauded speaker, without the ornaments and the graces
of style, elocution, and action. Sense and argument, though
coarsely delivered, will have their weight in a private
conversation, with two or three people of sense ; but in a
public assembly they will have none, if naked and destitute
of the advantages I have mentioned. Cardinal de Retz
observes, very justly, that every numerous assembly is a
mob, influenced by their passions, humors, and affections,
which nothing but eloquence ever did or ever can engage.
This is so important a consideration for everybody in this
country, and more particularly for you, that I earnestly
recommend it to your most serious care and attention.
Mind your diction, in whatever language you either write
or speak ; contract a habit of correctness and elegance.
Consider your style, even in the freest conversation and
most familiar letters. After, at least, if not before, you
have said a thing, reflect if you could not have said it
better. Where you doubt of the propriety or elegance of
a word or a phrase, consult some good dead or living authority
in that language. Use yourself to translate, from various
languages into English ; correct those translations till they
satisfy your ear, as well as your understanding. And be
convinced of this truth, that the best sense and reason in
the world will be as unwelcome in a public assembly, with
out these ornaments, as they will in public companies,
without the assistance of manners and politeness. If you
will please people, you must please them in their own way;
and, as you cannot make them what they should be, you
must take them as they are. I repeat it again, they are
only to be taken by agremens, and by what flatters their
senses and their hearts. Rabelais first wrote a most excellent
book, which nobody liked ; then, determined to conform to
the public taste, he wrote Gargantua and Pantagruel,
which everybody liked, extravagant as it was. Adieu.
256 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
LETTER XCIV
LONDON, December 9, O. S. 1749.
DEAR BOY : It is now above forty years since I have
never spoken nor written one single word, without
giving myself at least one moment's time to consider
whether it was a good or a bad one, and whether I could
not find out a better in its place. An unharmonious and
rugged period, at this time, shocks my ears ; and I, like all
the rest of the world, will willingly exchange and give up
some degree of rough sense, for a good degree of pleasing
sound. I will freely and truly own to you, without either
vanity or false modesty, that whatever reputation I have
acquired as a speaker, is more owing to my constant
attention to my diction than to my matter, which was
necessarily just the same as other people's. When you
come into parliament, your reputation as a speaker will
depend much more upon your words, and your periods,
than upon the subject. The same matter occurs equally to
everybody of common sense, upon the same question; the
dressing it well, is what excites the attention and admira
tion of the audience.
It is in parliament that I have set my heart upon your
making a figure ; it is there that I want to have you
justly proud of yourself, and to make me justly proud of
you. This means that you must be a good speaker there ;
I use the word MUST, because I know you may if you will.
The vulgar, who are always mistaken, look upon a speaker
and a comet with the same astonishment and admiration,
taking them both for preternatural phenomena. This error
discourages many young men from attempting that charac
ter; and good speakers are willing to have their talent
considered as something very extraordinary, if not a pecul
iar gift of God to his elect. But let you and me analyze
and simplify this good speaker ; let us strip him of those
adventitious plumes with which his own pride, and the
ignorance of others, have decked him, and we shall find
the true definition of him to be no more than this: A man
of good common sense who reasons justly and expresses
LETTERS TO HIS SON 257
himself elegantly on that subject upon which he speaks.
There is, surely, no witchcraft in this. A man of sense,
without a superior and astonishing degree of parts, will
not talk nonsense upon any subject ; nor will he, if he has
the least taste or application, talk inelegantly. What then
does all this mighty art and mystery of speaking in parlia
ment amount to? Why, no more than this : that the man
who speaks in the House of Commons, speaks in that
House, and to four hundred people, that opinion upon a
given subject which he would make no difficulty of speak
ing in any house in England, round the fire, or at table, to
any fourteen people whatsoever; better judges, perhaps,
and severer critics of what he says, than any fourteen gen
tlemen of the House of Commons.
I have spoken frequently in parliament, and not always
without some applause ; and therefore I can assure you, from
my experience, that there is very little in it. The elegance of
the style, and the turn of the periods, make the chief im
pression upon the hearers. Give them but one or two
round and harmonious periods in a speech, which they
will retain and repeat ; and they will go home as well
satisfied as people do from an opera, humming all the
way one or two favorite tunes that have struck their ears,
and were easily caught. Most people have ears, but few
have judgment ; tickle those ears, and depend upon it, you
will catch their judgments, such as they are.
Cicero, conscious that he was at the top of his profession
(for in his time eloquence was a profession), in order to set
himself off, defines in his treatise De Oratore, an orator
to be such a man as never was, nor never will be; and,
by his fallacious argument, says that he must know every
art and science whatsoever, or how shall he speak upon
them? But, with submission to so great an authority, my def
inition of an orator is extremely different from, and I
believe much truer than his. I call that man an orator,
who reasons justly, and expresses himself elegantly, upon
whatever subject he treats. Problems in geometry, equa
tions in algebra, processes in chemistry, and experiments in
anatomy, are never, that I have heard of, the object of
eloquence ; and therefore I humbly conceive, that a man
may be a very fine speaker, and yet know nothing of geom-
17
258 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
etry, algebra, chemistry, or anatomy. The subjects of all
parliamentary debates are subjects of common sense singly.
Thus I write whatever occurs to me, that I think may con
tribute either to form or inform you. May my labor not
be invain ! and it will not, if you will but have half the
concern for yourself that I have for you. Adieu.
LETTER XCV
LONDON, December 12, O. S. 1749.
DEAR BOY : Lord Clarendon in his history says of Mr.
John Hampden THAT HE HAD A HEAD TO CONTRIVE,
A TONGUE TO PERSUADE, AND A HAND TO EXECUTE
ANY MISCHIEF. I shall not now enter into the justness of
this character of Mr. Hampden, to whose brave stand
against the illegal demand of ship-money we owe our pres
ent liberties; but I mention it to you as the character, which
with the alteration of one single word, GOOD, instead of
MISCHIEF, I would have you aspire to, and use your
utmost endeavors to deserve. The head to contrive, God
must to a certain degree have given you ; but it is in your
own power greatly to improve it, by study, observation, and
reflection. As for the TONGUE TO PERSUADE, it wholly
depends upon yourself; and without it the best head will
contrive to very little purpose. The hand to execute de
pends likewise, in my opinion, in a great measure upon
yourself. Serious reflection will always give courage in a
good cause ; and the courage arising from reflection is of
a much superior nature to the animal and constitutional
courage of a foot soldier. The former is steady and unshaken,
where the nodus is dignus vindice; the latter is oftener
improperly than properly exerted, but always brutally.
The second member of my text (to speak ecclesiastically)
shall be the subject of my following discourse ; THE TONGUE
TO PERSUADE — as judicious preachers recommend those
virtues, which they think their several audiences want the
most ; such as truth and continence, at court ; disinterested
ness, in the city ; and sobriety, in the country.
LETTERS TO HIS SON 259
You must certainly, in the course of your little experi
ence, have felt the different effects of elegant and inelegant
speaking. Do you not suffer, when people accost you in a
stammering or hesitating manner, in an untuneful voice, with
false accents and cadences; puzzling and blundering through
solecisms, barbarisms, and vulgarisms ; misplacing even
their bad words, and inverting all method? Does not this
prejudice you against their matter, be it what it will ; nay,
even against their persons? I am sure it does me. On the
other hand, do you not feel yourself inclined, prepossessed,
nay, even engaged in favor of those who address you in the
direct contrary manner ? The effects of a correct and
adorned style of method and perspicuity, are incredible
toward persuasion; they often supply the want of reason
and argument, but, when used in the support of reason
and argument, they are irresistible. The French attend
very much to the purity and elegance of their style, even
in common conversation ; insomuch that it is a character to
say of a man qvfil narre bien. Their conversations fre
quently turn upon the delicacies of their language, and
an academy is employed in fixing it. The Crusca, in
Italy, has the same object ; and I have met with very few
Italians, who did not speak their own language correctly
and elegantly. How much more necessary is it for an
Englishman to do so, who is to speak it in a public assem
bly, where the laws and liberties of his country are the
subjects of his deliberation? The tongue that would
persuade there, must not content itself with mere articula
tion. You know what pains Demosthenes took to correct his
naturally bad elocution ; you know that he declaimed by
the seaside in storms, to prepare himself for the noise of
the tumultuous assemblies he was to speak to ; and you can
now judge of the correctness and elegance of his style. He
thought all these things of consequence, and he thought
right ; pray do you think so too ? It is of the utmost
consequence to you to be of that opinion. If you have
the least defect in your elocution, take the utmost care and
pains to correct it. Do not neglect your style, whatever
language you speak in, or whoever you speak to, were it
your footman. Seek always for the best words and the
happiest expressions you can find. Do not content yourself
26o LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
'with being barely understood ; but adorn your thoughts,
.and dress them as you would your person; which, however
well proportioned it might be, it would be very improper
and indecent to exhibit naked, or even worse dressed than
people of your sort are.
I have sent you in a packet which your Leipsig acquaint
ance, Duval, sends to his correspondent at Rome, Lord
Bolingbroke's book,* which he published about a year ago.
1 desire that you will read it over and over again, with
particular attention to the style, and to all those beauties
of oratory with which it is adorned. Till I read that book,
I confess I did not know all the extent and powers of the
English language. Lord Bolingbroke has both a tongue
and a pen to persuade ; his manner of speaking in private
conversation is full as elegant as his writings ; whatever
subject he either speaks or writes upon, he adorns with the
most splendid eloquence ; not a studied or labored eloquence,
but such a flowing happiness of diction, which (from care
perhaps at first) is become so habitual to him, that even
his most familiar conversations, if taken down in writing,
would bear the press, without the least correction either as
to method or style. If his conduct, in the former part of
his life, had been equal to all his natural and acquired
talents, he would most justly have merited the epithet of
all-accomplished. He is himself sensible of his past errors :
those violent passions which seduced him in his youth,
have now subsided by age ; and take him as he is now,
the character of all-accomplished is more his due than any
man's I ever knew in my life.
But he has been a most mortifying instance of the vio
lence of human passions and of the weakness of the most
exalted human reason. His virtues and his vices, his
reason and his passions, did not blend themselves by a
gradation of tints, but formed a shining and sudden con
trast. Here the darkest, there the most splendid colors ;
.and both rendered more shining from their proximity.
Impetuosity, excess, and almost extravagance, characterized
not only his passions, but even his senses. His youth wTas
•distinguished by all the tumult and storm of pleasures, in
which he most licentiously triumphed, disdaining all deco-
*<( Letters on the Spirit of Patriotism, on the Idea of a Patriot King."
LETTERS TO HIS SON 261
rum. His fine imagination has often been heated and
exhausted with his body, in celebrating and deifying the
prostitute of the night ; and his convivial joys were pushed
to all the extravagance of frantic Bacchanals. Those pas
sions were interrupted but by a stronger ambition. The
former impaired both his constitution and his character,
but the latter destroyed both his fortune and his reputation*
He has noble and generous sentiments, rather than fixed
reflected principles of good nature and friendship ; but they
are more violent than lasting, and suddenly and often varied
to their opposite extremes, with regard to the same persons.
He receives the common attentions of civility as obliga
tions, which he returns with interest ; and resents with
passion the little inadvertencies of human nature, which he-
repays with interest too. Even a difference of opinion
upon a philosophical subject would provoke, and prove him
no practical philosopher at least.
Notwithstanding the dissipation of his youth, and the
tumultuous agitation of his middle age, he has an infinite
fund of various and almost universal knowledge, which r
from the clearest and quickest conception, and happiest
memory, that ever man was blessed with, he always carries
about him. It is his pocket-money, and he never has occa
sion to draw upon a book for any sum. He excels more
particularly in history, as his historical works plainly prove.
The relative political and commercial interests of every
country in Europe, particularly of his own, are better
known to him, than perhaps to any man in it ; but how
steadily he has pursued the latter, in his public conduct,
his enemies, of all parties and denominations, tell with joy.
He engaged young, and distinguished himself in business;
and his penetration was almost intuition. I am old enough
to have heard him speak in parliament. And I remember
that, though prejudiced against him by party, I felt all
the force and charms of his eloquence. Like Belial in
Milton, (<he made the worse appear the better cause. w All
the internal and external advantages and talents of an orator-
are undoubtedly his. Figure, voice, elocution, knowledge,,
and, above all, the purest and most florid diction, with the
justest metaphors and happiest images, had raised him to
the post of Secretary at War, at four-and-twenty years oldr
262 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
-an age at which others are hardly thought fit for the small
est employments.
During his long exile in France, he applied himself to
study with his characteristical ardor; and there he formed
and chiefly executed the plan of a great philosophical work.
The common bounds of human knowledge are too narrow
for his warm and aspiring imagination. He must go extra
flammantia mania Mundi, and explore the unknown and
unknowable regions of metaphysics ; which open an un
bounded field for the excursion of an ardent imagination ;
where endless conjectures supply the defect of unattainable
knowledge, and too often usurp both its name and its
influence.
He has had a very handsome person, with a most engag
ing address in his air and manners ; he has all the dignity
and good-breeding which a man of quality should or can
have, and which so few, in this country at least, really
have.
He professes himself a deist ; believing in a general
Providence, but doubting of, though by no means rejecting
(as is commonly supposed) the immortality of the soul and
a future state.
Upon the whole, of this extraordinary man, what can we
say, but, alas, poor human nature!
In your destination, you will have frequent occasions to
speak in public ; to princes and states abroad ; to the House
of Commons at home; judge, then, whether eloquence is
necessary for you or not ; not only common eloquence,
which is rather free from faults than adorned by beauties ;
but the highest, the most shining degree of eloquence. For
God's sake, have this object always in your view and in
your thoughts. Tune your tongue early to persuasion ; and
let no jarring, dissonant accents ever fall from it. Con
tract a habit of speaking well upon every occasion, and
neglect yourself in no one. Eloquence and good-breeding,
alone, with an exceeding small degree of parts and knowl
edge, will carry a man a great way ; with your parts and
knowledge, then, how far will they not carry you? Adieu.
LETTERS TO HIS SON 263
LETTER XCVI
LONDON, December 16, O. S. i749«
DEAR BOY: This letter will, I hope, find you safely
arrived and well settled at Rome, after the usual
distresses and accidents of a winter journey; which
are very proper to teach you patience. Your stay there I
look upon as a very important period of your life; and I
do believe that you will fill it up well. I hope you will
employ the mornings diligently with Mr. Harte, in acquir
ing weight; and the evenings in the best companies at
Rome, in acquiring lustre. A formal, dull father, would
recommend to you to plod out the evenings, too, at home,
over a book by a dim taper ; but I recommend to you the
evenings for your pleasures, which are as much a part of
your education, and almost as necessary a one, as your
morning studies. Go to whatever assemblies or SPEC
TACLES people of fashion go to, and when you are there do
as they do. Endeavor to outshine those who shine there
the most, get the Garbo, the Gentilezza, the Leggeadria
of the Italians; make love to the most impertinent beauty
of condition that you meet with, and be gallant with all
the rest. Speak Italian, right or wrong, to everybody; and
if you do but laugh at yourself first for your bad Italian,
nobody else will laugh at you for it. That is the only way
to speak it perfectly; which I expect you will do, because
I am sure you may, before you leave Rome. View the
most curious remains of antiquity with a classical spirit ;
and they will clear up to you many passages of the clas
sical authors; particularly the Trajan and Antonine Columns;
where you find the warlike instruments, the dresses, and
the triumphal ornaments of the Romans. Buy also the
prints and explanations of all those respectable remains of
Roman grandeur, and compare them with the originals.
Most young travelers are contented with a general view of
those things, say they are very fine, and then go about
their business. I hope you will examine them in a very
different way. Approfondisscz everything you see or hear;
264 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
and learn, if you can, the WHY and the WHEREFORE. In
quire into the meaning and the objects of the innumerable
processions, which you will see at Rome at this time. As
sist at all the ceremonies, and know the reason, or at least
the pretenses of them, and however absurd they may be,
see and speak of them with great decency. Of all things,
I beg of you not to herd with your own countrymen, but
to be always either with the Romans, or with the foreign
ministers residing at Rome. You are sent abroad to see
the manners and characters, and learn the languages of for
eign countries ; and not to converse with English, in Eng
lish; which would defeat all those ends. Among your
graver company, I recommend (as I have done before) the
Jesuits to you ; whose learning and address will both please
and improve you ; inform yourself, as much as you can, of
the history, policy, and practice of that society, from the
time of its founder, Ignatius of Loyola, who was himself a
madman. If you would know their morality, you will find it
fully and admirably stated in Les Lettres d'un Provincial,
by the famous Monsieur Pascal ; and it is a book very well
worth your reading. Few people see what they see, or
hear what they hear ; that is, they see and hear so inat
tentively and superficially, that they are very little the
better for what they do see and hear. This, I dare say,
neither is, nor will be your case. You will understand, re
flect upon, and consequently retain, what you see and hear.
You have still two years good, but no more, to form your
character in the world decisively; for, within two months
after your arrival in England, it will be finally and irrevo
cably determined, one way or another, in the opinion of the
public. Devote, therefore, these two years to the pursuit
of perfection ; which ought to be everybody's object, though
in some particulars unattainable ; those who strive and labor
the most, will come the nearest to it. But, above all things,
aim at it in the two important arts of speaking and pleas
ing ; without them all your other talents are maimed and
crippled. They are the wings upon which you must soar
above other people; without them you will only crawl with
the dull mass of mankind. Prepossess by your air, address,
and manners; persuade by your tongue; and you will easily
execute what your head has contrived. I desire that you
LETTERS TO HIS SON 365
will send me very minute accounts from Rome, not of what
you see, but of who you see ; of your pleasures and enter
tainments. Tell me what companies you frequent most, and
how you are received. Mi dica anche se la lingua Italiana
va bene, e se lo parla facilmente; ma in ogni caso bisogna
parlarlo sempre per poter alia fine parlarlo bene e pulito.
Le donne r insegnano meglio assai dei maestri. Addio Caro
Ragazzo, si ricordi del Garbo, della Gentilezza, e della
Leggiadria: cose tante necessarie ad un Cavalier o.
LETTER XCVII
LONDON, December 19, O. S. 1749.
DEAR BOY : The knowledge of mankind is a very use
ful knowledge for everybody; a most necessary one
for you, who are destined to an active, public life.
You will have to do with all sorts of characters ; you should,
therefore, know them thoroughly, in order to manage them
ably. This knowledge is not to be gotten systematically ;
you must acquire it yourself by your own observation and
sagacity; I will give you such hints as I think may be useful
land-marks in your intended progress.
I have often told you (and it is most true) that, with
regard to mankind, we must not draw general conclusions
from certain particular principles, though, in the main, true
ones. We must not suppose that, because a man is a
rational animal, he will therefore always act rationally; or,
because he has such or such a predominant passion, that he
will act invariably and consequentially in the pursuit of it.
No. We are complicated machines : and though we have
one main-spring, that gives motion to the whole, we have
an infinity of little wheels, which, in their turns, retard,
precipitate, and sometimes stop that motion. Let us ex
emplify. I will suppose ambition to be (as it commonly
is) the predominant passion of a minister of state; and I
will suppose that minister to be an able one. Will he,
therefore, invariably pursue the object of that predominant
passion? May I be sure that he will do so and so, because
he ought? Nothing less. Sickness or low spirits, may
266 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
damp this predominant passion ; humor and peevishness may
triumph over it; inferior passions may, at times, surprise it
and prevail. Is this ambitious statesman amorous ? Indis
creet and unguarded confidences, made in tender moments,
to his wife or his mistress, may defeat all his schemes. Is
he avaricious? Some great lucrative object, suddenly pre
senting itself, may unravel all the work of his ambition.
Is he passionate? Contradiction and provocation (some
times, it may be, too, artfully intended) may extort rash
and inconsiderate expressions, or actions destructive of his
main object. Is he vain, and open to flattery? An artful,
flattering favorite may mislead him ; and even laziness may,
at certain moments, make him neglect or omit the necessary
steps to that height at which he wants to arrive. Seek
first, then, for the predominant passion of the character
which you mean to engage and influence, and address your
self to it; but without defying or despising the inferior
passions ; get them in your interest too, for now and then
they will have their turns. In many cases, you may not
have it in your power to contribute to the gratification of
the prevailing passion; then take the next best to your aid.
There are many avenues to every man ; and when you can
not get at him through the great one, try the serpentine
ones, and you will arrive at last.
There are two inconsistent passions, which, however, fre
quently accompany each other, like man and wife; and
which, like man and wife too, are commonly clogs upon
each other. I mean ambition and avarice: the latter is
often the true cause of the former, and then is the pre
dominant passion. It seems to have been so in Cardinal
Mazarin, who did anything, submitted to anything, and for
gave anything, for the sake of plunder. He loved and
courted power, like a usurer, because it carried profit along
with it. Whoever should have formed his opinion, or taken
his measures, singly, from the ambitious part of Cardinal
Mazarin' s character, would have found himself often mis
taken. Some who had found this out, made their fortunes
by letting him cheat them at play. On the contrary,
Cardinal Richelieu's prevailing passion seems to have been
ambition, and his immense riches only the natural con
sequences of that ambition gratified; and yet, I make no
LETTERS TO HIS SON 267
doubt, but that ambition had now and then its turn with
the former, and avarice with the latter. Richelieu (by the
way) is so strong a proof of the inconsistency of human
nature, that I cannot help observing to you, that while he
absolutely governed both his king and his country, and
was, in a great degree, the arbiter of the fate of all Europe,
he was more jealous of the great reputation of Corneille
than of the power of Spain; and more flattered with being
thought (what he was not) the best poet, than with being
thought (what he certainly was) the greatest statesman in
Europe ; and affairs stood still while he was concerting the
criticism upon the Cid. Could one think this possible, if
one did not know it to be true? Though men are all of
one composition, the several ingredients are so differently
proportioned in each individual, that no two are exactly
alike ; and no one at all times like himself. The ablest
man will sometimes do weak things; the proudest man,
mean things; the honestest man, ill things; and the wicked
est man, good ones. Study individuals then, and if you
take (as you ought to do) their outlines from their prevail
ing passion, suspend your last finishing strokes till you have
attended to, and discovered the operations of their inferior
passions, appetites, and humors. A man's general character
may be that of the honestest man of the world : do not dis
pute it; you might be thought envious or ill-natured; but,
at the same time, do not take this probity upon trust to
such a degree as to put your life, fortune, or reputation in
his power. This honest man may happen to be your rival
in power, in interest, or in love ; three passions that often
put honesty to most severe trials, in which it is too often
cast ; but first analyze this honest man yourself ; and then
only you will be able to judge how far you may, or may
not, with safety trust him.
Women are much more like each other than men: they
have, in truth, but two passions, vanity and love; these are
their universal characteristics. An Agrippina may sacrifice
them to ambition, or a Messalina to lust; but those in
stances are rare ; and, in general, all they say, and all they
do, tends to the gratification of their vanity or their love.
He who flatters them most, pleases them best ; and they are
the most in love with him, who they think is the most in
268 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
love with them. No adulation is too strong for them ; no
assiduity too great; no simulation of passion too gross; as,
on the other hand, the least word or action that can pos
sibly be construed into a slight or contempt, is unpardonable,
and never forgotten. Men are in this respect tender too,
and will sooner forgive an injury than an insult. Some
men are more captious than others ; some are always wrong-
headed; but every man living has such a share of vanity,
as to be hurt by marks of slight and contempt. Every
man does not pretend to be a poet, a mathematician, or a
statesman, and considered as such ; but every man pretends
to common sense, and to fill his place in the world with
common decency ; and, consequently, does not easily forgive
those negligences, inattentions and slights which seem to call
in question, or utterly deny him both these pretensions.
Suspect, in general, those who remarkably affect any one
virtue; who raise it above all others, and who, in a man
ner, intimate that they possess it exclusively. I say suspect
them, for they are commonly impostors ; but do not be sure
that they are always so; for I have sometimes known saints
really religious, blusterers really brave, reformers of manners
really honest, and prudes really chaste. Pry into the re
cesses of their hearts yourself, as far as you are able, and
never implicitly adopt a character upon common fame;
which, though generally right as to the great outlines of
characters, is always wrong in some particulars.
Be upon your guard against those who upon very slight
acquaintance, obtrude their unasked and unmerited friend
ship and confidence upon you; for they probably cram you
with them only for their own eating; but, at the same
time, do not roughly reject them upon that general supposi
tion. Examine further, and see whether those unexpected
offers flow from a warm heart and a silly head, or from a
designing head and a cold heart; for knavery and folly
have often the same symptoms. In the first case, there is
no danger in accepting them, valeant quantum valere
possunt. In the latter case, it may be useful to seem to
accept them, and artfully to turn the battery upon him
who raised it.
There is an incontinency of friendship among young
fellows, who are associated by their mutual pleasures only,
LETTERS TO HIS SON 269
which has, very frequently, bad consequences. A parcel of
warm hearts and inexperienced heads, heated by convivial
mirth, and possibly a little too much wine, vow, and really
mean at the time, eternal friendships to each other, and
indiscreetly pour out their whole souls in common, and
without the least reserve. These confidences are as indis
creetly repealed as they were made; for new pleasures and
new places soon dissolve this ill-cemented connection; and
then very ill uses are made of these rash confidences. Bear
your part, however, in young companies ; nay, excel, if you
can, in all the social and convivial joy and festivity that
become youth. Trust them with your love tales, if you
please; but keep your serious views secret. Trust those
only to some tried friend, more experienced than yourself,
and who, being in a different walk of life from you, is
not likely to become your rival ; for I would not advise
you to depend so much upon the heroic virtue of mankind,
as to hope or believe that your competitor will ever be
your friend, as to the object of that competition.
These are reserves and cautions very necessary to have,
but very imprudent to show ; the volto sciolto should accom
pany them. Adieu.
LETTER XCVIII
DEAR BOY : Great talents and great virtues (if you
should have them) will procure you the respect and
the admiration of mankind; but it is the lesser talents,
the leniores virtutes, which must procure you their love
and affection. The former, unassisted and unadorned by
the latter, will extort praise; but will, at the same time,
excite both fear and envy; two sentiments absolutely incom
patible with love and affection.
Csesar had all the great vices, and Cato all the great
virtues, that men could have. But Caesar had the leniores
virtutes which Cato wanted, and which made him beloved,
even by his enemies, and gained him the hearts of man
kind, in spite of their reason : while Cato was not even
beloved by his friends, notwithstanding the esteem and
2?o LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
respect which they could not refuse to his virtues; and I
am apt to think, that if Caesar had wanted, and Cato
possessed, those leniores virtutes, the former would not have
attempted (at least with success), and the latter could have
protected, the liberties of Rome. Mr. Addison, in his
"Cato," says of Caesar (and I believe with truth),
« Curse on his virtues, they've undone his country. »
By which he means those lesser, but engaging virtues of
gentleness, affability, complaisance, and good humor. The
knowledge of a scholar, the courage of a hero, and the
virtue of a Stoic, will be admired; but if the knowledge
be accompanied with arrogance, the courage with ferocity,
and the virtue with inflexible severity, the man will never
be loved. The heroism of Charles XII. of Sweden (if his
brutal courage deserves that name) was universally aimired,
but the man nowhere beloved. Whereas Henry IV. of
France, who had full as much courage, and was much
longer engaged in wars, was generally beloved upon account
of his lesser and social virtues. We are all so formed, that
our understandings are generally the DUPES of our hearts,
that is, of our passions ; and the surest way to the former
is through the latter, which must be engaged by the
leniores mrtutes alone, and the manner of exerting them.
The insolent civility of a proud man is (for example) if
possible, more shocking than his rudeness could be ; because
he shows you by his manner that he thinks it mere con
descension in him ; and that his goodness alone bestows
upon you what you have no pretense to claim. He intimates
his protection, instead of his friendship, by a gracious nod,
instead of a usual bow ; and rather signifies his consent
that you may, than his invitation that you should sit,
walk, eat, or drink with him.
The costive liberality of a purse-proud man insults the
distresses it sometimes relieves ; he takes care to make you
feel your own misfortunes, and the difference between your
situation and his; both which he insinuates to be justly
merited: yours, by your folly; his, by his wisdom. The
arrogant pedant does not communicate, but promulgates his
knowledge. He does not give it you, but he inflicts it
upon you; and is (if possible) more desirous to show you
LETTERS TO HIS SON 271
your own ignorance than his own learning. Such manners
as these, not only in the particular instances which I have
mentioned, but likewise in all others, shock and revolt
that little pride and vanity which every man has in his
heart ; and obliterate in us the obligation for the favor con
ferred, by reminding us of the motive which produced, and
the manner which accompanied it.
These faults point out their opposite perfections, and
your own good sense will naturally suggest them to you.
But besides these lesser virtues, there are what may be
called the lesser talents, or accomplishments, which are of
great use to adorn and recommend all the greater; and the
more so, as all people are judges of the one, and but few are
of the other. Everybody feels the impression, which an
engaging address, an agreeable manner of speaking, and an
easy politeness, makes upon them; and they prepare the
way for the favorable reception of their betters. Adieu,
LETTER XCIX
LONDON, December 26, O. S. 1749.
MY DEAR FRIEND : The new year is the season in which
custom seems more particularly to authorize civil and
harmless lies, under the name of compliments. People
reciprocally profess wishes which they seldom form ; and
concern, which they seldom feel. This is not the case between
you and me, where truth leaves no room for compliments.
Dii tibi dent annos, de te nam ccetera sumes, was said
formerly to one by a man who certainly did not think it.
With the variation of one word only, I will with great truth
say it to you. I will make the first part conditional by
changing, in the second, the nam into si. May you live as
long as you are fit to live, but no longer! or may you rather
die before you cease to be fit to live, than after! My true
tenderness for you makes me think more of the manner
than of the length of your life, and forbids me to wish it
prolonged, by a single day, that should bring guilt, reproach,
and shame upon you. I have not malice enough in my na
ture, to wish that to my greatest enemy. You are the
272 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
principal object of all my cares, the only object of all my
hopes; I have now reason to believe, that you will reward
the former, and answer the latter; in that case, may you live
long, for you must live happy ; de te nam ccetera sumes.
Conscious virtue is the only solid foundation of all happi
ness ; for riches, power, rank, or whatever, in the common
acceptation of the word, is supposed to constitute happi
ness, will never quiet, much less cure, the inward pangs of
guilt. To that main wish, I will add those of the good
old nurse of Horace, in his epistle to Tibullus: Sapere,yvu
have it in a good degree already. Et fari ut possit qua
sentiat. Have you that? More, much more is meant by it,
than common speech or mere articulation. I fear that still
remains to be wished for, and I earnestly wish it to you.
Gratia and Fama will inevitably accompany the above-
mentioned qualifications. The Valetudo is the only one that is
not in your own power ; Heaven alone can grant it you,
and may it do so abundantly ! As for the mundus victus,
non deficiente crumena, do you deserve, and I will provide
them.
It is with the greatest pleasure that I consider the fair
prospect which you have before you. You have seen, read, and
learned more, at your age, than most young fellows have done
at two or three-and-twenty. Your destination is a shining
one, and leads to rank, fortune, and distinction. Your edu
cation has been calculated for it; and, to do you justice,
that education has not been thrown away upon you. You
want but two things, which do not want conjuration, but
only care, to acquire: eloquence and manners; that is, the
graces of speech, and the graces of behavior. You may
have them; they are as much in your power as powdering
your hair is; and will you let the want of them obscure
(as it certainly will do) that shining prospect which pre
sents itself to you. I am sure you will not. They are the
sharp end, the point of the nail that you are driving, which
must make way first for the larger and more solid parts to
enter. Supposing your moral character as pure, and your
knowledge as sound, as I really believe them both to be ;
you want nothing for that perfection, which I have so con
stantly wished you, and taken so much pains to give you,
but eloquence and politeness. A man who is not born
LETTERS TO HIS SON 273
with a poetical genius, can never be a poet, or at best an
extremely bad one ; but every man, who can speak at all,
can speak elegantly and correctly if he pleases, by attend
ing to the best authors and orators ; and, indeed, I would
advise those who do not speak elegantly, not to speak at
all ; for I am sure they will get more by their silence than
by their speech. As for politeness: whoever keeps good
company, and is not polite, must have formed a resolution,
and take some pains not to be so ; otherwise he would nat
urally and insensibly take the air, the address, and the turn
of those he converses with. You will, probably, in the
course of this year, see as great a variety of good company
in the several capitals you will be at, as in any one year
of your life; and consequently must (I should hope) catch
some of their manners, almost whether you will or not ;
but, as I dare say you will endeavor to do it, I am con
vinced you will succeed, and that I shall have pleasure of
finding you, at your return here, one of the best-bred men
in Europe.
I imagine, that when you receive my letters, and come
to those parts of them which relate to eloquence and polite
ness, you say, or at least think, What, will he never have
done upon those two subjects? Has he not said all he can
say upon them ? Why the same thing over and over again ?
If you do think or say so, it must proceed from your not
yet knowing the infinite importance of these two accom
plishments, which I cannot recommend to you too often,
nor inculcate too strongly. But if, on the contrary, you
are convinced of the utility, or rather the necessity of those
two accomplishments, and are determined to acquire them,
my repeated admonitions are only unnecessary; and I grudge
no trouble which can possibly be of the least use to you.
I flatter myself, that your stay at Rome will go a great
way toward answering all my views: I am sure it will, if
you employ your time, and your whole time, as you should.
Your first morning hours, I would have you devote to your
graver studies with Mr. Harte ; the middle part of the day
I would have employed in seeing things ; and the evenings
in seeing people. You are not, I hope, of a lazy, inactive
turn, in either body or mind ; and, in that case, the day is
full long enough for everything ; especially at Rome, where
18
274 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
it is not the fashion, as it is here and at Paris, to embezzle
at least half of it at table. But if, by accident, two or
three hours are sometimes wanting for some useful purpose,
borrow them from your sleep. Six, or at most seven hours
sleep is, for a constancy, as much as you or anybody can
want; more is only laziness and dozing; and is, I am per
suaded, both unwholesome and stupefying. If, by chance,
your business, or your pleasures, should keep you up till
four or five o'clock in the morning, I would advise you,
however, to rise exactly at your usual time, that you may not
lose the precious morning hours ; and that the want of sleep
may force you to go to bed earlier the next night. This is
what I was advised to do when very young, by a very
wise man ; and what, I assure you, I always did in the
most dissipated part of my life. I have very often gone to
bed at six in the morning and rose, notwithstanding, at
eight; by which means I got many hours in the morning
that my companions lost ; and the want of sleep obliged
me to keep good hours the next, or at least the third night.
To this method I owe the greatest part of my reading: for,
from twenty to forty, I should certainly have read very lit
tle, if I had not been up while my acquaintances were in
bed. Know the true value of time ; snatch, seize, and en
joy every moment of it. No idleness, no laziness, no pro
crastination ; never put off till to-morrow what you can do
to-day. That was the rule of the famous and unfortunate
Pensionary De Witt ; who, by strictly following it, found
time, not only to do the whole business of the republic, but
to pass his evenings at assemblies and suppers, as if he had
had nothing else to do or think of.
Adieu, my dear friend, for such I shall call you, and as
such I shall, for the future, live with you ; for I disclaim
all titles which imply an authority, that I am persuaded
you will never give me occasion to exercise.
Multos et f dices, most sincerely, to Mr. Harte.
LETTERS TO HIS SON 275
LETTER C
LONDON, January 8, O. S. 1750.
DEAR BOY: I have seldom or never written to you upon
the subject of religion and morality; your own reason,
I am persuaded, has given you true notions of both ;
they speak best for themselves ; but if they wanted assist
ance, you have Mr. Harte at hand, both for precept and
example; to your own reason, therefore, and to Mr. Harte,
shall I refer you for the reality of both, and confine my
self in this letter to the decency, the utility, and the neces
sity of scrupulously preserving the appearances of both.
When I say the appearances of religion, I do not mean that
you should talk or act like a missionary or an enthusiast,
nor that you should take up a controversial cudgel against
whoever attacks the sect you are of ; this would be both
useless and unbecoming your age ; but I mean that you
should by no means seem to approve, encourage, or ap
plaud, those libertine notions, which strike at religions
equally, and which are the poor threadbare topics
of half-wits and minute philosophers. Even those who
are silly enough to laugh at their jokes, are still wise
enough to distrust and detest their characters ; for put
ting moral virtues at the highest, and religion at the
lowest, religion must still be allowed to be a collateral
security, at least, to virtue, and every prudent man will
sooner trust to two securities than to one. Whenever, there
fore, you happen to be in company with those pretended
Esprits forts, or with thoughtless libertines, who laugh at
all religion to show their wit, or disclaim it, to complete
their riot, let no word or look of yours intimate the least
approbation ; on the contrary, let a silent gravity express
your dislike : but enter not into the subject and decline
such unprofitable and indecent controversies. Depend upon
this truth, that every man is the worse looked upon, and
the less trusted for being thought to have no religion ; in
spite of all the pompous and specious epithets he may as
sume, of Esprit fort, freethinker, or moral philosopher;
276 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
and a wise atheist (if such a thing there is) would, for
his own interest and character in this world, pretend to
some religion.
Your moral character must be not only pure, but, like
Caesar's wife, unsuspected. The least speck or blemish upon
it is fatal. Nothing degrades and vilifies more, for it ex
cites and unites detestation and contempt. There are, how
ever, wretches in the world profligate enough to explode
all notions of moral good and evil ; to maintain that they
are merely local, and depend entirely upon the customs and
fashions of different countries ; nay, there are still, if pos
sible, more unaccountable wretches ; I mean those who affect
to preach and propagate such absurd and infamous notions
without believing them themselves. These are the devil's
hypocrites. Avoid, as much as possible, the company of
such people ; who reflect a degree of discredit and infamy
upon all who converse with them. But as you may, some
times, by accident, fall into such company, take great care
that no complaisance, no good-humor, no warmth of festal
mirth, ever make you seem even to acquiesce, much less to
approve or applaud, such infamous doctrines. On the other
hand, do not debate nor enter into serious argument upon
a subject so much below it : but content yourself with tell
ing these APOSTLES that you know they are not serious;
that you have a much better opinion of them than they
would have you have ; and that, you are very sure, they
would not practice the doctrine they preach. But put
your private mark upon them, and shun them forever after
ward.
There is nothing so delicate as your moral character, and
nothing which it is your interest so much to preserve pure.
Should you be suspected of injustice, malignity, perfidy,
lying, etc., all the parts and knowledge in the world will
never procure you esteem, friendship, or respect. A strange
concurrence of circumstances has sometimes raised very bad
men to high stations, but they have been raised like crim
inals to a pillory, where their persons and their crimes, by
being more conspicuous, are only the more known, the
more detested, and the more pelted and insulted. If, in
any case whatsoever, affectation and ostentation are pardon
able, it is in the case of morality ; though even there, I
LETTERS TO HIS SON 277
would not advise you to a pharisaical pomp of virtue. But
I will recommend to you a most scrupulous tenderness for
your moral character, and the utmost care not to say or do
the least thing that may ever so slightly taint it. Show
yourself, upon all occasions, the advocate, the friend, but
not the bully of virtue. Colonel Chartres, whom you have
certainly heard of (who was, I believe, the most notorious
blasted rascal in the world, and who had, by all sorts of
crimes, amassed immense wealth), was so sensible of the
disadvantage of a bad character, that I heard him once say,
in his impudent, profligate manner, that though he would
not give one farthing for virtue, he would give ten thousand
pounds for a character ; because he should get a hundred
thousand pounds by it ; whereas, he was so blasted, that he
had no longer an opportunity of cheating people. Is it
possible, then, that an honest man can neglect what a wise
rogue would purchase so dear ?
There is one of the vices above mentioned, into which peo
ple of good education, and, in the main, of good principles,
sometimes fall, from mistaken notions of skill, dexterity, and
self-defense , I mean lying ; though it is inseparably attended
with more infamy and loss than any other. The prudence and
necessity of often concealing the truth, insensibly seduces
people to violate it. It is the only art of mean capacities, and
the only refuge of mean spirits. Whereas, concealing the
truth, upon proper occasions, is as prudent and as innocent,
as telling a lie, upon any occasion, is infamous and foolish. I
will state you a case in your own department. Suppose you
are employed at a foreign court, and that the minister of that
court is absurd or impertinent enough to ask you what your
instructions are? will you tell him a lie, which as soon as
found out (and found out it certainly will be) must destroy
your credit, blast your character, and render you useless
there? No. Will you tell him the truth then, and betray
your trust? As certainly, No. But you will answer with
firmness, That you are surprised at such a question, that you
are persuaded he does not expect an answer to it ; but that,
at all events, he certainly will not have one. Such an answer
will give him confidence in you ; he will conceive an opinion
of your veracity, of which opinion you may afterward make
very honest and fair advantages. But if, in negotiations, you
278 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
are looked upon as a liar and a trickster, no confidence
will be placed in you, nothing will be communicated to
you, and you will be in the situation of a man who has
been burned in the cheek; and who, from that mark, can
not afterward get an honest livelihood if he would, but
must continue a thief.
Lord Bacon, very justly, makes a distinction between
simulation and dissimulation; and allows the latter rather
than the former; but still observes, that they are the
weaker sort of politicians who have recourse to either. A
man who has strength of mind and strength of parts,
wants neither of them. Certainly (says he) the ablest men
that ever were, have all had an openness and frankness of
dealing, and a name of certainty and veracity; but then,
they were like horses well managed; for they could tell,
passing well, when to stop or turn; and at such times,
when they thought the case indeed required some dissim
ulation, if then they used it, it came to pass that the
former opinion spread abroad of their good faith and
clearness of dealing, made them almost invisible.
There are people who indulge themselves in a sort of
lying, which they reckon innocent, and which in one
sense is so; for it hurts nobody but themselves. This sort
of lying is the spurious offspring of vanity, begotten upon
folly: these people deal in the marvelous; they have seen
some things that never existed; they have seen other
things which they never really saw, though they did exist,
only because they were thought worth seeing. Has any
thing remarkable been said or done in any place, or in
any company? they immediately present and declare them
selves eye or ear witnesses of it. They have done feats
themselves, unattempted, or at least unperformed by others.
They are always the heroes of their own fables; and
think that they gain consideration, or at least present at
tention, by it. Whereas, in truth, all that they get is
ridicule and contempt, not without a good degree of dis
trust; for one must naturally conclude, that he who will
tell any lie from idle vanity, will not scruple telling a
greater for interest. Had I really seen anything so very
extraordinary as to be almost incredible I would keep it
to myself, rather than by telling it give anybody room to
LETTERS TO HIS SON 279
doubt, for one minute, of my veracity. 'It is most certain,
that the reputation of chastity is not so necessary for a
women, as that of veracity is for a man ; and with reason ;
for it is possible for a woman to be virtuous, though not
strictly chaste, but it is not possible for a man to be
virtuous without strict veracity. The slips of the poor
women are sometimes mere bodily frailties ; but a lie in a
man is a vice of the mind and of the heart. For God's
sake be scrupulously jealous of the purity of your moral
character; keep it immaculate, unblemished, unsullied; and
it will be unsuspected. Defamation and calumny never
attack, where there is no weak place; they magnify, but
they do not create.
There is a very great difference between the purity of
character, which I so earnestly recommend to you, and the
stoical gravity and austerity of character, which I do by
no means recommend to you. At your age, I would no
more wish you to be a Cato than a Clodius. Be, and be
reckoned, a man of pleasure as well as a man of business.
Enjoy this happy and giddy time of your life; shine in
the pleasures, and in the company of people of your own
age. This is all to be done, and indeed only can be done,
without the least taint to the purity of your moral
character; for those mistaken young fellows, who think to
shine by an impious or immoral licentiousness, shine only
from their stinking, like corrupted flesh, in the dark.
Without this purity, you can have no dignity of character ;
and without dignity of character it is impossible to rise
in the world. You must be respectable, if you will be re
spected. I have known people slattern away their char
acter, without really polluting it ; the consequence of
which has been, that they have become innocently con
temptible ; their merit has been dimmed, their pretensions
unregarded, and all their views defeated. Character must
be kept bright, as well as clean. Content yourself with
mediocrity in nothing. In purity of character and in
politeness of manners labor to excel all, if you wish to
equal many. Adieu.
M
LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
LETTER CI
LONDON, January n, O. S. 1750.
y DEAR FRIEND : Yesterday I received a letter from
Mr. Harte, of the 3ist December, N. S., which I
will answer soon ; and for which I desire you to
return him my thanks now. He tells me two things that
give me great satisfaction : one is that there are very few
English at Rome; the other is, that you frequent the best
foreign companies. This last is a very good symptom ;
for a man of sense is never desirous to frequent those
companies, where he is not desirous to please, or where he
finds that he displeases; it will not be expected in those
companies, that, at your age, you should have the Garbo,
the Disinvoltura, and the Leggiadria of a man of five-and-
twenty, who has been long used to keep the best com
panies; and therefore do not be discouraged, and think
yourself either slighted or laughed at, because you see
others, older and more used to the world, easier, more
familiar, and consequently rather better received in those
companies than yourself. In time your turn will come;
and if you do but show an inclination, a desire to please,
though you should be embarrassed or even err in the
means, which must necessarily happen to you at first, yet
the will (to use a vulgar expression) will be taken for the
deed; and people, instead of laughing at you, will be glad
to instruct you. Good sense can only give you the great
outlines of good-breeding; but observation and usage can
alone give you the delicate touches, and the fine coloring.
You will naturally endeavor to show the utmost respect to
people of certain ranks and characters, and consequently
you will show it; but the proper, the delicate manner of
showing that respect, nothing but observation and time
can give.
I remember that when, with all the awkwardness and
rust of Cambridge about me, I was first introduced into
good company, I was frightened out of my wits. I was
determined to be, what I thought, civil; I made fine low
bows, and placed myself below everybody ; but when I was
LETTERS TO HIS SON 281
spoken to, or attempted to speak myself, obstupui, steter-
untque comce, et vox faucibus hcesit. If I saw people whis
per, I was sure it was at me ; and I thought myself the
sole object of either the ridicule or the censure of the whole
company, who, God knows, did not trouble their heads
about me. In this way I suffered, for some time, like a
criminal at the bar ; and should certainly have renounced all
polite company forever, if I had not been so convinced of
the absolute necessity of forming my manners upon those
of the best companies, that I determined to persevere and
suffer anything, or everything, rather than not compass that
point. Insensibly it grew easier to me; and I began not to
bow so ridiculously low, and to answer questions without
great hesitation or stammering : if, now and then, some
charitable people, seeing my embarrassment, and being
desceuvrd themselves, came and spoke to me, I considered
them as angels sent to comfort me, and that gave me a
little courage. I got more soon afterward, and was in
trepid enough to go up to a fine woman, and tell her that
I thought it a warm day; she answered me, very civilly,
that she thought so too ; upon which the conversation
ceased, on my part, for some time, till she, good-naturedly
resuming it, spoke to me thus: <( I see your embarrassment,
and I am sure that the few words you said to me cost you
a great deal; but do not be discouraged for that reason,
and avoid good company. We see that you desire to please,
and that is the main point ; you want only the manner,
and you think that you want it still more than you do.
You must go through your noviciate before you can profess
good-breeding : and, if you will be my novice. I will pre
sent you my acquaintance as such.**
You will easily imagine how much this speech pleased
me, and how awkwardly I answered it; I hemmed once or
twice (for it gave me a bur in my throat) before I could
tell her that I was very much obliged to her; that it was
true, that I had a great deal of reason to distrust my own
behavior, not being used to fine company; and that I should
be proud of being her novice, and receiving her instructions.
As soon as I had fumbled out this answer, she called up
three or four people to her, and said: Savez-vous (for she
was a foreigner, and I was abroad) que f ai entrepris ce
282 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
jeune homme, et qu*il le faut rassurer? Pour moi,je crois
en avoir fait la conquete, car il s'est emancipe dans le
moment au point de me dire, en tremblant, qu" il faisoit
chaud. II faut que vous m"1 aidiez d, le derouiller. II lui
faut necessairement une passion, et s^il ne m1 en juge pas
digne, nous lui en chercherons quelque autre. Au reste,
mon novice, n1 allez pas vous encanailler avec des Jilles
d* opera et des comediennes, qui vous epargneront les fraix
et du sentiment et de la politesse, mais qui vous en couteront
bien plus ct tout autre egard. Je vous le dis encore; si vous
vous encanaillez, vous etes perdu, mon ami. Ces malheure-
uses ruineront et votre fortune et votre sante, corromperont
vos mceurs, et vous ri> aurez jamais le ton de la bonne com-
pagnie.* The company laughed at this lecture, and I was
stunned with it. I did not know whether she was serious
or in jest. By turns I was pleased, ashamed, encouraged,
and dejected. But when I found afterward, that both she,
and those to whom she had presented me, countenanced and
protected me in company, I gradually got more assurance,
and began not to be ashamed of endeavoring to be civil.
I copied the best masters, at first servilely, afterward more
freely, and at last I joined habit and invention.
All this will happen to you, if you persevere in the
desire of pleasing and shining as a man of the world; that
part of your character is the only one about which I have
at present the least doubt. I cannot entertain the least
suspicion of your moral character; your learned character is
out of question. Your polite character is now the only
remaining object that gives me the least anxiety; and you
are now in the right way of finishing it. Your constant
*(<Do you know that I have undertaken this young man, and he must
be encouraged ? As for me, I think I have made a conquest of him ; for
he just now ventured to tell me, although tremblingly, that it is warm.
You will assist me in polishing him. He must necessarily have a pas
sion for somebody; if he does not think me worthy of being the object,
he will seek out some other. However, my novice, do not disgrace your
self by frequenting opera girls and actresses; who j will not require of
you sentiments and politeness, but will be your ruin in every respect. I
repeat it to you, my friend, if you should get into low, mean company,
you will be undone. Those creatures will destroy your fortune and
your health, corrupt your morals, and you will never acquire the style
of good company .»
LETTERS TO HIS SON 283
collision with good company will, of course, smooth and
polish you. I could wish that you would say, to the five or
six men or women with whom you are the most acquainted,
that you are sensible that, from youth and inexperience, you
must make many mistakes in good-breeding ; that you beg
of them to correct you, without reserve, wherever they see
you fail ; and that you shall take such admonition as the
strongest proofs of their friendship. Such a confession and
application will be very engaging to those to whom you
make them. They will tell others of them, who will be
pleased with that disposition, and, in a friendly manner,
tell you of any little slip or error. The Duke de Nivernois*
would, I am sure, be charmed, if you dropped such a thing
to him ; adding, that you loved to address yourself always
to the best masters. Observe also the different modes of
good-breeding of several nations, and conform yourself to
them respectively. Use an easy civility with the French,
more ceremony with the Italians, and still more with the
Germans ; but let it be without embarrassment and with
ease. Bring it by use to be habitual to you ; for, if it
seems unwilling and forced, it will never please. Omnis
Aristippum decuit color, et res. Acquire an easiness and
versatility of manners, as well as of mind ; and, like the
chameleon, take the hue of the company you are with.
There is a sort of veteran women of condition, who hav
ing lived always in the grande monde, and having possibly
had some gallantries, together with the experience of five-
and-twenty, or thirty years, form a young fellow better
than all the rules that can be given him. These women,
being past their bloom, are extremely flattered by the least
attention from a young fellow ; and they will point out to
him those manners and ATTENTIONS that pleased and en
gaged them, when they were in the pride of their youth
and beauty. Wherever you go, make some of those women
your friends; which a very little matter will do. Ask their
advice, tell them your doubts or difficulties as to your be
havior; but take great care not to drop one word of their
experience ; for experience implies age ; and the suspicion of
age, no woman, let her be ever so old, ever forgives. I
long for your picture, which Mr. Harte tells me is now
* At that time Ambassador from the Court of France to Rome.
284 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
drawing. I want to see your countenance, your air, and
even your dress ; the better they all three are, the better :
I am not wise enough to despise any one of them. Your
dress, at least, is in your own power, and I hope that you
mind it to a proper degree. Yours, Adieu.
LETTER CII
LONDON, January 18, O. S. 1750.
MY DEAR FRIEND : I consider the solid part of your
little edifice as so near being finished and completed,
that my only remaining care is about the embellish
ments ; and that must now be your principal care too.
Adorn yourself with all those graces and accomplishments,
which, without solidity, are frivolous; but without which
solidity is, to a great degree, useless. Take one man, with
a very moderate degree of knowledge, but with a pleasing
figure, a prepossessing address, graceful in all that he says
and does, polite, liant, and, in short, adorned with all the lesser
talents: and take another man, with sound sense and pro
found knowledge, but without the above-mentioned ad
vantages ; the former will not only get the better of the
latter, in every pursuit of every KIND, but in truth there
will be no sort of competition between them. But can every
man acquire these advantages? I say, Yes, if he please,
suppose he is in a situation and in circumstances to fre
quent good company. Attention, observation, and imitation,
will most infallibly do it.
When you see a man whose first abord strikes you, pre
possesses you in his favor, and makes you entertain a good
opinion of him, you do not know why, analyze that abord,
and examine, within yourself, the several parts that com
posed it ; and you will generally find it to be the result,
the happy assemblage of modesty unembarrassed, respect
without timidity, a genteel, but unaffected attitude of body
and limbs, an open, cheerful, but unsmirking countenance,
and a dress, by no means negligent, and yet not foppish.
Copy him, then, not servilely, but as some of the greatest
LETTERS TO HIS SON 285
masters of painting have copied others; insomuch that their
copies have been equal to the originals, both as to beauty
and freedom. When you see a man who is universally
allowed to shine as an agreeable, well-bred man, and a fine
gentleman (as, for example, the Duke de Nivernois), attend
to him, watch him carefully; observe in what manner he
addresses himself to his superiors, how he lives with his
equals, and how he treats his inferiors. Mind his turn
of conversation in the several situations of morning visits,
the table, and the evening amusements. Imitate, without
mimicking him; and be his duplicate, but not his ape.
You will find that he takes care never to say or do any
thing that can be construed into a slight, or a negligence ;
or that can, in any degree, mortify people's vanity and
self-love ; on the contrary, you will perceive that he makes
people pleased with him, by making them first pleased with
themselves: he shows respect, regard, esteem and attention,
where they are severally proper: he sows them with care, and
he reaps them in plenty.
These amiable accomplishments are all to be acquired by
use and imitation ; for we are, in truth, more than half what
we are by imitation. The great point is, to choose good
models and to study them with care. People insensibly
contract, not only the air, the manners, and the vices, of
those with whom they commonly converse, but their vir
tues too, and even their way of thinking. This is so true,
that I have known very plain understandings catch a cer
tain degree of wit, by constantly conversing with those
who had a great deal. Persist, therefore, in keeping the
best company, and you will insensibly become like them ;
but if you add attention and observation, you will very
soon become one of them. The inevitable contagion of
company shows you the necessity of keeping the best, and
avoiding all other; for in everyone, something will stick.
You have hitherto, I confess, had very few opportunities of
keeping polite company. Westminster school is, undoubt
edly, the seat of illiberal manners and brutal behavior.
Leipsig, I suppose, is not the seat of refined and elegant
manners. Venice, I believe, has done something; Rome, I
hope, will do a great deal more ; and Paris will, I dare say, do
all that you want; always supposing that you frequent the
286 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
best companies, and in the intention of improving and
forming yourself ; for without that intention nothing will do.
I here subjoin a list of all those necessary, ornamental
accomplishments (without which, no man living can either
please, or rise in the world) which hitherto I fear you want,
and which only require your care and attention to possess.
To speak elegantly, whatever language you speak in;
without which nobody will hear you with pleasure, and
consequently you will speak to very little purpose.
An agreeable and distinct elocution ; without which no
body will hear you with patience: this everybody may ac
quire, who is not born with some imperfection in the organs
of speech. You are not ; and therefore it is wholly in your
power. You need take much less pains for it than Demos
thenes did.
A distinguished politeness of manners and address; which
common sense, observation, good company, and imitation,
will infallibly give you if you will accept it.
A genteel carriage and graceful motions, with the air of
a man of fashion: a good dancing-master, with some care
on your part, and some imitation of those who excel, will
soon bring this about.
To be extremely clean in your person, and perfectly well
dressed, according to the fashion, be that what it will.
Your negligence of your dress while you were a school
boy was pardonable, but would not be so now.
Upon the whole, take it for granted, that without these
accomplishments, all you know, and all you can do, will
avail you very little. Adieu.
LETTER CIII
LONDON, January 25, O. S. 1750.
MY DEAR FRIEND: It is so long since I have heard
from you, that I suppose Rome engrosses every
moment of your time ; and if it engrosses it in the
manner I could wish, I willingly give up my share of it.
I would rather prodesse quam conspici. Put out your time,
but to good interest; and I do not desire to borrow much
LETTERS TO HIS SON 287
of it. Your studies, the respectable remains of antiquity,
and your evening amusements cannot, and indeed ought not,
to leave you much time to write. You will, probably,
never see Rome again ; and therefore you ought to see it
well now ; by seeing it well, I do not mean only the build
ings, statues, and paintings, though they undoubtedly
deserve your attention : but I mean seeing into the consti
tution and government of it. But these things certainly
occur to your own common sense.
How go your pleasures at Rome? Are you in fashion
there? that is, do you live with the people who are? — the
only way of being so yourself, in time. Are you domestic
enough in any considerable house to be called le petit Stan
hope? Has any woman of fashion and good-breeding taken
the trouble of abusing and laughing at you amicably to
your face? Have you found a good decrotteuse? For those
are the steps by which you must rise to politeness. I do
not presume to ask if you have any attachment, because I
believe you will not make me your confident; but this I
will say, eventually, that if you have one, ilfaut bien payer
d* attentions et de petit s soin, if you would have your sacrifice
propitiously received. Women are not so much taken by
beauty as men are, but prefer those men who show them
the most attention.
Would you engage the lovely fair?
With gentlest manners treat her;
With tender looks and graceful air,
In softest accents greet her.
Verse were but vain, the Muses fail,
Without the Graces' aid;
The God of Verse could not prevail
To stop the flying maid.
Attention by attentions gain,
And merit care by cares ;
So shall the nymph reward your pain;
And Venus crown your prayers.
Probatum est.
A man's address and manner weigh much more with them
than his beauty; and, without them, the Abbati and Mon-
signori will get the better of you. This address and manner
288 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
should be exceedingly respectful, but at the same time
easy and unembarrassed. Your chit-chat or entregent with
them neither can, nor ought to be very solid; but you
should take care to turn and dress up your trifles prettily,
and make them every now and then convey indirectly some
little piece of flattery. A fan, a riband, or a head-dress,
are great materials for gallant dissertations, to one who
has got le ton leger et aimable de la bonne compagnie. At all
events, a man had better talk too much to women, than
too little ; they take silence for dullness, unless where they
think that the passion they have inspired occasions it ; and
in that case they adopt the notion, that
Silence in love betrays more woe
Than words, though ne'er so witty;
The beggar that is dumb, we know,
Deserves a double pity.
A propos of this subject: what progress do you make in
that language, in which Charles the Fifth said that he
would choose to speak to his mistress? Have you got all
the tender diminutives, in etta, ina, and ettina, which, I
presume, he alluded to? You already possess, and, I hope,
take care not to forget, that language which he reserved
for his horse. You are absolutely master, too, of that
language in which he said he would converse with men ;
French. But, in every language, pray attend carefully to
the choice of your words, and to the turn of your expression.
Indeed, it is a point of very great consequence. To be
heard with success, you must be heard with pleasure: words
are the dress of thoughts ; which should no more be pre
sented in rags, tatters, and dirt, than your person should.
By the way, do you mind your person and your dress
sufficiently? Do you take great care of your teeth? Pray
have them put in order by the best operator at Rome.
Are you be-laced, be-powdered, and be-feathered, as other
young fellows are, and should be? At your age, il faut
du brillant, et meme un peu de fracas, mats point de
mediocre; il faut un air vif, aise et noble. Avec les hommes^
un maintien respectueux et en meme terns respectable; avec
les femmes, un caquet l£ger, enjoue, et badin, mats toujours
fort poll.
LETTERS TO HIS SON 289
To give you an opportunity of exerting your talents, I
send you, here inclosed, a letter of recommendation from
Monsieur Villettes to Madame de Simonetti at Milan ; a
woman of the first fashion and consideration there ; and I
shall in my next send you another from the same person to
Madame Clerici, at the same place. As these two ladies'
houses are the resort of all the people of fashion at Milan,
those two recommendations will introduce you to them all.
Let me know, in due time, if you have received these two
letters, that I may have them renewed, in case of accidents.
Adieu, my dear friend ! Study hard ; divert yourself
heartily ; distinguish carefully between the pleasures of a
man of fashion, and the vices of a scoundrel; pursue the
former, and abhor the latter, like a man of sense.
LETTER CIV
LONDON, February 5, O. S. 1750.
MY DEAR FRIEND : Very few people are good econo
mists of their fortune, and still fewer of their time;
and yet of the two, the latter is the most precious.
I heartily wish you to be a good economist of both : and
you are now of an age to begin to think seriously of those
two important articles. Young people are apt to think
that they have so much time before them, that they may
squander what they please of it, and yet have enough left ;
as very great fortunes have frequently seduced people to a
ruinous profusion. Fatal mistakes, always repented of, but
always too late ! Old Mr. Lowndes, the famous Secretary
of the Treasury in the reigns of King William, Queen
Anne, and King George the First, used to say, TAKE CARE
OF THE PENCE, AND THE POUNDS WILL TAKE CARE OF
THEMSELVES. To this maxim, which he not only preached
but practiced, his two grandsons at this time owe the
very considerable fortunes that he left them.
This holds equally true as to time ; and I most earnestly
recommend to you the care of those minutes and quarters
of hours, in the course of the day, which people think too
short to deserve their attention ; and yet, if summed up
19
290 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
at the end of the year, would amount to a very considerable
portion of time. For example : you are to be at such a
place at twelve, by appointment ; you go out at eleven, to
make two or three visits first ; those persons are not at
home, instead of sauntering away that intermediate time at
a coffeehouse, and possibly alone, return home, write a letter,
beforehand, for the ensuing post, or take up a good book, —
I do not mean Descartes, Malebranche, Locke, or Newton,
by way of dipping; but some book of rational amusement
and detached pieces, as Horace, Boileau, Waller, La
Bruydre, etc. This will be so much time saved, and by no
means ill employed. Many people lose a great deal of time
by reading : for they read frivolous and idle books, such as
the absurd romances of the two last centuries; where char
acters, that never existed, are insipidly displayed, and
sentiments that were never felt, pompously described : the
Oriental ravings and extravagances of the (< Arabian Nights, }>
and Mogul tales ; or, the new flimsy brochures that now
swarm in France, of fairy tales, Reflections sur le cceur
et Vesprit, metaphysique de Vamour, analyse des beaux
sentimens, and such sort of idle frivolous stuff, that nour
ishes and improves the mind just as much as whipped
cream would the body. Stick to the best established
books in every language ; the celebrated poets, historiansr
orators, or philosophers. By these means (to use a city
metaphor) you will make fifty PER CENT, of that time, of
which others do not make above three or four, or probably
nothing at all.
Many people lose a great deal of their time by laziness ;
they loll and yawn in a great chair, tell themselves that
they have not time to begin anything then, and that it
will do as well another time. This is a most unfortunate
disposition, and the greatest obstruction to both knowledge
and business. At your age, you have no right nor claim to
laziness ; I have, if I please, being emeritus. You are but just
listed in the world, and must be active, diligent, indefati
gable. If ever you propose commanding with dignity, you
must serve up to it with diligence. Never put off till to
morrow what you can do to-day.
Dispatch is the soul of business ; and nothing contributes
more to dispatch than method. Lay down a method for
LETTERS TO HIS SON 291
everything, and stick to it inviolably, as far as unexpected
incidents may allow. Fix one certain hour and day in the
week for your accounts, and keep them together in their
proper order ; by which means they will require very little
time, and you can never be much cheated. Whatever let
ters and papers you keep, docket and tie them up in their
respective classes, so that you may instantly have recourse
to any one. Lay down a method also for your reading,
for which you allot a certain share of your mornings ; let
it be in a consistent and consecutive course, and not in that
desultory and unmethodical manner, in which many people
read scraps of different authors, upon different subjects.
Keep a useful and short commonplace book of what you
read, to help your memory only, and not for pedantic quo
tations. Never read history without having maps and a
chronological book, or tables, lying by you, and constantly
recurred to ; without which history is only a confused heap
of facts. One method more I recommend to you, by which
I have found great benefit, even in the most dissipated
part of my life ; that is, to rise early, and at the same
hour every morning, how late soever you may have sat up
the night before. This secures you an hour or two, at least,
of reading or reflection before the common interruptions of
the morning begin ; and it will save your constitution, by
forcing you to go to bed early, at least one night in three.
You will say, it may be, as many young people would,
that all this order and method is very troublesome, only fit
for dull people, and a disagreeable restraint upon the noble
spirit and fire of youth. I deny it ; and assert, on the con
trary, that it will procure you both more time and more
taste for your pleasures ; and, so far from being troublesome
to you, that after you have pursued it a month, it would
be troublesome to you to lay it aside. Business whets the
appetite, and gives a taste to pleasure, as exercise does to
food ; and business can never be done without method ; it
raises the spirits for pleasures ; and a SPECTACLE, a ball,
an assembly, will much more sensibly affect a man who has
employed, than a man who has lost, the preceding part of
the day ; nay, I will venture to say, that a fine lady will
seem to have more charms to a man of study or business,
than to a saunterer. The same listlessness runs through his
292 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
whole conduct, and he is as insipid in his pleasures, as inef
ficient in everything else.
I hope you earn your pleasures, and consequently taste
them; for, by the way, I know a great many men, who
call themselves men of pleasure, but who, in truth, have
none. They adopt other people's indiscriminately, but with
out any taste of their own. I have known them often in
flict excesses upon themselves because they thought them
genteel; though they sat as awkwardly upon them as other
people's clothes would have done. Have no pleasures but
your own, and then you will shine in them. What are
yours? Give me a short history of them. Tenez-vous votre
coin d, table, et dans les bonnes compagnies? y brillez-vous
du cote de la politesse, de I'enjouement, du badinage?
Etes-vous galant? Filez-vous le parfait amour? Est-il
question de Jlechir par vos soins et par vos attentions les
rigueurs de quelque Ji'ere Princesse? You may safely trust
me ; for though I am a severe censor of vice and folly, I
am a friend and advocate for pleasures, and will contribute
all in my power to yours.
There is a certain dignity to be kept up in pleasures, as
well as in business. In love, a man may lose his heart
with dignity ; but if he loses his nose, he loses his charac
ter into the bargain. At table, a man may with decency
have a distinguishing palate ; but indiscriminate voracious
ness degrades him to a glutton. A man may play with de
cency ; but if he games, he is disgraced. Vivacity and wit
make a man shine in company ; but trite jokes and loud
laughter reduce him to a buffoon. Every virtue, they say,
has its kindred vice; every pleasure, I am sure, has its
neighboring disgrace. Mark carefully, therefore, the line
that separates them, and rather stop a yard short, than step
an inch beyond it.
I wish to God that you had as much pleasure in follow
ing my advice, as I have in giving it you! and you may
the more easily have it, as I give you none that is incon
sistent with your pleasure. In all that I say to you, it is
your interest alone that I consider : trust to my experience ;
you know you may to my affection. Adieu.
I have received no letter yet from you or Mr. Harte.
LETTERS TO HIS SON 293
LETTER CV
LONDON, February 8, O. S. 1750.
MY DEAR FRIEND : You have, by this time, I hope
and believe, made such a progress in the Italian
language, that you can read it with ease ; I mean,
the easy books in it ; and indeed, in that, as well as in
every other language, the easiest books are generally the
best ; for, whatever author is obscure and difficult in his
own language, certainly does not think clearly. This is,
in my opinion, the case of a celebrated Italian author; to
whom the Italians, from the admiration they have of him,
have given the epithet of il divino; I mean Dante. Though
I formerly knew Italian extremely well, I could never un
derstand him ; for which reason I had done with him, fully
convinced that he was not worth the pains necessary to un
derstand him.
The good Italian authors are, in my mind, but few; I
mean, authors of invention ; for there are, undoubtedly,
very good historians and excellent translators. The two
poets worth your reading, and, I was going to say, the only
two, are Tasso and Ariosto. Tasso's Gierusalemme Liber-
ata is altogether unquestionably a fine poem, though it has
some low, and many false thoughts in it : and Boileau very
justly makes it the mark of a bad taste, to compare le
Clinquant Tasse a V Or de Virgile. The image, with
which he adorns the introduction of his epic poem, is low
and disgusting; it is that of a froward, sick, puking child,
who is deceived into a dose of necessary physic by du bon
bon. These verses are these : —
(< Cost alVegro fanciul porgiamo aspersi
Di soavi licor gli or It del vaso:
Succht amari ingannato intanto ei beve,
R dalV inganno suo vita riceve?
However, the poem, with all its faults about it, may justly
be called a fine one.
If fancy, imagination, invention, description, etc., con
stitute a poet, Ariosto is, unquestionably, a great one. His
(< Orlando, >} it is true, is a medley of lies and truths — sacred
294 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
and profane — wars, loves, enchantments, giants, mad heroes,
and adventurous damsels, but then, he gives it you very
fairly for what it is, and does not pretend to put it upon
you for the true epopee , or epic poem. He says : —
w Le Donne^ i Cavalier, V arme, gli amort
Le cortesie, Vaudaci imfrese, to cantoP
The connections of his stories are admirable, his reflections
just, his sneers and ironies incomparable, and his painting
excellent. When Angelica, after having wandered over
half the world alone with Orlando, pretends, notwithstand
ing,—
<( cVel fior -virginal cost avea salvo,
Come selo forth dal mater n' alvoP
The author adds, very gravely, —
* Forse era ver, ma non perb credibile
A chi del senso suo fosse SignoreC*
Astolpho's being carried to the moon by St. John, in order
to look for Orlando's lost wits, at the end of the 34th book,
and the many lost things that he finds there, is a most
happy extravagancy, and contains, at the same time, a great
deal of sense. I would advise you to read this poem with
attention. It is, also, the source of half the tales, novels,
and plays, that have been written since.
The Pastor Fido of Guarini is so celebrated, that you
should read it ; but in reading it, you will judge of the
great propriety of the characters. A parcel of shepherds
and shepherdesses, with the TRUE PASTORAL SIMPLICITY, talk
metaphysics, epigrams, concetti ', and quibbles, by the hour
to each other.
The Aminto del Tasso^ is much more what it is intended
to be, a pastoral: the shepherds, indeed, have their concetti
and their antitheses; but are not quite so sublime and ab
stracted as those in Pastor Fido. I think that you will
like it much the best of the two.
Petrarca is, in my mind, a sing-song, love-sick poet;
much admired, however, by the Italians : but an Italian who
should think no better of him than I do, would certainly
say that he deserved his Laura better than his Lauro; and
that wretched quibble would be reckoned an excellent piece
of Italian wit.
LETTERS TO HIS SON 295
The Italian prose-writers (of invention I mean) which I
would recommend to your acquaintance, are Machiavello and
Boccacio ; the former, for the established reputation which
he has acquired, of a consummate politician (whatever
my own private sentiments may be of either his politics or
his morality) : the latter, for his great invention, and for
his natural and agreeable manner of telling his stories.
Guicciardini, Bentivoglio, Davila, etc., are excellent his
torians, and deserved being read with attention. The
nature of history checks, a little, the flights of Italian
imaginations ; which, in works of invention, are very high
indeed. Translations curb them still more : and their
translations of the classics are incomparable ; particularly
the first ten, translated in the time of Leo the Tenth, and
inscribed to him, under the title of Collana. That original
Collana has been lengthened since ; and if I mistake not,
consist now of one hundred and ten volumes.
From what I have said, you will easily guess that I
meant to put you upon your guard ; and not let your fancy
be dazzled and your taste corrupted by the concetti, the
quaintnesses, and false thoughts, which are too much the
characteristics of the Italian and Spanish authors. I think
you are in no great danger, as your taste has been formed
upon the best ancient models, the Greek and Latin authors
of the best ages, who indulge themselves in none of the
puerilities I have hinted at. I think I may say, with
truth, that true wit, sound taste, and good sense, are now,
as it were, engrossed by France and England. Your old
acquaintances, the Germans, I fear, are a little below them;
and your new acquaintances, the Italians, are a great deal
too much above them. The former, I doubt, crawl a little ;
the latter, I am sure, very often fly out of sight.
I recommended to you a good many years ago, and I
believe you then read, La mant&re de bien penser dans les
outrages d* esprit par le P^re Bouhours; and I think it is
very well worth your reading again, now that you can
judge of it better. I do not know any book that con
tributes more to form a true taste ; and you find there, into
the bargain, the most celebrated passages, both of the ancients
and the moderns, which refresh your memory with what
you have formerly read in them separately. It is fol-
296 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
lowed by a book much of the same size, by the same
author, entitled, Suite des Pensees ingenieuses.
To do justice to the best English and French authors,
they have not given into that false taste; they allow no
thoughts to be good, that are not just and founded upon
truth. The age of Lewis XIV. was very like the Augustan ;
Boileau, Moliere, La Fontaine, Racine, etc., established the
true, and exposed the false taste. The reign of King Charles
II. (meritorious in no other respect) banished false taste out
of England, and proscribed puns, quibbles, acrostics, etc.
Since that, false wit has renewed its attacks, and endeavored
to recover its lost empire, both in England and France;
but without success; though, I must say, with more success
in France than in England. Addison, Pope, and Swift,
have vigorously defended the rights of good sense, which
is more than can be said of their contemporary French authors,
who have of late had a great tendency to le faux brillant,
le raffinement, et rentortillement. And Lord Roscommon
would be more in the right now, than he was then, in
saying, that
«The English bullion of one sterling line,
Drawn to French wire, would through whole pages shine. »
Lose no time, my dear child, I conjure you, in forming
your taste, your manners, your mind, your everything; you
have but two years' time to do it in; for whatever you are,
to a certain degree, at twenty, you will be, more or less,
all the rest of your life. May it be a long and happy
one. Adieu.
LETTER CVI
LONDON, February 22, O. S. 1750.
Y DEAR FRIEND: If the Italian of your letter to Lady
Chesterfield was all your own, I am very well sat
isfied with the progress which you have made in
that language in so short a time; according to that gra
dation, you will, in a very little time more, be master of
it. Except at the French Ambassador's, I believe you hear
M
LETTERS TO HIS SON 297
only Italian spoke ; for the Italians speak very little French,
and that little generally very ill. The French are even
with them, and generally speak Italian as ill; for I never
knew a Frenchman in my life who could pronounce the
Italian ce, ci, or ge, gi. Your desire of pleasing the Roman
ladies will of course give you not only the desire, but the
means of speaking to them elegantly in their own language.
The Princess Borghese, I am told, speaks French both ill and
unwillingly; and therefore you should make a merit to her
of your application to her language. She is, by a kind of
prescription (longer than she would probably wish), at the
head of the beau monde at Rome; and can, consequently,
establish or destroy a young fellow's fashionable character.
If she declares him amabile e leggiadro, others will think
him so, or at least those who do not will not dare to
say so. There are in every great town some such women,
whose rank, beauty, and fortune have conspired to place
them at the head of the fashion. They have generally
been gallant, but within certain decent bounds. Their gal
lantries have taught, both them and their admirers, good-
breeding ; without which they could keep up no dignity,
but would be vilified by those very gallantries which put
them in vogue. It is with these women, as with ministers
and favorites at court ; they decide upon fashion and char
acters, as these do of fortunes and preferments. Pay
particular court, therefore, wherever you are, to these
female sovereigns of the beau monde; their recommendation
is a passport through all the realms of politeness. But
then, remember that they require minute officious attentions.
You should, if possible, guess at and anticipate all their
little fancies and inclinations; make yourself familiarly and
domestically useful to them, by offering yourself for all
their little commissions, and assisting in doing the honors
of their houses, and entering with seeming unction into all
their little grievances, bustles, and views ; for they are
always busy. If you are once ben ficcato at the Palazzo
Borghese, you will soon be in fashion at Rome; and being
in fashion will soon fashion you; for that is what you
must now think of very seriously.
I am sorry that there is no good dancing-master at Rome,
to form your exterior air and carriage ; which, I doubt, are
298 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
not yet the genteelest in the world. But you may, and I
hope you will, in the meantime, observe the air and carriage
of those who are reckoned to have the best, and form your
own upon them. Ease, gracefulness, and dignity, compose
the air and address of a man of fashion; which is as un
like the affected attitudes and motions of a petit maitre,
as it is to the awkward, negligent, clumsy, and slouching
manner of a booby.
I am extremely pleased with the account Mr. Harte has
given me of the allotment of your time at Rome. Those
five hours every morning, which you employ in serious studies
with Mr. Harte, are laid out with great interest, and will
make you rich all the rest of your life. I do not look
upon the subsequent morning hours, which you pass with
your Ciceroni, to be ill-disposed of; there is a kind of
connection between them ; and your evening diversions in
good company are, in their way, as useful and necessary.
This is the way for you to have both weight and lustre in
the world; and this is the object which I always had in
view in your education.
Adieu, my friend! go on and prosper.
Mr. Grevenkop has just received Mr. Harte's letter of
the i9th N. S.
LETTER CVII
LONDON, March 8, O. S. 1750.
YOUNG as you are, I hope you are in haste to live ; by
living, I mean living with lustre and honor to your
self, with utility to society ; doing what may deserve
to be written, or writing what may deserve to be read ; I
should wish both. Those who consider life in that light,
will not idly lavish one moment. The present moments are
the only ones we are sure of, and as such the most valuable;
but yours are doubly so at your age ; for the credit, the
dignity, the comfort, and the pleasure of all your future
moments, depend upon the use you make of your present ones.
I am extremely satisfied with your present manner of
employing your time ; but will you always employ it as
LETTERS TO HIS SON 299
well ? I am far from meaning always in the same way ;
but I mean as well in proportion, in the variation of age
and circumstances. You now study five hours every morn
ing; I neither suppose that you will, nor desire that you
should do so for the rest of your life. Both business and
pleasure will justly and equally break in upon those hours.
But then, will you always employ the leisure they leave you
in useful studies? If you have but an hour, will you im
prove that hour, instead of idling it away? While you
have such a friend and monitor with you as Mr. Harte, I
am sure you will. But suppose that business and situations
should, in six or seven months, call Mr. Harte away from
you ; tell me truly, what may I expect and depend upon
from you, when left to yourself ? May I be sure that you
will employ some part of every day, in adding something
to that stock of knowledge which he will have left you?
May I hope that you will allot one hour in the week to
the care of your own affairs, to keep them in that order
and method which every prudent man does? But, above
all, may I be convinced that your pleasures, whatever they
may be, will be confined within the circle of good com
pany, and people of fashion? Those pleasures I recommend
to you ; I will promote them, I will pay for them ; but I
will neither pay for, nor suffer, the unbecoming, disgraceful,
and degrading pleasures (they should not be called pleasures),
of low and profligate company. I confess the pleasures of
high life are not always strictly philosophical ; and I believe a
Stoic would blame my indulgence; but I am yet no Stoic,
though turned of five-and-fifty ; and I am apt to think that
you are rather less so, at eighteen. The pleasures of the
table, among people of the first fashion, may indeed some
times, by accident, run into excesses : but they will never
sink into a continued course of gluttony and drunkenness.
The gallantry of high life, though not strictly justifiable,
carries, at least, no external marks of infamy about it.
Neither the heart nor the constitution is corrupted by it ;
neither nose nor character lost by it; manners, pos
sibly, improved. Play, in good '[company, is only play,
and not gaming ; not deep, and consequently not dangerous
nor dishonorable. It is only the interacts of other amuse
ments.
300 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
This, I am sure, is not talking to you like an old man,
though it is talking to you like an old friend ; these are
not hard conditions to ask of you. I am certain you have
sense enough to know how reasonable they are on my part,
how advantageous they are on yours : but have you resolution
enough to perform them? Can you withstand the examples,
and the invitations, of the profligate, and their infamous
missionaries? For I have known many a young fellow se
duced by a mauvaise. honte, that made him ashamed to
refuse. These are resolutions which you must form, and
steadily execute for yourself, whenever you lose the friendly
care and assistance of your Mentor. In the meantime,
make a greedy use of him ; exhaust him, if you can, of all
his knowledge ; and get the prophet's mantle from him,
before he is taken away himself.
You seem to like Rome. How do you go on there?
Are you got into the inside of that extraordinary govern
ment? Has your Abbate Foggini discovered many of those
mysteries to you? Have you made an acquaintance with
some eminent Jesuits? I know no people in the world more
instructive. You would do very well to take one or two
such sort of people home with you to dinner every day. It
would be only a little minestra and macaroni the more ;
and a three or four hours' conversation de suite produces a
thousand useful informations, which short meetings and
snatches at third places do not admit of; and many of those
gentlemen are by no means unwilling to dine gratis.
Whenever you meet with a man eminent in any way, feed
him, and feed upon him at the same time; it will not only
improve you, but give you a reputation of knowledge, and
of loving it in others.
I have been lately informed of an Italian book, which
I believe may be of use to you, and which, I dare say, you
may get at Rome, written by one Alberti, about fourscore
or a hundred years ago, a thick quarto. It is a classical
description of Italy ; from whence, I am assured, that Mr.
Addison, to save himself trouble, has taken most of his
remarks and classical references. I am told that it is an
excellent book for a traveler in Italy.
What Italian books have you read, or are you reading?
Ariosto. I hope, is one of them. Pray apply yourself dili-
LETTERS TO HIS SON 301
gently to Italian ; it is so easy a language, that speaking it
constantly, and reading it often, must, in six months more,
make you perfect master of it : in which case you will
never forget it ; for we only forget those things of which
we know but little.
But, above all things, to all that you learn, to all that
you say, and to all that you do, remember to join the
Graces. All is imperfect without them ; with them every
thing is at least tolerable. Nothing could hurt me more
than to find you unattended by them. How cruelly should
I be shocked, if, at our first meeting, you should present
yourself to me without them ! Invoke them, and sacrifice
to them every moment; they are always kind, where they
are assiduously courted. For God's sake, aim at perfection
in everything : Nil actum reputans si quid superesset
agendum. Adieu. Yours most tenderly.
LETTER CVIII
LONDON, March 19, O. S. 1750.
MY DEAR FRIEND : I acknowledge your last letter of the
24th February, N. S. In return for your earthquake,
I can tell you that we have had here more than our
share of earthquakes ; for we had two very strong ones in
eight-and-twenty days. They really do too much honor to
our cold climate ; in your warm one, they are compensated
by favors from the sun, which we do not enjoy.
I did not think that the present Pope was a sort of man
to build seven modern little chapels at the expense of so
respectable a piece of antiquity as the Coliseum. How
ever, let his Holiness' s taste of virtU be ever so bad, pray
get somebody to present you to him before you leave Rome ;
and without hesitation kiss his slipper, or whatever else
the etiquette of that Court requires. I would have you
see all those ceremonies ; and I presume that you are, by
this time, ready enough at Italian to understand and answer
il Santo Padre in that language. I hope, too, that you
have acquired address and usage enough of the world to be
302 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
presented to anybody, without embarrassment or disappro
bation. If that is not yet quite perfect, as I cannot sup
pose it is entirely, custom will improve it daily, and habit
at last complete it. I have for some time told you, that
the great difficulties are pretty well conquered. You have
acquired knowledge, which is the principium et Jons; but
you have now a variety of lesser things to attend to, which
collectively make one great and important object. You
easily guess that I mean the graces, the air, address, polite
ness, and, in short, the whole tournure and agremens of a
man of fashion; so many little things conspire to form that
tournure, that though separately they seem too insignificant
to mention, yet aggregately they are too material for me
(who think for you down to the very lowest things) to
omit. For instance, do you use yourself to carve, eat and
drink genteelly, and with ease? Do you take care to walk,
sit, stand, and present yourself gracefully? Are you suffi
ciently upon your guard against awkward attitudes, and
illiberal, ill-bred, and disgusting habits, such as scratching
yourself, putting your ringers in your mouth, nose, and ears?
Tricks always acquired at schools, often too much neglected
afterward ; but, however, extremely ill-bred and nauseous.
For I do not conceive that any man has a right to exhibit,
in company, any one excrement more than another. Do you
dress well, and think a little of the brillant in your per
son? That, too, is necessary, because it is prevenant. Do
you aim at easy, engaging, but, at the same time, civil or
respectful manners, according to the company you are in?
These, and a thousand other things, which you will observe
in people of fashion better than I can describe them, are
absolutely necessary for every man ; but still more for you,
than for almost any man living. The showish, the shining,
the engaging parts of the character of a fine gentleman,
should (considering your destination) be the principal objects
of your present attention.
When you return here, I am apt to think that you will
find something better to do than to run to Mr. Osborne's
at Gray's Inn, to pick up scarce books. Buy good books
and read them; the best books are the commonest, and the
last editions are always the best, if the editors are not
blockheads, for they may profit of the former. But take
LETTERS TO HIS SON 303
care not to understand editions and title-pages too well. It
always smells of pedantry, and not always of learning.
What curious books I have — they are indeed but few — shall
be at your service. I have some of the old Collana, and
the Machiavel of 1550. Beware of the Bibliomanie.
In the midst of either your studies or your pleasures, pray
never lose view of the object of your destination : I mean
the political affairs of Europe. Follow them politically,
chronologically, and geographically, through the newspapers,
and trace up the facts which you meet with there to their
sources: as, for example, consult the treaties Neustadt and
Abo, with regard to the disputes, which you read of every
day in the public papers, between Russia and Sweden.
For the affairs of Italy, which are reported to be the objects
of present negotiations, recur to the quadruple alliance of
the year 1718, and follow them down through their several
variations to the treaty of Aix-la-Chapelle, 1748; in which
(by the bye) you will find the very different tenures by
which the Infant Don Philip, your namesake, holds Parma
and Placentia. Consult, also, the Emperor Charles the
Sixth's Act of Cession of the kingdoms of Naples and
Sicily, being a point which, upon the death of the present
King of Spain, is likely to occasion some disputes; do not
lose the thread of these matters ; which is carried on with
great ease, but if once broken, is resumed with difficulty.
Pray tell Mr. Harte, that I have sent his packet to Baron
Firmian by Count Einsiedlen, who is gone from hence this
day for Germany, and passes through Vienna in his way
to Italy ; where he is in hopes of crossing upon you some
where or other. Adieu, my friend.
LETTER CIX
LONDON, March 29, O. S. 1750.
MY DEAR FRIEND: You are now, I suppose, at Na
ples, in a new scene of Virtb,, examining all the
curiosities of Herculaneum, watching the eruptions
of Mount Vesuvius, and surveying the magnificent churches
and public buildings, by which Naples is distinguished.
3o4 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
You have a court there into the bargain, which, I hope,
you frequent and attend to. Polite manners, a versatility
of mind, a complaisance even to enemies, and the volto
sciolto, with the pensieri stretti, are only to be learned
at courts, and must be well learned by whoever would
either shine or thrive in them. Though they do not
change the nature, they smooth and soften the manners of
mankind. Vigilance, dexterity, and flexibility supply the
place of natural force ; and it is the ablest mind, not
the strongest body that prevails there. Monsieur and
Madame Fogliani will, I am sure, show you all the polite
ness of courts; for I know no better bred people than
they are. Domesticate yourself there while you stay at
Naples, and lay aside the English coldness and formality.
You have also a letter to Comte Mahony, whose house I
hope you frequent, as it is the resort of the best company.
His sister, Madame Bulkeley, is now here ; and had I
known of your going so soon to Naples, I would have got
you, ex abundanti^ a letter from her to her brother. The
conversation of the moderns in the evening is full as neces
sary for you, as that of the ancients in the morning.
You would do well, while you are at Naples, to read
some very short history of that kingdom. It has had great
variety of masters, and has occasioned many wars ; the
general history of which will enable you to ask many proper
questions, and to receive useful informations in return. In
quire into the manner and form of that government; for
constitution it has none, being an absolute one; but the
most absolute governments have certain customs and forms,
which are more or less observed by their respective tyrants.
In China it is the fashion for the emperors, absolute as
they are, to govern with justice and equity; as in the
other Oriental monarchies, it is the custom to govern by
violence and cruelty. The King of France, as absolute, in
fact, as any of them, is by custom only more gentle ; for I
know of no constitutional bar to his will. England is now
the only monarchy in the world, that can properly be said
to have a constitution ; for the people's rights and liberties
are secured by laws ; and I cannot reckon Sweden and
Poland to be monarchies, those two kings having little more
to say than the Doge of Venice. I do not presume to say
LETTERS TO HIS SON 305
anything of the constitution of the empire to you, who are
jurisperitorum Germanicorum facile princeps.
When you write to me, which, by the way, you do
pretty seldom, tell me rather whom you see, than what
you see. Inform me of your evening transactions and ac
quaintances ; where, and how you pass your evenings;
what people of learning you have made acquaintance with ;
and, if you will trust me with so important an affair,
what belle passion inflames you. I interest myself most in
what personally concerns you most ; and this is a very
critical year in your life. To talk like a virtuoso, your
canvas is, I think, a good one, and RAPHAEL HARTE has
drawn the outlines admirably; nothing is now wanting but
the coloring of Titian, and the Graces, the morbidezza of
Guido ; but that is a great deal. You must get them
soon, or you will never get them at all. Per la lingua
Italiana, sono sicuro cftella n'*e adesso professore, a segno
tale cftio non ardisca dirle altra cosa in quela lingua se
non. Addio.
LETTER CX
LONDON, April 26, O. S. 1756.
MY DEAR FRIEND : As your journey to Paris ap
proaches, and as that period will, one way or an
other, be of infinite consequence to you, my letters
will henceforward be principally calculated for that
meridian. You will be left there to your own discretion,
instead of Mr. Harte's, and you will allow me, I am
sure, to distrust a little the discretion of eighteen. You
will find in the Academy a number of young fellows much
less discreet than yourself. These will all be your ac
quaintances; but look about you first, and inquire into
their respective characters, before you form any con
nections among them ; and, cceteris paribus, single out
those of the most considerable rank and family. Show
them a distinguishing attention ; by which means you will
get into their respective houses, and keep the best com
pany. All those French young fellows are excessively
20
306 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
etourdis ; be upon your guard against scrapes and quarrels ;
have no corporal pleasantries with them, no jeux de
mains, no coups de chambriere, which frequently bring on
quarrels. Be as lively as they, if you please, but at the
same time be a little wiser than they. As to letters, you
will find most of them ignorant; do not reproach them
with that ignorance, nor make them feel your superiority.
It is not their faults, they are all bred up for the army;
but, on the other hand, do not allow their ignorance and
idleness to break in upon those morning hours which you
may be able to allot to your serious studies. No breakfast-
ings with them, which consume a great deal of time;
but tell them (not magisterially and sententiously) that
you will read two or three hours in the morning, and
that for the rest of the day you are very much at their
service. Though, by the way, I hope you will keep wiser
company in the evenings.
I must insist upon your never going to what is called
the English coffee-house at Paris, which is the resort of
all the scrub English, and also of the fugitive and attainted
Scotch and Irish; party quarrels and drunken squabbles
are very frequent there ; and I do not know a more
degrading place in all Paris. Coffee-houses and taverns
are by no means creditable at Paris. Be cautiously upon
your guard against the infinite number of fine-dressed and
fine-spoken chevaliers d ' Industrie and avanturiers which
swarm at Paris: and keep everybody civilly at arm's length,
of whose real character or rank you are not previously
informed. Monsieur le Comte or Monsieur le Chevalier, in
a handsome laced coat, et tr^s bien mis, accosts you at the
play, or some other public place ; he conceives at first sight
an infinite regard for you: he sees that you are a stranger
of the first distinction; he offers you his services, and wishes
nothing more ardently than to contribute, as far as may be
in his little power, to procure you les agremens de Paris.
He is acquainted with some ladies of condition, qui prejtrent
une petite societe" agreable, et des petits soupers aimables
d'honnetes gens, au tumulte et a la dissipation de Paris; and
he will with the greatest pleasure imaginable have the
honor of introducing you to those ladies of quality. Well,
if you were to accept of this kind offer, and go with him,
LETTERS TO HIS SON 307
you would find au troisiemc a handsome, painted and p d
strumpet, in a tarnished silver or gold second-hand robe,
playing a sham party at cards for livres, with three or
four sharpers well dressed enough, and dignified by the
titles of Marquis, Comte, and Chevalier. The lady receives
you in the most polite and gracious manner, and with all
those complimens de routine which every French woman has
equally. Though she loves retirement, and shuns le grande
monde, yet she confesses herself obliged to the Marquis for
having procured her so inestimable, so accomplished an
acquaintance as yourself; but her concern is how to amuse
you : for she never suffers play at her house for above a
livre ; if you can amuse yourself with that low play till
supper, a la bonne heure. Accordingly you sit down to that
little play, at which the good company takes care that you
shall win fifteen or sixteen livres, which gives them an
opportunity of celebrating both your good luck and your
good play. Supper comes up, and a good one it is, upon
the strength of your being able to pay for it. La Marquise
en fait les honneurs au mieux, talks sentiments, mceurs
et morale, interlarded with enjouement, and accompanied
with some oblique ogles, which bid you not despair in
time. After supper, pharaoh, lansquenet, or quinze, happen
accidentally to be mentioned: the Marquise exclaims against
it, and vows she will not suffer it, but is at last prevailed
upon by being assured que ce ne sera que pour des riens+
Then the wished-for moment is come, the operation begins:
you are cheated, at best, of all the money in your pocket,
and if you stay late, very probably robbed of your watch
and snuff-box, possibly murdered for greater security. This
I can assure you, is not an exaggerated, but a literal de
scription of what happens every day to some raw and
inexperienced stranger at Paris. Remember to receive all
these civil gentlemen, who take such a fancy to you at
first sight, very coldly, and take care always to be pre
viously engaged, whatever party they propose to you. You
may happen sometimes, in very great and good companies,
to meet with some dexterous gentlemen, who may be very
desirous, and also very sure, to win your money, if they
can but engage you to play with them. Therefore lay it
down as an invariable rule never to play with men, but
3o8 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
only with women of fashion, at low play, or with women
and men mixed. But, at the same time, whenever you are
asked to play deeper than you would, do not refuse it
gravely and sententiously, alleging the folly of staking
what would be very inconvenient to one to lose, against
what one does not want to win ; but parry those invitations
ludicrously, et en badinant. Say that, if you were sure to
lose, you might possibly play, but that as you may as well
win, you dread V emb arras des richesses, ever since you
have seen what an encumbrance they were to poor Harle
quin, and that, therefore, you are determined never to
venture the winning above two louis a-day ; this sort of
light trifling way of declining invitations to vice and folly,
is more becoming your age, and at the same time more
effectual, than grave philosophical refusals. A young fellow
who seems to have no will of his own, and who does
everything that is asked of him, is called a very good-
natured, but at the same time, is thought a very silly young
fellow. Act wisely, upon solid principles, and from true
motives, but keep them to yourself, and never talk senten-
tiouslyo When you are invited to drink, say that you wish
you could, but that so little makes you both drunk and
sick, que le jeu ne vaut pas la chandelle.
Pray show great attention, and make your court to
Monsieur de la Gu<§rini6re ; he is well with Prince Charles
and many people of the first distinction at Paris; his com
mendations will raise your character there, not to mention
that his favor will be of use to you in the Academy itself.
For the reasons which I mentioned to you in my last, I
would have you be interne in the Academy for the first
six months; but after that, I promise you that you shall
have lodgings of your own dans un h6tel garni, if in the
meantime I hear well of you, and that you frequent, and
are esteemed in the best French companies. You want
nothing now, thank God, but exterior advantages, that last
polish, that tournure du monde, and those graces, which are
so necessary to adorn, and give efficacy to, the most solid
merit. They are only to be acquired in the best companies,
and better in the best French companies than in any
other. You will not want opportunities, for I shall send
you letters that will establish you in the most distinguished
LETTERS TO HIS SON 309
companies, not only of the beau monde, but of the beaux
esprits, too. Dedicate, therefore, I beg of you, that whole
year to your own advantage and final improvement, and do
not be diverted from those objects by idle dissipations, low
seduction, or bad example. After that year, do whatever
you please ; I will interfere no longer in your conduct ; for
I am sure both you and I shall be safe then. Adieu !
LETTER CXI
LONDON, April 30, O. S. 1750.
MY DEAR FRIEND: Mr. Harte, who in all his letters
gives you some dash of panegyric, told me in his
last a thing that pleases me extremely ; which was
that at Rome you had constantly preferred the established
Italian assemblies to the English conventicles set up against
them by dissenting English ladies. That shows sense, and
that you know what you are sent abroad for. It is of
much more consequence to know the mores multorem hom-
inum than the urbes. Pray continue this judicious conduct
wherever you go, especially at Paris, where, instead of
thirty, you will find above three hundred English, herding
together and conversing with no one French body.
The life of les Milords Anglois is regularly, or, if you
will, irregularly, this. As soon as they rise, which is very
late, they breakfast together, to the utter loss of two good
morning hours. Then they go by coachfuls to the Palais,
the Invalides, and Notre-Dame ; from thence to the English
coffee-house, where they make up their tavern party for
dinner. From dinner, where they drink quick, they adjourn
in clusters to the play, where they crowd up the stage,
dressed up in very fine clothes, very ill-made by a Scotch or
Irish tailor. From the play to the tavern again, where they
get very drunk, and where they either quarrel among them
selves, or sally forth, commit some riot in the streets, and
are taken up by the watch. Those who do not speak
French before they go, are sure to learn none there. Their
tender vows are addressed to their Irish laundress, unless bjr
chance some itinerant Englishwoman, eloped from her hus-
3io LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
band, or her creditors, defrauds her of them. Thus they
return home, more petulant, but not more informed, than
when they left it; and show, as they think, their improve
ment by affectedly both speaking and dressing in broken
French : —
^ Hunc tu Romane caveito.^
Connect yourself, while you are in France, entirely with
the French ; improve yourself with the old, divert yourself
with the young ; conform cheerfully to their customs, even
to their little follies, but not to their vices. Do not, however,
remonstrate or preach against them, for remonstrances do
not suit with your age. In French companies in general you
will not find much learning, therefore take care not to
brandish yours in their faces. People hate those who make
them feel their own inferiority. Conceal all your learning
carefully, and reserve it for the company of les Gens
dEglise, or les Gens de Robe ; and even then let them rather
extort it from you, than find you over-willing to draw it.
Your are then thought, from that seeming unwillingness, to
have still more knowledge than it may be you really have,
and with the additional merit of modesty into the bargain.
A man who talks of, or even hints at, his bonnes fortunes,
is seldom believed, or, if believed, much blamed; whereas
a man who conceals with care is often supposed to have
more than he has, and his reputation of discretion gets him
others. It is just so with a man of learning; if he affects
to show it, it is questioned, and he is reckoned only super
ficial; but if afterward it appears that he really has it, he
is pronounced a pedant. Real merit of any kind, ubi est
non potest diu celari ; it will be discovered, and nothing
can depreciate it but a man's exhibiting it himself. It
may not always be rewarded as it ought, but it will always
be known. You will in general find the women of the
beau monde at Paris more instructed than the men, who
are bred up singly for the army, and thrown into it at
twelve or thirteen years old; but then that sort of education,
which makes them ignorant of books, gives them a great
knowledge of the world, an easy address, and polite man
ners.
Fashion is more 'tyrannical at Paris than in any other
place in the world; it governs even more absolutely than
LETTERS TO HIS SON 3n
their king, which is saying a great deal. The least revolt
against it is punished by proscription. You must observe,
and conform to all the minutice of it, if you will be in
fashion there yourself; and if you are not in fashion, you
are nobody. Get, therefore, at all events, into the company
of those men and women qui donnent le ton; and though
at first you should be admitted upon that shining theatre
only as a. persona muta, persist, persevere, and you will soon
have a part given you. Take great care never to tell in
one company what you see or hear in another, much less
to divert the present company at the expense of the last;
but let discretion and secrecy be known parts of your char
acter. They will carry you much further, and much safer
than more shining talents. Be upon your guard against
quarrels at Paris ; honor is extremely nice there, though the
asserting of it is exceedingly penal. Therefore, point de
mauvaises plaisanteries, point de jeux de main, et point de
raillerie pi quant e.
Paris is the place in the world where, if you please, you
may the best unite the utile and the dulce. Even your
pleasures will be your improvements, if you take them with
the people of the place, and in high life. From what you
have hitherto done everywhere else, I have just reason to
believe, that you will do everything that you ought at
Paris. Remember that it is your decisive moment ; what
ever you do there will be known to thousands here, and
your character there, whatever it is, will get before you
here. You will meet with it at London. May you and I
both have reason to rejoice at that meeting! Adieu.
LETTER CXII
LONDON, May 8, O. S. 1750.
MY DEAR FRIEND : At your age the love of pleasures is
extremely natural, and the enjoyment of them not
unbecoming : but the danger, at your age, is mistak
ing the object, and setting out wrong in the pursuit. The
character of a man of pleasure dazzles young eyes ; they do
not see their way to it distinctly, and fall into vice and
3i2 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
profligacy. I remember a strong instance of this a great
many years ago. A young fellow, determined to shine as
a man of pleasure, was at the play called the <( Libertine
Destroyed, }> a translation of Le Festin de Pierre of Moliere's.
He was so struck with what he thought the fine character
of the libertine, that he swore he would be the LIBERTINE
DESTROYED. Some friends asked him, whether he had not
better content himself with being only the libertine, but
without being DESTROYED? to which he answered with
great warmth, <( No, for that being destroyed was the per
fection of the whole. >} This, extravagant as it seems in
this light, is really the case of many an unfortunate young
fellow, who, captivated by the name of pleasures, rushes in
discriminately, and without taste, into them all, and is finally
DESTROYED. I am not stoically advising, nor parsonically
preaching to you to be a Stoic at your age ; far from it : I
am pointing out to you the paths to pleasures, and am en
deavoring only to quicken and heighten them for you.
Enjoy pleasures, but let them be your own, and then you
will taste them ; but adopt none ; trust to nature for genuine
ones. The pleasures that you would feel you must earn;
the man who gives himself up to all, feels none sensibly.
Sardanapalus, I am convinced, never felt any in his life.
Those only who join serious occupations with pleasures,
feel either as they should do. Alcibiades, though addicted
to the most shameful excesses, gave some time to
philosophy, and some to business. Julius Caesar joined
business with pleasure so properly, that they mutually
assisted each other ; and though he was the husband
of all the wives at Rome, he found time to be one of
the best scholars, almost the best orator, and absolutely the
best general there. An uninterrupted life of pleasures is as
insipid as contemptible. Some hours given every day to
serious business must whet both the mind and the senses, to
enjoy those of pleasure. A surfeited glutton, an emaciated
sot, and an enervated rotten whoremaster, never enjoy the
pleasures to which they devote themselves; but they are only
so many human sacrifices to false gods. The pleasures of
low life are all of this mistaken, merely sensual, and dis
graceful nature ; whereas, those of high life, and in good
company (though possibly in themselves not more moral)
LETTERS TO HIS SON 313
are more delicate, more refined, less dangerous, and less dis
graceful; and, in the common course of things, not reckoned
disgraceful at all. In short, pleasure must not, nay, can
not, be the business of a man of sense and character; but
it may be, and is, his relief, his reward. It is particularly
so with regard to the women; who have the utmost con
tempt for those men, that, having no character nor consid
eration with their own sex, frivolously pass their whole time
in ruelles and at toilettes. They look upon them as their
lumber, and remove them whenever they can get better
furniture. Women choose their favorites more by the ear
than by any other of their senses or even their understand
ings. The man whom they hear the most commended by
the men, will always be the best received by them. Such
a conquest flatters their vanity, and vanity is their universal,
if not their strongest passion. A distinguished shining char
acter is irresistible with them ; they crowd to, nay, they
even quarrel for the danger in hopes of the triumph.
Though, by the way (to use a vulgar expression), she who
conquers only catches a Tartar, and becomes the slave of
her captive. Mais c*est la leur affaire. Divide your time
between useful occupations and elegant pleasures. The
morning seems to belong to study, business, or serious con
versations with men of learning and figure ; not that I ex
clude an occasional hour at a toilette. From sitting down
to dinner, the proper business of the day is pleasure,
unless real business, which must never be postponed for
pleasure, happens accidentally to interfere. In good com
pany, the pleasures of the table are always carried to a cer
tain point of delicacy and gratification, but never to excess
and riot. Plays, operas, balls, suppers, gay conversations
in polite and cheerful companies, properly conclude the
evenings ; not to mention the tender looks that you may di
rect and the sighs that you may offer, upon these several occa
sions, to some propitious or unpropitious female deity, whose
character and manners will neither disgrace nor corrupt
yours. This is the life of a man of real sense and pleasure ;
and by this distribution of your time, and choice of your
pleasures, you will be equally qualified for the busy, or the
beau monde. You see I am not rigid, and do not require
that you and I should be of the same age. What I say to
3 H LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
you, therefore, should have the more weight, as coming from
a friend, not a father. But low company, and their low
vices, their indecent riots and profligacy, I never will bear
nor forgive.
I have lately received two volumes of treaties, in German
and Latin, from Hawkins, with your orders, under your
own hand, to take care of them for you, which orders I
shall most dutifully and punctually obey, and they wait for
you in my library, together with your great collection of
rare books, which your Mamma sent me upon removing
from her old house.
I hope you not only keep up, but improve in your German,
for it will be of great use to you when you come into busi
ness, and the more so, as you will be almost the only Eng
lishman who either can speak or understand it. Pray
speak it constantly to all Germans, wherever you meet them,
and you will meet multitudes of them at Paris. Is Italian
now become easy and familiar to you? Can you speak it
with the same fluency that you can speak German? You
cannot conceive what an advantage it will give you in ne
gotiations to possess Italian, German, and French perfectly,
so as to understand all the force and finesse of those three
languages. If two men of equal talents negotiate together,
he who best understands the language in which the negoti
ation is carried on, will infallibly get the better of the
other. The signification and force of one single word is
often of great consequence in a treaty, and even in a letter.
Remember the GRACES, for without them ogni fatica £
vana. Adieu.
LETTER CXIII
LONDON, May 17, O. S. 1750.
MY DEAR FRIEND : Your apprenticeship is near out, and
you are soon to set up for yourself; that approach
ing moment is a critical one for you, and an anxious
one for me. A tradesman who would succeed in his way,
must begin by establishing a character of integrity and good
manners; without the former, nobody will go to his shop
LETTERS TO HIS SON 315
at all; without the latter, nobody will go there twice. This
rule does not exclude the fair arts of trade. He may sell
his goods at the best price he can, within certain bounds.
He may avail himself of the humor, the whims, and the fan
tastical tastes of his customers; but what he warrants to be
good must be really so, what he seriously asserts must be
true, or his first fraudulent profits will soon end in a bank
ruptcy. It is the same in higher life, and in the great
business of the world. A man who does not solidly estab
lish, and really deserve, a character of truth, probity, good
manners, and good morals, at his first setting out in the
world, may impose, and shine like a meteor for a very short
time, but will very soon vanish, and be extinguished with
contempt. People easily pardon, in young men, the common
irregularities of the senses : but they do not forgive the least
vice of the heart. The heart never grows better by age; I fear
rather worse ; always harder. A young liar will be an old one ;
and a young knave will only be a greater knave as he
grows older. But should a bad young heart, accompanied with
a good head (which, by the way, very seldom is the case),
really reform in a more advanced age, from a consciousness
of its folly, as well as of its guilt; such a conversion
would only be thought prudential and political, but never
sincere. I hope in God, and I verily believe, that you want
no moral virtue. But the possession of all the moral
virtues, in actu primo, as the logicians call it, is not suf
ficient ; you must have them in actu secundo too ; nay, that
is not sufficient neither — you must have the reputation of
them also. Your character in the world must be built upon
that solid foundation, or it will soon fall, and upon your
own head. You cannot, therefore, be too careful, too nice,
too scrupulous, in establishing this character at first, upon
which your whole depends. Let no conversation, no ex
ample, no fashion, no bon mot, no silly desire of seeming to
be above, what most knaves, and many fools, call prejudices,
ever tempt you to avow, excuse, extenuate, or laugh at
the least breach of morality ; but show upon all occasions,
and take all occasions to show, a detestation and abhorrence
of it. There, though young, you ought to be strict; and
there only, while young, it becomes you to be strict and
severe. But there, too, spare the persons while you lash the
316 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
crimes. All this relates, as you easily judge, to the vices of
the heart, such as lying, fraud, envy, malice, detraction,
etc., and I do not extend it to the little frailties of youth,
flowing from high spirits and warm blood. It would ill
become you, at your age, to declaim against them, and sen-
tentiously censure a gallantry, an accidental excess of the
table, a frolic, an inadvertency ; no, keep as free from them
yourself as you can : but say nothing against them in oth
ers. They certainly mend by time, often by reason ; and
a man's worldly character is not affected by them, provided
it be pure in all other respects.
To come now to a point of much less, but yet of very
great consequence at your first setting out. Be extremely
upon your guard against vanity, the common failing of in
experienced youth ; but particularly against that kind of van
ity that dubs a man a coxcomb ; a character which, once
acquired, is more indelible than that of the priesthood. It is
not to be imagined by how many different ways vanity de
feats its own purposes. One man decides peremptorily upon
every subject, betrays his ignorance upon many, and shows a
disgusting presumption upon the rest. Another desires to ap
pear successful among the women ; he hints at the encourage
ment he has received, from those of the most distinguished
rank and beauty, and intimates a particular connection with
some one ; if it is true, it is ungenerous ; if false, it is in
famous : but in either case he destroys the reputation he wants
to get. Some flatter their vanity by little extraneous ob
jects, which have not the least relation to themselves ; such
as being descended from, related to, or acquainted with,
people of distinguished merit and eminent characters. They
talk perpetually of their grandfather such-a-one, their uncle
such-a-one, and their intimate friend Mr. Such-a-one, with
whom, possibly, they are hardly acquainted. But admit
ting it all to be as they would have it, what then? Have
they the more merit for those accidents? Certainly not.
On the contrary, their taking up adventitious, proves their
want of intrinsic merit ; a rich man never borrows. Take
this rule for granted, as a never-failing one : That you
must never seem to affect the character in which you have
a mind to shine. Modesty is the only sure bait when you
angle for praise. The affectation of courage will make
LETTERS TO HIS SON 317
even a brave man pass only for a bully ; as the affectation
of wit will make a man of parts pass for a coxcomb. By
this modesty I do not mean timidity and awkward bashful-
ness. On the contrary, be inwardly firm and steady, know
your own value whatever it may be, and act upon that
principle ; but take great care to let nobody discover that
you do know your own value. Whatever real merit you
have, other people will discover, and people always mag
nify their own discoveries, as they lessen those of others.
For God's sake, revolve all these things seriously in your
thoughts, before you launch out alone into the ocean of
Paris. Recollect the observations that you have yourself
made upon mankind, compare and connect them with my
instructions, and then act systematically and consequentially
from them ; not au jour la journtie. Lay your little plan
now, which you will hereafter extend and improve by your
own observations, and by the advice of those who can
never mean to mislead you ; I mean Mr. Harte and myself.
LETTER CXIV
LONDON, May 24, O. S. 1750.
MY DEAR FRIEND : I received yesterday your letter of
the 7th, N. S., from Naples, to which place I find
you have traveled, classically, critically, and da -vir
tuoso. You did right, for whatever is worth seeing at all,
is worth seeing well, and better than most people see it.
It is a poor and frivolous excuse, when anything curious
is talked of that one has seen, to say, I SAW IT, BUT
REALLY I DID NOT MUCH MIND IT. Why did they gO to
see it, if they would not mind it? or why not mind it
when they saw it? Now that you are at Naples, you pass
part of your time there en honnete homme, da garbato cava-
liere, in the court and the best companies. I am told that
strangers are received with the utmost hospitality at
Prince 's, que lui il fait bonne chere, et que Madame la
Princesse donne ch^re entire; mais que sa chair est plus
que hazardee ou mortifiee mdme; which in plain English
means, that she is not only tender, but rotten. If this be
3i8 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
true, as I am pretty sure it is, one may say to her in a little
sense, juvenumque prodis, publica cur a.
Mr. Harte informs me that you are clothed in sumptuous
apparel ; a young fellow should be so, especially abroad,
where fine clothes are so generally the fashion. Next to
their being fine, they should be well made, and worn easily :
for a man is only the less genteel for a fine coat, if, in
wearing it, he shows a regard for it, and is not as easy in
it as if it were a plain one.
I thank you for your drawing, which I am impatient to see,
and which I shall hang up in a new gallery that I am build
ing at Blackheath, and very fond of; but I am still more
impatient for another copy, which I wonder I have not
yet received, I mean the copy of your countenance. I be
lieve, were that a whole length, it would still fall a good deal
short of the dimensions of the drawing after Dominichino,
which you say is about eight feet high ; and I take you,
as well as myself, to be of the family of the Piccolomini.
Mr. Bathurst tells me that he thinks you rather taller than
I am ; if so, you may very possibly get up to five feet eight
inches, which I would compound for, though I would wish you
five feet ten. In truth, what do I not wish you, that has a tend
ency to perfection? I say a tendency only, for absolute
perfection is not in human nature, so that it would be idle
to wish it. But I am very willing to compound for your
coming nearer to perfection than the generality of your
contemporaries: without a compliment to you, I think you
bid fair for that. Mr. Harte affirms (and if it were consistent
with his character would, I believe, swear) that you have
no vices of the heart; you have undoubtedly a stock of
both ancient and modern learning, which I will venture
to say nobody of your age has, and which must now daily
increase, do what you will. What, then, do )'ou want
toward that practicable degree of perfection which I wish you ?
Nothing but the knowledge, the turn, and the manners of the
world; I mean the beau monde. These it is impossible that you
can yet have quite right ; they are not given, they must be
learned. But then, on the other hand, it is impossible not
to acquire them, if one has a mind to them ; for they
are acquired insensibly, by keeping good company, if one
has but the least attention to their characters and manners.
LETTERS TO HIS SON 319
Every man becomes, to a certain degree, what the people
he generally converses with are. He catches their air, their
manners, and even their way of thinking. If he observes
with attention, he will catch them soon, but if he does not,
he will at long run contract them insensibly. I know
nothing in the world but poetry that is not to be acquired
by application and care. The sum total of this is a very
comfortable one for you, as it plainly amounts to this in
your favor, that you now want nothing but what even your
pleasures, if they are liberal ones, will teach you. I congratu
late both you and myself upon your being in such a situa
tion, that, excepting your exercises, nothing is now wanting
but pleasures to complete you. Take them, but (as I am
sure you will) with people of the first fashion, where-
ever you are, and the business is done ; your exercises
at Paris, which I am sure you will attend to, will supple
and fashion your body ; and the company you will keep
there will, with some degree of observation on your part,
soon give you their air, address, manners, in short, le ton
de la bonne compagnie. Let not these considerations, how
ever, make you vain : they are only between you and me :
but as they are very comfortable ones, they may justly
give you a manly assurance, a firmness, a steadiness, with
out which a man can neither be well-bred, or in any light
appear to advantage, or really what he is. They may justly
remove all timidity, awkward bashfulness, low diffidence
of one's self, and mean abject complaisance to every or any
body's opinion. La Bruyere says, very truly, on ne vaut
dans ce monde, que ce que Ion veut valoir. It is a right
principle to proceed upon in the world, taking care only
to guard against the appearances and outward symptoms
of vanity. Your whole then, you see, turns upon the company
you keep for the future. I have laid you in variety of the best
at Paris, where, at your arrival you will find a cargo of letters
to very different sorts of people, as beaux esprits, savants, et
belles dames. These, if you will frequent them, will form
you, not only by their examples, advice, and admonitions in
private, as I have desired them to do ; and consequently add
to what you have the only one thing now needful.
Pray tell me what Italian books you have read, and
whether that language is now become familiar to you.
32o LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
Read Ariosto and Tasso through, and then you will have
read all the Italian poets who in my opinion are worth
reading. In all events, when you get to Paris, take a good
Italian master to read Italian with you three times a week;
not only to keep what you have already, which you would
otherwise forget, but also to perfect you in the rest. It is
a great pleasure, as well as a great advantage, to be
able to speak to people of all nations, and well, in their
own language. Aim at perfection in everything, though
in most things it is unattainable ; however, they who
aim at it, and persevere, will come much nearer it, than
those whose laziness and despondency make them give it up
as unattainable. Magnis tamen excidit ausis is a degree of
praise which will always attend a noble and shining temerity,
and a much better sign in a young fellow, than serpere humi,
tutus nimium timidusque procelltz. For men as well as
women : —
« born to be controlled,
Stoop to the forward and the bold.**
A man who sets out in the world with real timidity and
diffidence has not an equal chance for it ; he will, be discour
aged, put by, or trampled upon. But to succeed, a man, espe
cially a young one, should have inward firmness, steadiness, and
intrepidity, with exterior modesty and SEEMING diffidence.
He must modestly, but resolutely, assert his own rights and
privileges. Suamter in modo, \>utfortiter in re. He should
have an apparent frankness and openness, but with inward cau
tion and closeness. All these things will come to you by
frequenting and observing good company. And by good
company, I mean that sort of company which is called good
company by everybody of that place. When all this is
over, we shall meet ; and then we will talk over, t&e- &-tete,
the various little finishing strokes which conversation and
acquaintance occasionally suggest, and which cannot be meth
odically written.
Tell Mr. Harte that I have received his two letters of the
2d and 8th N. S., which, as soon as I have received a third,
I will answer. Adieu, my dear! I find you will do.
LETTERS TO HIS SON 32!
LETTER CXV
LONDON, June 5, O. S. 1750.
MY DEAR FRIEND : I have received your picture, which
I have long waited for with impatience : I wanted
to see your countenance from whence I am very apt,
as I believe most people are, to form some general opinion
of the mind. If the painter has taken you as well as he
has done Mr. Harte (for his picture is by far the most
like I ever saw in my life), I draw good conclusions from
your countenance, which has both spirit and finesse in it.
In bulk you are pretty well increased since I saw you; if
your height has not increased in proportion, I desire that
you will make haste to complete it. Seriously, I believe
that your exercises at Paris will make you shoot up to a
good size ; your legs, by all accounts, seem to promise it.
Dancing excepted, the wholesome part is the best part of
those academical exercises. Us d^graissent leur homme. A
propos of exercises, I have prepared everything for your
reception at Monsieur de la Gu6riniere's, and your room,
etc., will be ready at your arrival. I am sure you must be
sensible how much better it will be for you to be interne in
the Academy for the first six or seven months at least, than
to be en hotel garni, at some distance from it, and obliged
to go to it every morning, let the weather be what it will,
not to mention the loss of time too; besides, by living and
boarding in the Academy, you will make an acquaintance
with half the young fellows of fashion at Paris; and in a
very little while be looked upon as one of them in all
French companies : an advantage that has never yet hap
pened to any one Englishman that I have known. I am
sure you do not suppose that the difference of the expense,
which is but a trifle, has any weight with me in this resolu
tion. You have the French language so perfectly, and you
will acquire the French tournure so soon, that I do not know
anybody likely to pass their time so well at Paris as your
self. Our young countrymen have generally too little
French, and too bad address, either to present themselves,
21
322 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
or be well received in the best French companies; and, as
a proof of it, there is no one instance of an Englishman's
having ever been suspected of a gallantry with a French
woman of condition, though every French woman of con
dition is more than suspected of having a gallantry. But
they take up with the disgraceful and dangerous commerce
of prostitutes, actresses, dancing-women, and that sort of
trash; though, if they had common address, better achieve
ments would be extremely easy. Un arrangement, which
is in plain English a gallantry, is, at Paris, as necessary
a part of a woman of fashion's establishment, as her house,
stable, coach, etc. A young fellow must therefore be a
very awkward one, to be reduced to, or of a very singular
taste, to prefer drabs and danger to a commerce (in the
course of the world not disgraceful) with a woman of
health, education, and rank. Nothing sinks a young man
into low company, both of women and men, so surely as
timidity and diffidence of himself. If he thinks that he
shall not, he may depend upon it he will not please. But
with proper endeavors to please, and a degree of persuasion
that he shall, it is almost certain that he will. How many
people does one meet with everywhere, who, with very
moderate parts, and very little knowledge, push themselves
pretty far, simply by being sanguine, enterprising, and
persevering? They will take no denial from man. or woman;
difficulties do not discourage them ; repulsed twice or thrice,
they rally, they charge again, and nine times in ten prevail
at last. The same means will much sooner, and more cer
tainly, attain the same ends, with your parts and knowl
edge. You have a fund to be sanguine upon, and good
forces to rally. In business (talents supposed) nothing is
more effectual or successful, than a good, though concealed
opinion of one's self, a firm resolution, and an unwearied
perseverance. None but madmen attempt impossibilities ;
and whatever is possible, is one way or another to be
brought about. If one method fails, try another, and suit
your methods to the characters you have to do with. At
the treaty of the Pyrenees, which Cardinal Mazarin and
Don Louis de Haro concluded, dans F Isle des Faisans,
the latter carried some very important points by his con
stant and cool perseverance.
LETTERS TO HIS SON 323
The Cardinal had all the Italian vivacity and impatience;
Don Louis all the Spanish phlegm and tenaciousness. The
point which the Cardinal had most at heart was, to hinder
the re-establishment of the Prince of Cond£, his implacable
enemy ; but he was in haste to conclude, and impatient to
return to Court, where absence is always dangerous. Don
Louis observed this, and never failed at every conference
to bring the affair of the Prince of Conde upon the tapis.
The Cardinal for some time refused even to treat upon it.
Don Louis, with the same sang froid, as constantly per
sisted, till he at last prevailed : contrary to the intentions
and the interest both of the Cardinal and of his Court.
Sense must distinguish between what is impossible, and
what is only difficult ; and spirit and perseverance will get
the better of the latter. Every man is to be had one way
or another, and every woman almost any way. I must not
omit one thing, which is previously necessary to this, and,
indeed, to everything else ; which is attention, a flexibility
of attention ; never to be wholly engrossed by any past or
future object, but instantly directed to the present one, be
it what it will. An absent man can make but few observa
tions; and those will be disjointed and imperfect ones, as
half the circumstance must necessarily escape him. He can
pursue nothing steadily, because his absences make him lose
his way. They are very disagreeable, and hardly to be toler
ated in old age; but in youth they cannot be forgiven. If you
find that you have the least tendency to them, pray watch your
self very carefully, and you may prevent them now; but if
you let them grow into habit, you will find it very difficult to
cure them hereafter, and a worse distemper I do not know.
I heard with great satisfaction the other day, from one
who has been lately at Rome, that nobody was better
received in the best companies than yourself. The same
thing, I dare say, will happen to you at Paris; where they
are particularly kind to all strangers, who will be civil to
them, and show a desire of pleasing. But they must be
flattered a little, not only by words, but by a seeming
preference given to their country, their manners, and their
customs ; which is but a very small price to pay for a
very good reception. Were I in Africa, I would pay it
to a negro for his good-will. Adieu.
324 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
LETTER CXVI
LONDON, June n, O. S. 1750.
MY DEAR FRIEND : The President Montesquieu (whom
you will be acquainted with at Paris), after having
laid down in his book, De V Esprit des Lois, the
nature and principles of the three different kinds of gov
ernment, viz, the democratical, the monarchical, and the
despotic, treats of the education necessary for each respect
ive form. His chapter upon the education proper for the
monarchical I thought worth transcribing and sending to
you. You will observe that the monarchy which he has in
his eye is France: —
(< In monarchies, the principal branch of education is not
taught in colleges or academies. It commences, in some
measure, at our setting out in the world ; for this is the
school of what we call honor, that universal preceptor,
which ought everywhere to be our guide.
« Here it is that we constantly hear three rules or maxims,
viz : That we should have a certain nobleness in our virtues,
a kind of frankness in our morals, and a particular polite
ness in our behavior.
<(The virtues we are here taught, are less what we owe
to others, than to ourselves; they are not so much what
draws us toward society, as what distinguishes us from
our fellow-citizens.
« Here the actions of men are judged, not as virtuous,
but as shining; not as just, but as great; not as reasonable,
but as extraordinary.
(< When honor here meets with anything noble in our
actions, it is either a judge that approves them, or a
sophister by whom they are excused.
<(It allows of gallantry, when united with the idea of
sensible affection, or with that of conquest ; this is the
reason why we never meet with so strict a purity of morals
in monarchies as in republican governments.
(<It allows of cunning and craft, when joined with the
notion of greatness of soul or importance of affairs ; as, for
LETTERS TO HIS SON 325
instance, in politics, with whose finenesses it is far from
being offended.
(< It does not forbid adulation, but when separate from
the idea of a large fortune, and connected only with the
sense of our mean condition.
(< With regard to morals, I have observed, that the educa
tion of monarchies ought to admit of a certain frankness
and open carriage. Truth, therefore, in conversation, is
here a necessary point. But is it for the sake of truth?
By no means. Truth is requisite only, because a person
habituated to veracity has an air of boldness and freedom.
And, indeed, a man of this stamp seems to lay a stress
only on the things themselves, not on the manner in which
they are received.
w Hence it is, that in proportion as this kind of frankness
is commended, that of the common people is despised,
which has nothing but truth and simplicity for its object.
<( In fine, the education of monarchies requires a certain
politeness of behavior. Man, a sociable animal, is formed
to please in society; and a person that would break through
the rules of decency, so as to shock those he conversed
with, would lose the public esteem, and become incapable
of doing any good.
"But politeness, generally speaking, does not derive its
original from so pure a source. It arises from a desire of
distinguishing ourselves. It is pride that renders us polite;
we are flattered with being taken notice of for a behavior
that shows we are not of a mean condition, and that we
have not been bred up with those who in all ages are con
sidered as the scum of the people.
* Politeness, in monarchies, is naturalized at court. One
man excessively great renders everybody else little. Hence
that regard which is paid to our fellow-subjects; hence that
politeness, equally pleasing to those by whom, as to those
toward whom, it is practiced; because it gives people to
understand that a person actually belongs, or at least
deserves to belong, to the court.
* A court air consists in quitting a real for a borrowed
greatness. The latter pleases the courtier more than the
former. It inspires him with a certain disdainful modesty,
which shows itself externally, but whose pride insensibly
326 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
diminishes in proportion to his distance from the source of
this greatness.
<(At court we find a delicacy of taste in everything; a
delicacy arising from the constant use of the superfluities
of life ; from the variety, and especially the satiety of
pleasures ; from the multiplicity and even confusion of
fancies, which, if they are not agreeable, are sure of being
well received.
<( These are the things which properly fall within the
province of education, in order to form what we call a
man of honor, a man possessed of all the qualities and
virtues requisite in this kind of government.
<( Here it is that honor interferes with everything, mixing
even with people's manner of thinking, and directing their
very principles.
<( To this whimsical honor it is owing that the virtues
are only just what it pleases ; it adds rules of its own in
vention to everything prescribed to us ; it extends or limits
our duties according to its Own fancy, whether they proceed
from religion, politics, or morality.
(< There is nothing so strongly inculcated in monarchies,
by the laws, by religion, and honor, as submission to the
Prince's will, but this very honor tells us, that the Prince
never ought to command a dishonorable action, because
this would render us incapable of serving him.
<( Crillon refused to assassinate the Duke of Guise, but
offered to fight him. After the massacre of St. Bartholomew,
Charles IX., having sent orders to the governors in the
several provinces for the Huguenots to be murdered, Vis
count Dorte, who commanded at Bayonne, wrote thus to
the King: ( Sire, Among the inhabitants of this town, and
your Majesty's troops, I could not find so much as one
executioner; they are honest citizens and brave soldiers.
We jointly, therefore, beseech your Majesty to command
our arms and lives in things that are practicable. > This
great and generous soul looked upon a base action as a
thing impossible.
<( There is nothing that honor more strongly recommends
to the nobility, than to serve their Prince in a military
capacity. And indeed this is their favorite profession,
because its dangers, its success, and even its miscarriages,
LETTERS TO HIS SON 327
are the road to grandeur. Yet this very law, of its own
making, honor chooses to explain ; and in case of any
affront, it requires or permits us to retire.
<( It insists also, that we should be at liberty either to
seek or to reject employments ; a liberty which it prefers
even to an ample fortune.
<( Honor, therefore, has its supreme laws, to which education
is obliged to conform. The chief of these are, that we are
permitted to set a value upon our fortune, but are absolutely
forbidden to set any upon our lives.
<( The second is, that when we are raised to a post or
preferment, we should never do or permit anything which
may seem to imply that we look upon ourselves as inferior
to the rank we hold.
<( The third is, that those things which honor forbids are
more rigorously forbidden, when the laws do not concur in
the prohibition ; and those it commands are more strongly
insisted upon, when they happen not to be commanded by
law.*
Though our government differs considerably from the
French, inasmuch as we have fixed laws and constitutional
barriers for the security of our liberties and properties, yet
the President's observations hold pretty near as true in
England as in France. Though monarchies may differ a
good deal, kings differ very little. Those who are absolute
desire to continue so, and those who are not, endeavor to
become so ; hence the same maxims and manners almost in
all courts : voluptuousness and profusion encouraged, the one
to sink the people into indolence, the other into poverty —
consequently into dependence. The court is called the
world here as well as at Paris ; and nothing more is meant
by saying that a man knows the world, than that he knows
courts. In all courts you must expect to meet with con
nections without friendship, enmities without hatred, honor
without virtue, appearances saved, and realities sacrificed;
good manners with bad morals ; and all vice and virtues so
disguised, that whoever has only reasoned upon both would
know neither when he first met them at court. It is well
that you should know the map of that country, that when
you come to travel in it, you may do it with greater safety.
328 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
From all this you will of yourself draw this obvious con
clusion: That you are in truth but now going to the great
and important school, the world; to which Westminster and
Leipsig were only the little preparatory schools, as Mary-
le-bone, Windsor, etc., are to them. What you have already
acquired will only place you in the second form of this
new school, instead of the first. But if you intend, as I
suppose you do, to get into the shell, you have very differ
ent things to learn from Latin and Greek : and which re
quire much more sagacity and attention than those two
dead languages ; the language of pure and simple nature ;
the language of nature variously modified and corrupted
by passions, prejudices, and habits ; the language of simu
lation and dissimulation : very hard, but very necessary to
decipher. Homer has not half so many, nor so difficult
dialects, as the great book of the school you are now going
to. Observe, therefore, progressively, and with the greatest
attention, what the best scholars in the form immediately
above you do, and so on, until you get into the shell your
self. Adieu.
Pray tell Mr. Harte that I have received his letter of
the 27th May, N. S., and that I advise him never to take
the English news-writers literally, who never yet inserted
any one thing quite right. I have both his patent and his
mandamus, in both which he is Walter, let the newspapers
call him what they please.
LETTER CXVII
LONDON, July 9, O. S. 1750.
MY DEAR FRIEND : I should not deserve that appellation
in return from you, if I did not freely and explicitly
inform you of every corrigible defect which I may
either hear of, suspect, or at any time discover in you.
Those who, in the common course of the world, will call
themselves your friends ; or whom, according to the com
mon notions of friendship, you may possibly think such,
LETTERS TO HIS SON 329
will never tell you of your faults, still less of your weak
nesses. But, on the contrary, more desirous to make you
their friend, than to prove themselves yours, they will flatter
both, and, in truth, not be sorry for either. Interiorly,
most people enjoy the inferiority of their best friends. The
useful and essential part of friendship, to you, is reserved
singly for Mr. Harte and myself : our relations to you
stand pure and unsuspected of all private views. In what
ever we say to you, we can have no interest but yours.
We are therefore authorized to represent, advise, and re
monstrate ; and your reason must tell you that you ought to
attend to and believe us.
I am credibly informed, that there is still a considerable
hitch or hobble in your enunciation ; and that when you
speak fast you sometimes speak unintelligibly. I have
formerly and frequently laid my thoughts before you so fully
upon this subject, that I can say nothing new upon it now.
I must therefore only repeat, that your whole depends upon
it. Your trade is to speak well, both in public and in
private. The manner of your speaking is full as important
as the matter, as more people have ears to be tickled, than
understandings to judge. Be your productions ever so good,
they will be of no use, if you stifle and strangle them in
their birth. The best compositions of Corelli, if ill executed
and played out of tune, instead of touching, as they do
when well performed, would only excite the indignation of
the hearers, when murdered by an unskillful performer.
But to murder your own productions, and that coram populo,
is a MEDEAN CRUELTY, which Horace absolutely forbids.
Remember of what importance Demosthenes, and one of
the Gracchi, thought ENUNCIATION ; and read what stress
Cicero and Quintilian lay upon it ; even the herb- women at
Athens were correct judges of it. Oratory, with all its
graces, that of enunciation in particular, is full as necessary
in our government as it ever was in Greece or Rome. No
man can make a fortune or a figure in this country, with
out speaking, and speaking well in public. If you will
persuade, you must first please ; and if you will please, you
must tune your voice to harmony, you must articulate every
syllable distinctly, your emphasis and cadences must be
strongly and properly marked; and the whole together
330 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
must be graceful and engaging. If you do not speak in
that manner, you had much better not speak at all. All
the learning you have, or ever can have, is not worth one
groat without it. It may be a comfort and an amusement
to you in your closet, but can be of no use to you in the
world. Let me conjure you, therefore, to make this your
only object, till you have absolutely conquered it, for that
is in your power ; think of nothing else, read and speak for
nothing else. Read aloud, though alone, and read articulately
and distinctly, as if you were reading in public, and on the
most important occasion. Recite pieces of eloquence, de
claim scenes of tragedies to Mr. Harte, as if he were a
numerous audience. If there is any particular consonant
which you have a difficulty in articulating, as I think you
had with the J?, utter it millions and millions of times, till
you have uttered it right. Never speak quick, till you
have first learned to speak well. In short, lay aside every
book, and every thought, that does not directly tend* to
this great object, absolutely decisive of your future fortune
and figure.
The next thing necessary in your destination, is writing
correctly, elegantly, and in a good hand too ; in which
three particulars, I am sorry to tell you, that you hitherto
fail. Your handwriting is a very bad one, and would
make a scurvy figure in an office-book of letters, or even
in a lady's pocket-book. But that fault is easily cured by
care, since every man, who has the use of his eyes and of
his right hand, can write whatever hand he pleases. As
to the correctness and elegance of your writing, attention
to grammar does the one, and to the best authors the
other. In your letter to me of the 2^th June, N. S., you
omitted the date of the place, so that I only conjectured
from the contents that you were at Rome.
Thus I have, with the truth and freedom of the tender-
est affection, told you all your defects, at least all that I
know or have heard of. Thank God, they are all very
curable; they must be cured, and I am sure, you will cure
them. That once done, nothing remains for you to ac
quire, or for me to wish you, but the turn, the manners,
the address, and the GRACES, of the polite world ; which
experience, observation, and good company, will insensibly
LETTERS TO HIS SON 331
give you. Few people at your age have read, seen, and
known, so much as you have ; and consequently few are
so near as yourself to what I call perfection, by which I
only mean being very near as well as the best. Far,
therefore, from being discouraged by what you still want,
what you already have should encourage you to attempt,
and convince you that by attempting you will inevitably
obtain it. The difficulties which you have surmounted
were much greater than any you have now to encounter.
Till very lately, your way has been only through thorns
and briars ; the few that now remain are mixed with
roses. Pleasure is now the principal remaining part of
your education. It will soften and polish your manners ;
it ,will make you pursue and at last overtake the GRACES.
Pleasure is necessarily reciprocal; no one feels, who does
not at the same time give it. To be pleased one must
please. What pleases you in others, will in general please
them in you. Paris is indisputably the seat of the
GRACES ; they will even court you, if you are not too coy.
Frequent and observe the best companies there, and you
will soon be naturalized among them ; you will soon find
how particularly attentive they are to the correctness and
elegance of their language, and to the graces of their
enunciation : they would even call the understanding of a
man in question, who should neglect or not know the in
finite advantages arising from them. Narrer, reciter,
de'clamer bien, are serious studies among them, and well
deserve to be so everywhere. The conversations, even
among the women, frequently turn upon the elegancies
and minutest delicacies of the French language. An enjoue-
ment, a gallant turn, prevails in all their companies, to
women, with whom they neither are, nor pretend to be,
in love; but should you (as may very possibly happen)
fall really in love there with some woman of fashion and
sense (for I do not suppose you capable of falling in love
with a strumpet), and that your rival, without half your
parts or knowledge, should get the better of you, merely
by dint of manners, enjouement, badinage, etc., how would
you regret not having sufficiently attended to those ac
complishments which you despised as superficial and
trifling, but which you would then find of real conse-
332 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
quence in the course of the world ! And men, as well as
women, are taken by those external graces. Shut up your
books, then, now as a business, and open them only as a
pleasure ; but let the great book of the world be your
serious study; read it over and over, get it by heart,
adopt its style, and make it your own.
When I cast up your account as it now stands, I rejoice
to see the balance so much in your favor ; and that the
items per contra are so few, and of such a nature, that
they may be very easily cancelled. By way of debtor and
creditor, it stands thus: —
Creditor. By French Debtor. To English
German Enunciation
Italian Manners
Latin
Greek
Logic
Ethics
History
( Naturse
Jus < Gentium
( Publicum
This, my dear friend, is a very true account, and a very
encouraging one for you. A man who owes so little can
clear it off in a very little time, and, if he is a prudent
man, will ; whereas a man who, by long negligence, owes
a great deal, despairs of ever being able to pay ; and
therefore never looks into his account at all.
When you go to Genoa, pray observe carefully all the
environs of it, and view them with somebody who can
tell you all the situations and operations of the Austrian
army, during that famous siege, if it deserves to be called
one ; for in reality the town never was besieged, nor had
the Austrians any one thing necessary for a siege. If
Marquis Centurioni, who was last winter in England,
should happen to be there, go to him with my compli
ments, and he will show you all imaginable civilities.
I could have sent you some letters to Florence, but that
I knew Mr. Mann would be of more use to you than all
of them. Pray make him my compliments. Cultivate your
Italian, while you are at Florence, where it is spoken in
its utmost purity, but ill pronounced.
LETTERS TO HIS SON 333
Pray save me the seed of some of the best melons you
eat, and put it up dry in paper. You need not send it
me ; but Mr. Harte will bring it in his pocket when he
comes over. I should likewise be glad of some cuttings of
the best figs, especially la fica gentile and the Maltese ;
but as this is not the season for them, Mr. Mann will, I
dare say, undertake that commission, and send them to me
at the proper time by Leghorn. Adieu. Endeavor to please
others, and divert yourself as much as ever you can, en
honndte et galant homme.
P. S. I send you the inclosed to deliver to Lord Roch-
ford, upon your arrival at Turin.
LETTER CXVIII.
LONDON, August 6, O. S. 1750.
MY DEAR FRIEND : Since your letter from Sienna,
which gave me a very imperfect account both of your
illness and your recovery, I have not received one
word either from you or Mr. Harte. I impute this to the
carelessness of the post simply : and the great distance be
tween us at present exposes our letters to those accidents.
But when you come to Paris, from whence the letters ar
rive here very regularly, I shall insist upon you writing to
me constantly once a- week ; and that upon the same day,
for instance, every Thursday, that I may know by what
mail to expect your letter. I shall also require you to be
more minute in your account of yourself than you have
hitherto been, or than I have required, because of the in
formations which I receive from time to time from Mr.
Harte. At Paris you will be out of your time, and must set
up for yourself; it is then that I shall be very solicitous to
know how you carry on your business. While Mr. Harte
was your partner, the care was his share, and the profit
yours. But at Paris, if you will have the latter, you must
take the former along with it. It will be quite a new
world to you ; very different from the little world that you
have hitherto seen ; and you will have much more to do in
334 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
it. You must keep your little accounts constantly every
morning, if you would not have them run into confusion,
and swell to a bulk that would frighten you from ever
looking into them at all. You must allow some time for
learning what you do not know, and some for keeping
what you do know ; and you must leave a great deal of
time for your pleasures ; which (I repeat it again) are now
become the most necessary part of your education. It is by
conversations, dinners, suppers, entertainments, etc., in the
best companies, that you must be formed for the world.
Les manures les agremens, les graces cannot be learned by
theory ; they are only to be got by use among those who
have them ; and they are now the main object of your life,
as they are the necessary steps to your fortune. A man of
the best parts, and the greatest learning, if he does not
know the world by his own experience and observation,
will be very absurd ; and consequently very unwelcome in
company. He may say very good things; but they will
probably be so ill-timed, misplaced, or improperly addressed,
that he had much better hold his tongue. Full of his own
matter, and uninformed of, or inattentive to, the particular
circumstances and situations of the company, he vents it
indiscriminately ; he puts some people out of countenance ;
he shocks others ; and frightens all, who dread what may
come out next. The most general rule that I can give you
for the world, and which your experience will convince
you of the truth of, is, Never to give the tone to the com
pany, but to take it from them ; and to labor more to put
them in conceit with themselves, than to make them admire
you. Those whom you can make like themselves better,
will, I promise you, like you very well.
A system-monger, who, without knowing anything of the
world by experience, has formed a system of it in his dusty
cell, lays it down, for example, that (from the general na
ture of mankind) flattery is pleasing. He will therefore
flatter. But how? Why, indiscriminately. And instead
of repairing and heightening the piece judiciously, with
soft colors and a delicate pencil, — with a coarse brush
and a great deal of whitewash, he daubs and besmears
the piece he means to adorn. His flattery offends even his
patron ; and is almost too gross for his mistress. A man
LETTERS TO HIS SON 335
of the world knows the force of flattery as well as he does ;
but then he knows how, when, and where to give it ; he
proportions his dose to the constitution of the patient. He
flatters by application, by inference, by comparison, by
hint, and seldom directly. In the course of the world,
there is the same difference in everything between system
and practice.
I long to have you at Paris, which is to be your great
school ; you will be then in a manner within reach of me.
Tell me, are you perfectly recovered, or do you still find
any remaining complaint upon your lungs? Your diet
should be cooling, and at the same time nourishing. Milks
of all kinds are proper for you ; wines of all kinds bad.
A great deal of gentle, and no violent exercise, is good for
you. Adieu. Gratia, fama, et valetudo, contingat, abundef
LETTER CXIX
LONDON, October 22, O. S. 1750.
MY DEAR FRIEND : This letter will, I am persuaded,
find you, and I hope safely, arrived at Montpelier ;
from whence I trust that Mr. Harte's indisposition
will, by being totally removed, allow you to get to Paris
before Christmas. You will there find two people who,
though both English, I recommend in the strongest manner
possible to your attention ; and advise you to form the
most intimate connections with them both, in their differ
ent ways. The one is a man whom you already know
something of, but not near enough : it is the Earl of Hunt
ingdon ; who, next to you, is the truest object of my affec
tion and esteem ; and who (I am proud to say it) calls me,
and considers me as his adopted father. His parts are as
quick as his knowledge is extensive ; and if quality were
worth putting into an account, where every other item is so
much more valuable, he is the first almost in this country :
the figure he will make in it, soon after he returns to it,
will, if I am not more mistaken than ever I was in my
life, equal his birth and my hopes. Such a connection
will be of infinite advantage to you ; and, I can assure
336 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
you, that he is extremely disposed to form it upon my
account ; and will, I hope and believe, desire to improve
and cement it upon your own.
In our parliamentary government, connections are ab
solutely necessary; and, if prudently formed and ably main
tained, the success of them is infallible. There are two
sorts of connections, which I would always advise you to
have in view. The first I will call equal ones; by which
I mean those, where the two connecting parties reciprocally
find their account, from pretty near an equal degree of
parts and abilities. In those, there must be a freer com
munication ; each must see that the other is able, and be
convinced that he is willing to be of use to him. Honor
must be the principle of such connections ; and there must
be a mutual dependence, that present and separate interest
shall not be able to break them. There must be a joint
system of action ; and, in case of different opinions, each
must recede a little, in order at last to form an unanimous
one. Such, I hope, will be your connection with Lord
Huntingdon. You will both come into parliament at the
same time ; and if you have an equal share of abilities and
application, you and he, with other young people, with
whom you will naturally associate, may form a band which
will be respected by any administration, and make a
figure in the public. The other sort of connections I call
unequal ones ; that is, where the parts are all on one side,
and the rank and fortune on the other. Here, the ad
vantage is all on one side ; but that advantage must be
ably and artfully concealed. Complaisance, an engaging
manner, and a patient toleration of certain airs of superior
ity, must cement them. The weaker party must be taken
by the heart, his head giving no hold ; and he must be
governed by being made to believe that he governs.
These people, skillfully led, give great weight to their
leader. I have formerly pointed out to you a couple that
I take to be proper objects for your skill ; and you will
meet with twenty more, for they are very rife.
The other person whom I recommended to you is a
woman; not as a woman, for that is not immediately my
business ; besides, I fear that she is turned of fifty. It is
Lady Hervey, whom I directed you to call upon at Dijon,
LETTERS TO HIS SON 337
but who, to my great joy, because to your great ad
vantage, passes all this winter at Paris. She has been
bred all her life at courts; of which she has acquired all
the easy good-breeding and politeness, without the frivolous-
ness. She has all the reading that a woman should have ;
and more than any woman need have ; for she understands
Latin perfectly well, though she wisely conceals it. As
she will look upon you as her son, I desire that you will
look upon her as my delegate: trust, consult, and apply to
her without reserve. No woman ever had more than she
has, le ton de la parfaitement bonne compagnie, les manures
engageantes, et le je ne sais quoi qui plait. Desire her to
reprove and correct any, and every, the least error and in
accuracy in your manners, air, address, etc. No woman
in Europe can do it so well ; none will do it more willingly,
or in a more proper and obliging manner. In such a
case she will not put you out of countenance, by telling
you of it in company; but either intimate it by some sign,
or wait for an opportunity when you are alone together.
She is also in the best French company, where she will
not only introduce but PUFF you, if I may use so low a
word. And I can assure you that it is no little help, in
the beau monde, to be puffed there by a fashionable
woman. I send you the inclosed billet to carry her, only
as a certificate of the identity of your person, which I take
it for granted she could not know again.
You would be so much surprised to receive a whole
letter from me without any mention of the exterior orna
ments necessary for a gentleman, as manners, elocution,
air, address, graces, etc., that, to comply with your expecta
tions, I will touch upon them; and tell you, that when
you come to England, I will show you some people, whom
I do not now care to name, raised to the highest stations
singly by those exterior and adventitious ornaments, whose
parts would never have entitled them to the smallest office
in the excise. Are they then necessary, and worth ac
quiring, or not? You will see many instances of this
kind at Paris, particularly a glaring one, of a person*
raised to the highest posts and dignities in France, as well as
to be absolute sovereign of the beau monde, simply by the
*M. le Margchal de Richelieu.
22
338 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
graces of his person and address ; by woman's chit-chat,
accompanied with important gestures ; by an imposing
air and pleasing abord. Nay, by these helps, he even
passes for a wit, though he hath certainly no uncommon
share of it. I will not name him, because it would be
very imprudent in you to do it. A young fellow, at his
first entrance into the beau monde, must not offend the
king de facto there. It is very often more necessary to
conceal contempt than resentment, the former being never
forgiven, but the latter sometimes forgot.
There is a small quarto book entitled, Histoire Chrono-
logique de la France, lately published by Le President
H6nault, a man of parts and learning, with whom you will
probably get acquainted at Paris. I desire that it may always
lie upon your table, for your recourse as often as you read
history. The chronology, though chiefly relative to the
history of France, is not singly confined to it ; but the
most interesting events of all the rest of Europe are also
inserted, and many of them adorned by short, pretty, and
just reflections. The new edition of Les Memoires de
Sully, in three quarto volumes, is also extremely well
worth your reading, as it will give you a clearer and
truer notion of one of the most interesting periods of the
French history, than you can yet have formed from all the
other books you may have read upon the subject. That
prince, I mean Henry the Fourth, had all the accomplish
ments and virtues of a hero, and of a king, and almost of
a man. The last are the most rarely seen. May you pos
sess them all ! Adieu .
Pray make my compliments to Mr. Harte, and let him
know that I have this moment received his letter of
the 1 2th, N. S., from Antibes. It requires no immediate
answer; I shall therefore delay mine till I have another
from him. Give him the inclosed, which I have received
from Mr. Eliot.
LETTERS TO HIS SON 339
LETTER CXX
LONDON, November i, O. S. 1750.
MY DEAR FRIEND : I hope that this letter will not find
you still at Montpelier, but rather be sent after you
from thence to Paris, where, I am persuaded, that
Mr. Harte could find as good advice for his leg as at Mont
pelier, if not better; but if he is of a different opinion, I
am sure you ought to stay there as long as he desires.
While you are in France, I could wish that the hours
you allot for historical amusement should be entirely de
voted to the history of France. One always reads history
to most advantage in that country to which it is relative ;
not only books, but persons being ever at hand to solve
doubts and clear up difficulties. I do by no means advise
you to throw away your time in ransacking, like a dull an
tiquarian, the minute and unimportant parts of remote and
fabulous times. Let blockheads read what blockheads wrote.
And a general notion of the history of France, from the
conquest of that country by the Franks, to the reign of
Louis the Eleventh, is sufficient for use, consequently suffi
cient for you. There are, however, in those remote times,
some remarkable eras that deserve more particular atten
tion; I mean those in which some notable alterations hap
pened in the constitution and form of government. As, for
example, in the settlement of Clovis in Gaul, and the form
of government which he then established; for, by the way,
that form of government differed in this particular from all
the other Gothic governments, that the people, neither col
lectively nor by representatives, had any share in it. It
was a mixture of monarchy and aristocracy : and what were
called the States General of France consisted only of the
nobility and clergy till the time of Philip le Bel, in the very
beginning of the fourteenth century, who first called the
people to those assemblies, by no means for the good of the
people, who were only amused by this pretended honor,
but, in truth, to check the nobility and clergy, and induce
them to grant the money he wanted for his profusion ; this
was a scheme of Enguerrand de Marigny, his minister, who
340 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
governed both him and his kingdom to such a degree as to
be called the coadjutor and governor of the kingdom. Charles
Martel laid aside these assemblies, and governed by open force.
Pepin restored them, and attached them to him, and with
them the nation ; by which means he deposed Childeric and
mounted the throne. This is a second period worth your
attention. The third race of kings, which begins with
Hugues Capet, is a third period. A judicious reader of
history will save himself a great deal of time and trouble
by attending with care only to those interesting periods of
history which furnish remarkable events, and make eras,
and going slightly over the common run of events. Some
people read history as others read the (( Pilgrim's Progress*;
giving equal attention to, and indiscriminately loading their
memories with every part alike. But I would have you read
it in a different manner ; take the shortest general history
you can find of every country; and mark down in that his
tory the most important periods, such as conquests, changes
of kings, and alterations of the form of government ;
and then have recourse to more extensive histories or par
ticular treatises, relative to those great points. Consider
them well, trace up their causes, and follow their conse
quences. For instance, there is a most excellent, though
very short history of France, by Le Gendre. Read that
with attention, and you will know enough of the general
history ; but when you find there such remarkable periods
as are above mentioned, consult Mezeray, and other of the
best and minutest historians, as well as political treatises
upon those subjects. In later times, memoirs, from those
of Philip de Commines, down to the innumerble ones in
the reign of Louis the Fourteenth, have been of great use,
and thrown great light upon particular parts of history.
Conversation in France, if you have the address and dex
terity to turn it upon useful subjects, will exceedingly im
prove your historical knowledge ; for people there, however
classically ignorant they may be, think it a shame to be ig
norant of the history of their own country : they read
that, if they read nothing else, and having often read noth
ing else, are proud of having read that, and talk of it will
ingly; even the women are well instructed in that sort of
reading. I am far from meaning by this that you should
LETTERS TO HIS SON 34*
always be talking wisely in company, of books, history,
and matters of knowledge. There are many companies
which you will, and ought to keep, where such converca-
tions would be misplaced and ill-timed; your own good
sense must distinguish the company and the time. You
must trifle only with triflers; and be serious only with
the serious, but dance to those who pipe. Cur in theat-
rum Cato severd venisti ? was justly said to an old man :
how much more so would it be to one of your age?
From the moment that you are dressed and go out, pocket
all your knowledge with your watch, and never pull it out
in company unless desired : the producing of the one unasked,
implies that you are weary of the company ; and the pro
ducing of the other unrequired, will make the company
weary of you. Company is a republic too jealous of its
liberties, to suffer a dictator even for a quarter of an hour ;
and yet in that, as in republics, there are some few who
really govern ; but then it is by seeming to disclaim, in
stead of attempting to usurp the power ; that is the occa
sion in which manners, dexterity, address, and the un-
definable fe ne sais quoi triumph; if properly exerted, their
conquest is sure, and the more lasting for not being per
ceived. Remember, that this is not only your first and
greatest, but ought to be almost your only object, while you
are in France.
I know that many of your countrymen are apt to call the
freedom and vivacity of the French petulancy and ill-
breeding ; but, should you think so, I desire upon many ac
counts that you will not say so; I admit that it may be so in
some instances of petits maitres etourdis, and in some young
people unbroken to the world ; but I can assure you, that
you will find it much otherwise with people of a certain
rank and age, upon whose model you will do very well to
form yourself. We call their steady assurance, impudence :
why? Only because what we call modesty is awkward
bashfulness and mauvaise honte. For my part, I see no im
pudence, but, on the contrary, infinite utility and advan
tage in presenting one's self with the same coolness and
unconcern in any and every company. Till one can do that,
I am very sure that one can never present one's self well.
Whatever is done under concern and embarrassment, must
342 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
be ill done, and, till a man is absolutely easy and uncon
cerned in every company, he will never be thought to have
kept good company, nor be very welcome in it. A steady
assurance, with seeming modesty, is possibly the most use
ful qualification that a man can have in every part of life.
A man would certainly make a very considerable fortune
and figure in the world, whose modesty and timidity should
often, as bashfulness always does (put him in the deplor
able and lamentable situation of the pious y£neas, when
obstupuit, steteruntque coma; et vox faucibus hcesitf). For
tune (as well as women) —
(( born to be controlled,
Stoops to the forward and the bold.*
Assurance and intrepidity, under the white banner of
seeming modesty, clear the way for merit, that would other
wise be discouraged by difficulties in its journey ; whereas
barefaced impudence is the noisy and blustering harbinger
of a worthless and senseless usurper.
You will think that I shall never have done recommending
to you these exterior worldly accomplishments, and you will
think right, for I never shall ; they are of too great conse
quence to you for me to be indifferent or negligent about
them : the shining part of your future figure and fortune
depends now wholly upon them. These are the acquisitions
which must give efficacy and success to those you have
already made. To have it said and believed that you are
the most learned man in England, would be no more than
was said and believed of Dr. Bentley ; but to have it said,
at the same time, that you are also the best-bred, most
polite, and agreeable man in the kingdom, would be such
a happy composition of a character as I never yet knew
any one man deserve ; and which I will endeavor, as well
as ardently wish, that you may. Absolute perfection is, I
well know, unattainable ; but I know too, that a man of
parts may be unweariedly aiming at it, and arrive pretty
near it. Try, labor, persevere. Adieu.
M
LETTERS TO HIS SON 343
LETTER CXXI
LONDON, November 8, O. S. 1750.
Y DEAR FRIEND : Before you get to Paris, where you
will soon be left to your own discretion, if you
have any, it is necessary that we should understand
one another thoroughly ; which is the most probable way of
preventing disputes. Money, the cause of much mischief in
the world, is the cause of most quarrels between fathers
and sons; the former commonly thinking that they cannot
give too little, and the latter, that they cannot have enough ;
both equally in the wrong. You must do me the justice
to acknowledge, that I have hitherto neither stinted nor
grudged any expense that could be of use or real pleasure
to you; and I can assure you, by the way, that you have
traveled at a much more considerable expense than I did
myself; but I never so much as thought of that, while Mr.
Harte was at the head of your finances; being very sure
that the sums granted were scrupulously applied to the uses
for which they were intended. But the case will soon be
altered, and you will be your own receiver and treasurer.
However, I promise you, that we will not quarrel singly
upon the quantum, which shall be cheerfully and freely
granted: the application and appropriation of it will be
the material point, which I am now going to clear up and
finally settle with you. I will fix, or even name, no settled
allowance ; though I well know in my own mind what
would be the proper one ; but I will first try your draughts,
by which I can in a good degree judge of your conduct.
This only I tell you in general, that if the channels through
which my money is to go are the proper ones, the source
shall not be scanty; but should it deviate into dirty,
muddy, and obscure ones (which by the bye, it cannot do
for a week without my knowing it), I give you fair and
timely notice, that the source will instantly be dry. Mr.
Harte, in establishing you at Paris, will point out to you
those proper channels; he will leave you there upon the
foot of a man of fashion, and I will continue you upon
the same; you will have your coach, your valet de ckambre,
344 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
your own footman, and a valet de -place; which, by the
way, is one servant more than I had. I would have you
very well dressed, by which I mean dressed as the generality
of people of fashion are ; that is, not to be taken notice of,
for being either more or less fine than other people: it is
by being well dressed, not finely dressed, that a gentleman
should be distinguished. You must frequent les spectacles,
which expense I shall willingly supply. You must play a
des petit s jeux de commerce in mixed companies; that
article is trifling ; I shall pay it cheerfully. All the other
articles of pocket-money are very inconsiderable at Paris,
in comparison of what they are here, the silly custom of
giving money wherever one dines or sups, and the expensive
importunity of subscriptions, not being yet introduced there.
Having thus reckoned up all the decent expenses of a gen
tleman, which I will most readily defray, I come now to
those which I will neither bear nor supply. The first of
these is gaming, of which, though I have not the least
reason to suspect you, I think it necessary eventually to
assure you, that no consideration in the world shall ever
make me pay your play debts; should you ever urge to me
that your honor is pawned, I should most immovably
answer you, that it was your honor, not mine, that was
pawned; and that your creditor might e'en take the pawn
for the debt.
Low company, and low pleasures, are always much more
costly than liberal and elegant ones. The disgraceful riots
of a tavern are much more expensive, as well as dishon
orable, than the" sometimes pardonable excesses in good
company. I must absolutely hear of no tavern scrapes and
squabbles.
I come now to another and very material point ; I
mean women; and I will not address myself to you upon
this subject, either in a religious, a moral, or a parental
style. I will even lay aside my age, remember yours, and
speak to you as one man of pleasure, if he had parts too,
would speak to another. I will by no means pay for
whores, and their never-failing consequences, surgeons; nor
will I, upon any account, keep singers, dancers, actresses,
and id genus omne ; and, independently of the expense, I
must tell you, that such connections would give me, and all
LETTERS TO HIS SON 345
sensible people, the utmost contempt for your parts and
address; a young fellow must have as little sense as address,
to venture, or more properly to sacrifice, his health and
ruin his fortune, with such sort of creatures ; in such a
place as Paris especially, where gallantry is both the pro
fession and the practice of every woman of fashion. To
speak plainly, I will not forgive your understanding c s
and p s ; nor will your constitution forgive them you.
These distempers, as well as their cures, fall nine times in
ten upon the lungs. This argument, I am sure, ought to
have weight with you: for I protest to you, that if you
meet with any such accident, I would not give one year's
purchase for your life. Lastly, there is another sort of ex
pense that I will not allow, only because it is a silly one ;
I mean the fooling away your money in baubles at toy
shops. Have one handsome snuff-box (if you take snuff),
and one handsome sword ; but then no more pretty and
very useless things.
By what goes before, you will easily perceive that I mean
to allow you whatever is necessary, not only for the figure,
but for the pleasures of a gentleman, and not to supply the
profusion of a rake. This, you must confess, does not savor
of either the severity or parsimony of old age. I consider
this agreement between us, as a subsidiary treaty on my
part, for services to be performed on yours. I promise you,
that I will be as punctual in the payment of the subsidies,
as England has been during the last war; but then I give
you notice at the same time, that I require a much more
scrupulous execution of the treaty on your part, than we
met with on that of our allies ; or else that payment will
be stopped. I hope all that I have now said was absolutely
unnecessary, and that sentiments more worthy and more
noble than pecuniary ones, would of themselves have pointed
out to you the conduct I recommend; but, at all events, I
resolved to be once for all explicit with you, that, in the
worst that can happen, you may not plead ignorance, and
complain that I had not sufficiently explained to you my
intentions.
Having mentioned the word rake, I must say a word or
two more on that subject, because young people too fre
quently, and always fatally, are apt to mistake that character
346 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
for that of a man of pleasure; whereas, there are not in
the world two characters more different. A rake is a com
position of all the lowest, most ignoble, degrading, and
shameful vices ; they all conspire to disgrace his character,
and to ruin his fortune ; while wine and the p x con
tend which shall soonest and most effectually destroy his
constitution. A dissolute, flagitious footman, or porter,
makes full as good a rake as a man of the first quality.
By the bye, let me tell you, that in the wildest part of my
youth, I never was a rake, but, on the contrary, always
detested and despised that character.
A man of pleasure, though not always so scrupulous as
he should be, and as one day he will wish he had been,
refines at least his pleasures by taste, accompanies them with
decency, and enjoys them with dignity. Few men can be
men of pleasure, every man may be a rake. Remember
that I shall know everything you say or do at Paris, as ex
actly as if, by the force of magic, I could follow you every
where, like a sylph or a gnome, invisible myself. Seneca
says, very prettily, that one should ask nothing of God, but
what one should be willing that men should know; nor of
men, but what one should be willing that God should know.
I advise you to say and do nothing at Paris, but what you
would be willing that I should know. I hope, nay, I be
lieve, that will be the case. Sense, I dare say, you do not
want; instruction, I am sure, you have never wanted: ex
perience you are daily gaining : all which together must
inevitably (I should think) make you both respectable et
aimable, the perfection of a human character. In that case
nothing shall be wanting on my part, and you shall solidly
experience all the extent and tenderness of my affection for
you ; but dread the reverse of both ! Adieu !
P. S. When you get to Paris, after you have been to
wait on Lord Albemarle, go to see Mr. Yorke, whom I have
particular reasons for desiring that you should be well with,
as I shall hereafter explain to you. Let him know that
my orders, and your own inclinations, conspired to make
you desire his friendship and protection.
LETTERS TO HIS SON 347
LETTER CXXII
MY DEAR FRIEND: I have sent you so many pre
paratory letters for Paris, that this, which will meet
you there, shall only be a summary of them all.
You have hitherto had more liberty than anybody of
your age ever had; and I must do you the justice to own,
that you have made a better use of it than most people of
your age would have done ; but then, though you had not
a jailer, you had a friend with you. At Paris, you will
not only be unconfined, but unassisted. Your own good
sense must be your only guide : I have great confidence in
it, and am convinced that I shall receive just such accounts
of your conduct at Paris as I could wish ; for I tell you
beforehand, that I shall be most minutely informed of all
that you do, and almost of all that you say there. Enjoy
the pleasures of youth, you cannot do better : but refine and
dignify them like a man of parts ; let them raise, and not
sink; let them adorn and not vilify your character; let
them, in short, be the pleasures of a gentleman, and taken
with your equals at least, but rather with your superiors,
and those chiefly French.
Inquire into the characters of the several Academicians,
before you form a connection with any of them ; and be
most upon your guard against those who make the most
court to you.
You cannot study much in the Academy; but you may
study usefully there, if you are an economist of your time,
and bestow only upon good books those quarters and halyes
of hours, which occur to everybody in the course of almost
every day; and which, at the year's end, amount to a very
considerable sum of time. Let Greek, without fail, share
some part of every day; I do not mean the Greek poets,
the catches of Anacreon, or the tender complaints of Theo
critus, or even the porter-like language of Homer's heroes;
of whom all smatterers in Greek know a little, quote often,
and talk of always ; but I mean Plato, Aristoteles, Demos
thenes, and Thucydides, whom none but adepts know. It
is Greek that must distinguish you in the learned world,
348 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
Latin alone will not : and Greek must be sought to be re
tained, for it never occurs like Latin. When you read his
tory or other books of amusement, let every language you
are master of have its turn, so that you may not only retain,
but improve in everyone. I also desire that you will con
verse in German and Italian, with all the Germans and the
Italians with whom you converse at all. This will be a
very agreeable and flattering thing to them, and a very
useful one to you.
Pray apply yourself diligently to your exercises; for
though the doing them well is not supremely meritorious,
the doing them ill is illiberal, vulgar, and ridiculous.
I recommend theatrical representations to you; which are
excellent at Paris. The tragedies of Corneille and Racine,
and the comedies of Moliere, well attended to, are admir
able lessons, both for the heart and the head. There is not,
nor ever was, any theatre comparable to the French. If
the music of the French operas does not please your Italian
ear, the words of them, at least, are sense and poetry,
which is much more than I can say of any Italian opera
that I ever read or heard in my life.
I send you the inclosed letter of recommendation to
Marquis Matignon, which I would have you deliver to him
as soon as you can; you will, I am sure, feel the good
effects of his warm friendship for me and Lord Boling-
broke, who has also wrote to him upon your subject. By
that, and by the other letters which I have sent you, you
will be at once so thoroughly introduced into the best
French company, that you must take some pains if you
will keep bad ; but that is what I do not suspect you of.
You have, I am sure, too much right ambition to prefer low
and disgraceful company to that of your superiors, both
in rank and age. Your character, and consequently your
fortune, absolutely depends upon the company you keep,
and the turn you take at Paris. I do not in the least
mean a grave turn ; on the contrary, a gay, a sprightly, but,
at the same time, an elegant and liberal one.
Keep carefully out of all scrapes and quarrels. They
lower a character extremely ; and are particularly dangerous
in France; where a man is dishonored by not resenting an
affront, and utterly ruined by resenting it. The young
LETTERS TO HIS SON 349
Frenchmen are hasty, giddy, and petulant; extremely na
tional, and avantageux. Forbear from any national jokes
or reflections, which are always improper, and commonly
unjust. The colder northern nations generally look upon
France as a whistling, singing, dancing, frivolous nation;
this notion is very far from being a true one, though many
petit s maitres by their behavior seem to justify it ; but those
very petits maitres, when mellowed by age and experience,
very often turn out very able men. The number of great
generals and statesmen, as well as excellent authors, that
France has produced, is an undeniable proof, that it is not
that frivolous, unthinking, empty nation that northern prej
udices suppose it. Seem to like and approve of every
thing at first, and I promise you that you will like and
approve of many things afterward.
I expect that you will write to me constantly, once every
week, which I desire may be every Thursday ; and that
your letters may inform me of your personal transactions:
not of what you see, but of whom you see, and what you do.
Be your own monitor, now that you will have no other.
As to enunciation, I must repeat it to you again and again,
that there is no one thing so necessary: all other talents,
without that, are absolutely useless, except in your own
closet.
It sounds ridiculously to bid you study with your dancing-
master; and yet I do. The bodily carriage and graces are
of infinite consequence to everybody, and more particu
larly to you.
Adieu for this time, my dear child. Yours tenderly.
LETTER CXXIII
LONDON, November 12, O. S. 1750.
MY DEAR FRIEND : You will possibly think, that this
letter turns upon strange, little, trifling objects ; and
you will think right, if you consider them separately ;
but if you take them aggregately, you will be convinced
that as parts, which conspire to form that whole, called
350 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
the exterior of a man of fashion, they are of importance.
I shall not dwell now upon these personal graces, that
liberal air, and that engaging address, which I have so
often recommended to you; but descend still lower, to your
dress, cleanliness, and care of your person.
When you come to Paris, you may take care to be
extremely well dressed; that is, as the fashionable people
are ; this does by no means consist in the finery, but in the
taste, fitness, and manner of wearing your clothes ; a fine
suit ill-made, and slatternly or stiffly worn, far from adorn
ing, only exposes the awkwardness of the wearer. Get the
best French tailor to make your clothes, whatever they are,
in the fashion, and to fit you: and then wear them, button
them, or unbutton them, as the genteelest people you see
do. Let your man learn of the best friseur to do your
hair well, for that is a very material part of your dress.
Take care to have your stockings well gartered up, and
your shoes well buckled ; for nothing gives a more slovenly
air to a man than ill-dressed legs. In your person you must
be accurately clean; and your teeth, hands, and nails, should
be superlatively so ; a dirty mouth has real ill consequences
to the owner, for it infallibly causes the decay, as well as
the intolerable pain of the teeth, and it is very offensive to
his acquaintance, for it will most inevitably stink. I insist,
therefore, that you wash your teeth the first thing you do
every morning, with a soft sponge and warm water, for
four or five minutes ; and then wash your mouth five or six
times. Mouton, whom I desire you will send for upon
your arrival at Paris, will give you an opiate, and a liquor
to be used sometimes. Nothing looks more ordinary, vul
gar, and illiberal, than dirty hands, and ugly, uneven,
and ragged nails : I do not suspect you of that shock
ing, awkward trick, of biting yours; but that is not
enough : you must keep the ends of them smooth and
clean, not tipped with black, as the ordinary people's always
are. The ends of your nails should be small segments
of circles, which, by a very little care in the cutting,
they are very easily brought to ; every time that you
wipe your hands, rub the skin round your nails backward,
that it may not grow up, and shorten your nails too much.
The cleanliness of the rest of your person, which, by
LETTERS TO HIS SON 351
the way, will conduce greatly to your health, I refer
from time to time to the bagnio. My mentioning these
particulars arises (I freely own) from some suspicion that
the hints are not unnecessary; for, when you were a
schoolboy, you were slovenly and dirty above your fellows.
I must add another caution, which is that upon no ac
count whatever, you put your fingers, as too many people
are apt to do, in your nose or ears. It is the most shock
ing, nasty, vulgar rudeness, that can be offered to com
pany; it disgusts one, it turns one's stomach; and, for my
own part, I would much rather know that a man's fingers
were actually in his breech, than see them in his nose.
Wash your ears well every morning, and blow your nose
in your handkerchief whenever you have occasion ; but, by
the way, without looking at it afterward. There should
be in the least, as well as in the greatest parts of a
gentleman, les manieres nobles. Sense will teach you
some, observation others; attend carefully to the manners,
the diction, the motions, of people of the first fashion, and
form your own upon them. On the other hand, observe a
little those of the vulgar, in order to avoid them : for though
the things which they say or do may be the same, the man
ner is always totally different : and in that, and nothing
else, consists the characteristic of a man of fashion. The
lowest peasant speaks, moves, dresses, eats, and drinks, as
much as a man of the first fashion, but does them all
quite differently ; so that by doing and saying most things
in a manner opposite to that of the vulgar, you have a
great chance of doing and saying them right. There are
gradations in awkwardness and vulgarism, as there are in
everything else. Les manures de robe, though not quite
right, are still better than les manures bourgeoises; and
these, though bad, are still better than les manures de
campagne. But the language, the air, the dress, and the
manners of the court, are the only true standard des
manures nobles, et d'un honndte homme. Ex pede Hercu-
lem is an old and true saying, and very applicable to our
present subject ; for a man of parts, who has been bred at
courts, and used to keep the best company, will distin
guish himself, and is to be known from the vulgar by
every word, attitude, gesture, and even look. I cannot
352 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
leave these seeming minutice, without repeating to you the
necessity of your carving well; which is an article, little
as it is, that is useful twice every day of one's life ; and
the doing it ill is very troublesome to one's self, and very
disagreeable, often ridiculous, to others.
Having said all this, I cannot help reflecting, what a
formal dull fellow, or a cloistered pedant, would say, if
they were to see this letter : they would look upon it with
the utmost contempt, and say that surely a father might
find much better topics for advice to a son. I would ad
mit it, if I had given you, or that you were capable of
receiving, no better ; but if sufficient pains have been taken
to form your heart and improve your mind, and, as I
hope, not without success, I will tell those solid gentle
men, that all these trifling things, as they think them,
collectively form that pleasing je ne sais quoi, that en
semble, which they are utter strangers to both in them
selves and others. The word aimable is not known in
their language, or the thing in their manners. Great usage
of the world, great attention, and a great desire of pleas
ing, can alone give it ; and it is no trifle. It is from old
people's looking upon these things as trifles, or not think
ing of them at all, that so many young people are so awk
ward and so ill-bred. Their parents, often careless and
unmindful of them, give them only the common run of
education, as school, university, and then traveling; with
out examining, and very often without being able to
judge, if they did examine, what progress they make in
any one of these stages. Then, they carelessly comfort
themselves, and say, that their sons will do like other
people's sons; and so they do, that is, commonly very ill.
They correct none of the childish nasty tricks, which they
get at school ; nor the illiberal manners which they con
tract at the university ; nor the frivolous and superficial
pertness, which is commonly all that they acquire by their
travels. As they do not tell them of these things, nobody
else can ; so they go on in the practice of them, without
ever hearing, or knowing, that they are unbecoming, in
decent, and shocking. For, as I have often formerly ob
served to you, nobody but a father can take the liberty to
reprove a young fellow, grown up, for those kinds of
LETTERS TO HIS SON 353
inaccuracies and improprieties of behavior. The most inti
mate friendship, unassisted by the paternal superiority,
will not authorize it. I may truly say, therefore, that you
are happy in having me for a sincere, friendly, and quick-
sighted monitor. Nothing will escape me : I shall pry
for your defects, in order to correct them, as curiously as
I shall seek for your perfections, in order to applaud and
reward them, with this difference only, that I shall publicly
mention the latter, and never hint at the former, but in a
letter to, or a tete-a-tete with you. I will never put you
out of countenance before company ; and I hope you will
never give me reason to be out of countenance for you, as
any one of the above-mentioned defects would make me.
Prcetor non curat de minimis, was a maxim in the Roman
law; for causes only of a certain value were tried by him;
but there were inferior jurisdictions, that took cognizance
of the smallest. Now I shall try you, not only as praetor
in the greatest, but as censor in lesser, and as the lowest
magistrate in the least cases.
I have this moment received Mr. Harte's letter of the
ist November, N. S., by which I am very glad to find
that he thinks of moving toward Paris, the end of this
month, which looks as if his leg were better ; besides, in
my opinion, you both of you only lose time at Mont-
pelier; he would find better advice, and you better com
pany, at Paris. In the meantime, I hope you go into the
best company there is at Montpelier; and there always is
some at the Intendant's, or the Commandant's. You will
have had full time to learn les petites chansons Languedo-
ciennes, which are exceedingly pretty ones, both words
and tunes. I remember, when I was in those parts, I
was surprised at the difference which I found between the
people on one side, and those on the other side • of the
Rh6ne. The Provengaux were, in general, surly, ill-bred,
ugly, and swarthy ; the Languedocians the very reverse : a
cheerful, well-bred, handsome people. Adieu ! Yours most
affectionately.
P. S. Upon reflection, I direct this letter to Paris; I
think you must have left Montpelier before it could arrive
there.
23
354 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
LETTER CXXIV
LONDON, November 19, O. S. 1750.
MY DEAR FRIEND : I was very glad to find by your
letter of the I2th, N. S., that you had informed
yourself so well of the state of the French marine
at Toulon, and of the commerce at Marseilles ; they are ob
jects that deserve the inquiry and attention of every man
who intends to be concerned in public affairs. The French
are now wisely attentive to both ; their commerce is in
credibly increased within these last thirty years ; they have
beaten us out of great part of our Levant trade ; their East
India trade has greatly affected ours ; and, in the West
Indies, their Martinico establishment supplies, not only
France itself, but the greatest part of Europe, with sugars :
whereas our islands, as Jamaica, Barbadoes, and the Lee
ward, have now no other market for theirs but England.
New France, or Canada, has also greatly lessened our fur
and skin trade. It is true (as you say) that we have no
treaty of commerce subsisting (I do not say WITH MAR
SEILLES) but with France. There was a treaty of com
merce made between England and France, immediately after
the treaty of Utrecht ; but the whole treaty was conditional,
and to depend upon the parliament's enacting certain things
which were stipulated in two of the articles; the parlia
ment, after a very famous debate, would not do it; so the
treaty fell to the ground : however, the outlines of that
treaty are, by mutual and tacit consent, the general rules of
our present commerce with France. It is true, too, that our
commodities which go to France, must go in our bottoms;
the French having imitated in many respects our famous
Act of Navigation, as it is commonly called. This act was
made in the year 1652, in the parliament held by Oliver
Cromwell. It forbids all foreign ships to bring into Eng
land any merchandise or commodities whatsoever, that were
not of the growth and produce of that country to which
those ships belonged, under penalty of the forfeiture of
such ships. This act was particularly leveled at the Dutch,
who were at that time the carriers of almost all Europe,
and got immensely by freight. Upon this principle, of the
LETTERS TO HIS SON 355
advantages arising from freight, there is a provision in the
same act, that even the growth and produce of our own
colonies in America shall not be carried from thence to any
other country in Europe, without first touching in England ;
but this clause has lately been repealed, in the instances of
some perishable commodities, such as rice, etc., which are
allowed to be carried directly from our American colonies
to other countries. The act also provides, that two-thirds,
I think, of those who navigate the said ships shall be Brit
ish subjects. There is an excellent, and little book, writ
ten by the famous Monsieur Huet Ev£que d'Avranches,
Sur le Commerce des Anciens, which is very well worth
your reading, and very soon read. It will give you a clear
notion of the rise and progress of commerce. There are
many other books, which take up the history of commerce
where Monsieur d'Avranches leaves it, and bring it down
to these times. I advise you to read some of them with care ;
commerce being a very essential part of political knowledge
in every country ; but more particularly in that which owes
all its riches and power to it.
I come now to another part of your letter, which is the
orthography, if I may call bad spelling ORTHOGRAPHY.
You spell induce, ENDUCE ; and grandeur, you spell grand-
URE ; two faults of which few of my housemaids would
have been guilty. I must tell you that orthography, in
the true sense of the word, is so absolutely necessary for a
man of letters, or a gentleman, that one false spelling may
fix ridicule upon him for the rest of his life ; and I know
a man of quality, who never recovered the ridicule of hav
ing spelled WHOLESOME without the w.
Reading with care will secure everybody from false spell
ing ; for books are always well spelled, according to the
orthography of the times. Some words are indeed doubt
ful, being spelled differently by different authors of equal
authority ; but those are few ; and in those cases every man
has his option, because he may plead his authority either
way; but where there is but one right way, as in the two
words above mentioned, it is unpardonable and ridicu
lous for a gentleman to miss it ; even a woman of a toler
able education would despise and laugh at a lover, who
should send her an ill-spelled billet-doux. I fear and
356 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
suspect, that you have taken it into your head, in most cases,
that the matter is all, and the manner little or nothing. If you
have, undeceive yourself, and be convinced that, in every
thing, the manner is full as important as the matter. If
you speak the sense of an angel, in bad words and with
a disagreeable utterance, nobody will hear you twice, who
can help it. If you write epistles as well as Cicero, but
in a very bad hand, and very ill-spelled, whoever receives
will laugh at them ; and if you had the figure of Adonis,
with an awkward air and motions, it will disgust instead
of pleasing. Study manner, therefore, in everything, if you
would be anything. My principal inquiries of my friends
at Paris, concerning you, will be relative to your manner
of doing whatever you do. I shall not inquire whether
you understand Demosthenes, Tacitus, or the Jus Publicum
Imperil; but I shall inquire, whether your utterance is
pleasing, your style not only pure, but elegant, your man
ners noble and easy, your air and address engaging :
in short, whether you are a gentleman, a man of fashion,
and fit to keep good company, or not ; for, till I am
satisfied in these particulars, you and I must by no means
meet ; I could not possibly stand it. It is in your power
to become all this at Paris, if you please. Consult with
Lady Hervey and Madame Monconseil upon all these mat
ters ; and they will speak to you, and advise you freely.
Tell them, that bisogna compatire ancora, that you are
utterly new in the world ; that you are desirous to form
yourself; that you beg they will reprove, advise, and cor
rect you ; that you know that none can do it so well ; and
that you will implicitly follow their directions. This, to
gether with your careful observation of the manners of the
best company, will really form you.
Abbe Guasco, a friend of mine, will come to you as soon
as he knows of your arrival at Paris ; he is well received
in the best companies there, and will introduce you to them.
He will be desirous to do you any service he can ; he is
active and curious, and can give you information upon most
things. He is a sort of complaisant of the President
Montesquieu, to whom you have a letter.
I imagine that this letter will not wait for you very long at
Paris, where I reckon you will Se in about a fortnight. Adieu.
LETTERS TO HIS SON 357
LETTER CXXV
LONDON, December 24, 1750.
MY DEAR FRIEND : At length you are become a Paris
ian, and consequently must be addressed in French;
you will also answer me in the same language, that
I may be able to judge of the degree in which you possess
the elegance, the delicacy, and the orthography of that
language which is, in a manner, become the universal one
of Europe. I am assured that you speak it well, but in
that well there are gradations. He, -who in the provinces
might be reckoned to speak correctly, would at Paris be
looked upon as an ancient Gaul. In that country of mode,
even language is subservient to fashion, which varies almost
as often as their clothes.
The AFFECTED, the REFINED, the NEOLOGICAL, OR NEW
FASHIONABLE STYLE are at present too much in vogue at
Paris. Know, observe, and occasionally converse (if you
please) according to those different styles; but do not let
your taste be infected by them. Wit, too, is there subservi
ent to fashion; and actually, at Paris, one must have wit,
even in despite of Minerva. Everybody runs after it; al
though if it does not come naturally and of itself, it never
can be overtaken. But, unfortunately for those who pursue,
they seize upon what they take for wit, and endeavor to
pass it for such upon others. This is, at best, the lot of
Ixion, who embraced a cloud instead of the goddess he pur
sued. Fine sentiments, which never existed, false and un
natural thoughts, obscure and far-sought expressions, not
only unintelligible, but which it is even impossible to de
cipher, or to guess at, are all the consequences of this error ;
and two-thirds of the new French books which now appear
are made up of those ingredients. It is the new cookery
of Parnassus, in which the still is employed instead of the
pot and the spit, and where quintessences and extracts are
chiefly used. N. B. The Attic salt is proscribed.
You will now and then be obliged to eat of this new
cookery, but do not suffer your taste to be corrupted by it.
And when you, in your turn, are desirous of treating others,
358 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
take the good old cookery of Lewis XIV.'s reign for your
rule. There were at that time admirable head cooks, such as
Corneille, Boileau, Racine, and La Fontaine. Whatever
they prepared was simple, wholesome, and solid. But lay
ing aside all metaphors, do not suffer yourself to be dazzled
by false brilliancy, by unnatural expressions, nor by those
antitheses so much in fashion : as a protection against such
innovations, have a recourse to your own good sense, and
to the ancient authors. On the other hand, do not laugh
at those who give into such errors ; you are as yet too
young to act the critic, or to stand forth a severe avenger
of the violated rights of good sense. Content yourself with
not being perverted, but do not think of converting others ;
let them quietly enjoy their errors in taste, as well as in
religion. Within the course of the last century and a half,
taste in France has (as well as that kingdom itself) under
gone many vicissitudes. Under the reign of I do not say
Lewis XIII. but of Cardinal de Richelieu, good taste first
began to make its way. It was refined under that of Lewis
XIV., a great king, at least, if not a great man. Cor
neille was the restorer of true taste, and the founder of
the French theatre ; although rather inclined to the Italian
Concetti and the Spanish Agudeze. Witness those epi
grams which he makes Chimene utter in the greatest excess
of grief.
Before his time, those kind of itinerant authors, called
troubadours or romanciers, were a species of madmen
who attracted the admiration of fools. Toward the end of
Cardinal de Richelieu's reign, and the beginning of Lewis
XIV.'s, the Temple of Taste was established at the Hotel
of Rambouillet ; but that taste was not judiciously refined :
this Temple of Taste might more properly have been named
a Laboratory of Wit, where good sense was put to the
torture, in order to extract from it the most subtile essence.
There it was that Voiture labored hard and incessantly to
create wit. At length, Boileau and Moliere fixed the
standard of true taste. In spite of the Scuderys, the Cal-
prenedes, etc., they defeated and put to flight ARTAMENES,
JUBA, OROONDATES, and all those heroes of romance, who
were, notwithstanding (each of them), as good as a whole
army. Those madmen then endeavored to obtain an asylum
LETTERS TO HIS SON 359
in libraries; this they could not accomplish, but were under
a necessity of taking shelter in the chambers of some few
ladies. I would have you read one volume of (< Cleopatra, ^
and one of <( Clelia w ; it will otherwise be impossible for you
to form any idea of the extravagances they contain ; but
God keep you from ever persevering to the twelfth.
During almost the whole reign of Lewis XIV., true taste
remained in its purity, until it received some hurt, although
undesignedly, from a very fine genius, I mean Monsieur de
Fontenelle ; who, with the greatest sense and the most
solid learning, sacrificed rather too much to the Graces,
whose most favorite child and pupil he was. Admired
with reason, others tried to imitate him ; but, unfortunately
for us, the author of the <( Pastorals, » of the « History of
Oracles, J> and of the <( French Theatre," found fewer imi
tators than the Chevalier d'Her did mimics. He has since
been taken off by a thousand authors : but never really imi
tated by anyone that I know of.
At this time, the seat of true taste in France seems to
me not well established. It exists, but torn by factions.
There is one party of petits maitres, one of half-learned
women, another of insipid authors whose works are verba
et voces, et prater ea nihil; and, in short, a numerous and
very fashionable party of writers, who, in a metaphysical
jumble, introduce their false and subtle reasonings upon the
movements and the sentiments of THE SOUL, THE HEART,
and THE MIND.
Do not let yourself be overpowered by fashion, nor by par
ticular sets of people with whom you may be connected ; but
try all the different coins before you receive any in payment.
Let your own good sense and reason judge of the value of
each; and be persuaded, that NOTHING CAN BE BEAUTIFUL
UNLESS TRUE : whatever brilliancy is not the result of the
solidity and justness of a thought, it is but a false glare.
The Italian saying upon a diamond is equally just with re
gard to thoughts, Quanta pih, sodezza, tanto pi$i splendore.
All this ought not to hinder you from conforming
externally to the modes and tones of the different companies
in which you may chance to be. With the petits maitres
speak epigrams ; false sentiments, with frivolous women ;
and a mixture of all these together, with professed beaux
360 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
esprits. I would have you do so ; for at your age you
ought not to aim at changing the tone of the company,
but conform to it. Examine well, however ; weigh all
maturely within yourself; and do not mistake the tinsel of
Tasso for the gold of Virgil.
You will find at Paris good authors, and circles dis
tinguished by the solidity of their reasoning. You will
never hear TRIFLING, AFFECTED, and far-sought conver
sations, at Madame de Monconseil's, nor at the hotels of
Matignon and Coigni, where she will introduce you. The
President Montesquieu will not speak to you in the epi
grammatic style. His book, the <( Spirit of the Laws,"
written in the vulgar tongue, will equally please and
instruct you.
Frequent the theatre whenever Corneille, Racine, and
Moliere's pieces are played. They are according to nature
and to truth. I do not mean by this to give an exclusion
to several admirable modern plays, particularly <(Cenie,))*
replete with sentiments that are true, natural, and applicable
to one's self. If you choose to know the characters of
people now in fashion, read Crebillon the younger, and
Marivaux's works. The former is a most excellent painter;
the latter has studied, and knows the human heart, perhaps
too well. Crebillon 's Egaremens du Coeur et de V Esprit
is an excellent work in its kind; it will be of infinite
amusement to you, and not totally useless. The Japanese
history of (( Tanza'i and Neadarn^," by the same author, is an
amiable extravagancy, interspersed with the most just re
flections. In short, provided you do not mistake the objects
of your attention, you will find matter at Paris to form a
good and true taste.
As I shall let you remain at Paris without any person to
direct your conduct, I flatter myself that you will not make
a bad use of the confidence I repose in you. I do not
require that you should lead the life of a Capuchin friar ;
quite the contrary: I recommend pleasures to you;, but I
expect that they shall be the pleasures of a gentleman.
Those add brilliancy to a young man's character; but
debauchery vilifies and degrades it. I shall have very true
and exact accounts of your conduct; and, according to the
•Imitated in English by Mr. Francis, in a play called « Eugenia. w
LETTERS TO HIS SON 361
informations I receive, shall be more, or less, or not at all,
yours. Adieu.
P. S. Do not omit writing to me once a- week; and let
your answer to this letter be in French. Connect yourself
as much as possible with the foreign ministers ; which is
properly traveling into different countries, without going
from one place. Speak Italian to all the Italians, and
German to all the Germans you meet, in order not to
forget those two languages.
I wish you, my dear friend, as many happy new years
as you deserve, and not one more. May you deserve a
great number!
LETTER CXXVI
LONDON, January 8, O..S. 1751.
MY DEAR FRIEND: By your letter of the 5th, N. S., I
find that your d4but at Paris has been a good one ;
you are entered into good company, and I dare say
you will not sink into bad. Frequent the houses where
you have been once invited, and have none of that shyness
which makes most of your countrymen strangers, where
they might be intimate and domestic if they pleased.
Wherever you have a general invitation to sup when you
please, profit of it, with decency, and go every now and
then. Lord Albemarle will, I am sure, be extremely kind
to you, but his house is only a dinner house ; and, as I am
informed, frequented by no French people. Should he
happen to employ you in his bureau, which I much doubt,
you must write a better hand than your common one, or
you will get no credit by your manuscripts; for your hand
is at present an illiberal one ; it is neither a hand of
business nor of a gentleman, but the hand of a school-boy
writing his exercise, which he hopes will never be read.
Madame de Monconseil gives me a favorable account of
you; and so do Marquis de Matignon and Madame du
Boccage ; they all say that you desire to please, and conse
quently promise me that you will; and they judge right;
362 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
for whoever really desires to please, and has (as you now
have) the means of learning how, certainly will please :
and that is the great point of life; it makes all other things
easy. Whenever you are with Madame de Monconseil,
Madame du Boccage, or other women of fashion, with
whom you are tolerably free, say frankly and naturally:
ye rial point d usage du monde, fy suis encore bien neuf; je
souhaiterois ar detriment de plaire, mats je ne sais gu&res com
ment m'y prendre. Ayez la bonte, Madame, de me fair e part
de votre secret de plaire d tout le monde. J'en ferai ma for
tune, et il vous en restera pourtant toujours,plus qu*il ne vous
en faut.* When, in consequence of this request, they shall
tell you of any little error, awkwardness, or impropriety,
you should not only feel, but express the warmest acknowl
edgment. Though nature should suffer, and she will at
first hearing them, tell them, ^ue la critique la plus s^vbre
est d, votre egard la preuve la plus marquee de leur amite.\
Madame du Boccage tells me, particularly, to inform you:
Qu'il me f era toujours plaisir et honneur de me venir voir: il
est vrai qu'a son age le plaisir de causer est froid; mats je
tdcherai de lui faire connoissance avec des jetmes gens, etc. \
Make use of this invitation, and as you live, in a manner,
next door to her, step in and out there frequently. Mon
sieur du Boccage will go with you, he tells me, with great
pleasure, to the plays, and point out to you whatever
deserves your knowing there. This is worth your acceptance
too ; he has a very good taste. I have not yet heard from
Lady Hervey upon your subject; but as you inform me
that you have already supped with her once, I look upon
you as adopted by her ; consult her in all your little mat
ters ; tell her any difficulties that may occur to you ; ask
her what you should do or say in such or such cases ; she
*«I know little of the world; I am quite a novice in it; and al
though very desirous of pleasing, I am at a loss for the means. Be
so good, Madame, as to let me into your secret of pleasing everybody.
I shall owe my success to it, and you will always have more than
falls to your share. w
t (< That you will look upon the most severe criticisms as the greatest
proof of their friendship. »
t«I shall always receive the honor of his visits with pleasure; it
is true, that at his age the pleasures of conversation are cold ; but I
will endeavor to make him acquainted with young people,** etc.
LETTERS TO HIS SON 3^3
has V usage du monde en perfection, and will help you to
acquire it. Madame de Berkenrode est paifrie de graces,
and your quotation is very applicable to her. You may be
there, I dare say, as often as you please, and I would advise
you to sup there once a week.
You say, very justly, that as Mr. Harte is leaving you,
you shall want advice more than ever; you shall never
want mine ; and as you have already had so much of it,
I must rather repeat than add to what I have already
given you ; but that I will do, and add to it occasionally,
as circumstances may require. At present I shall only re
mind you of your two great objects, which you should
always attend to ; they are parliament and foreign affairs.
With regard to the former, you can do nothing while
abroad but attend carefully to the purity, correctness, and
elegance of your diction; the clearness and gracefulness of
your utterance, in whatever language you speak. As for
the parliamentary knowledge, I will take care of that when
you come home. With regard to foreign affairs, everything
you do abroad may and ought to tend that way. Your
reading should be chiefly historical ; I do not mean of re
mote, dark, and fabulous history, still less of jimcrack
natural history of fossils, minerals, plants, etc., but I mean
the useful, political, and constitutional history of Europe,
for these last three centuries and a half. The other thing
necessary for your foreign object, and not less necessary
than either ancient or modern knowledge, is a great
knowledge of the world, manners, politeness, address, and
le ton de la bonne compagnie. In that view, keeping a
great deal of good company, is the principal point to
which you are now to attend. It seems ridiculous to tell
you, but it is most certainly true, that your dancing-master
is at this time the man in all Europe of the greatest im
portance to you. You must dance well, in order to sit,
stand, and walk well; and you must do all these well in
order to please. What with your exercises, some reading,
and a great deal of company, your day is, I confess, ex
tremely taken up; but the day, if well employed, is long
enough for everything ; and I am sure you will not slat
tern away one moment of it in inaction. At your age,
people have strong and active spirits, alacrity and vivacity
364 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
in all they do ; are impigri, indefatigable, and quick. The
difference is, that a young fellow of parts exerts all those
happy dispositions in the pursuit of proper objects; en
deavors to excel in the solid, and in the showish parts of
life; whereas a silly puppy, or a dull rogue, throws away
all his youth and spirit upon trifles, where he is serious,
or upon disgraceful vices, while he aims at pleasures. This
I am sure will not be your case ; your good sense and
your good conduct hitherto are your guarantees with me
for the future. Continue only at Paris as you have begun,
and your stay there will make you, what I have always
wished you to be, as near perfection as our nature
permits.
Adieu, my dear ; remember to write to me once a- week,
not as to a father, but, without reserve, as to a friend.
LETTER CXXVII
LONDON, January 14, O. S. 175* •
MY DEAR FRIEND : Among the many good things Mr.
Harte has told me of you, two in particular gave
me great pleasure. The first, that you are exceed
ingly careful and jealous of the dignity of your character;
that is the sure and solid foundation upon which you must
both stand and rise. A man's moral character is a more
delicate thing than a woman's reputation of chastity. A
slip or two may possibly be forgiven her, and her charac
ter may be clarified by subsequent and continued good con
duct : but a man's moral character once tainted is irrepar
ably destroyed. The second was, that you had acquired
a most correct and extensive knowledge of foreign affairs,
such as the history, the treaties, and the forms of govern
ment of the several countries of Europe. This sort of
knowledge, little attended to here, will make you not only
useful, but necessary, in your future destination, and carry
you very far. He added that you wanted from hence
some books relative to our laws and constitution, our colo
nies, and our commerce ; of which you know less than of
those of any other part of Europe. I will send you what
LETTERS TO HIS SON 365
short books I can find of that sort, to give you a general
notion of those things : but you cannot have time to go
into their depths at present — you cannot now engage with
new folios ; you and I will refer the constitutional part of
this country to our meeting here, when we will enter seri
ously into it, and read the necessary books together. In
the meantime, go on in the course you are in, of foreign
matters ; converse with ministers and others of every coun
try, watch the transactions of every court, and endeavor to
trace them up to their source. This, with your physics,
your geometry, and your exercises, will be all that you can
possibly have time for at Paris; for you must allow a great
deal for company and pleasures : it is they that must give
you those manners, that address, that tournure of the beau
monde, which will qualify you for your future destination.
You must first please, in order to get the confidence, and
consequently the secrets, of the courts and ministers for
whom and with whom you negotiate.
I will send you by the first opportunity a short book
written by Lord Bolingbroke, under the name of Sir John
Oldcastle, containing remarks upon the history of Eng
land ; which will give you a clear general notion of our
constitution, and which will serve you, at the same time,
like all Lord Bolingbroke's works, for a model of elo
quence and style. I will also send you Sir Josiah Childe's
little book upon trade, which may properly be called the
ft Commercial Grammar. )J He lays down the true principles
of commerce, and his conclusions from them are generally
very just.
Since you turn your thoughts a little toward trade and
commerce, which I am very glad you do, I will recom
mend a French book to you, which you will easily get at
Paris, and which I take to be the best book in the world
of that kind : I mean the Dictionnaire de Commerce de
Savary, in three volumes in folio ; where you will find
every one thing that relates to trade, commerce, specie,
exchange, etc., most clearly stated; and not only relative to
France, but to the whole world. You will easily suppose,
that I do not advise you to read such a book tout de
suite ; but I only mean that you should have it at hand,
to have recourse to occasionally.
366 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
With this great stock of both useful and ornamental
knowledge, which you have already acquired, and which,
by your application and industry, you are daily increasing,
you will lay such a solid foundation of future figure and
fortune, that if you complete it by all the accomplishments
of manners, graces, etc., I know nothing which you may
not aim at, and in time hope for. Your great point at
present at Paris, to which all other considerations must
give way, is to become entirely a man of fashion : to
be well-bred without ceremony, easy without negligence,
steady and intrepid with modesty, genteel without affecta
tion, insinuating without meanness, cheerful without being
noisy, frank without indiscretion, and secret without mys-
teriousness; to know the proper time and place for what
ever you say or do, and to do it with an air of condition :
all this is not so soon nor so easily learned as people
imagine, but requires observation and time. The world is
an immense folio, which demands a great deal of time and
attention to be read and understood as it ought to be ; you
have not yet read above four or five pages of it ; and you
will have but barely time to dip now and then in other
less important books.
Lord Albemarle has. I know, wrote to a friend of his
here, that you do not frequent him so much as he expected
and desired; that he fears somebody or other has given
you wrong impressions of him ; and that I may possibly
think, from your being seldom at his house, that he has
been wanting in his attentions to you,, I told the person
who told me this, that, on the contrary, you seemed, by
your letters to me, to be extremely pleased with Lord
Albemarle's behavior to you: but that you were obliged to
give up dining abroad during your course of experimental
philosophy. I guessed the true reason, which I believe
was, that, as no French people frequent his house, you
rather chose to dine at other places, where you were
likely to meet with better company than your countrymen :
and you were in the right of it. However, I would have
you show no shyness to Lord Albemarle, but go to him,
and dine with him oftener than it may be you would wish, for
the sake of having him speak well of you here when he
returns. He is a good deal in fashion here, and his
LETTERS TO HIS SON 367
PUFFING you (to use an awkward expression) before you
return here, will be of great use to you afterward. People
in general take characters, as they do most things, upon
trust, rather than be at the trouble of examining them
themselves ; and the decisions of four or five fashionable
people, in every place, are final, more particularly with
regard to characters, which all can hear, and but few
judge of. Do not mention the least of this to any mortal;
and take care that Lord Albemarle do not suspect that you
know anything of the matter.
Lord Huntingdon and Lord Stormount are, I hear, arrived
at Paris; you have, doubtless, seen them. Lord Stormount
is well spoken of here; however, in your connections, if
you form any with them, show rather a preference to
Lord Huntingdon, for reasons which you will easily guess.
Mr. Harte goes this week to Cornwall, to take posses
sion of his living; he has been installed at Windsor; he
will return here in about a month, when your literary cor
respondence with him will be regularly carried on. Your
mutual concern at parting was a good sign for both.
I have this moment received good accounts of you from
Paris. Go on vous etes en ban train. Adieu.
LETTER CXXVIII
LONDON, January 21, O. S. 1751.
MY DEAR FRIEND: In all my letters from Paris, I
have the pleasure of finding, among many other
good things, your docility mentioned with emphasis ;
this is the sure way of improving in those things, which
you only want. It is true they are little, but it is as true
too that they are necessary things. As they are mere
matters of usage and mode, it is no disgrace for anybody
of your age to be ignorant of them ; and the most com
pendious way of learning them is, fairly to avow your
ignorance, and to consult those who, from long usage and
experience, know them best. Good sense and good-nature
suggest civility in general; but in good-breeding there
368 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
are a thousand little delicacies, which are established
only by custom ; and it is these little elegances of man
ners which distinguish a courtier and a man of fashion
from the vulgar. I am assured by different people, that
your air is already much improved ; and one of my cor
respondents makes you the true French compliment of say
ing, J'ose vous promettre qu'il sera bientot comme un de
nos autres. However unbecoming this speech may be in
the mouth of a Frenchman, I am very glad that they think
it applicable to you ; for I would have you not only adopt,
but rival, the best manners and usages of the place you
are at, be they what they will ; that is the versatility of
manners which is so useful in the course of the world.
Choose your models well at Paris, and then rival them in
their own way. There are fashionable words, phrases, and
even gestures, at Paris, which are called du bon ton; not
to mention certaines petites politesses et attentions, qui ne
sont rien en elle-memes, which fashion has rendered neces
sary. Make yourself master of all these things; and to
such a degree, as to make the French say, qu^on diroit que
c'est un Francois; and when hereafter you shall be at
other courts, do the same thing there; and conform to the
fashionable manners and usage of the place ; that is what
the French themselves are not apt to do ; wherever they
go, they retain their own manners, as thinking them the
best; but, granting them to be so, they are still in the
wrong not to conform to those of the place. One would
desire to please, wherever one is; and nothing is more in
nocently flattering than an approbation, and an imitation
of the people one converses with.
I hope your colleges with Marcel go on prosperously. In
these ridiculous, though, at the same time, really important
lectures, pray attend, and desire your professor also to at
tend, more particularly to the chapter of the arms. It is
they that decide of a man's being genteel or otherwise,
more than any other part of the body. A twist or stiffness
in the wrist, will make any man in Europe look awkward.
The next thing to be attended to is, your coming into a
room, and presenting yourself to a company. This gives
the first impression ; and the first impression is often a lasting
one. Therefore, pray desire Professor Marcel to make you
LETTERS TO HIS SON 369
come in and go out of his room frequently, and in the sup
position of different companies being there; such as minis
ters, women, mixed companies, etc. Those who present
themselves well, have a certain dignity in their air, which,
without the least seeming mixture of pride, at once engages,
and is respected.
I should not so often repeat, nor so long dwell upon such
trifles, with anybody that had less solid and valuable knowl
edge than you have. Frivolous people attend to those things,
par pre'fe'rence ; they know nothing else; my fear with you
is, that, from knowing better things, you should despise these
too much, and think them of much less consequence than
they really are; for they are of a great deal, and more
especially to you.
Pleasing and governing women may, in time, be of great
service to you. They often please and govern others. A
propos, are you in love with Madame de Berkenrode still,
or has some other taken her place in your affections? I
take it for granted, that qua te cumque domat Venus, non
erubescendis adurit ignibus. Un arrangement honnete sied
bien d, un galant homme. In that case I recommend to you
the utmost discretion, and the profoundest silence. Bragging
of, hinting at, intimating, or even affectedly disclaiming
and denying such an arrangement will equally discredit
you among men and women. An unaffected silence upon
that subject is the only true medium.
In your commerce with women, and indeed with men
too, une certaine douceur is particularly engaging; it is that
which constitutes that character which the French talk of so
much, and so justly value, I mean V aimable. This douceur
is not so easily described as felt. It is the compound re
sult of different things ; a complaisance, a flexibility, but
not a servility of manners ; an air of softness in the coun
tenance, gesture, and expression, equally whether you con
cur or differ with the person you converse with. Observe
those carefully who have that douceur that charms you and
others; and your own good sense will soon enable you to
discover the different ingredients of which it is composed.
You must be more particularly attentive to this douceur,
whenever you are obliged to refuse what is asked of you,
or to say what in itself cannot be very agreeable to those
24
370 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
to whom you say it. It is then the necessary gilding of a
disagreeable pill. U'aimable consists in a thousand of these
little things aggregately. It is the suavittr in modo, which
I have so often recommended to you. The respectable, Mr.
Harte assures me, you do not want, and I believe him.
Study, then, carefully, and acquire perfectly, the Aimable,
and you will have everything.
Abbe Guasco, who is another of your panegyrists, writes
me word that he has taken you to dinner at Marquis de
St. Germain's; where you will be welcome as often as you
please, and the oftener the better. Profit of that, upon the
principle of traveling in different countries, without chang
ing places. He says, too, that he will take you to the
parliament, when any remarkable cause is to be tried. That
is very well; go through the several chambers of the parlia
ment, and see and hear what they are doing ; join practice
and observation to your theoretical knowledge of their
rights and privileges. No Englishman has the least notion
of them.
I need not recommend you to go to the bottom of the
constitutional and political knowledge of countries ; for Mr.
Harte tells me that you have a peculiar turn that way, and
have informed yourself most correctly of them.
I must now put some queries to you, as to a juris pub-
lid peritus, which I am sure you can answer me, and
which I own I cannot answer myself; they are upon a
subject now much talked of.
i st. Are there any particular forms requisite for the elec
tion of a King of the Romans, different from those which
are necessary for the election of an Emperor?
2d. Is not a King of the Romans as legally elected by the
votes of a majority of the electors, as by two-thirds, or by
the unanimity of the electors?
3d. Is there any particular law or constitution of the em
pire, that distinguishes, either in matter or in form, the
election of a King of the Romans from that of an Emperor?
And is not the golden bull of Charles the Fourth equally
the rule for both?
4th. Were there not, at a meeting of a certain number
of the electors (I have forgotten when), some rules and
limitations agreed upon concerning the election of a King
LETTERS TO HIS SON 371
of the Romans? And were those restrictions legal, and did
they obtain the force of law?
How happy am I, my dear child, that I can apply to
you for knowledge, and with a certainty of being rightly
informed! It is knowledge, more than quick, flashy parts,
that makes a man of business. A man who is master of
his matter, will, with inferior parts, be too hard in parlia
ment, and indeed anywhere else, for a man of better parts,
who knows his subject but superficially : and if to his
knowledge he joins eloquence and elocution, he must neces
sarily soon be at the head of that assembly; but without
those two, no knowledge is sufficient.
Lord Huntingdon writes me word that he has seen you,
and that you have renewed your old school-acquaintance.
Tell me fairly your opinion of him, and of his friend Lord
Stormount: and also of the other English people of
fashion you meet with. I promise you inviolable secrecy
on my part. You and I must now write to each other as
friends, and without the least reserve ; there will for the
future be a thousand things in my letters, which I would
not have any mortal living but yourself see or know. Those
you will easily distinguish, and neither show nor repeat ;
and I will do the same by you.
To come to another subject (for I have a pleasure in
talking over every subject with you) : How deep are you
in Italian ? Do you understand Ariosto, Tasso, Boccaccio
and Machiavelli? If you do, you know enough of it and
may know all the rest, by reading, when you have time.
Little or no business is written in Italian, except in Italy ; and
if you know enough of it to understand the few Italian
letters that may in time come in your way, and to speak
Italian tolerably to those very few Italians who speak no
French, give yourself no further trouble about that lan
guage till you happen to have full leisure to perfect your
self in it. It is not the same with regard to German ;
your speaking and writing it well, will particularly distin
guish you from every other man in England ; and is, more
over, of great use to anyone who is, as probably you will
be, employed in the Empire. Therefore, pray cultivate them
sedulously, by writing four or five lines of German every
day, and by speaking it to every German you meet with.
372 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
You have now got a footing in a great many good houses
at Paris, in which I advise you to make yourself domestic.
This is to be done by a certain easiness of carriage, and a
decent familiarity. Not by way of putting yourself upon
the frivolous footing of being sans consequence, but by do
ing in some degree, the honors of the house and table,
calling yourself en badinant le galopin cTici, saying to the
masters or mistress, ceci est de mon departement; je m'en
charge; avouez, que je m'en acquitte a merveille. This sort
of badinage has something engaging and liant in it, and be
gets that decent familiarity, which it is both agreeable and use
ful to establish in good houses and with people of fashion.
Mere formal visits, dinners, and suppers, upon formal in
vitations, are not the thing ; they add to no connection
nor information ; but it is the easy, careless ingress and
egress at all hours, that forms the pleasing and profitable
commerce of life.
The post is so negligent, that I lose some letters from
Paris entirely, and receive others much later than I should.
To this I ascribe my having received no letter from you
for above a fortnight, which to my impatience seems
a long time. I expect to hear from you once a-week. Mr.
Harte is gone to Cornwall, and will be back in about three
weeks. I have a packet of books to send you by the first
opportunity, which I believe will be Mr. Yorke's return
to Paris. The Greek books come from Mr. Harte, and the
English ones from your humble servant. Read Lord Bol-
ingbroke's with great attention, as well to the style as to
the matter. I wish you could form yourself such a style
in every language. Style is the dress of thoughts; and
a well-dressed thought, like a well-dressed man, appears to
great advantage. Yours. Adieu.
LETTERS TO HIS SON 375
LETTER CXXIX
LONDON, August 28, O. S. I751-
MY DEAR FRIEND: A bill for ninety pounds sterling was
brought me the other day, said to be drawn upon
me by you : I scrupled paying it at first, not upon
account of the sum, but because you had sent me no letter
of advice, which is always done in those transactions ; and
still more, because I did not perceive that you had signed
it. The person who presented it, desired me to look again,
and that I should discover your name at the bottom : ac
cordingly I looked again, and, with the help of my magni
fying glass, did perceive that what I had first taken only
for somebody's mark, was, in truth, your name, written in
the worst and smallest hand I ever saw in my life.
However, I paid it at a venture ; though I would almost
rather lose the money, than that such a signature should be
yours. All gentlemen, and all men of business, write their
names always in the same way, that their signature may
be so well known as not to be easily counterfeited ; and
they generally sign in rather larger character than their
common hand ; whereas your name was in a less, and a
worse, than your common writing. This suggested to me
the various accidents which may very probably happen to
you, while you write so ill. For instance, if you were to
write in such a character to the Secretary's office, your letter
would immediately be sent to the decipherer, as containing
matters of the utmost secrecy, not fit to be trusted to the
common character. If you were to write so to an antiqua
rian, he (knowing you to be a man of learning) would cer
tainly try it by the Runic, Celtic, or Sclavonian alphabet,
never suspecting it to be a modern character. And, if you
were to send a poulet to a fine woman, in such a hand, she
would think that it really came from the poulailler; which,
by the bye, is the etymology of the word poulet; for Henry
the Fourth of France used to send billets-doux to his mis
tresses by his poulailler, under pretense of sending them
chickens ; which gave the name of poulets to those short,
but expressive manuscripts. I have often told you that
374 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
every man who has the use of his eyes and of his hand,
can write whatever hand he pleases ; and it is plain that
you can, since you write both the Greek and German char
acters, which you never learned of a writing-master, ex
tremely well, though your common hand, which you learned
of a master, is an exceedingly bad and illiberal one, equally
unfit for business or common use. I do not desire that
you should write the labored, stiff character of a writing-
master : a man of business must write quick and well, and
that depends simply upon use. I would therefore advise
you to get some very good writing-master at Paris, and ap
ply to it for a month only, which will be sufficient ; for, upon
my word, the writing of a genteel plain hand of business
is of much more importance than you think. You will
say, it may be, that when you write so very ill, it is be
cause you are in a hurry, to which I answer, Why are you
ever in a hurry? A man of sense may be in haste, but
can never be in a hurry, because he knows that whatever
he does in a hurry, he must necessarily do very ill. He
may be in haste to dispatch an affair, but he will care not
to let that haste hinder his doing it well. Little minds are
in a hurry, when the object proves (as it commonly does)
too big for them ; they run, they hare, they puzzle, con
found, and perplex themselves : they want to do everything
at once, and never do it at all. But a man of sense takes
the time necessary for doing the thing he is about, well ;
and his haste to dispatch a business only appears by the
continuity of his application to it : he pursues it with a cool
steadiness, and finishes it before he begins any other. I
own your time is much taken up, and you have a great
many different things to do ; but remember that you had
much better do half of them well and leave the other half
undone, than do them all indifferently. Moreover, the few
seconds that are saved in the course of the day, by writing
ill instead of well, do not amount to an object of time by
any means equivalent to the disgrace or ridicule of writing
the scrawl of a common whore. Consider, that if your
very bad writing could furnish me with matter of ridicule,
what will it not do to others who do not view you in that
partial light that I do? There was a pope, I think it was
Cardinal Chigi, who was justly ridiculed for his attention
LETTERS TO HIS SON 375
to little things, and his inability in great ones : and there
fore called maximus in minimis, and minimus in max-
imis. Why? Because he attended to little things when
he had great ones to do. At this particular period of your
life, and at the place you are now in, you have only little
things to do ; and you should make it habitual to you to do
them well, that they may require no attention from you
when you have, as I hope you will have, greater things to
mind. Make a good handwriting familiar to you now, that
you may hereafter have nothing but your matter to think
of, when you have occasion to write to kings and ministers.
Dance, dress, present yourself, habitually well now, that
you may have none of those little things to think of here
after, and which will be all necessary to be done well oc
casionally, when you will have greater things to do.
As I am eternally thinking of everything that can be rela
tive to you, one thing has occurred to me, which I think
necessary to mention to you, in order to prevent the diffi
culties which it might otherwise lay you under ; it is this :
as you get more acquaintances at Paris, it will be impossible
for you to frequent your first acquaintances so much as
you did, while you had no others. As, for example, at
your first debut, I suppose you were chiefly at Madame
Monconseil's, Lady Hervey's, and Madame du Boccage's.
Now, that you have got so many other houses, you cannot
be at theirs so often as you used ; but pray take care not
to give them the least reason to think that you neglect or
despise them, for the sake of new and more dignified and
shining acquaintances ; which would be ungrateful and im
prudent on your part, and never forgiven on theirs. Call
upon them often, though you do not stay with them so
long as formerly ; tell them that you are sorry you are
obliged to go away, but that you have such and such en
gagements, with which good-breeding obliges you to com
ply; and insinuate that you would rather stay with them.
In short, take care to make as many personal friends, and
as few personal enemies, as possible. I do not mean, by
personal friends, intimate and confidential friends, of which
no man can hope to have half a dozen in the whole course
of his life ; but I mean friends, in the common acceptation
of the word; that is, people who speak well of you, and
376 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
who would rather do you good than harm, consistently with
their own interest, and no further. Upon the whole, I
recommend to you, again and again, les Graces. Adorned
by them, you may, in a manner, do what you please ; it
will be approved of; without them, your best qualities will
lose half their efficacy. Endeavor to be fashionable among
the French, which will soon make you fashionable here.
Monsieur de Matignon already calls you le petit Francois.
If you can get that name generally at Paris, it will put
you a la mode. Adi^u, my dear child.
LETTER CXXX
LONDON, February 4, O. S. 1751.
MY DEAR FRIEND: The accounts which I recei\e of you
from Paris grow every day more and more satis
factory. Lord Albemarle has wrote a sort of pane
gyric of you, which has been seen by many people here,
and which will be a very useful forerunner for you. Being
in fashion is an important point for anybody anywhere ;
but it would be a very great one for you to be established
in the fashion here before you return. Your business will
be half done by it, as I am sure you would not give people
reason to change their favorable presentiments of you. The
good that is said of you will not, I am convinced, make
you a coxcomb ; and, on the other hand, the being thought
still to want some little accomplishments, will, I am per
suaded, not mortify you, but only animate you to acquire
them: I will, therefore, give you both fairly, in the follow
ing extract of a letter which I lately received from an im
partial and discerning friend: —
<( Permit me to assure you, Sir, that Mr. Stanhope will
succeed. He has a great fund of knowledge, and an un
commonly good memory, although he does not make any
parade of either the one or the other. He is desirous of
pleasing, and he will please. He has an expressive coun
tenance ; his figure is elegant, although little. He has not
LETTERS TO HIS SON 377
the least awkwardness, though he has not as yet acquired
all the graces requisite ; which Marcel and the ladies will
soon give him. In short, he wants nothing but those things,
which, at his age, must unavoidably be wanting; I mean,
a certain turn and delicacy of manners, which are to be
acquired only by time, and in good company. Ready as
he is, he will soon learn them; particularly as he frequents
such companies as are the most proper to give them.**
By this extract, which I can assure you is a faithful one,
you and I have both of us the satisfaction of knowing
how much you have, and how little you want. Let what
you have give you (if possible) rather more SEEMING
modesty, but at the same time more interior firmness and
assurance; and let what you want, which you see is very
attainable, redouble your attention and endeavors to acquire
it. You have, in truth, but that one thing to apply to:
and a very pleasing application it is, since it is through
pleasures you must arrive at it. Company, suppers, balls,
spectacles, which show you the models upon which you
should form yourself, and all the little usages, customs, and
delicacies, which you must adopt and make habitual to
you, are now your only schools and universities ; in which
young fellows and fine women will give you the best
lectures.
Monsieur du Boccage is another of your panegyrists ; and
he tells me that Madame Boccage a pris avec vous le ton
de mie et de bonne; and that you like it very well. You
are in the right of it ; it is the way of improving ; en
deavor to be upon that footing with every woman you
converse with ; excepting where there may be a tender
point of connection ; a point which I have nothing to do
with; but if such a one there is, I hope she has not de
mauvais ni de mlains bras, which I agree with you in
thinking a very disagreeable thing.
I have sent you, by the opportunity of Pollok the cou
rier, who was once my servant, two little parcels of Greek
and English books; and shall send you two more by Mr.
Yorke: but I accompany them with this caution, that as
you have not much time to read, you should employ it in
reading what is the most necessary, and that is, indisputably,
378 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
modern historical, geographical, chronological, and political
knowledge; the present constitution, maxims, force, riches,
trade, commerce, characters, parties, and cabals of the sev
eral courts of Europe. Many who are reckoned good schol
ars, though they know pretty accurately the governments
of Athens and Rome, are totally ignorant of the constitu
tion of any one country now in Europe, even of their own.
Read just Latin and Greek enough to keep up your clas
sical learning, which will be an ornament to you while
young, and a comfort to you when old. But the true use
ful knowledge, and especially for you, is the modern knowl
edge above mentioned. It is that must qualify you both for
domestic and foreign business, and it is to that, therefore,
that you should principally direct your attention; and I
know, with great pleasure, that you do so. I would not
thus commend you to yourself, if I thought commendations
would have upon you those ill effects, which they frequently
have upon weak minds. I think you are much above being
a vain coxcomb, overrating your own merit, and insulting
others with the superabundance of it. On the contrary, I
am convinced that the consciousness of merit makes a man
of sense more modest, though more firm. A man who dis
plays his own merit is a coxcomb, and a man who does
not know it is a fool. A man of sense knows it, exerts it,
avails himself of it, but never boasts of it; and always SEEMS
rather to under than over value it, though in truth, he sets
the right value upon it. It is a very true maxim of La
Bruyere's (an author well worth your studying), qu 'on ne
vaut dans ce monde, que ce que V on veut valoir. A man who
is really diffident, timid, and bashful, be his merit what it
will, never can push himself in the world ; his despondency
throws him into inaction; and the forward, the bustling,
and the petulant, will always get the better of him. The
manner makes the whole difference. What would be im
pudence in one manner, is only a proper and decent as
surance in another. A man of sense, and of knowledge in
the world, will assert his own rights, and pursue his own
objects, as steadily and intrepidly as the most impudent man
living, and commonly more so ; but then he has art enough
to give an outward air of modesty to all he does. This
engages and prevails, while the very same things shock and
LETTERS TO HIS SON 379
fail, from the overbearing or impudent manner only of doing
them. I repeat my maxim, Suamter in modo, sed fortiter
in re. Would you know the characters, modes and man
ners of the latter end of the last age, which are very like
those of the present, read La Bruy&re. But would you
know man, independently of modes, read La Rochefoucault,
who, I am afraid, paints him very exactly.
Give the inclosed to Abbe Guasco, of whom you make
good use, to go about with you, and see things. Between
you and me, he has more knowledge than parts. Mais un
habile homme sait tirer parti de tout, and everybody is good
for something. President Montesquieu is, in every sense,
a most useful acquaintance. He has parts, joined to great
reading and knowledge of the world. Puisez dans cette
source tant que vous pourrez.
Adieu. May the Graces attend you ! for without them
ogni fatica % vana. If they do not come to you willingly,
ravish them, and force them to accompany you in all you
think, all you say, and all you do.
LETTER CXXXI
LONDON, February n, O. S. 1751.
MY DEAR FRIEND: When you go to the play, which I
hope you do often, for it is a very instructive amuse
ment, you must certainly have observed the very differ
ent effects which the several parts have upon you, according
as they are well or ill acted. The very best tragedy of Cor-
neille's, if well spoken and acted, interests, engages, agitates,
and affects your passions. Love, terror, and pity alternately
possess you. But, if ill spoken and acted, it would only
excite your indignation or your laughter. Why? It is still
Corneille's ; it is the same sense, the same matter, whether
well or ill acted. It is, then, merely the manner of speak
ing and acting that makes this great difference in the ef
fects. Apply this to yourself, and conclude from it, that
if you would either please in a private company, or persuade
in a public assembly, air, looks, gestures, graces, enuncia-
380 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
tion, proper accents, just emphasis, and tuneful cadences,
are full as necessary as the matter itself. Let awkward,
ungraceful, inelegant, and dull fellows say what they will in
behalf of their solid matter and strong reasonings ; and let
them despise all those graces and ornaments which engage
the senses and captivate the heart; they will find (though
they will possibly wonder why) that their rough, unpol
ished matter, and their unadorned, coarse, but strong argu
ments, will neither please nor persuade; but, on the con
trary, will tire out attention, and excite disgust. We are
so made, we love to be pleased better than to be informed ;
information is, in a certain degree, mortifying, as it im
plies our previous ignorance ; it must be sweetened to be
palatable.
To bring this directly to you : know that no man can
make a figure in this country, but by parliament. Your
fate depends upon your success there as a speaker; and,
take my word for it, that success turns much more upon
manner than matter. Mr. Pitt and Mr. Murray the solicitor-
general, uncle to Lord Stormount, are, beyond compar
ison, the best speakers; why? only because they are the
best orators. They alone can inflame or quiet the House;
they alone are so attended to, in that numerous and noisy
assembly, that you might hear a pin fall while either of
them is speaking. Is it that their matter is better, or their
arguments stronger, than other people's? Does the House
expect extraordinary informations from them? Not in the
least: but the House expects pleasure from them, and there
fore attends ; finds it, and therefore approves. Mr. Pitt,
particularly, has very little parliamentary knowledge ; his
matter is generally flimsy, and his arguments often weak ;
but his eloquence is superior, his action graceful, his enun
ciation just and harmonious ; his periods are well turned,
and every word he makes use of is the very best, and the
most expressive, that can be used in that place. This, and
not his matter, made him Paymaster, in spite of both king
and ministers. From this draw the obvious conclusion.
The same thing holds full as true in conversation ; where
even trifles, elegantly expressed, well looked, and accom
panied with graceful action, will ever please, beyond all the
homespun, unadorned sense in the world. Reflect, on one
LETTERS TO HIS SON 381
side, how you feel within yourself, while you are forced to
suffer the tedious, muddy, and ill-turned narration of some
awkward fellow, even though the fact may be interesting ;
and, on the other hand, with what pleasure you attend to
the relation of a much less interesting matter, when ele
gantly expressed, genteelly turned, and gracefully delivered.
By attending carefully to all these agremens in your daily
conversation, they will become habitual to you, before you
come into parliament ; and you will have nothing then to
do, but to raise them a little when you come there. I
would wish you to be so attentive to this object, that I
would not have you speak to your footman, but in the very
best words that the subject admits of, be the language what
it will. Think of your words, and of their arrangement,
before you speak; choose the most elegant, and place them
in the best order. Consult your own ear, to avoid cacoph
ony, and, what is very near as bad, monotony. Think also
of your gesture and looks, when you are speaking even
upon the most trifling subjects. The same things, differ
ently expressed, looked, and delivered, cease to be the same
things. The most passionate lover in the world cannot
make a stronger declaration of love than the Bourgeois
gentilhomme does in this happy form of words, Mourir
cT amour me font belle Marquise vos beaux yeux. I defy
anybody to say more; and yet I would advise nobody to
say that, and I would recommend to you rather to smother
and conceal your passion entirely than to reveal it in these
words. Seriously, this holds in everything, as well as in
that ludicrous instance. The French, to do them justice,
attend very minutely to the purity, the correctness, and the
elegance of their style in conversation and in their letters.
Bien narrer is an object of their study ; and though they
sometimes carry it to affectation, they never sink into inele
gance, which is much the worst extreme of the two.
Observe them, and form your French style upon theirs : for
elegance in one language will reproduce itself in all. I
knew a young man, who, being just elected a member of
parliament, was laughed at for being discovered, through
the keyhole of his chamber-door, speaking to himself in the
glass, and forming his looks and gestures. I could not join
in that laugh ; but, on the contrary, thought him much
382 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
wiser than those who laughed at him; for he knew the
importance of those little graces in a public assembly, and
they did not. Your little person (which I am told, by the
way, is not ill turned), whether in a laced coat or a blanket,
is specifically the same; but yet, I believe, you choose to
wear the former, and you are in the right, for the sake of
pleasing more. The worst-bred man in Europe, if a lady
let fall her fan, would certainly take it up and give it her;
the best-bred man in Europe could do no more. The dif
ference, however, would be considerable; the latter would
please by doing it gracefully ; the former would be laughed
at for doing it awkwardly. I repeat it, and repeat it again,
and shall never cease repeating it to you : air, manners,
graces, style, elegance, and all those ornaments, must now
be the only objects of your attention ; it is now, or never,
that you must acquire them. Postpone, therefore, all other
considerations; make them now your serious study; you have
not one moment to lose. The solid and the ornamental
united, are undoubtedly best; but were I reduced to make
an option, I should without hesitation choose the latter.
I hope you assiduously frequent Marcel,* and carry graces
from him; nobody had more to spare than he had formerly.
Have you learned to carve ? for it is ridiculous not to carve
well. A man who tells you gravely that he cannot carve,
may as well tell you that he cannot blow his nose: it is
both as necessary, and as easy.
Make my compliments to Lord Huntingdon, whom I love
and honor extremely, as I dare say you do; I will write to
him soon, though I believe he has hardly time to read a
letter; and my letters to those I love are, as you know by
experience, not very short ones: this is one proof of it, and
this would have been longer, if the paper had been so.
Good night then, my dear child.
* At that time the most celebrated dancing-master at Paris.
M
LETTERS TO HIS SON 383
LETTER CXXXII
LONDON, February 28, O. S. 1751.
Y DEAR FRIEND: This epigram in Martial —
<( Non amo te, Sabidi, nee possum dicere quare;
Hoc tantum possum dicer e, non amo te^ —
has puzzled a great many people, who cannot conceive how
it is possible not to love anybody, and yet not to know the
reason why. I think I conceive Martial's meaning very
clearly, though the nature of epigram, which is to be short,
would not allow him to explain it more fully ; and I take
it to be this: O Sabidis, you are a very worthy deserving
man; you have a thousand good qualities, you have a great
deal of learning ; I esteem, I respect, but for the soul of
me I cannot love you, though I cannot particularly say
why. You are not aimable: you have not those engaging
manners, those pleasing attentions, those graces, and that
address, which are absolutely necessary to please, though
impossible to define. I cannot say it is this or that particu
lar thing that hinders me from loving you ; it is the whole
together ; and upon the whole you are not agreeable.
How often have I, in the course of my life, found my
self in this situation, with regard to many of my acquaintance,
whom I have honored and respected, without being able to
love. I did not know why, because, when one is young,
one does not take the trouble, nor allow one's self the time,
to analyze one's sentiments and to trace them up to their
source. But subsequent observation and reflection have
taught me why. There is a man, whose moral character,
deep learning, and superior parts, I acknowledge, admire,
and respect; but whom it is so impossible for me to love,
that I am almost in a fever whenever I am in his company.
His figure (without being deformed) seems made to disgrace
or ridicule the common structure of the human body. His
legs and arms are never in the position which, according
to the situation of his body, they ought to be in, but con
stantly employed in committing acts of hostility upon the
Graces. He throws anywhere, but down his throat, whatever
384 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
he means to drink, and only mangles what he means to
carve. Inattentive to all the regards of social life, he mis
times or misplaces everything. He disputes with heat, and
indiscriminately, mindless of the rank, character, and situation
of those with whom he disputes ; absolutely ignorant of the
several gradations of familiarity or respect, he is exactly the
same to his superiors, his equals, and his inferiors ; and there
fore, by a necessary consequence, absurd to two of the
three. Is it possible to love such a man? No. The ut
most I can do for him, is to consider him as a respectable
Hottentot.*
I remember, that when I came from Cambridge, I had
acquired, among the pedants of that illiberal seminary, a
sauciness of literature, a turn to satire and contempt, and a
strong tendency to argumentation and contradiction. But I
had been but a very little while in the world, before I
found that this would by no means do; and I immediately
adopted the opposite character; I concealed what learning
I had; I applauded often, without approving; and I
yielded commonly without conviction. Suaviter in modo
was my law and my prophets ; and if I pleased (between
you and me) it was much more owing to that, than to
any superior knowledge or merit of my own. A propos,
the word PLEASING puts one always in mind of Lady
Hervey; pray tell her, that I declare her responsible to me
for your pleasing; that I consider her as a pleasing Falstaff,
who not only pleases, herself, but is the cause of pleasing
in others; that I know she can make anything of anybody;
and that, as your governess, if she does not make you
please, it must be only because she will not, and not because
she cannot. I hope you are dubois dont on en fait; and if
so, she is so good a sculptor, that I am sure she can give
you whatever form she pleases. A versatility of manners
is as necessary in social, as a versatility of parts is in
political life. One must often yield, in order to prevail;
one must humble one's self, to be exalted ; one must, like
St. Paul, become all things to all men, to gain some ; and,
by the way, men are taken by the same means, mutatis
mutandis, that women are gained — by gentleness, insinuation,
* This mot was aimed at Dr. Johnson in retaliation for his famous
letter.
LETTERS TO HIS SON 385
and submission: and these lines of Mr. Dryden will hold
to a minister as well as to a mistress : —
<(The prostrate lover, when he lowest lies,
But stoops to conquer, and but kneels to rise.**
In the course of the world, the qualifications of the chameleon
are often necessary ; nay, they must be carried a little
further, and exerted a little sooner ; for you should, to a
certain degree, take the hue of either the man or the
woman that you want, and wish to be upon terms with. A
propos, have you yet found out at Paris, any friendly and
hospitable Madame de Lursay, qui vent bien se charger du
soin de vous eduquer? And have you had any occasion of
representing to her, qu'elle faisoit done des noeuds? But I
ask your pardon, Sir, for the abruptness of the question,
and acknowledge that I am meddling with matters that are out
of my department. However, in matters of less importance, I
desire to be de vos secrets le fid&le depositaire. Trust me
with the general turn and color of your amusements at
Paris. Is it le fracas du grand monde, comedies, bals,
operas, cour, etc.? Or is it des petites societes, moins bruy-
antes, mais pas pour cela moins agr cables? Where are you
the most etabli? Where are you le petit Stanhope? Voyez-
vous encore jour, d, quelque arrangement honnete? Have you
made many acquaintances among the young Frenchmen
who ride at your Academy ; and who are they? Send to
me this sort of chit-chat in your letters, which, by the
bye, I wish you would honor me with somewhat oftener.
If you frequent any of the myriads of polite Englishmen
who infest Paris, who are they? Have you finished with
Abbe" Nolet, and are you au fait of all the properties and
effects of air? Were I inclined to quibble, I would say,
that the effects of air, at least, are best to be learned of
Marcel. If you have quite done with 1'Abbe* Nolet, ask
my friend !JAbb4 Sallier to recommend to you some
meagre philomath, to teach you a little geometry and
astronomy; not enough to absorb your attention and puzzle
your intellects, but only enough not to be grossly ignorant
of either. I have of late been a sort of asironome malgre
mot, by bringing in last Monday into the House of Lords
a bill for reforming our present Calendar and taking the
25
386 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
New Style. Upon which occasion I was obliged to talk
some astronomical jargon, of which I did not understand
one word, but got it by heart, and spoke it by rote from
a master. I wished that I had known a little more of it
myself; and so much I would have you know. But the
great and necessary knowledge of all is, to know yourself
and others: this knowledge requires great attention and
long experience ; exert the former, and may you have the
latter ! Adieu !
P. S. I have this moment received your letters of the
2yth February, and the 26. March, N. S. The seal shall
be done as soon as possible. I am glad that you are em
ployed in Lord Albemarle's bureau; it will teach you,
at least, the mechanical part of that business, such as fold
ing, entering, and docketing letters ; for you must not
imagine that you are let into the, Jin Jin of the correspondence,
nor indeed is it fit that you should, at your age. However,
use yourself to secrecy as to the letters you either read or
write, that in time you may be trusted with SECRET, VERY
SECRET, SEPARATE, APART, etc. I am sorry that this
business interferes with your riding; I hope it is seldom ;
but I insist upon its not interfering with your dancing-
master, who is at this time the most useful and necessary
of all the masters you have or can have.
LETTER CXXXIII
MY DEAR FRIEND: I mentioned to you, some time ago,
a sentence which I would most earnestly wish you
always to retain in your thoughts, and observe in
your conduct. It is suaviter in modo, fortiter in re. I do
not know any one rule so unexceptionably useful and
necessary in every part of life. I shall therefore take it for
my text to-day, and as old men love preaching, and I have
some right to preach to you, I here present you with my
sermon upon these words. To proceed, then, regularly and
PULPITICALLY, I will first show you, my beloved, the neces-
LETTERS TO HIS SON 387
sary connection of the two members of my text suaviter
in modo: fortiter in re. In the next place, I shall set forth
the advantages and utility resulting from a strict observance
of the precept contained in my text; and conclude with
an application of the whole. The suaviter in modo alone
would degenerate and sink into a mean, timid complai
sance and passiveness, if not supported and dignified by
the fortiter in re, which would also run into impetuosity
and brutality, if not tempered and softened by the suaviter
in modo: however, they are seldom united. The warm,
choleric man, with strong animal spirits, despises the sua
viter in modo, and thinks to carry all before him by the
fortiter in re. He may, possibly, by great accident, now
and then succeed, when he has only weak and timid people
to deal with ; but his general fate will be, to shock offend,
be hated, and fail. On the other hand, the cunning, crafty
man thinks to gain all his ends by the suaviter in modo
only; HE BECOMES ALL THINGS TO ALL MEN; he seems to
have no opinion of his own, and servilely adopts the pres
ent opinion of the present person; he insinuates himself
only into the esteem of fools, but is soon detected, and
surely despised by everybody else. The wise man (who
differs as much from the cunning, as from the choleric
man) alone joins the suaviter in modo with the fortiter in
re. Now to the advantages arising from the strict observ
ance of this precept : —
If you are in authority, and have a right to command, your
commands delivered suaviter in modo will be willingly,
cheerfully, and consequently well obeyed ; whereas, if given
only fortiter, that is brutally, they will rather, as Tacitus
says, be interrupted than executed. For my own part, if I
bid my footman bring me a glass of wine, in a rough in
sulting manner, I should expect that, in obeying me, he
would contrive to spill some of it upon me : and I am sure
I should deserve it. A cool, steady resolution should show
that where you have a right to command you will be
obeyed ; but at the same time, a gentleness in the manner
of enforcing that obedience should make it a cheerful one,
and soften as much as possible the mortifying conscious
ness of inferiority. If you are to ask a favor, or even to
solicit your due, you must do it suaviter in modo, or you
388 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
will give those who have a mind to refuse you, either a
pretense to do it, by resenting the manner ; but, on the
other hand, you must, by a steady perseverance and decent
tenaciousness, show the fortiter in re. The right motives
are seldom the true ones of men's actions, especially of
kings, ministers, and people in high stations ; who often
give to importunity and fear, what they would refuse to
justice or to merit. By the suamter in modo engage their
hearts, if you can ; at least prevent the pretense of offense :
but take care to show enough of the fortiter in re to
extort from their love of ease, or their fear, what you
might in vain hope for from their justice or good-nature.
People in high life are hardened to the wants and distresses
of mankind, as surgeons are to their bodily pains ; they see
and hear of them all day long, and even of so many simu
lated ones, that they do not know which are real, and
which not. Other sentiments are therefore to be applied to,
than those of mere justice and humanity ; their favor must be
captivated by the suamter in modo; their love of ease dis
turbed by unwearied importunity, or their fears wrought
upon by a decent intimation of implacable, cool resentment;
this is the true fortiter in re. This precept is the only
way I know in the world of being loved without being de
spised, and feared without being hated. It constitutes the
dignity of character which every wise man must endeavor
to establish.
Now to apply what has been said, and so conclude.
If you find that you have a hastiness in your temper,
which unguardedly breaks out into indiscreet sallies, or rough
expressions, to either your superiors, your equals, or your
inferiors, watch it narrowly, check it carefully, and call the
suamter in modo to your assistance : at the first impulse of
passion, be silent till you can be soft. Labor even to get
the command of your countenance so well, that those emo
tions may not be read in it ; a most unspeakable advantage
in business ! On the other hand, let no complaisance, no
gentleness of temper, no weak desire of pleasing on your
part, — no wheedling, coaxing, nor flattery, on other people's,
— make you recede one jot from any point that reason and
prudence have bid you pursue ; but return to the charge,
persist, persevere, and you will find most things attainable
LETTERS TO HIS SON 389
that are possible. A yielding, timid meekness is always
abused and insulted by the unjust and the unfeeling ; but
when sustained by the fortiter in re, is always respected,
commonly successful. In your friendships and connections,
as well as in your enmities, this rule is particularly useful ;
let your firmness and vigor preserve and invite attachments
to you ; but, at the same time, let your manner hinder the
enemies of your friends and dependents from becoming
yours ; let your enemies be disarmed by the gentleness of
your manner, but let them feel, at the same time, the
steadiness of your just resentment ; for there is a great dif
ference between bearing malice, which is always ungener
ous, and a resolute self-defense, which is always prudent
and justifiable. In negotiations with foreign ministers, re
member the fortiter in re ; give up no point, accept of no
expedient, till the utmost necessity reduces you to it, and
even then, dispute the ground inch by inch ; but then, while
you are contending with the minister fortiter in re, re
member to gain the man by the suamter in modo. If you
engage his heart, you have a fair chance for imposing upon
his understanding, and determining his will. Tell him, in
a frank, gallant manner, that your ministerial wrangles do
not lessen your personal regard for his merit ; but that, on
the contrary, his zeal and ability in the service of his mas
ter, increase it ; and that, of all things, you desire to make
a good friend of so good a servant. By these means you
may, and will very often be a gainer: you never can be a
loser. Some people cannot gain upon themselves to be easy
and civil to those who are either their rivals, competitors,
or opposers, though, independently of those accidental cir
cumstances, they would like and esteem them. They betray
a shyness and an awkwardness in company with them, and
catch at any little thing to expose them ; and so, from
temporary and only occasional opponents, make them their
personal enemies. This is exceedingly weak and detri
mental, as indeed is- all humor in business ; which can only
be carried on successfully by unadulterated good policy and
right reasoning. In such situations I would be more partic
ularly and noblement, civil, easy, and frank with the man
whose designs I traversed: this is commonly called generos
ity and magnanimity, but is, in truth, good sense and pol-
390 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
icy. The manner is often as important as the matter,
sometimes more so ; a favor may make an enemy, and an
injury may make a friend, aecording to the different manner
in which they are severally done. The countenance, the ad
dress, the words, the enunciation, the Graces, add great
efficacy to the suaviter in modo, and great dignity to the
fortiter in re, and consequently they deserve the utmost
attention.
From what has been said, I conclude with this observa
tion, that gentleness of manners, with firmness of mind, is
a short, but full description of human perfection on this
side of religious and moral duties. That you may be seri
ously convinced of this truth, and show it in your life and
conversation, is the most sincere and ardent wish of, Yours.
LETTER CXXXIV
LONDON, March n, O. S. 1751.
MY DEAR FRIEND : I received by the last post a letter
from Abbe* Guasco, in which he joins his represen
tations to those of Lord Albemarle, against your re
maining any longer in your very bad lodgings at the
Academy ; and, as I do not find that any advantage can arise
to you from being interne in an academy which is full as far
from the riding-house and from all your other masters, as your
lodgings will probably be, I agree to your removing to an
hotel garni ; the Abb6 will help you to find one, as I de
sire him by the inclosed, which you wrill give him. I must,
however, annex one condition to your going into private
lodgings, which is an absolute exclusion of English break
fasts and suppers at them ; the former consume the whole
morning, and the latter employ the evenings very ill, in
senseless toasting a V Angloise in their infernal claret. You
will be sure to go to the riding-house as often as pos
sible, that is, whenever your new business at Lord Al-
bemarle's does not hinder you. But, at all events, I insist
upon your never missing Marcel, who is at present of more
consequence to you than all the bureaux in Europe ; for
this is the time for you to acquire tons ces petits riens+
LETTERS TO HIS SON 391
which, though in an arithmetical account, added to one
another ad infinitum, they would amount to nothing, in the
account of the world amount to a great and important sum.
JLes agremens et les graces, without which you will never
be anything, are absolutely made up of all those riens,
which are more easily felt than described. By the way,
you may take your lodgings for one whole year certain, by
which means you may get them much cheaper; for though
I intend to see you here in less than a year, it will be but
for a little time, and you will return to Paris again, where
I intend you shall stay till the end of April twelvemonth,
1752, at which time, provided you have got all la politesse,
les manures, les attentions, et les graces du beau monde, I
shall place you in some business suitable to your destinations
I have received, at last, your present of the cartoon, from
Dominichino, by Planche"t. It is very finely done ; it is
pity that he did not take in all the figures of the original.
I will hang it up, where it shall be your own again some
time or other
Mr. Harte is returned in perfect health from Cornwall,
and has taken possession of his prebendal house at Wind
sor, which is a very pretty one. As I dare say you will
always feel, I hope you will always express, the strong
est sentiments of gratitude and friendship for him. Write
to him frequently, and attend to the letters you receive
from him. He shall be with us at Blackheath, alias BABI-
OLE, all the time that I propose you shall be there, which
I believe will be the month of August next.
Having thus mentioned to you the probable time of our
meeting, I will prepare you a little for it. Hatred, jeal
ousy, or envy, make most people attentive to discover the
least defects of those they do not love ; they rejoice at every
new discovery they make of that kind, and take care to
publish it. I thank God, I do not know what those three
ungenerous passions are, having never felt them in my own
breast ; but love has just the same effect upon me, except
that I conceal, instead of publishing, the defects which my
attention makes me discover in those I love. I curiously
pry into them ; I analyze them ; and, wishing either to find
them perfect, or to make them so, nothing escapes me, and
I soon discover every the least gradation toward or from
392 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
that perfection. You must therefore expect the most critical
examen that ever anybody underwent. I shall discover your
least, as well as your greatest defects, and I shall very
freely tell you of them, Non quod odio habeam sed quod
amem. But I shall tell them you tete-a-tete, and as MICIO
not as DEMEA/ and I will tell them to nobody else. I
think it but fair to inform you beforehand, where I suspect
that my criticisms are likely to fall; and that is more upon
the outward, than upon the inward man ; I neither suspect
your heart nor your head ; but to be plain with you, I have
a strange distrust of your air, your address, your manners,
your tournure, and particularly of your ENUNCIATION and
elegance of style. These will be all put to the trial ; for
while you are with me, you must do the honors of my
house and table ; the least inaccuracy or inelegance will not
escape me ; as you will find by a LOOK at the time, and by
a remonstrance afterward when we are alone. You will see
a great deal of company of all sorts at BABIOLE, and par
ticularly foreigners. Make, therefore, in the meantime, all
these exterior and ornamental qualifications your peculiar
care, and disappoint all my imaginary schemes of criticism.
Some authors have criticised their own works first, in hopes
of hindering others from doing it afterward : but then they
do it themselves with so much tenderness and partiality for
their own production, that not only the production itself,
but the preventive criticism is criticised. I am not one of
those authors ; but, on the contrary, my severity increases
with my fondness for my work ; and if you will but effec
tually correct all the faults I shall find, I will insure you
from all subsequent criticisms from other quarters.
Are you got a little into the interior, into the constitu
tion of things at Paris? Have you seen what you have
seen thoroughly? For, by the way, few people see what
they see, or hear what they hear. For example, if
you go to les Invalides, do you content yourself with
seeing the building, the hall where three or four hun
dred cripples dine, and the galleries where they lie? or do
you inform yourself of the numbers, the conditions of their
admission, their allowance, the value and nature of the
fund by which the whole is supported? This latter I call
seeing, the former is only starting. Many people take the
LETTERS TO HIS SON 393
opportunity of les vacances, to go and see the empty
rooms where the several chambers of the parliament did
sit ; which rooms are exceedingly like all other large rooms ;
when you go there, let it be when they are full; see and
hear what is doing in them ; learn their respective consti
tutions, jurisdictions, objects, and methods of proceeding;
hear some causes tried in every one of the different cham
bers ; Appro fondissez les choses.
I am glad to hear that you are so well at Marquis de
St. Germain's,* of whom I hear a very good character.
How are you with the other foreign ministers at Paris ? Do
you frequent the Dutch Ambassador or Ambassadress?
Have you any footing at the Nuncio's, or at the Imperial
and Spanish ambassadors? It is useful. Be more particu
lar in your letters to me, as to your manner of passing
your time, and the company you keep. Where do you
dine and sup oftenest? whose house is most your home?
Adieu. Les Graces, les Graces.
LETTER CXXXV
LONDON, March 18, O. S. 1751.
MY DEAR FRIEND : I acquainted you in a former letter,
that I had brought a bill into the House of Lords
for correcting and reforming our present calendar,
which is the Julian, and for adopting the Gregorian. I
will now give you a more particular account of that affair;
from which reflections will naturally occur to you that I
hope may be useful, and which I fear you have not made.
It was notorious, that the Julian calendar was erroneous,
and had overcharged the solar year with eleven days.
Pope Gregory the Thirteenth corrected this error ; his re
formed calendar was immediately received by all the Catho
lic powers of Europe, and afterward adopted by all the
Protestant ones, except Russia, Sweden, and England. It
was not, in my opinion, very honorable for England to
remain in a gross and avowed error, especially in such
*At that time Ambassador from the King of Sardinia at the Court
of France.
394 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
company ; the inconveniency of it was likewise felt by all
those who had foreign correspondences, whether political
or mercantile. I determined, therefore, to attempt the ref
ormation ; I consulted the best lawyers and the most skill
ful astronomers, and we cooked up a bill for that purpose.
But then my difficulty began : I was to bring in this bill,
which was necessarily composed of law jargon and astro
nomical calculations, to both which I am an utter stranger.
However, it was absolutely necessary to make the House
of Lords think that I knew something of the matter; and
also to make them believe that they knew something of it
themselves, which they do not. For my own part, I
could just as soon have talked Celtic or Sclavonian to
them as astronomy, and they would have understood me
full as well: so I resolved to do better than speak to the
purpose, and to please instead of informing them. I gave
them, therefore, only an historical account of calendars,
from the Egyptian down to the Gregorian, amusing them
now and then with little episodes ; but I was particularly
attentive to the choice of my words, to the harmony and
roundness of my periods, to my elocution, to my action.
This succeeded, and ever will succeed ; they thought I in
formed, because I pleased them; and many of them said
that I had made the whole very clear to them ; when, God
knows, I had not even attempted it. Lord Macclesfield,
who had the greatest share in forming the bill, and who
is one of the greatest mathematicians and astronomers in
Europe, spoke afterward with infinite knowledge, and
all the clearness that so intricate a matter would admit
of : but as his words, his periods, and his utterance,
were not near so good as mine, the preference was
most unanimously, though most unjustly, given to me.
This will ever be the case ; every numerous assembly is
MOB, let the individuals who compose it be what they
will. Mere reason and good sense is never to be talked
to a mob; their passions, their sentiments, their senses, and
their seeming interests, are alone to be applied to. Under
standing they have collectively none, but they have ears
and eyes, which must be flattered and seduced; and this
can only be done by eloquence, tuneful periods, graceful
action, and all the various parts of oratory.
LETTERS TO HIS SON 395
When you come into the House of Commons, if you
imagine that speaking plain and unadorned sense and
reason will do your business, you will find yourself most
grossly mistaken. As a speaker, you will be ranked only
according to your eloquence, and by no means according
to your matter; everybody knows the matter almost alike,
but few can adorn it. I was early convinced of the im
portance and powers of eloquence; and from that moment
I applied myself to it. I resolved not to utter one word,
even in common conversation, that should not be the most
expressive and the most elegant that the language could
supply me with for that purpose ; by which means I have ac
quired such a certain degree of habitual eloquence, that I
must now really take some pains, if I would express my
self very inelegantly. I want to inculcate this known truth
into you, which you seem by no means to be convinced of
yet, that ornaments are at present your only objects. Your
sole business now is to shine, not to weigh. Weight
without lustre is lead. You had better talk trifles
elegantly to the most trifling woman, than coarse in
elegant sense to the most solid man; you had better
return a dropped fan genteelly, than give a thousand
pounds awkwardly; and you had better refuse a favor
gracefully, than to grant it clumsily. Manner is all, in
everything: it is by manner only that you can please, and
consequently rise. All your Greek will never advance you
from secretary to envoy, or from envoy to ambassador; but
your address, your manner, your air, if good, very probably
may. Marcel can be of much more use to you than Aristotle.
I would, upon my word, much rather that you had Lord
Bolingbroke's style and eloquence in speaking and writing,
than all the learning of the Academy of Sciences, the
Royal Society, and the two Universities united.
Having mentioned Lord Bolingbroke's style, which is,
undoubtedly, infinitely superior to anybody's, I would
have you read his works, which you have, over and over
again, with particular attention to his style. Transcribe,
imitate, emulate it, if possible : that would be of real use
to you in the House of Commons, in negotiations, in con
versation ; with that, you may justly hope to please, to
persuade, to seduce, to impose; and you will fail in those
396 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
articles, in proportion as you fall short of it. Upon the
whole, lay aside, during your year's residence at Paris, all
thoughts of all that dull fellows call solid, and exert your
utmost care to acquire what people of fashion call shining.
Prenez V eclat et le brillant d^un galant homme.
Among the commonly called little things, to which you
do not attend, your handwriting is one, which is indeed
shamefully bad and illiberal ; it is neither the hand of a
man of business, nor of a gentleman, but of a truant
school-boy; as soon, therefore, as you have done with
Abbd Nolet, pray get an excellent writing-master (since you
think that you cannot teach yourself to write what hand
you please), and let him teach you to write a genteel,
legible, liberal hand, and quick ; not the hand of a pro-
cureur or a writing-master, but that sort of hand in
which the first Commis in foreign bureaus commonly
write ; for I tell you truly, that were I Lord Albemarle,
nothing should remain in my bureau written in your
present hand. From hand to arms the transition is nat
ural ; is the carriage and motion of your arms so too ?
The motion of the arms is the most material part of a
man's air, especially in dancing; the feet are not near so
material. If a man dances well from the waist upward,
wears his hat well, and moves his head properly, he dances
well. Do the women say that you dress well? for that is
necessary too for a young fellow. Have you un gout vif,
or a passion for anybody ? I do not ask for whom : an
Iphigenia would both give you the desire, and teach you
the means to please.
In a fortnight or three weeks you will see Sir Charles
Hotham at Paris, in his way to Toulouse, where he is to
stay a year or two. Pray be very civil to him, but
do not carry him into company, except presenting him to
Lord Albemarle ; for, as he is not to stay at Paris above
a week, we do not desire that he should taste of that dis
sipation : you may show him a play and an opera. Adieu,
my dear child.
LETTERS TO HIS SON 397
LETTER CXXXVI
LONDON, March 25, O. S. 1751.
MY DEAR FRIEND : What a happy period of your life
is this? Pleasure is now, and ought to be, your
business. While you were younger, dry rules, and
unconnected words, were the unpleasant objects of your
labors. When you grow older, the anxiety, the vexations,
the disappointments inseparable from public business, will
require the greatest share of your time and attention; your
pleasures may, indeed, conduce to your business, and your
business will quicken your pleasures; but still your time
must, at least, be divided: whereas now it is wholly your
own, and cannot be so well employed as in the pleasures
of a gentleman. The world is now the only book you
want, and almost the only one you ought to read : that
necessary book can only be read in company, in public
places, at meals, and in ruelles. You must be in the
pleasures, in order to learn the manners of good company.
In premeditated, or in formal business, people conceal, or
at least endeavor to conceal, their characters : whereas
pleasures discover them, and the heart breaks out through
the guard of the understanding. Those are often propi
tious moments for skillful negotiators to improve. In your
destination particularly, the able conduct of pleasures is of
infinite use; to keep a good table, and to do the honors
of it gracefully, and sur le ton de la bonne compagnie, is
absolutely necessary for a foreign minister. There is a
certain light table chit-chat, useful to keep off improper
and too serious subjects, which is only to be learned in
the pleasures of good company. In truth it may be tri
fling ; but, trifling as it is, a man of parts and experience
of the world will give an agreeable turn to it. L'art de
badiner agr£ablement is by no means to be despised.
An engaging address, and turn to gallantry, is often of
very great service to foreign ministers. Women have, di
rectly or indirectly, a good deal to say in most courts. The
late Lord Strafford governed, for a considerable time, the
398 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
Court of Berlin and made his own fortune, by being well
with Madame de Wartenberg, the first King of Prussia's
mistress. I could name many other instances of that kind.
That sort of agreeable caquet de femmes, the necessary fore
runners of closer conferences, is only to be got by frequent
ing women of the first fashion, et qui donnent le ton. Let
every other book then give way to this great and necessary
book, the world, of which there are so many various readings,
that it requires a great deal of time and attention to under
stand it well: contrary to all other books, you must not
stay home, but go abroad to read it ; and when you seek it
abroad, you will not find it in booksellers' shops and stalls,
but in courts, in hotels, at entertainments, balls, assemblies,
spectacles, etc. Put yourself upon the footing of an easy,
domestic, but polite familiarity and intimacy in the several
French houses to which you have been introduced. Cultivate
them, frequent them, and show a desire of becoming enfant
de la maison. Get acquainted as much as you can with
les gens de cour; and observe, carefully, how politely they
can differ, and how civilly they can hate ; how easy and
idle they can seem in the multiplicity of their business ; and
how they can lay hold of the proper moments to carry it
on, in the midst of their pleasures. Courts, alone, teach
versatility and politeness ; for there is no living there with
out them. Lord Albermarle has, I hear, and am very glad
of it, put you into the hands of Messieurs de Bissy. Profit
of that, and beg of them to let you attend them in all the
companies of Versailles and Paris. One of them, at least,
will naturally carry you to Madame de la Valieres, unless
he is discarded by this time, and Gelliot * retaken. Tell
them frankly, que vous cherchez ci vous former, que vous
etes en mains de maitres, s'ils veulent bien sjen donner la
-peine. Your profession has this agreeable peculiarity in it,
which is, that it is connected with, and promoted by
pleasures; and it is the only one in which a thorough
knowledge of the world, polite manners, and an engaging
address, are absolutely necessary. If a lawyer knows his
law, a parson his divinity, and a financier his calculations,
each may make a figure and a fortune in his profession,
without great knowledge of the world, and without the
* A famous opera-singer at Paris.
LETTERS TO HIS SON 399
manners of gentlemen. But your profession throws you into
all the intrigues and cabals, as well as pleasures, of courts:
in those windings and labyrinths, a knowledge of the
world, a discernment of characters, a suppleness and versa
tility of mind, and an elegance of manners, must be your
clue ; you must know how to soothe and lull the monsters
that guard, and how to address and gain the fair that keep,
the golden fleece. These are the arts and the accomplish
ments absolutely necessary for a foreign minister; in which
it must be owned, to our shame, that most other nations
outdo the English; and, cceteris paribus, a French minister
will get the better of an English one at any third court in
Europe. The French have something more liant, more in
sinuating and engaging in their manner, than we have. An
English minister shall have resided seven years at a court,
without having made any one personal connection there, or
without being intimate and domestic in any one house.
He is always the English minister, and never naturalized.
He receives his orders, demands an audience, writes an
account of it to his Court, and his business is done. A
French minister, on the contrary, has not been six weeks
at a court without having, by a thousand little attentions,
insinuated himself into some degree of favor with the
Prince, his wife, his mistress, his favorite, and his minister.
He has established himself upon a familiar and domestic
footing in a dozen of the best houses of the place, where
he has accustomed the people to be not only easy, but un
guarded before him; he makes himself at home there, and
they think him so. By these means he knows the interior
of those courts, and can almost write prophecies to his own,
from the knowledge he has of the characters, the humors,
the abilities, or the weaknesses of the actors. The Cardinal
d'Ossat was looked upon at Rome as an Italian, and not
as a French cardinal; and Monsieur d'Avaux, wherever he
went, was never considered as a foreign minister, but as a
native, and a personal friend. Mere plain truth, sense, and
knowledge, will by no means do alone in courts ; art and
ornaments must come to their assistance. Humors must be
flattered ; the mollia tempora must be studied and known :
confidence acquired by seeming frankness, and profited of
by silent skill. And, above all, you must gain and engage
400 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
the heart, to betray the understanding to you. Hce till
erunt artes.
The death of the Prince of Wales, who was more beloved
for his affability and good-nature than esteemed for his
steadiness and conduct, has given concern to many, and
apprehensions to all. The great difference of the ages of
the King and Prince George presents the prospect of a
minority; a disagreeable prospect for any nation! But it is
to be hoped, and is most probable, that the King, who is
now perfectly recovered of his late indisposition, may live
to see his grandson of age. He is, seriously, a most hope
ful boy: gentle and good-natured, with good sound sense.
This event has made all sorts of people here historians, as
well as politicians. Our histories are rummaged for all the
particular circumstances of the six minorities we have had
since the Conquest, viz, those of Henry III., Edward III.,
Richard II., Henry VI., Edward V., and Edward VI.; and
the reasonings, the speculations, the conjectures, and the
predictions, you will easily imagine, must be innumerable
and endless, in this nation, where every porter is a con
summate politician. Dr. Swift says, very humorously, that
* Every man knows that he understands religion and politics,
though he never learned them; but that many people are
conscious that they do not understand many other sciences,
from having never learned them,'* Adieu.
LETTER CXXXVI1
LONDON, April 7, O. S. 1751.
MY DEAR FRIEND : Here you have, altogether, the pocket-
books, the compasses, and the patterns. When your
three Graces have made their option, you need only
send me, in a letter, small pieces of the three mohairs they
fix upon. If I can find no way of sending them safely
and directly to Paris, I will contrive to have them left
with Madame Morel, at Calais, who, being Madame Mon-
conseil's agent there, may find means of furthering them to
your three ladies, who all belong to your friend Madame
Monconseil. Two of the three, I am told, are handsome;
LETTERS TO HIS SON 401
Madame Polignac, I can swear, is not so; but, however, as
the world goes, two out of three is a very good composition.
You will also find in the packet a compass ring set
round with little diamonds, which I advise you to make a
present of to Abb6 Guasco, who has been useful to you,
and will continue to be so ; as it is a mere bauble, you must
add to the value of it by your manner of giving it him.
Show it him first, and, when he commends it, as probably
he will, tell him that it is at his service, et que comme il
est toujours par voie et par chemins, tl est absolument
necessaire qu 'il aie une boussole. All those little gallantries
depend entirely upon the manner of doing them; as, in
truth, what does not? The greatest favors may be done so
awkwardly and bunglingly as to offend ; and disagreeable
things may be done so agreeably as almost to oblige. En
deavor to acquire this great secret; it exists, it is to be
found, and is worth a great deal more than the grand secret
of the alchemists would be if it were, as it is not, to be
found. This is only to be learned in courts, where clashing
views, jarring opinions, and cordial hatreds, are softened
and kept within decent bounds by politeness and manners.
Frequent, observe, and learn courts. Are you free of that
of St. Cloud? Are you often at Versailles? Insinuate and
wriggle yourself into favor at those places. L'Abbe de la
Ville, my old friend, will help you at the latter ; your three
ladies may establish you in the former. The good-breeding
de la ville et de la cour are different; but without deciding
which is intrinsically the best, that of the court is, without
doubt, the most necessary for you, who are to live, to grow,
and to rise in courts. In two years' time, which will be as
soon as you are fit for it, I hope to be able to plant you in
the soil of a YOUNG COURT here: where, if you have all the
address, the suppleness and versatility of a good courtier,
you will have a great chance of thriving and flourishing.
Young favor is easily acquired if the proper means are
employed; and, when acquired, it is warm, if not durable;
and the warm moments must be snatched and improved.
Quitte pour ce qui en pent arriver apr^s. Do not men
tion this view of mine for you to any one mortal; but
learn to keep your own secrets, which, by the way, very
few people can do.
26
402 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
If your course of experimental philosophy with Abbe
Nolet is over, I would have you apply to Abb6 Sallier,
for a master to give you a general notion of astronomy and
geometry ; of both of which you may know as much, as I
desire you should, in six months' time. I only desire that
you should have a clear notion of the present planetary
system, and the history of all the former systems. Fonte-
nelle's Pluralites des Mondes will almost teach you all you
need know upon that subject. As for geometry, the seven
first books of Euclid will be a sufficient portion of it for
you. It is right to have a general notion of those abstruse
sciences, so as not to appear quite ignorant of them, when
they happen, as sometimes they do, to be the topics of
conversation ; but a deep knowledge of them requires too
much time, and engrosses the mind too much. I repeat it
again and again to you, Let the great book of the world
be your principal study. Nocturnd versate manu, versate
diurnd ; which may be rendered thus in English: Turn
over MEN BY DAY, AND WOMEN BY NIGHT. I mean only
the best editions.
Whatever may be said at Paris of my speech upon the
bill for the reformation of the present calendar, or what
ever applause it may have met with here, the whole, I can
assure you, is owing to the words and to the delivery, but
by no means to the matter ; which, as I told you in a
former letter, I was not master of. I mention this again,
to show you the importance of well-chosen words, harmon
ious periods, and good delivery ; for, between you and me,
Lord Macclefield's speech was, in truth, worth a thousand
of mine. It will soon be printed, and I will send it you.
It is very instructive. You say, that you wish to speak
but half as well as I did ; you may easily speak full as
well as ever I did, if you will but give the same attention
to the same objects that I did at your age, and for many
years afterward ; I mean correctness, purity, and elegance
of style, harmony of periods, and gracefulness of delivery.
Read over and over again the third book of Cicero de Ora-
tore, in which he particularly treats of the ornamental parts
of oratory ; they are indeed properly oratory, for all the
rest depends only upon common sense, and some knowledge
of the subject you speak upon. But if you would please,
LETTERS TO HIS SON 403
persuade, and prevail in speaking, it must be by the ornamen
tal parts of oratory. Make them therefore habitual to you ;
and resolve never to say the most common things, even to
your footman, but in the best words you can find, and
with the best utterance. This, with les manures, la tour-
nure, et les usages du beau monde, are the only two things
you want ; fortunately, they are both in your power ; may
you have them both ! Adieu.
LETTER CXXXVIII
LONDON, April 15, O. S. 1751.
MY DEAR FRIEND : What success with the graces, and in
the accomplishments, elegancies, and all those little
nothings so indispensably necessary to constitute an
amiable man? Do you take them, do you make a progress in
them? The great secret is the art of pleasing ; and that
art is to be attained by every man who has a good fund
of common sense. If you are pleased with any person,
examine why; do as he does; and you will charm others
by the same things which please you in him. To be liked
by women, you must be esteemed by men ; and to please
men, you must be agreeable to women. Vanity is un
questionably the ruling passion in women ; and it is much
flattered by the attentions of a man who is generally es
teemed by men ; when his merit has received the stamp of
their approbation, women make it current, that is to say,
put him in fashion. On the other hand, if a man has not
received the last polish from women, he may be estimable
among men, but will never be amiable. The concurrence
of the two sexes is as necessary to the perfection of our
.being, as to the formation of it. Go among women with
the good qualities of your sex, and you will acquire from
them the softness and the graces of theirs. Men will then
add affection to the esteem which they before had for you.
Women are the only refiners of the merit of men ; it is
true, they cannot add weight, but they polish and give lus
tre to it. A propos, I am assured, that Madame de Blot,
although she has no great regularity of features, is, not-
404 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
withstanding, excessively pretty ; and that, for all that, she
has as yet been scrupulously constant to her husband,
though she has now been married above a year. Surely
she does not reflect, that woman wants polishing. I would
have you polish one another reciprocally. Force, assiduities,
attentions, tender looks, and passionate declarations, on
your side will produce some irresolute wishes, at least,
on hers ; and when even the slightest wishes arise, the rest
will soon follow.
As I take you to be the greatest juris peritus and poli
tician of the whole Germanic body, I suppose you will have
read the King of Prussia's letter to the Elector of Mayence,
upon the election of a King of the Romans; and on the
other side, a memorial entitled, IMPARTIAL REPRESENTA
TION OF WHAT IS JUST WITH REGARD TO THE ELECTION
OF A KING OF THE ROMANS, etc. The first is extremely
well written, but not grounded upon the laws and customs
of the empire. The second is very ill written (at least in
French), but well grounded. I fancy the author is some
German, who has taken into his head that he understands
French. I am, however, persuaded that the elegance and
delicacy of the King of Prussia's letter will prevail with
two-thirds of the public, in spite of the solidity and truth
contained in the other piece. Such is the force of an
elegant and delicate style!
I wish you would be so good as to give me a more particu
lar and circumstantial account of the method of passing»your
time at Paris. For instance, \vhere it is that you dine every
Friday, in company with that amiable and respectable old man,
Fontenelle? Which is the house where you think yourself
at home? For one always has such a one, where one is bet
ter established, and more at ease than anywhere else. Who
are the young Frenchmen with whom you are most inti
mately connected? Do you frequent the Dutch Ambassa
dor's. Have you penetrated yet into Count Caunitz's house?
Has Monsieur de Pignatelli the honor of being one of your
humble servants? And has the Pope's nuncio included
you in the Jubilee? Tell me also freely how you are with
Lord Huntingdon : Do you see him often? Do you con
nect yourself with him? Answer all these questions cir
cumstantially in your first letter.
LETTERS TO HIS SON 405
I am told that Du Clos's book is not in vogue at Paris,
and that it is violently criticised : I suppose that is because
one understands it ; and being intelligible is now no longer
the fashion. I have a very great respect for fashion, but a
much greater for this book ; which is, all at once, true,
solid, and bright. It contains even epigrams ; what can one
wish for more?
Mr. will, I suppose, have left Paris by this time
for his residence at Toulouse. I hope he will acquire man
ners there ; I am sure he wants them. He is awkward, he
is silent, and has nothing agreeable in his address, — most
necessary qualifications to distinguish one's self in business,
as well as in the POLITE WORLD ! In truth, these two
things are so connected, that a man cannot make a figure
in business, who is not qualified to shine in the great
world ; and to succeed perfectly in either the one or the
other, one must be in utrumque paratus. May you be that,
my dear friend ! and so we wish you a good night.
P. S. Lord and Lady Blessington, with their son Lord
Mountjoy, will be at Paris next week, in their way to the
south of France ; I send you a little packet of books by
them. Pray go wait upon them, as soon as you hear of
their arrival, and show them all the attentions you can.
LETTER CXXXIX
LONDON, April 22, O. S. 1751.
MY DEAR FRIEND: I apply to you now, as to the great
est -virtuoso of this, or perhaps any other age; one
whose superior judgment and distinguishing eye
hindered the King of Poland from buying a bad picture at
Venice, and whose decisions in the realms of virtto, are final,
and without appeal. Now to the point. I have had a
catalogue sent me, d'une Vente a Faimable de Tableaux des
•plus Grands Maitres, appartenans au Sieur Araignon Aperen,
valet de chambre de la Reine, sur le quai de la M&gisserie,
au coin de F Arche Marion. There I observe two large
406 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S
pictures of Titian, as described in the inclosed page of the
catalogue, No. 18, which I should be glad to purchase
upon two conditions : the first is, that they be undoubted
originals of Titian, in good preservation ; and the other
that they come cheap. To ascertain the first (but without
disparaging your skill), I wish you would get some un
doubted connoisseurs to examine them carefully : and if,
upon such critical examination, they should be unanimously
allowed to be undisputed originals of Titian, and well pre
served, then comes the second point, the price : I will not
go above two hundred pounds sterling for the two together ;
but as much less as you can gat them for. I acknowledge
that two hundred pounds seems to be a very small sum for
two undoubted Titians of that size ; but, on the other hand,
as large Italian pictures are now out of fashion at Paris,
where fashion decides of everything, and as these pictures
are too large for common rooms, they may possibly come
within the price above limited. I leave the whole of this
transaction (the price excepted, which I will not exceed)
to your consummate skill and prudence, with proper advice
joined to them. Should you happen to buy them for that
price, carry them to your own lodgings, and get a frame
made to the second, which I observe has none, exactly the
same with the other frame, and have the old one new
gilt ; and then get them carefully packed up, and sent me
by Rouen.
I hear much of your conversing with les beaux esprits at
Paris : I am very glad of it ; it gives a degree of reputa
tion, especially at Paris; and their conversation is generally
instructive, though sometimes affected. It must be owned,
that the polite conversation of the men and women of
fashion at Paris, though not always very deep, is much less
futile and frivolous than ours here. It turns at least upon
some subject, something of taste, some point of history,
criticism, and even philosophy; which, though probably not
quite so solid as Mr. Locke's, is, however, better, and more
becoming rational beings, than our frivolous dissertations
upon the weather, or upon whist. Monsieur du Clos ob
serves, and I think very justly, qu'il y a ti present en France
une fermentation universelle de la raison qui tend & se
. Whereas, I am sorry to say, that here that fer-
LETTERS TO HIS SON 407
mentation seems to have been over some years ago, the
spirit evaporated, and only the dregs left. Moreover, les
beaux esprits at Paris are commonly well-bred, which ours
very frequently are not ; with the former your manners will
be formed ; with the latter, wit must generally be com
pounded for at the expense of manners. Are you acquainted
with Marivaux, who has certainly studied, and is well ac
quainted with the heart; but who refines so much upon its
pits et replis, and describes them so affectedly, that he
often is unintelligible to his readers, and sometimes so, I
dare say, to himself? Do you know Crtbillon le Jils?
He is a fine painter and a pleasing writer ; his characters
are admirable and his reflections just. Frequent these peo
ple, and be glad, but not proud of frequenting them :
never boast of it, as a proof of your own merit, nor insult,
in a manner, other companies by telling them affectedly
what you, Montesquieu and Fontenelle were talking of
the other day ; as I have known many people do here, with
regard to Pope and Swift, who had never been twice in
company with either ; nor carry into other companies the
ton of those meetings of beaux esprits. Talk literature,
taste, philosophy, etc., with them, a la bonne heure; but
then, with the same ease, and more enjouement, talk pom
pons, moires, etc., with Madame de Blot, if she requires
it. Almost every subject in the world has its proper time
and place; in which no one is above or below discussion.
The point is, to talk well upon the subject you talk upon ;
and the most trifling, frivolous subjects will still give a
man of parts an opportunity of showing them. L'usage
du grand monde can alone teach that. That was the dis
tinguishing characteristic of Alcibiades, and a happy one
it was, that he could occasionally, and with so much ease,
adopt the most different, and even the most opposite habits
and manners, that each seemed natural to him. Prepare
yourself for the great world, as the athletce used to do for
their exercises : oil (if I may use that expression) your
mind and your manners, to give them the necessary supple
ness and flexibility ; strength alone will not do, as young
people are too apt to think.
How do your exercises go on ? Can you manage a pretty vig
orous sauteur between the pillars ? Are you got into stirrups
408 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS TO HIS SON
yet ? Faites-vous assaut aux armes? But, above all, what does
Marcel say of you? Is he satisfied? Pray be more partic
ular in your accounts of yourself, for though I have frequent
accounts of you from others, I desire to have your own too.
Adieu. Yours, truly and friendly.
END OF VOL. I.
BJ
1671
C52
1901
v.l
Chesterfield, ttiilip Dormer
Stanhope, 4th earl of
Letters to his son
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