Letters to His Son, 1749

T >> The Earl of Chesterfield >> Letters to His Son, 1749


I am edified with your morning applications, and your evening gallantries
at Venice, of which 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.




LETTER LXXXVI

LONDON, October 17, O. S. 1749.

DEAR BOY: I have at last received Mr. Harte's letter of the 19th
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
improvement 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 manufactures, 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 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 ornaments. 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; understand 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
fortifications 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 descending into those minutia, 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 myself with a moderate German letter once a
fortnight, to Lady Chesterfield or Mr. Gravenkop. My meaning was 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 mislaid, 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 yourself, 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? 'Y file-t-on le parfait amour? Y debite-t-on les beaux
sentimens? Ou est-ce yu'on y parle Epigramme? And pray which is your
department? '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 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 12th, 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 converse 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 unwillingly obeyed its
generals only from the fear of punishment, says, they obeyed indeed, 'Sed
ut qua mallent jussa Imperatorum interpretari, quam exequi'. For my own
part, I disclaim 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 whoever 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,
'a tort ou a travers', as soon as ever you have got words enough to ask a
common question, or give a common answer. If you can only say 'buon
giorno', say it, instead of saying 'bon jour', I mean 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 thalers, 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. 'Il est vrai qui'il ne paie pas beaucaup de sa figure';
but he has sense and knowledge at bottom, with a great experience of
business, having been already Ambassador 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 remaining 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 business.

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.




LETTER LXXXVIII

LONDON, November 3, O. S. 1749.

DEAR 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 indeed 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, 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 remainder 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 INDULGENCE
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 believe you have both), can essentially fail in good-breeding. As to
the modes of it, indeed, they vary according to persons, and places, and
circumstances; and are only to be acquired 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 between civilized people, as protection and
obedience are between kings and subjects; whoever, in either case,
violates that compact, justly forfeits all advantages arising from it.
For my own part, I really think, that next to the consciousness 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-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, scratching 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 everybody means to show, in an easy, unembarrassed, and graceful
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 hearing. 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 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 yourself, 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 liberty 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 freedom 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 frequent me. No. The most familiar and
intimate habitudes, 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 disgust. The best of us have our bad sides, and it is as
imprudent, 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 another'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 frequently refresh your memory hereafter; but I will
conclude with these axioms:

That the deepest learning, without good-breeding, is unwelcome 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 dislike it soon, afterward renounce
it; and be reduced to solitude, or, what is worse, low and bad company.

That a man who is not well-bred, is full as unfit for business 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
qualifications, 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.




LETTER LXXXIX

LONDON, November 14, O. S. 1749.

DEAR BOY: There is a natural good-breeding which occurs to every man of
common sense, and is practiced by every man, of common good-nature. This
good-breeding is general, independent of modes, and consists 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 commerce 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 matter 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, carefully attends to the local manners
of the respective places where he is, and takes for his models those
persons whom he observes 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 inferiors; and lets none of
those little niceties escape him which are to good-breeding what the last
delicate and masterly touches are to a good picture; and of which the
vulgar 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,
without 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,
genteel, 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 apprehend,
is not the seat of the Graces; and I presume you acquired none there. But
now, if you will be pleased to observe what people of the first fashion
do with their legs and arms, heads and bodies, you will reduce yours to
certain decent 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 serenity, negative merit and graces, do not become your age. You
should be 'alerte, adroit, vif'; be wanted, talked of, impatiently
expected, and unwillingly parted with in company. I should be glad to
hear half a dozen women of fashion say, 'Ou est donc le petit Stanhope?
due ne vient-il? Il 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 yourself considerable. For
with very small variations, the same 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 without 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
constraint. You must engage their hearts, if you would have their
support; you must watch the 'mollia tempora', and captivate 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.