<p><SPAN name="link2H_4_0103" id="link2H_4_0103"></SPAN></p>
<h2> LETTER CI </h2>
<h3> LONDON, January 11, O. S. 1750 </h3>
<p>MY DEAR FRIEND: Yesterday I received a letter from Mr. Harte, of the 31st
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 companies; 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.</p>
<p>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 spoken to, or attempted
to speak myself, 'obstupui, steteruntque comae, et vox faucibus haesit'.
If I saw people whisper, 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 'desoevre' 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 intrepid 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 present you my acquaintance as such."</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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 j'ai entrepris ce jeune homme, et qu'il le faut rassurer? Pour
moi, je crois en avoir fait——[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 passion 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 yourself by frequenting opera girls and actresses; who 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.]</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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 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—[At that time
Ambassador from the Court of France to Rome.]—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.</p>
<p>There is a sort of veteran women of condition, who having 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 engaged 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 behavior; 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 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.</p>
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