<p><SPAN name="link2H_4_0143" id="link2H_4_0143"></SPAN></p>
<h2> LETTER CXLI </h2>
<h3> LONDON, May 6, O. S. 1751. </h3>
<p>MY DEAR FRIEND: The best authors are always the severest critics of their
own works; they revise, correct, file, and polish them, till they think
they have brought them to perfection. Considering you as my work, I do not
look upon myself as a bad author, and am therefore a severe critic. I
examine narrowly into the least inaccuracy or inelegance, in order to
correct, not to expose them, and that the work may be perfect at last. You
are, I know, exceedingly improved in your air, address, and manners, since
you have been at Paris; but still there is, I believe, room for further
improvement before you come to that perfection which I have set my heart
upon seeing you arrive at; and till that moment I must continue filing and
polishing. In a letter that I received by last post, from a friend of
yours at Paris, there was this paragraph: "I have the honor to assure you,
without flattery, that Mr. Stanhope succeeds beyond what might be expected
from a person of his age. He goes into very good company; and that kind of
manner, which was at first thought to be too decisive and peremptory, is
now judged otherwise; because it is acknowledged to be the effect of an
ingenuous frankness, accompanied by politeness, and by a proper deference.
He studies to please, and succeeds. Madame du Puisieux was the other day
speaking of him with complacency and friendship. You will be satisfied
with him in all respects." This is extremely well, and I rejoice at it:
one little circumstance only may, and I hope will, be altered for the
better. Take pains to undeceive those who thought that 'petit ton un peu
delcide et un peu brusque'; as it is not meant so, let it not appear so.
Compose your countenance to an air of gentleness and 'douceur', use some
expressions of diffidence of your own opinion, and deference to other
people's; such as, "If I might be permitted to say—I should think—Is
it not rather so? At least I have the greatest reason to be diffident of
myself." Such mitigating, engaging words do by no means weaken your
argument; but, on the contrary, make it more powerful by making it more
pleasing. If it is a quick and hasty manner of speaking that people
mistake 'pour decide et brusque', prevent their mistakes for the future by
speaking more deliberately, and taking a softer tone of voice; as in this
case you are free from the guilt, be free from the suspicion, too.
Mankind, as I have often told you, are more governed by appearances than
by realities; and with regard to opinion, one had better be really rough
and hard, with the appearance of gentleness and softness, than just the
reverse. Few people have penetration enough to discover, attention enough
to observe, or even concern enough to examine beyond the exterior; they
take their notions from the surface, and go no deeper: they commend, as
the gentlest and best-natured man in the world, that man who has the most
engaging exterior manner, though possibly they have been but once in his
company. An air, a tone of voice, a composure of countenance to mildness
and softness, which are all easily acquired, do the business: and without
further examination, and possibly with the contrary qualities, that man is
reckoned the gentlest, the modestest, and the best-natured man alive.
Happy the man, who, with a certain fund of parts and knowledge, gets
acquainted with the world early enough to make it his bubble, at an age
when most people are the bubbles of the world! for that is the common case
of youth. They grow wiser when it is too late; and, ashamed and vexed at
having been bubbles so long, too often turn knaves at last. Do not
therefore trust to appearances and outside yourself, but pay other people
with them; because you may be sure that nine in ten of mankind do, and
ever will trust to them. This is by no means a criminal or blamable
simulation, if not used with an ill intention. I am by no means blamable
in desiring to have other people's good word, good-will, and affection, if
I do not mean to abuse them. Your heart, I know, is good, your sense is
sound, and your knowledge extensive. What then remains for you to do?
Nothing, but to adorn those fundamental qualifications, with such engaging
and captivating manners, softness, and gentleness, as will endear you to
those who are able to judge of your real merit, and which always stand in
the stead of merit with those who are not. I do not mean by this to
recommend to you 'le fade doucereux', the insipid softness of a gentle
fool; no, assert your own opinion, oppose other people's when wrong; but
let your manner, your air, your terms, and your tone of voice, be soft and
gentle, and that easily and naturally, not affectedly. Use palliatives
when you contradict; such as I MAY BE MISTAKEN, I AM NOT SURE, BUT I
BELIEVE, I SHOULD RATHER THINK, etc. Finish any argument or dispute with
some little good-humored pleasantry, to show that you are neither hurt
yourself, nor meant to hurt your antagonist; for an argument, kept up a
good while, often occasions a temporary alienation on each side. Pray
observe particularly, in those French people who are distinguished by that
character, 'cette douceur de moeurs et de manieres', which they talk of so
much, and value so justly; see in what it consists; in mere trifles, and
most easy to be acquired, where the heart is really good. Imitate, copy
it, till it becomes habitual and easy to you. Without a compliment to you,
I take it to be the only thing you now want: nothing will sooner give it
you than a real passion, or, at least, 'un gout vif', for some woman of
fashion; and, as I suppose that you have either the one or the other by
this time, you are consequently in the best school. Besides this, if you
were to say to Lady Hervey, Madame Monconseil, or such others as you look
upon to be your friends, It is said that I have a kind of manner which is
rather too decisive and too peremptory; it is not, however, my intention
that it should be so; I entreat you to correct, and even publicly to
punish me whenever I am guilty. Do not treat me with the least indulgence,
but criticise to the utmost. So clear-sighted a judge as you has a right
to be severe; and I promise you that the criminal will endeavor to correct
himself. Yesterday I had two of your acquaintances to dine with me, Baron
B. and his companion Monsieur S. I cannot say of the former, 'qu'il est
paitri de graces'; and I would rather advise him to go and settle quietly
at home, than to think of improving himself by further travels. 'Ce n'est
pas le bois don't on en fait'. His companion is much better, though he has
a strong 'tocco di tedesco'. They both spoke well of you, and so far I
liked them both. How go you on with the amiable little Blot? Does she
listen to your Battering tale? Are you numbered among the list of her
admirers? Is Madame———your Madame de Lursay? Does she
sometimes knot, and are you her Meilcour? They say she has softness,
sense, and engaging manners; in such an apprenticeship much may be
learned.—[This whole passage, and several others, allude to
Crebillon's 'Egaremens du Coeur et de l'Esprit', a sentimental novel
written about that time, and then much in vogue at Paris.]</p>
<p>A woman like her, who has always pleased, and often been pleased, can best
teach the art of pleasing; that art, without which, 'ogni fatica vana'.
Marcel's lectures are no small part of that art: they are the engaging
forerunner of all other accomplishments. Dress is also an article not to
be neglected, and I hope you do not neglect it; it helps in the 'premier
abord', which is often decisive. By dress, I mean your clothes being well
made, fitting you, in the fashion and not above it; your hair well done,
and a general cleanliness and spruceness in your person. I hope you take
infinite care of your teeth; the consequences of neglecting the mouth are
serious, not only to one's self, but to others. In short, my dear child,
neglect nothing; a little more will complete the whole. Adieu. I have not
heard from you these three weeks, which I think a great while.</p>
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