<p><SPAN name="link2H_4_0184" id="link2H_4_0184"></SPAN></p>
<h2> LETTER CLXXXII </h2>
<h3> BATH, November 16, O. S. 1752. </h3>
<p>MY DEAR FRIEND: Vanity, or to call it by a gentler name, the desire of
admiration and applause, is, perhaps, the most universal principle of
human actions; I do not say that it is the best; and I will own that it is
sometimes the cause of both foolish and criminal effects. But it is so
much oftener the principle of right things, that though they ought to have
a better, yet, considering human nature, that principle is to be
encouraged and cherished, in consideration of its effects. Where that
desire is wanting, we are apt to be indifferent, listless, indolent, and
inert; we do not exert our powers; and we appear to be as much below
ourselves as the vainest man living can desire to appear above what he
really is.</p>
<p>As I have made you my confessor, and do not scruple to confess even my
weaknesses to you, I will fairly own that I had that vanity, that
weakness, if it be one, to a prodigious degree; and, what is more, I
confess it without repentance: nay, I am glad I had it; since, if I have
had the good fortune to please in the world, it is to that powerful and
active principle that I owe it. I began the world, not with a bare desire,
but with an insatiable thirst, a rage of popularity, applause, and
admiration. If this made me do some silly things on one hand, it made me,
on the other hand, do almost all the right things that I did; it made me
attentive and civil to the women I disliked, and to the men I despised, in
hopes of the applause of both: though I neither desired, nor would I have
accepted the favors of the one, nor the friendship of the other. I always
dressed, looked, and talked my best; and, I own, was overjoyed whenever I
perceived, that by all three, or by any one of them, the company was
pleased with me. To men, I talked whatever I thought would give them the
best opinion of my parts and learning; and to women, what I was sure would
please them; flattery, gallantry, and love. And, moreover, I will own to
you, under the secrecy of confession, that my vanity has very often made
me take great pains to make a woman in love with me, if I could, for whose
person I would not have given a pinch of snuff. In company with men, I
always endeavored to outshine, or at least, if possible, to equal the most
shining man in it. This desire elicited whatever powers I had to gratify
it; and where I could not perhaps shine in the first, enabled me, at
least, to shine in a second or third sphere. By these means I soon grew in
fashion; and when a man is once in fashion, all he does is right. It was
infinite pleasure to me to find my own fashion and popularity. I was sent
for to all parties of pleasure, both of men or women; where, in some
measure, I gave the 'ton'. This gave me the reputation of having had some
women of condition; and that reputation, whether true or false, really got
me others. With the men I was a Proteus, and assumed every shape, in order
to please them all: among the gay, I was the gayest; among the grave, the
gravest; and I never omitted the least attentions of good-breeding, or the
least offices of friendship, that could either please, or attach them to
me: and accordingly I was soon connected with all the men of any fashion
or figure in town.</p>
<p>To this principle of vanity, which philosophers call a mean one, and which
I do not, I owe great part of the figure which I have made in life. I wish
you had as much, but I fear you have too little of it; and you seem to
have a degree of laziness and listlessness about you that makes you
indifferent as to general applause. This is not in character at your age,
and would be barely pardonable in an elderly and philosophical man. It is
a vulgar, ordinary saying, but it is a very true one, that one should
always put the best foot foremost. One should please, shine, and dazzle,
wherever it is possible. At Paris, I am sure you must observe 'que chacun
se fait valoir autant qu'il est possible'; and La Bruyere observes, very
justly, qu'on ne vaut dans ce monde que ce qu'on veut valoir': wherever
applause is in question, you will never see a French man, nor woman,
remiss or negligent. Observe the eternal attentions and politeness that
all people have there for one another. 'Ce n'est pas pour leurs beaux yeux
au moins'. No, but for their own sakes, for commendations and applause.
Let me then recommend this principle of vanity to you; act upon it 'meo
periculo'; I promise you it will turn to your account. Practice all the
arts that ever coquette did, to please. Be alert and indefatigable in
making every man admire, and every woman in love with you. I can tell you
too, that nothing will carry you higher in the world.</p>
<p>I have had no letter from you since your arrival at Paris, though you must
have been long enough there to have written me two or three. In about ten
or twelve days I propose leaving this place, and going to London; I have
found considerable benefit by my stay here, but not all that I want. Make
my compliments to Lord Albemarle.</p>
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