Chesterfield's letters

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UNITED STATES OF AMERICA.

CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS

LETTER I. DEAR BOY, Tunbridge, July the 15th, 1739

I thank you for your .concern about my health; which I would have given you an account of sooner, but that writing does not agree with these waters. I am better since I have been here; and shall therefore stay a month longer.

Signor Zamboni compliments me, through you, much more than I deserve; but pray do you take care to deserve what he says of you; and remember, that praise, when it is not deserved, is the severest satire and abuse; and the most effectual way of exposing people's vices and follies. This is a figure of speech called Irony; which is saying directly the contrary of what you mean; but yet it is not a lie, because you plainly show, that you mean directly the contrary of what you say; so that you deceive nobody. For example : if one were to compliment a notorious knave for his singular honesty and probity, and an eminent fool for his wit and parts, the irony is plain, and everybody would discover the satire. Or, suppose that I were to commend you for your great attention to your book, and for your retaining and remembering what you have once learned; would not you plainly perceive the irony, and see that I laughed at you ? Therefore, whenever you are

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commended for anything, consider fairly, with yourself, whether you deserve it or not; and if you do not deserve it, remember that you are only abused and laughed at; and endeavor to deserve better for the future, and to prevent the irony. Adieu.

LETTEE II.

DEAR BOY, November the 20th, 1739.

As you are now reading the Roman History, I hope you do it with that care and attention which it deserves. The utility of History consists principally in the examples it gives us of the virtues and vices of those who have gone before us : upon which we ought to make the proper observations. History animates and excites us to the love and the practice of virtue; by showing us the regard and veneration that was always paid to great and virtuous men, in the times in which they lived, and the praise and glory with which their names are perpetuated, and transmitted down to our times. The Roman History furnishes more examples of virtue and magnanimity, or greatness of mind, than any other. It was a common thing to see their Consuls and Dictators (who, you know, were their chief Magistrates) taken from the plough, to lead their armies against their enemies; and, after victory, returning to their plough again, and passing the rest of their lives in modest retirement: a retirement more glorious, if possible. than the victories that preceded it! Many of their greatest men died so poor, that they were buried at the expense of the public. Curms, who had no money of his own, refused a great sum that the Samnites offered, saying, that he saw no glory in having money himself, but in commanding those that had. And Fabricius, who had often commanded the Roman armies, and as often triumphed over their enemies, was found by his fireside, eating those roots and herbs which he had planted and cultivated himself in his own field. Scipio, after a victory he had obtained in Spain, found among the prisoners a young princess of extreme beauty, who, he was informed, was soon to have been married to a man of quality of that country. He ordered her to be entertained and attended with the same care and respect, as if she had been in her father's house; and, as soon as he could find her lover, he gave her to him, and added to her portion the money that her father had brought for her ransom. This was a most glorious example of moderation, continence, and generosity, which gained him the hearts of all the people of Spain.

Such are the rewards that always crown virtue; and such the characters that you should imitate, if you would be a great and a good man, which is the only way to be a happy one! Adieu.

LETTEE III.

Dear Boy,

I sexd you here a few more Latin roots, though I am not sure that you will like my roots so well as those that grow in your garden; however, if you will attend to them, they may save you a great deal of trouble. These few will naturally point out many others to your own observation; and enable you, by comparison, to find out most derived and compound words, when once you know the original root of them. You are old enough now to make observations upon what you learn; which, if you would be pleased to do, you cannot imagine how much time and trouble it would save you. Remember, you are now very near nine years old; an age at which all boys ought to know a great deal, but you, particularly, a great deal more, considering the care and pains that have been employed about you; and if you do not answer those expectations, you will lose your character; which is the most mortifying thing that can happen to a generous mind. Everybody has ambition, of some kind or other, and is vexed when that ambition is disappointed: the difference is, that the ambition of silly people is a silly and mistaken ambition; and the ambition of people of sense is a right and commendable one. For instance; the ambition of a silly boy, of your age, would be to have fine clothes, and money to throw away in idle follies; which, you plainly see, would be no proofs of merit in him, but only of folly in his parents, in dressing him out like a jackanapes, and giving him money to play the fool with. Whereas a boy of good sense places his ambition in excelling other boys of his own age, and even older, in virtue and knowledge. His glory is in being known always to speak the truth, in showing good-nature and compassion, in learning quicker, and applying himself more than other boys. These are real proofs of merit in him, and consequently proper objects of ambition; and will acquire him a solid reputation and character. This holds true in men, as well as in boys: the ambition of a silly fellow will be, to have a line equipage, a fine house, and line clothes: things which anybody, that has as much money, may have as well as he:

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for they are all to be bought : but the ambition of a man of sense and honor is, to be distinguished by a character and reputation of knowledge, truth, and virtue; things which are not to be bought, and that can only be acquired by a good head and a good heart. Such was the ambition of the Lacedaemonians and the Romans, when they made the greatest figure ; and such, I hope, yours will always be. Adieu.

LETTER IV.

DEAR BOY, Wednesday.

You behaved yourself so well at Mr. Boden's, last Sunday, that you justly deserve commendation : besides, you encourage me to give you some rules of politeness and good breeding, being persuaded that you will observe them. Know % then, that as learning, honor, and virtue are absolutely necessary to gain you the esteem and admiration of mankind ; politeness and good breeding are equally necessary to make you welcome and agreeable in conversation and common life. Great talents, such as honor, virtue, learning, and parts, are above the generality of the world, who neither possess them themselves, nor judge of them rightly in others : but all people are judges of the lesser talents, such as civility, affability, and an obliging, agreeable address and manner ; because they feel the good effects of them, as making society easy and pleasing. Good sense must, in many cases, determine good breeding; because the same thing that would be civil at one time, and to one person, may be quite otherwise at another time, and to another person ; but there are some general rules of good breeding, that hold always true, and in all cases. As, for example, it is always extremely rude to answer only Yes, or No, to anybody, without adding, Sir, my Lord, or Madam, according to the quality of the person you speak to ; as, in French, you must always say, Monsieur, Milord, Madame, and Mademoiselle. I suppose you know that every married woman is, in French, Madame, and every unmarried one is Mademoiselle.

It is likewise extremely rude not to give the proper attention, and a civil answer, when people speak to you ; or to go away, or be doing something else, while they are speaking to you ; for that convinces them that you despise them, and do not think it worth your while to hear or answer what they say. I dare say I need not tell you how rude it is to take the best place in a room, or to seize immediately upon what you like at table, without offering first to help others, as if you considered nobody but yourself. On the contrary, you should always endeavor to procure all the conveniences you can to the people you are with. Besides being civil, which is absolutely necessary, the perfection of good breeding is, to be civil with ease, and in a gentlemanlike manner. For this, you should observe the French people, who excel in it, and whose politeness seems as easy and natural as any other part of their conversation. Whereas the English are often awkward in their civilities, and, when they mean to be civil, are too much ashamed to get it out. But, pray, do you remember never to be ashamed of doing what is right : you would have a great deal of reason to be ashamed if you were not civil ; but what reason can you have to be ashamed of being civil? And why not say a civil and an obliging thing as easily and as naturally as you would ask what o'clock it is ? This kind of bashfulness, justly called false modesty, is the distinguishing character of an English booby ; who is frightened out of his ; wits, when people of fashion speak to him ; and when he is to answer them, blushes, stammers, can hardly get out what he would say, and becomes really ridiculous, from a groundless fear of being laughed at : whereas a really well-bred man would speak to all the Kings in the world, with as little concern, and as much ease, as he would speak to you. Adieu.

LETTEE V.

DEAR BOY, Spa, the 25th July, 1741.

I have often told you in my former letters (and it is most certainly true) that the strictest and most scrupulous honor and virtue can alone make you esteemed and valued by mankind ; that parts and learning can alone make you admired and celebrated by them ; but that the possession of lesser talents was most absolutely necessary towards making you liked, beloved, and sought after in private life. Of these lesser talents, good breeding is the principal and most necessary one, not only as it is very important in itself, but as it adds great lustre to the more solid advantages both of the heart and the mind. I have often touched upon good breeding to you before, so that this letter shall be upon the next necessary qualification to it, which is a genteel, easy manner and carriage, wholly free from those odd tricks, ill habits, and awkwardnesses which even many very worthy and sensible people have in their behavior. However trifling a genteel manner may sound, it is of very great consequence towards pleasing in private life, especially the women, which, one time or other, you will think worth pleasing ; and I have known many a man, from his awkwardness, give people such a dislike of him at first, that all his merit could not get the better of it afterwards. Whereas a genteel manner prepossesses people in your favor, bends them towards you, and makes them wish to like you. Awkwardness can proceed but from two causes — either from not having kept good company, or from not having attended to it.

As for your keeping good company, I will take care of that ; do you take care to observe their ways and manners, and to form your own upon them. Attention is absolutely necessary for this, as indeed it is for everything else, and a man without attention is not fit to live in the world. When an awkward fellow first comes into a room, it is highly probable that his sword gets between his legs and throws him down, or makes him stumble, at least. When he has recovered this accident, he goes and places himself in the very place of the whole room where he should not ; there he soon lets his hat fall down, and in taking it up again, throws down his cane ; in recovering his cane, his hat falls a second time ; so that he is a quarter of an hour before he is in order again. If he drinks tea or coffee he certainly scalds his mouth, and lets either the cup or the saucer fall, and spills the tea or coffee in his breeches. At dinner his awkwardness distinguishes itself particularly, as he has more to do : there he holds his knife, fork, and spoon differently from other people ; eats with his knife to the great danger of his mouth ; picks his teeth with his fork, and puts his spoon, which lias been in his throat twenty times, into the dishes again. If he is to carve, he can never hit the joint, but, in his vain efforts to cut through the bone, scatters the sauce in everybody's face. He generally daubs himself with soup and grease, though his napkin is commonly stuck through a buttonhole and tickles his chin.

There is, likewise, an awkwardness of expression and words, most carefully to be avoided ; such as false English, bad pronunciation, old sayings, and common proverbs; which are so many proofs of having kept bad and low company. For example : if, instead of saying that tastes are different, and that every man has his own peculiar one, you should let off a proverb, and say, " That what is one man's meat is another man's poison " ; or else, " Every one as they like, as the good man said when he kissed his cow " ; everybody would be persuaded that you had never kept company with anybody above footmen and housemaids.

Attention will do all this ; and without attention nothing is to be done : want of attention, which is really want of thought, is either folly or madness. \ You should not only have attention to everything, but a quickness of attention, so as to observe, at once, all the people in the room, their motions, their looks, and their words, and yet without staring at them, and seeming to be an observer. This quick and unobserved observation is of infinite advantage in life, and is to be acquired with care ; and, on the contrary, what is called absence, which is a thoughtlessness, and want of attention about what is doing, makes a man so like either a fool or a madman, that for my part I see no real difference. A fool never has thought ; a madman has lost it ; and an absent man is, for the time, without it. Adieu.

LETTER VI.

DEAR BOY, Spa, August the 6th, 1741.

I AM glad you have begun to compose a little ; it will give you a habit of thinking upon subjects, which is at least as necessary as reading them.

Let me know whether you think that a man is born only for his own pleasure and advantage, or whether he is not obliged to contribute to the good of the society in which he lives, and of all mankind in general. This is certain, that every man receives advantages from society, which he could not have, if he were the only man in the world : therefore, is he not in some measure in debt to society? and is he not obliged to do for others what they do for him? You may do this in English or Latin, which you please ; for it is the thinking part, and not the language, that I mind in this case.

I warned you, in my last, against those disagreeable tricks and awkwardnesses, which many people contract when they are young, by the negligence of their parents, and cannot get quit of them when they are old ; such as odd motions, strange postures, and ungenteel carriage. But there is likewise an awkwardness of the mind, that ought to be, and with care may be, avoided : as, for instance, to mistake or forget names; to speak of ^Ir. What-d'ye-call-him, or Mrs. Thingum, or IIow-dYe-callher, is excessively awkward and ordinary. To call people by improper titles and appellations is so, too. To begin a story or narration, when you are not perfect in it, and

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cannot go through with it, but are forced, possibly, to say in the middle of it, "I have forgot the rest," is very unpleasant and bungling. One must be extremely exact, clear, and perspicuous in everything one says, otherwise, instead of entertaining or informing others, one only tires and puzzles them. The voice and manner of speaking, too, are not to be neglected : some people almost shut their mouths when they speak, and mutter so that they are not to be understood ; others speak so fast, and sputter, that they are not to be understood neither ; some always speak as loud as if they were talking to deaf people ; and others so low that one cannot hear them. All these habits are awkward and disagreeable, and are to be avoided hj attention : they are the distinguishing marks of the ordinary people, who have had no care taken of their education.

LETTEE VII.

SlR, Saturday.

/ It i s good breeding alone that can prepossess people in your favour at first sight : more time being necessary to discover greater talents. This good breeding, you know, does not consist in low bows and formal ceremony ; but in an easy, civil, and respectful behaviour. You will therefore take care to answer with complaisance, when you are spoken to ; to place yourself at the lower end of the table, unless bid to go higher; not to eat awkwardly or dirtily ; not to sit when others stand : and to do all this with an air of complaisance, and not with a grave, sour look, as if you did it all unwillingly. I do not mean a silly, insipid smile, that fools have when they would be civil ; but an air of sensible good humor. I hardly know anything so difficult to attain, or so necessary to possess, as perfect good breeding, which is equally inconsistent with a stiff formality, an impertinent forwardness, and an awkward bashfulness. A little ceremony is often necessary ; a certain degree of firmness is absolutely so ; and an outward modesty is extremely becoming : the knowledge of the world, and your own observations, must, and alone can, tell you the proper quantities of each. Adieu.

LETTEE VIII.

DEAR BOY, Dublin Castle, November the 19th, 1745.

I have received your last Saturday's performance, with which I am very well satisfied.

Dancing is in itself a very trifling, silly thing ; but it is one of those established follies to which people of sense are sometimes obliged to conform ; and then they should be able to do it well. And, though I would not have you a dancer, yet, when you do dance, I would have you dance well, as I would have you do everything you do well. There is no one thing so trifling, but which (if it is to be done at all) ought to be done well. And I have often told you, that I wished you even played at pitch, and cricket, better than any boy at Westminster. For instance ; dress is a very foolish thing ; and yet it is a very foolish thing for a man not to be well dressed, according to his rank and way of life ; and it is so far from being a disparagement to any man's understanding, that it is rather a proof of it, to be as well dressed as those whom he lives with : the difference in this case, between a man of sense and a fop, is, that the fop values himself upon his dress ; and the man of sense laughs at it, at the same time that he knows he must not neglect it. There are a thousand foolish customs of this kind, which not being criminal must be complied with, and even cheerfully, by men of sense. Diogenes the Cynic was a wise man for despising them ; but a fool for showing it. Be wiser than other people, if you can ; but do not tell them so. Good-night.

LETTER IX.

DEAR Boy, Bath, October the 4th, 1746.

Though I employ so much of my time in writing to you, I confess I have often my doubts whether it is to any purpose. I know how unwelcome advice generally is; I know that those who want it most like it and follow it least; and I know, too, that the advice of parents, more particularly, is ascribed to the moroseness, the imperiousness, or the garrulity of old age. I flatter myself that, your own reason, young as it is, must tell you that I can have no interest but yours in the advice I give you; and that, consequently, you will at least weigh and consider it well: in which case, some of it will, I hope, have its effect. Do not think that I mean to dictate as a parent; I only mean to advise as a friend, and an indulgent one too: and do not apprehend that I mean to check your pleasures; of which, on the contrary, I only desire to be

Garrulity : talkativeness.

the guide, not the censor. Let my experience supply your want of it, and clear your way in the progress of your youth of those thorns and briers which scratched and disfigured me in the course of mine.

I have so often recommended to you attention and application to whatever you learn, that I do not mention them now as duties, but I point them out to you as conducive, nay, absolutely necessary, to your pleasures; for can there be a greater pleasure than to be universally allowed to excel those of one's own age and manner of life? And, consequently, can there be anything more mortifying than to be excelled by them ? I do not confine the application which I recommend, singly to the view and emulation of excelling others (though that is a very sensible pleasure and a very warrantable pride); but I mean likewise to excel in the thing itself: for, in my mind, one may as well not know a thing at all, as know it but imperfectly. To know a little of anything, gives neither satisfaction nor credit, but often brings disgrace or ridicule.

Mr. Pope says, very truly,

" A little knowledge is a dangerous thing; Drink deep, or taste not the Pierian spring."

And what is called a smattering of everything infallibly constitutes a coxcomb. I have often, of late, reflected what an unhappy man I must now have been, if I had not acquired in my youth some fund and»taste of learning. What could I have done with myself, at this age, without

them? My books, and only my books, are now left me; and I daily find what Cicero says of learning to be true: " These studies," says he, " nourish our youth, delight our age, adorn our good fortune, offer refuge and solace in adversity ; delight us at home, are not a hindrance abroad ; pass the night with us, travel with us, go into the country with us."

I do not mean, by this, to exclude conversation out of the pleasures of an advanced age; on the contrary, it is a very great and a very rational pleasure, at all ages; but the conversation of the ignorant is no conversation, and gives even them no pleasure: they tire of their own sterility, and have not matter enough to furnish them with words to keep up a conversation.

Let me, therefore, most earnestly recommend to you to hoard up, while you can, a great stock of knowledge; for though, during the dissipation of your youth, you may not have occasion to spend much of it, yet } t ou may depend upon it that a time will come, when you will want it to maintain you. Public granaries are filled in plentiful years; not that it is known that the next, or the second, or third year will prove a scarce one, but because it is known that sooner or later such a year will come, in which the grain will be wanted.

Do not imagine that the knowledge, which I so much recommend to you, is confined to books, pleasing, useful, and necessary as that knowledge is: but I comprehend in it the great knowledge of the world, still more necessary than that of books. In truth, they assist one another reciprocally; and no man will have either perfectly, who has not both. The knowledge of the world is only to be acquired in the world, and not in a closet. Books alone will never teach it you; but they will suggest many things to your observation, which might otherwise escape you; and your own observations upon mankind, Avhen compared with those which you will find in books, will help you to fix the true point.

To know mankind well requires full as much attention and application as to know books, and, it may be, more sagacity and discernment. I am, at this time, acquainted with many elderly people, who have all passed their whole lives in the great world, but with such levity and inattention, that they know no more of it now than they did at fifteen. Do not flatter yourself, therefore, with the thoughts that you can acquire this knowledge in the frivolous chit-chat of idle companies: no, you must go much deeper than that. You must look into people, as well as at them. Almost all people are born with all the passions, to a certain degree; but almost every man has a prevailing one, to which the others are subordinate. Search every one for that ruling passion; pry into the recesses of his heart, and observe the different workings of the same passion in different people. And, when you have found out the prevailing passion of any man, remember never to trust him, where that passion is concerned. Be upon your guard yourself against it, whatever professions he may make you.

I would desire you to read this letter twice over. Adieu.

Chesterfield.

LETTER X.

DEAR BOY, Bath, October the 9th, 1746.

Your distresses in your journey from Heidelberg to Schaffhausen, your lying upon straw, your black bread, and your broken Berline, are proper seasonings 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 accidents, rubs, and difficulties, which every man meets with in his journey through life. In this journey, the understanding is the vehicle 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 vehicle in perfect good repair; 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.

But a young man should be ambitious to shine and excel; alert, active, and indefatigable in the means of doing it; and, like Caesar, " Reckoning nothing done, if anything remains that ought to be done." You seem to want that vital energy of soul which spurs and excites most young men to please, to shine, to excel. Without the desire and the pains necessary to be considerable, depend upon it that you never can be so; as, without the desire and attention necessary to please, you never can please. " A diety is not wanting if there be prudence," 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. 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 reading the best authors with care, and by attention to the best living models.

If care and application are necessary to the acquiring of those qualifications, without which you can never be considerable 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 lowest 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