126 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS

and trouble it would fave 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, confidering
the care and pains that have been employed about you; and, if
you do not anfwer thofe expeſtations, you will lofe your charaſter;
which is the moſt mortifying thing that can happen, to a generous
mind. Every body has ambition, of ſome kind or other, and is
vexed when that ambition is diſappointed: the difference is, that
the ambition of filly people, is a filly and miſtaken ambition;
and the ambition of people of ſenſe, is a right and commendable
one. For inſtance; the ambition of a filly 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 drefſing him out like a jackan-
apes, 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 flowing good-nature,
and compaſſion, in learning quicker, and applying himſelf more
than other boys. Theſe are real proofs of merit in him, and confe-
quently proper objeſts 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 filly fellow, will be to have a fine equi-
page, a fine houſe, and fine clothes; things which any body, that
has as much money, may have as well as he; for they are all to be
bought: but the ambition of a man of ſenſe and honour is, to be
diſtinguifhed 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 am-
bition of the Lacedemonians and the Romans, when they made the
greateſt figure; and fuch, I hope, yours will always be. Adieu.

2

LETTER

TO HIS SON.

127

LETTER LI.

YOU know so much more, and learn so much better, than
any boy of your age, that you fee I do not treat you like a
boy, but write to you upon objeſts fit for men to think and
confider of. When I ſend you examples of the virtues of the
ancients, it is not only to inform you of thofe pieces of Hiftory,
but to animate and excite you to follow thofe examples. You
there fee the advantages of virtue; how it is ſure (fooner or later)
to be rewarded, and with what prafes and encomiums the virtuous
aſtions of the great men of antiquity have been perpetuated, and
transmitted down to us. Julius Cæſar, though a tyrant, and
guilty of that great crime of enflaving his country, had, however,
fome virtues; and was diſtinguifhed for his clemency and huma-
nity; of which there is this remarkable inſtance.—Marcellus, a
man of confideration in Rome, had taken part with Pompey, in
the civil war between him and Cæſar, and had even acted with
zeal and acrimony againſt Cæſar. However, after Cæſar had con-
quered Pompey, and was returned to Rome victorious, the Senate
interceded with him in favour of Marcellus; whom he not only
pardoned, but took into his friendſhip. Cicero made an oration,
on purpofe to compliment Cæſar upon this aſt of good-nature and
generofity; in which, among many other things, he tells him, that
he looks upon his pardoning Marcellus as a greater aſtion than
all his viſtories: his words in Latin are theſe—Domuiſi gentes
immanitate barbaras, multitudine innumerables, locis infinitas, omni
copiarum genere abundantes: fed tamen ea vicifli, quæ et naturam
et conditionem ut vinci poffent, habebant. Nulla eſt enim tanta vitæ,
tanta copia, quæ non ferro ac viribus debilitari frangique poffent.

Verum

128

LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS

Verum animum vincere; iracundiam cobire; vielioriam temperare;
adverfarium nobilitate, ingenio, virtute præflantem non modo
extollere jacentem, sed etiam amplificare ejus pristinam dignitatem:
bæc qui faciat, non ego eum cum summis viris comparo, sed simili-
mum Deo judico.

It is certain, that humanity is the particular *characteristic* of a
great mind; little, vicious minds are full of anger and revenge,
and are incapable of feeling the *exalted* pleasure of forgiving their
enemies, and of beflowing marks of favour and generosity upon
thofe of whom they have gotten the better. Adieu !

I have underlined [printed in Italics] thofe words that I think
you do not underfland, to put you in mind to ask the mean-
ing of them.

LETTER LII.

MON CHER ENFANT,

Jeudi soir.

VOUS lifez à préfent la Nouvelle Hiftorique de Don Carlos,
par l'Abbé de St. Real: elle eft joliment écrite, et le fond
de l'hiſtoire en eſt véritable. L'Abbé l'a feulement brodé un peu
pour lui donner l'air de *Nouvelle*. A propos, je doute fi vous favez
ce que c'eſt que *Nouvelle*. C'eſt une petite hiftoire galante, où
il entre beaucoup d'amour, et qui ne fait qu'un ou deux petits vo-
lumes. Il faut qu'il y ait une intrigue, que les deux amans
trouvent bien des difficultés et des obſtacles qui s'oppoſent à l'ac-
compliflement de leurs vœux: mais qu'à la fin ils les furmontent,
et que le dénouement ou la cataftrophe, les laifſent tous heureux.
Une *Nouvelle* eſt un espece de Roman en raccourci: car un Roman
eſt ordinairement de douze volumes, rempli de fadaifes amoureu-
ſes, et d'aventures incroiables. Le fujet d'un Roman eſt quel-

quefois

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TO HIS SON.

129

quefois une hiftoire faite à plaſir, c'eſt à dire toute inventée;
et quelquefois une hiftoire véritable; mais ordinairement ſi changée
et travailtie, qu'on ne la reconnoit plus. Par exemple, il y a le
Grand Cyrus, Clélie, Cléopatre, trois Romans célèbres, ou il y entre
un peu d'hiſtoire véritable, mais ſi mêlée de fauffiétés et de folies
amoureufes, qu'ils ſervent plus à embrouiller et à corrompre
l'esprit, qu'à le former ou à l'inſtuire. On y voit les plus
grands Héros de l'antiquité, faire les amoureux tranſis, et débiter
des fades tendrefles, au fond d'un bois, à leur belle inhumaine, qui
leur répond ſur le même ton: enſin c'eſt une leſture très frivole,
que celle des Romans, et l'on y perd tout le tems qu'on y donne.
Les vieux Romans qu'on écrivoit il y a cent ou deux cents ans,
comme Amadis de Gaule, Roland le Furieux, et autres, étoient far-
cis d'enchantemens, de magiciens, de geans, et de ces fortes de
ſottes impoffibilités; au lieu que les Romans plus modernes, ſe tien-
nent au poſſible, mais pas au vraifemblable. Et je croirois tout
autant que le grand Brutus, qui chaſſa les Tarquins de Rome, fut
enfermé par quelque Magicien dans un château enchanté; que je
croirois, qu'il faisoit de fots vers auprès de la belle Clélie: comme
on le repréſente dans le Roman de ce nom.

Au reſte, Don Carlos, dont vous lifez la Nouvelle, étoit ſils de
Philippe ſecond Roi d'Espagne, ſils de l'Empereur Charlequint ou
Charles cinquième. Ce Charlequint étoit, en même tems Empereur
d'Allemagne et Roi d'Espagne; il avoit auſſi toute la Flandre et
la plus grande partie de l'Italie. Il regna long tems; mais deux
ou trois ans avant que de mourir, il abdiqua la Roiauté, et ſe re-
tira, comme particulier, au couvent de St. Juſt, en Espagne:
cédant l'Empire à ſon frere Ferdinand, et l'Espagne, l'Ameri-
que, la Flandre et l'Italie, à ſon ſils Philippe ſecond; qui ne
lui reſiembloit gueres: car il étoit fier et cruel, même envers ſon ſils
Don Carlos qu'il ſit mourir.

Vol. I.

S

Don,

130 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS

*Don*, est un titre qu'on donne en Efpagne, à tout honnête homme; comme *Monfieur* en François, et *Signor* en Italien. Par exemple; si vous étiez en Efpagne on vous appelleroit *Don Philippe*. Adieu.

TRANSLATION.

Thursday Night:

MY DEAR CHILD,

YOU are now reading the Historical Novel of Don Carlos, written by the Abbé of St. Real. The foundation of it is true; the Abbé has only embellished a little, in order to give it the turn of a Novel; and it is prettily written. *A propos*; I am in doubt whether you know what a Novel is: it is a little gallant hiftory, which must contain a great deal of love, and not exceed one or two small volumes. The subject must be a love affair; the lovers are to meet with many difficulties and obstructions, to oppose the accomplishment of their wishes, but at last overcome them all; and the conclusion or catastrophe must leave them happy. A Novel is a kind of abbreviation of a Romance; for a Romance generally confits of twelve volumes, all filled with infidel love nonfénde, and most incredible adventures. The subject of a Romance is sometimes a story entirely fictitious, that is to say, quite invented; at other times a true story, but generally so changed and altered, that one cannot know it. For example; in Grand Cyrus, Clelia, and Cleopatra, three celebrated Romances, there is some true hiftory; but so blended with falsofities, and filly love adventures, that they confuse and corrupt the mind, instead of forming and inflecting it. The greatest Heroes of antiquity are there reprefented in woods and forefts, whining infidel love-tales to their inhuman fair one; who

answers

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TO HIS SON.

131

answers them in the fame flyle. In short, the reading of Romances is a most frivolous occupation, and time merely thrown away. The old Romances, written two or three hundred years ago, such as Amadis of Gaul, Orlando the Furious, and others, were fluft with enchantments, magicians, giants, and such fort of impoffibilities; whereas the more modern Romances keep within the bounds of poſſibility, but not of probability. For I would juſt as soon believe, that the great Brutus, who expelled the Tarquins from Rome, was flut up by some magician in an enchanted caſtle, as imagine that he was making filly verſes for the beautiful Clelia, as he is repreſented in the Romance of that name.

Don Carlos, whose name is given to the Novel you are now reading, was fon to Philip II. King of Spain, who was himself ſon of the Emperor Charlequint, or Charles V. This Charles V, was, at the fame time, Emperor of Germany and King of Spain; he was, besides, maſter of all Flanders, and the greatest part of Italy. He reigned long; but, two or three years before his death, he abdicated the crown, and retired, as a private man, to the convent of St. Juſt, in Spain. He ceded the Empire to his brother Ferdinand; and Spain, America, Flanders, and Italy, to his ſon Philip II; who was very unlike him, for he was proud and cruel, even towards his ſon, Don Carlos, whom he put to death.

*Don* is a title, which is given, in Spain, to every gentleman; as *Monfieur* in France, and *Signor* in Italy. For instance; if you were in Spain, you would be called Don Philip. Adieu.

S 2

LETTER

132

LORD GHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS

LETTER LIII.

DEAR BOY,

Thursday.

YOU will seldom hear from me, without an admonition to think. All you learn, and all you can read, will be of little use, if you do not think and reason upon it yourself. One reads to know other people's thoughts; but if we take them upon truſt, without examining and comparing them with our own, it is really living upon other people's ſcraps, or retailing other people's goods. To know the thoughts of others is of use, because it fuppels thoughts to one's ſelf, and helps one to form a judgment; but to repeat other people's thoughts, without confidering whether they are right or wrong, is the talent only of a parrot, or at moſt a player.

If Night were given you as a ſubject to compoſe upon, you would do very well to look what the beſt authors have ſaid upon it, in order to help your own invention; but then you muſt think of it afterwards yourſelf, and expreſs it in your own manner, or else you would be at beſt but a plagiary. A plagiary is a man who ſteals other people's thoughts, and puts them off for his own. You would find, for example, the following account of Night in Virgil:

Nox erat, et placidum carpebant ſeffa soporem
Corpora per terras; ſylvaque et ſavia quiérant
Aquora: cum medio volountar ſidera lapſu;
Cum tacet omnis ager, pecudes piſtæque volucres,
Quæque lacus latè liquidos, quæque ofpera dumis

Rura,

TO HIS SON.

133

Rura tenent; ſonno poſtæ ſub noſte filenti
Lenibant curas, et corda oblita laborum.

Here you fee the effects of Night; that it brings reſt to men, when they are wearied with the labours of the day; that the flars move in their regular course; that flocks and birds repoſe themſelves, and enjoy the quiet of the Night. This, upon examination, you would find to be all true; but then, upon confideration, too, you would find, that it is not all that is to be ſaid upon Night: and many more qualities and effects of Night would occur to you. As for inſtance; though Night is in general the time of quiet and repoſe, yet it is often the time, too, for the commiffion and ſecurity of crimes; ſuch as robberies, murders, and violations; which generally ſeek the advantage of darkneſs, as favourable for the eſcapes of the guilty. Night, too, though it brings reſt and reſrefhment to the innocent and virtuous, brings diſquiet and horror to the guilty. The confeciouſneſs of their crimes torments them, and denies them ſleep and quiet. You might, from theſe reſlections, confider what would be the proper epithets to give to Night: as for example; if you were to repreſent Night in its moſt pleafing ſhape, as procuring quiet and reſrefhment from labour and toil, you might call it the *friendly* Night, the *ſilent* Night, the *welcome* Night, the *peaceful* Night: but if, on the contrary, you were to repreſent it as inviting to the commiſſion of crimes, you would call it, the *guilty* Night, the *conficious* Night, the *horrid* Night; with many other epithets, that carry along with them the idea of horror and guilt: for an epithet to be proper, muſt always be adapted (that is, ſuited) to the circumſtances of the perſon or thing to which it is given. Thus Virgil, who generally gives Encaſis the epithet of pious, becauſe of his

3

piety

LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS

134

piety to the Gods, and his duty to his father, calls him Dux
Eneas, where he repreſents him making love to Dido, as a properer
epith for them in that ſituation; becauſe making love becomes
a General much better than a man of ſingular piety.

Lay afide, for a few minutes, the thoughts of play, and think
of this ſeriously.

Amato quæramus feria ludo.

Adieu.

You may come to me on Saturday morning, before you go to
Mr. Maittaire.

LETTER LIV.

DEAR BOY,

Sunday.

I
Shall not foon leave the ſubject of invention and thinking;
which I would have you apply to, as much as your age and
giddineſs will permit. Uſe will make it every day eafier to
you, and age and obſervation will improve it. Virtue is a ſubjeſt
that deſerves your and every man's attention; and ſuppoſe I were
to bid you make ſome verſes, or give me your thoughts in proſe,
upon the ſubject of Virtue, How would you go about it? Why
you would firſt confider what Virtue is, and then what are the
effect's and marks of it, both with regard to others and to one's
ſelf. You would find, then, that Virtue conſiſts in doing good,
and in ſpeaking truth; that the effect's of it are advantageous
to all mankind, and to one's ſelf in particular. Virtue makes us
pity and relieve the misfortunes of mankind; it makes us pro-
mote juſtice and good order in ſociety; and, in general, contributes

to

TO HIS SON.

135

to whatever tends to the real good of mankind. To ourſelves it
gives an inward comfort and ſatisfaction, which nothing eſſe can
do, and which nothing can rob us of. All other advantages de-
pend upon others, as much as upon ourſelves. Riches, power,
and greatneſs may be taken away from us, by the violence and
injuitce of others, or by inevitable accidents; but Virtue depends
only upon ourſelves, and nobody can take it away from us.
Sickneſs may deprive us of all the pleaſures of the body; but it
cannot deprive us of our Virtue, nor of the ſatisfaction which we
feel from it. A virtuous man, under all the misfortunes of life,
ſtill finds an inward comfort and ſatisfaction, which makes him
happier than any wicked man can be, with all the other advan-
tages of life. If a man has acquired great power and riches by
ſalſehood, injuitce, and oppreſſion, he cannot enjoy them; becauſe
his conſience will torment him, and conſtantly reproach him with
the means by which he got them. The ſtings of his conſience
will not even let him ſleep quietly; but he will dream of his
erimes: and in the day-time, when alone, and when he has time
to think, he will be uneaſy and melancholy. He is afraid of every
thing; for, as he knows mankind muſt hate him, he has reaſon to
think they will hurt him, if they can. Whereas, if a virtuous
man be ever so poor, or unfortunate in the world, ſtill his virtue
is its own reward, and will comfort him under all aſſiſtions.
The quiet and ſatisfaction of his conſience make him chearful by
day, and ſleep found of nights: he can be alone with pleaſure,
and is not afraid of his own thoughts. Befides this, he is univer-
fally eſteemed and reſpected: for even the moſt wicked people
themſelves, cannot help admiring and reſpecting Virtue in others.
All theſe, and many other advantages, you would aſcribe to Virtue,
if you were to compoſe upon that ſubject. A Poet ſays,

If/ſa quidem Virtus, ſibimet pulcherrima merces.

And