All is vanity and everybody's vain. Women are terribly vain. So aremen--more so, if possible. So are children, particularly children.
One of them at this very moment is hammering upon my legs. She wantsto know what I think of her new shoes. Candidly I don't think much ofthem. They lack symmetry and curve and possess an indescribableappearance of lumpiness (I believe, too, they've put them on the wrongfeet). But I don't say this. It is not criticism, but flattery thatshe wants; and I gush over them with what I feel to myself to bedegrading effusiveness. Nothing else would satisfy thisself-opinionated cherub. I tried the conscientious-friend dodge withher on one occasion, but it was not a success. She had requested myjudgment upon her general conduct and behavior, the exact casesubmitted being, "Wot oo tink of me? Oo peased wi' me?" and I hadthought it a good opportunity to make a few salutary remarks upon herlate moral career, and said: "No, I am not pleased with you." Irecalled to her mind the events of that very morning, and I put it toher how she, as a Christian child, could expect a wise and good uncleto be satisfied with the carryings on of an infant who that very dayhad roused the whole house at five AM.; had upset a water-jug andtumbled downstairs after it at seven; had endeavored to put the cat inthe bath at eight; and sat on her own father's hat at ninethirty-five.
What did she do? Was she grateful to me for my plain speaking? Didshe ponder upon my words and determine to profit by them and to leadfrom that hour a better and nobler life?
No! she howled.
That done, she became abusive. She said:
"Oo naughty--oo naughty, bad unkie--oo bad man--me tell MAR."And she did, too.
Since then, when my views have been called for I have kept my realsentiments more to myself like, preferring to express unboundedadmiration of this young person's actions, irrespective of theiractual merits. And she nods her head approvingly and trots off toadvertise my opinion to the rest of the household. She appears toemploy it as a sort of testimonial for mercenary purposes, for Isubsequently hear distant sounds of "Unkie says me dood dirl--me dotto have two bikkies [biscuits]."There she goes, now, gazing rapturously at her own toes and murmuring"pittie"--two-foot-ten of conceit and vanity, to say nothing of otherwickednesses.
They are all alike. I remember sitting in a garden one sunnyafternoon in the suburbs of London. Suddenly I heard a shrill treblevoice calling from a top-story window to some unseen being, presumablyin one of the other gardens, "Gamma, me dood boy, me wery good boy,gamma; me dot on Bob's knickiebockies."Why, even animals are vain. I saw a great Newfoundland dog the otherday sitting in front of a mirror at the entrance to a shop in Regent'sCircus, and examining himself with an amount of smug satisfaction thatI have never seen equaled elsewhere outside a vestry meeting.
I was at a farm-house once when some high holiday was beingcelebrated. I don't remember what the occasion was, but it wassomething festive, a May Day or Quarter Day, or something of thatsort, and they put a garland of flowers round the head of one of thecows. Well, that absurd quadruped went about all day as perky as aschoolgirl in a new frock; and when they took the wreath off shebecame quite sulky, and they had to put it on again before she wouldstand still to be milked. This is not a Percy anecdote. It is plain,sober truth.
As for cats, they nearly equal human beings for vanity. I have knowna cat get up and walk out of the room on a remark derogatory to herspecies being made by a visitor, while a neatly turned compliment willset them purring for an hour.
I do like cats. They are so unconsciously amusing. There is such acomic dignity about them, such a "How dare you!" "Go away, don't touchme" sort of air. Now, there is nothing haughty about a dog. They are"Hail, fellow, well met" with every Tom, Dick, or Harry that they comeacross. When I meet a dog of my acquaintance I slap his head, callhim opprobrious epithets, and roll him over on his back; and there helies, gaping at me, and doesn't mind it a bit.
Fancy carrying on like that with a cat! Why, she would never speak toyou again as long as you lived. No, when you want to win theapprobation of a cat you must mind what you are about and work yourway carefully. If you don't know the cat, you had best begin bysaying, "Poor pussy." After which add "did 'ums" in a tone ofsoothing sympathy. You don't know what you mean any more than the catdoes, but the sentiment seems to imply a proper spirit on your part,and generally touches her feelings to such an extent that if you areof good manners and passable appearance she will stick her back up andrub her nose against you. Matters having reached this stage, you mayventure to chuck her under the chin and tickle the side of her head,and the intelligent creature will then stick her claws into your legs;and all is friendship and affection, as so sweetly expressed in thebeautiful lines--"I love little pussy, her coat is so warm,And if I don't tease her she'll do me no harm;So I'll stroke her, and pat her, and feed her with food,And pussy will love me because I am good."The last two lines of the stanza give us a pretty true insight intopussy's notions of human goodness. it is evident that in her opiniongoodness consists of stroking her, and patting her, and feeding herwith food. I fear this narrow-minded view of virtue, though, is notconfined to pussies. We are all inclined to adopt a similar standardof merit in our estimate of other people. A good man is a man who isgood to us, and a bad man is a man who doesn't do what we want him to.
The truth is, we each of us have an inborn conviction that the wholeworld, with everybody and everything in it, was created as a sort ofnecessary appendage to ourselves. Our fellow men and women were madeto admire us and to minister to our various requirements. You and I,dear reader, are each the center of the universe in our respectiveopinions. You, as I understand it, were brought into being by aconsiderate Providence in order that you might read and pay me forwhat I write; while I, in your opinion, am an article sent into theworld to write something for you to read. The stars--as we term themyriad other worlds that are rushing down beside us through theeternal silence--were put into the heavens to make the sky lookinteresting for us at night; and the moon with its dark mysteries andever-hidden face is an arrangement for us to flirt under.
I fear we are most of us like Mrs. Poyser's bantam cock, who fanciedthe sun got up every morning to hear him crow. "'Tis vanity thatmakes the world go round." I don't believe any man ever existedwithout vanity, and if he did he would be an extremely uncomfortableperson to have anything to do with. He would, of course, be a verygood man, and we should respect him very much. He would be a veryadmirable man--a man to be put under a glass case and shown round as aspecimen--a man to be stuck upon a pedestal and copied, like a schoolexercise--a man to be reverenced, but not a man to be loved, not ahuman brother whose hand we should care to grip. Angels may be veryexcellent sort of folk in their way, but we, poor mortals, in ourpresent state, would probably find them precious slow company. Evenmere good people are rather depressing. It is in our faults andfailings, not in our virtues, that we touch one another and findsympathy. We differ widely enough in our nobler qualities. It is inour follies that we are at one. Some of us are pious, some of us aregenerous. Some few of us are honest, comparatively speaking; andsome, fewer still, may possibly be truthful. But in vanity andkindred weaknesses we can all join hands. Vanity is one of thosetouches of nature that make the whole world kin. From the Indianhunter, proud of his belt of scalps, to the European general, swellingbeneath his row of stars and medals; from the Chinese, gleeful at thelength of his pigtail, to the "professional beauty," sufferingtortures in order that her waist may resemble a peg-top; fromdraggle-tailed little Polly Stiggins, strutting through Seven Dialswith a tattered parasol over her head, to the princess sweepingthrough a drawing-room with a train of four yards long; from 'Arry,winning by vulgar chaff the loud laughter of his pals, to thestatesman whose ears are tickled by the cheers that greet hishigh-sounding periods; from the dark-skinned African, bartering hisrare oils and ivory for a few glass beads to hang about his neck, tothe Christian maiden selling her white body for a score of tiny stonesand an empty title to tack before her name--all march, and fight, andbleed, and die beneath its tawdry flag.
Ay, ay, vanity is truly the motive-power that moves humanity, and itis flattery that greases the wheels. If you want to win affection andrespect in this world, you must flatter people. Flatter high and low,and rich and poor, and silly and wise. You will get on famously.
Praise this man's virtues and that man's vices. Compliment everybodyupon everything, and especially upon what they haven't got. Admireguys for their beauty, fools for their wit, and boors for theirbreeding. Your discernment and intelligence will be extolled to theskies.
Every one can be got over by flattery. The belted earl--"belted earl"is the correct phrase, I believe. I don't know what it means, unlessit be an earl that wears a belt instead of braces. Some men do. Idon't like it myself. You have to keep the thing so tight for it tobe of any use, and that is uncomfortable. Anyhow, whatever particularkind of an earl a belted earl may be, he is, I assert, get-overable byflattery; just as every other human being is, from a duchess to acat's-meat man, from a plow boy to a poet--and the poet far easierthan the plowboy, for butter sinks better into wheaten bread than intooaten cakes.
As for love, flattery is its very life-blood. Fill a person with lovefor themselves, and what runs over will be your share, says a certainwitty and truthful Frenchman whose name I can't for the life of meremember. (Confound it! I never can remember names when I want to.)Tell a girl she is an angel, only more angelic than an angel; that sheis a goddess, only more graceful, queenly, and heavenly than theaverage goddess; that she is more fairy-like than Titania, morebeautiful than Venus, more enchanting than Parthenope; more adorable,lovely, and radiant, in short, than any other woman that ever didlive, does live, or could live, and you will make a very favorableimpression upon her trusting little heart. Sweet innocent! she willbelieve every word you say. It is so easy to deceive a woman--in thisway.
Dear little souls, they hate flattery, so they tell you; and when yousay, "Ah, darling, it isn't flattery in your case, it's plain, sobertruth; you really are, without exaggeration, the most beautiful, themost good, the most charming, the most divine, the most perfect humancreature that ever trod this earth," they will smile a quiet,approving smile, and, leaning against your manly shoulder, murmur thatyou are a dear good fellow after all.
By Jove! fancy a man trying to make love on strictly truthfulprinciples, determining never to utter a word of mere compliment orhyperbole, but to scrupulously confine himself to exact fact! Fancyhis gazing rapturously into his mistress' eyes and whispering softlyto her that she wasn't, on the whole, bad-looking, as girls went!
Fancy his holding up her little hand and assuring her that it was of alight drab color shot with red; and telling her as he pressed her tohis heart that her nose, for a turned-up one, seemed rather pretty;and that her eyes appeared to him, as far as he could judge, to bequite up to the average standard of such things!
A nice chance he would stand against the man who would tell her thather face was like a fresh blush rose, that her hair was a wanderingsunbeam imprisoned by her smiles, and her eyes like two evening stars.
There are various ways of flattering, and, of course, you must adaptyour style to your subject. Some people like it laid on with atrowel, and this requires very little art. With sensible persons,however, it needs to be done very delicately, and more by suggestionthan actual words. A good many like it wrapped up in the form of aninsult, as--"Oh, you are a perfect fool, you are. You would give yourlast sixpence to the first hungry-looking beggar you met;" whileothers will swallow it only when administered through the medium of athird person, so that if C wishes to get at an A of this sort, he mustconfide to A's particular friend B that he thinks A a splendid fellow,and beg him, B, not to mention it, especially to A. Be careful that Bis a reliable man, though, otherwise he won't.
Those fine, sturdy John Bulls who "hate flattery, sir," "Never letanybody get over me by flattery," etc., etc., are very simply managed.
Flatter them enough upon their absence of vanity, and you can do whatyou like with them.
After all, vanity is as much a virtue as a vice. It is easy to recitecopy-book maxims against its sinfulness, but it is a passion that can"move us to good as well as to evil. Ambition is only vanityennobled. We want to win praise and admiration--or fame as we preferto name it--and so we write great books, and paint grand pictures, andsing sweet songs; and toil with willing hands in study, loom, andlaboratory.
We wish to become rich men, not in order to enjoy ease andcomfort--all that any one man can taste of those may be purchasedanywhere for 200 pounds per annum--but that our houses may be biggerand more gaudily furnished than our neighbors'; that our horses andservants may be more numerous; that we may dress our wives anddaughters in absurd but expensive clothes; and that we may give costlydinners of which we ourselves individually do not eat a shilling'sworth. And to do this we aid the world's work with clear and busybrain, spreading commerce among its peoples, carrying civilization toits remotest corners.
Do not let us abuse vanity, therefore. Rather let us use it. Honoritself is but the highest form of vanity. The instinct is notconfined solely to Beau Brummels and Dolly Vardens. There is thevanity of the peacock and the vanity of the eagle. Snobs are vain.
But so, too, are heroes. Come, oh! my young brother bucks, let us bevain together. Let us join hands and help each other to increase ourvanity. Let us be vain, not of our trousers and hair, but of bravehearts and working hands, of truth, of purity, of nobility. Let us betoo vain to stoop to aught that is mean or base, too vain for pettyselfishness and little-minded envy, too vain to say an unkind word ordo an unkind act. Let us be vain of being single-hearted, uprightgentlemen in the midst of a world of knaves. Let us pride ourselvesupon thinking high thoughts, achieving great deeds, living good lives.