THE ENGLISH ABROAD.
THE watchful eye of Jenkins—that observant critic of men and manners—has been of late attracted and offended by the reedess and, indeed, the unfashionable way in which his countrymen and countrywomen attire themselves while travelling abroad. Jenkins, who is perhaps a person of almost Parisian ton, and who piques himself on frequently having been mistaken for a foreigner, has not been able to escape from his compatriots all through the long vaca- tion. He has had repeatedly to blush for the uncouth wideawakes of male, and the draggled crinoline of female friends. He has had to dodge up and down the streets of Paris, for fear of a reneontre with certain ill-dressed City acquaintances on the Boulevards. He has had to bolt round the corner from Smith, of Threadneedle-street, who was advancing in good spirits and a grey pea-jacket down the whole length of the Rue de Rivoli. He found the gardens of the Tuileries occupied in force by a detachment of the female Browns, in yellow shawls. At the Bois de Boulogne he was as near as possible having to shake hands with a family party, who were the admiration of col- lected crowds, owing to the extraordinary nature of their pork-pie hats. At last Jenkins could endure no longer the tortures of such an existence. The Englishman abroad is a terrible description of travelling gorilla, who advances, swinging his arms and smoking a short clay pipe, while the neighbouring streets and Boulevards re- echo to his roar. Instead of getting up a tree at his approach, Jenkins confined himself to retiring to his hotel, and there poured out his anonymous sorrow to the daily press. The signature is an- onymous, but the hand is unmistakable. The voice is the voice of Jenkins, who is blushing for his country. 0 England! what atro- cities does Jenkins daily see perpetrated in thy name !
There is, no doubt, some truth in Jenkins's lamentation that Eng- lish men abroad are not invariably gentlemen, nor Englishwomen at Paris invariably ladies. It would be a strange circumstance if it were otherwise. Continental travel does much for sctme people—no doubt it has done a great deal for Jenkins—but it cannot perform miracles. A trip to Paris leaves a man, on the whole, very much what it found him. He that dresses badly here will dress badly there ; indeed, will dress all the worse for being freed from the fear of the social censures of his friends. Ccelum non animus mutant qui trans mare currant. There is no railroad which conducts us in twelve hours, and for one pound five shillings, to sure and certain gentility. It would be very odd if the motley multitude of Englishmen who run over to Paris for a week were to wear the clothes of fashionable people on their arrival there. Increased facilities of locomotion have brought foreign cities within the reach of a large class of travellers who neither belong nor affect to belong to the upper or even to the middle classes. If British shopkeepers and British lawyers' clerks can spend a fortnight in visiting the Louvre and the Palais Royal, by all means let them do so, and not wait till they have learned to dress with taste. A little knowledge of the world will cure them of a good many absur- dities, and the spectacle of a polished and sociable crowd will not be without its salutary influence on the most barbarous. The social mis- demeanours of which the correspondents of the Times complain are, for the most part—it must be remembered—perpetrated by English people who do not pretend to be refined. That such persons should not be sensitive as to the impression they make upon the inhabitants of the continental cities they visit is not at all curious. Vulgar prejudice pre- vents them from observing what is thought of them by tlie public crowds amongst whom they move. The same vulgar prejudice which blunts their observation renders them naturally indifferent to censure. We can well imagine the nature of the exclamations which would rise with considerable fluency to the lips of most of them if they were to be told that a foreigner was astonished at their eccentricities. It is, perhaps, the first time they have been abroad. It is the first time that they have been able to assure themselves that frogs are not the staple dish of a Preach table d' Mk. They are struck dumb by the brilliancy of the jewellers' windows in the Palais Royal. They are much bewildered by their ignorance of the language of those around them. Everything they see dazzles and confounds.them. They feel thoroughly strange to the scene of life and animation about them, and do not mind confessing that they are so. It would be useless if they were to pretend to form a part of that from which they are absolutely and totally distinct. We must not be too hard upon them if they remain blind and impervious to the fact that they are stared at on all sides. No doubt they are a show to Paris, but then Paris is a show to them.
"Speetatum veniunt, quid si spectantur et ipsi?"
No French person of observation can for a moment suppose that visitors of this kind are fair specimens of the educated classes of Eng- land, any more than the educated classes of England believe that the disreputable denizens of Leicester-square are average specimens of the Faubourg St. Germain. But still, no doubt, the fact remains that a wider interval separates an English gentleman's appearance from that of a Parisian than is to be found betweeuthe personal tout ensembk of any other two continental gentlemen. When a Florentine, a Russian, or a Viennese, passes through the streets of Paris, he is indistinguish- able from the crowd. But an Englishman is an isolated being wher- ever he may go. His look, his dress, his bearing, all betray him. The eyes of curious and critical spectators pursue him as he walks. The very gamins in the street know that he comes from beyond the Dover Straits. Jenkins, whose power of generalization is extremely rapid, at once concludes that the reason the Englishman is singular must be because the Englishman is vulgar. But either that terrible critic's literary genius has led him into exaggerated language, or else his love of fashion renders him unfair. It is not true that English gentlemen abroad render themselves conspicuous by the vulgarity of their costume. A gentleman renders himself conspicuous nowhere more than he can help. To be conspicuous is naturally disagreeable to him, and if he finds himself the centre of continental obser- vation, he knows that it is either because English gentlemen do not dress like French gentlemen—customs and costumes differing naturally in different places—or because his appearance is that of a traveller. Jenkins's severity proceeds, then, from two mistakes, into which this eminent observer has fallen. In the first place, he does not seem to be aware that a gentleman when travelling usu- ally wears a travelling-dress. In the second place, he forgets that it is no dishonour to a nation if their national costume is unlike that of their neighbours in a few trivial matters of detail.
A summer tour in Switzerland would be rendered infinitely more inconvenient and considerably more expensive, if tourists were com- pelled by the Draconian law of a sensitive Jenkins to carry the cos- tume of Bond-street either on their backs or in their carpet bags. There is no real harm in a traveller looking. like a traveller. Pro- vided the dress worn is not an extravagance in itself, but a simple travelling-dress, no well-bred foreigner would hesitate to admit that a journey is an excuse for a deviation from ordinary habits. If we are only passing through Paris to the Tyrol, and have only our rough pedestrian attire with us, it would be affectation to suppose that we dare not stir beyond the gate of our hotel for fear of being noticed. An English resident, or even an English sojourner in Paris, will attire himself as ceremoniously as if he were at home. Courtesy demands that he should do so, and the rule of decorum is tolerably observed. But a man who is on a journey, after all, is not at home ; and though Jenkins's taste may lead him to endeavour to obliterate at once all traces of his recent travel, he need not be angry with those who are unable to transport from' capitals to mountains, and from mountains back to capitals, the apparatus requisite for constructing a Beau Brummeli. But dress as he will, an Englishman will never succeed in dressing so completely like a Frenchman as perhaps Jen- kins would desire. In the name of gentility, why is it to be desired that he should ? England is not France : London dressmakers are not Paris dressmakers ; the hats of Bond-street are not the hats of the Rue St. Honore. An English gentleman at the Louvre is not more remarkable for his nationality of dress than is a foreigner at the National Gallery. The different educated classes of the Continent are bound together by similarity of character, of manners, and the daily use (in most civilized countries) of the French language. England, on the other hand, has far less in common with her neighbours. As far as the Continent is concerned, we are distinctly and decidedly "outre- , manche" in most things. It is, perhaps, a fault or a misfortune of ours that this should be the case. The French have certainly social merits which all sensible Englishmen should acknowledge, just as the English, on the other hand, have social virtues which foreigners would do well to imitate. But in matters of costume it is of very little importance whether or no we remain distinct. Some people feel uncomfortable, nevertheless, that the distinction should be so strongly marked. Part of their discomfort arises, as we have seen, from causes which we deplore equally with themselves. Half certainly arises from the fact that their countrymen are not in the habit of employing French tailors. Let them blush for it as much as they choose, they will find it difficult to persuade us that this is a moral crime. Jenkins is anxious that John Bull should pretend to be a Frenchman—is he? In the gime of roast-beef and plum-pudding—confound Jenkins !
While we regret accordingly the misery inflicted upon him by the vulgarity of his countrymen and countrywomen, we cannot help re- marking that the complaint of Jenkins merely proves that some Englishmen are snobs, and that some English snobs travel on the Continent. The fact that French vaudevilles misrepresent and cari- cature the English traveller is also very much to be lamented. Let us console ourselves by reflecting how very often English farces mis- represent and caricature the French. In truth, both French and English are too much given to exagerating each others' follies. The Paris theatre is not the place where we should expect to find a fair picture of, or even a fair satire on, our countrymen. What English milord was ever like the milord of the French come- dies? What English husbands resemble the English husbands of the French stage ? The notion that Britain is a barbarous country —an idea which is so prevalent still abroad—is not one which reflects discredit on ourselves alone. It arises as much from foreign vanity and egotism as from insular angularity. To be cosmopolitan in one's sympathies and habits is no doubt a virtue, but it is, after all, no disgrace to be independent. While we would.not un- derrate the natural delicacy which will always induce gentlemen to
travel as gentlemen, or make light of that social refinement which con- sists in accommodating oneself as far as may be to the habits of those in
whose land we are journeying, it must be remembered that we have no reason to be ashamed of our country. The best class of English- men, and the best class of Frenchmen, are both above invidious com- parison or contrast. Putting these aside, we are inclined to hold that English people at heart are as refined as any people upon earth. Kindly feeling, sympathy with suffering, a dislike to seeing our
neighbours in pain, chivalry and respect for women, go very seeing to make up for defects in sociality or manner. There is no reason why we should dress badly or carelessly while we are abroad, and good
feeling and good sense alike forbid us to do so, but, after all, it is not so essential for us while we are travelling to assume French manners, as to retain our English hearts.
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