All philosophers agree that the body is a machine given to man for his use. English ideas about the method of employing this machine are very different from our own. A Frenchman, as a rule, is not anxious to make any exceptional demands upon its strength. His great desire is that the machine should work properly and without requiring too much care. If on days when he feels so inclined he can walk twelve or fifteen miles without fatigue; if at the fair at Saint Cloud he can unhook an honourable number with a blow on the Turk’s head, he is perfectly satisfied. And if any one came and said to him, “Place yourself under my directions; I will make you rise early and go to bed early, although you like to rise late and sit up late: I will make you walk quickly six or seven hours a day, after which I will exterminate you with exercises on the dumb-bells; I will prevent your eating when you are hungry and drinking when you are thirsty; but thanks to my rules you will be able to do thirty miles without noticing it; at the next fair at Saint Cloud you will when you play give such a blow to the Turk’s head that the whole machine will be reduced to matchwood, and if you will accept a pair of the running breeches which Mr. Marseille offers for the use of amateurs, you will beat all his pupils in turn, amongst the applause of the idolatrous crowd;” I would bet heavily that ninety-nine Frenchmen out of a hundred would reply to this vile tempter—
“A thousand thanks! But first of all, I have a number of more interesting and amusing things to do than any of those you propose for me. I have only one life, and should be miserable if I used it in so wearisome a fashion. And lastly, if I must tell you the whole truth, it is possible that the prospect you open out to me may be very attractive to certain people, but it leaves me quite indifferent! Allow me, then, to remain as I am!”
An Englishman would probably accept the bargain at once. I was wrong to use the conditional. Two-thirds of the English, at least of those who belong to the upper classes of society, look up to this ideal from their earliest youth. Amongst our neighbours the truest happiness in reality consists in the enjoyment and exercise of physical strength. Incontestably that is the quality that they most appreciate. I have seen many Englishmen, thoroughly exasperated against Mr. Gladstone because of his Radicalism, allow their anger to melt away when they remember that although nearly eighty years old, he can still cut down trees at Hawarden.
A father feels more pride in his son’s talents as a boxer or rower, than in his literary success at Oxford or Cambridge. Amongst us, the newspapers write lengthily about the great competitions, but completely neglect to inform us of the games of prisoner’s base which the young candidates may have previously waged in their respective colleges. In England, the Times gives a short summary of the examinations at the end of the Oxford and Cambridge years; but as soon as the annual boat-race between the two universities draws near, its columns are freely opened to all details respecting it. For three months before the event takes place special reporters are employed to keep the English and colonial populations acquainted with the most minute particulars respecting the rowers’ health. They begin by quoting the men’s weights; the special rules that the trainers impose upon each of them are carefully explained. One fine morning, England learns with consternation that Jones, the stroke of one of the boats, has awakened with a slight headache; but on the morrow a relieved sigh escapes from thirty million breasts on reading the assurance that judicious purging has cured Jones’s headache.
These customs, which seem so strange to us, have certainly their good side. A young Englishman of sixteen or seventeen is intellectually one of the most prodigious dunces in creation. If one is absolutely determined to make him talk, one can induce him easily enough to relate every detail of the fine boxing match between Jack Thompson and Dick Harris, or he will even explain to you, and very clearly, the rules he followed in order to lose five pounds of his weight in one week, and beat Tom Wilkinson racing. This is all you can get from him, and it is very wearisome. But I infinitely prefer the type to that of Chérubin de Beaumarchais, who, nevertheless, never existed, or that of Fanfan Benoîton, who, unfortunately, is only too common amongst us.
The most terrible thing is that in this respect a young Englishman does not improve as he grows older, at least for the first few years. When he is nearly thirty years old, and he has seen and done a good many things, he often becomes interesting. But before that he has an extraordinary lack of conversation. There are several reasons for this. First of all he knows very little, for, in fact, he never learnt anything whilst he was at college. He does not read much: he really only interests himself in questions of sport. More than this, he takes no trouble. A Frenchman always thinks he can please a woman by seeking to be witty in her presence. The efforts he makes with this object may perhaps render him ridiculous, but it is because every one is doing his best that our salons are so agreeable and contain so many pleasant talkers. In England these ideas do not exist. Physical beauty rather than wit secures worldly success for a young man. In France a woman is fairly content not to be witty, but she desires above all to be beautiful; on the contrary, most of the men are indifferent about their appearance, but would be greatly mortified if any one questioned their wit.
In England the position is completely reversed. A fashionable young man, entering a drawing-room, takes no trouble to please the ladies present; he almost seems to say: “You must court and admire me!” On the other hand an Englishwoman is not coquettish in dress. She often flirts à outrance before her marriage, but that is necessary in order to obtain a husband. As soon as she has landed her prize she troubles very little about her appearance. But, in return, her husband is always well dressed, and often spends more on his clothes than she does on hers.
I said that young Englishmen know very little when they leave college. It would be very difficult for them to do otherwise, having given to study only the few hours left from cricket and boating. Most of the well-informed men that one meets have learnt all that they know after they left college. The educational system in this country has then a curious result. Whilst they are paying dearly for classes held by excellent professors, and for the use of the finest libraries in the world, they only learn boating, and it is quite impossible to study seriously, since all the time is passed in recreation. But some higher natures resent this deprivation of work so strongly that they leave college with a profound distaste for idleness, and they succeed in their self-instruction. Perhaps it would be more rational to work seriously during the years at college and to boat afterwards. This is the French system, only we exaggerate it so much that through unremitting study at college many of our young men are apt to dislike work afterwards. The true idea, according to the Romans, would be to have a mens sana in corpore sano. We Frenchmen, particularly in former years, have perhaps done rather too much for the development of the mind and not enough for the body; but really the English have always seemed to me to have gone too far in the opposite direction.
When I had ended my walk by the river-side, I returned across the fields and highway, talking to the peasants whom I met. Really, the more one sees of these fine Irishmen, the more one becomes attached to them. They have only two faults—they are very idle and horribly untruthful. But how witty they are! I am told that the other day an English tourist, a man already elderly, arrived at Castle Connell. He intended passing some weeks here, and on the recommendation of a friend, he had written to the inn to secure a room; he wished for one in the front of the house. He had been promised one, but did not get it. An honourable individual, living by his wits, introduced himself as having fishing rights in the river, and led him, for a consideration, to a certain spot, where he left him, promising him wonderful success. In five minutes he was arrested by a keeper, who threatened him with prosecution. After three or four adventures of the same kind he packed his portmanteau, vowing that he would never visit Ireland again.