There is something serio-comic about the word "British," or something chauvinistic. You would be right in saying "British army, British soldiers." The lady who fills the newspapers with her outcries against the few nudities exhibited in the Academy every season, is known only by the name of "British Matron."
An Englishman only calls his fellow-countrymen "Britons" when he is half laughing at them. When he says, "We Britons," he is not quite serious; on the contrary, when he says, "We Englishmen," his face reflects the feeling of respect with which the sound of his name inspires him.
The "English public," is good society; the "British" public means the common run of mortals in the United Kingdom.
British philosophy! that philosophy that makes us like what we have when we cannot have what we like; that philosophy taught by that good mother, and incomparable teacher, whose name is Necessity.
Alas, we French people do not possess this kind of philosophy. I wish we did. As a matter of fact, we are the most absurdly sensitive, thin-skinned people on the face of the earth. We do not know how to take a kick, much less, make use of it. I mean a kick in the figurative sense; the one that leaves no trace, and does not prevent us from sitting at our ease.
But, if the Englishman knows how to take it, do you believe he feels it the less for that? Be not deceived on the point. He exercises control over himself. He does not give it back on the spot, but stores it up, rubs the injured part, applies a little cold cream, if necessary, and awaits the moment when he will be able to return it with interest. Such is the difference between the two men. To my mind, the Englishman is the more intelligent of the two.
Success turns our heads in France, reverses discourage and demoralize us; we know neither how to profit by victory, nor put up with defeat. In victory, we see only glory; in defeat, only disgrace.
Thus we are led to make war to serve dynastic interests; we go to the Crimea for the English, who do not go to Germany for us; we set the Italian nation on its feet, and to-day, see it, in its profound gratitude, preferring Germany to ourselves.
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Criticism exasperates instead of benefiting us, and even occasionally amusing us. We hate our enemies, instead of being grateful to them for the good they do us; for if we owe part of our success to our friends, we owe a still greater part to our enemies.