An Englishman and an American, in the earlier stages of their
acquaintance, are a complete mystery to one another. It seems incredible
that two such different persons should speak the same tongue.
The points of difference are not fundamental, but superficial. However,
things on the surface are always more conspicuous than things
underneath. For instance, the Englishman and the American are both
naturally warm-hearted. But when an American is glad to see you, he
shakes your hand for quite a while, and possibly will continue to hold
it until he has concluded his address of welcome. The Englishman shakes
your hand vigorously, drops it like a hot potato, and murmurs some
stereotyped greeting to his boots. He feels somehow that it would be
indecent to go farther.
In the subsequent conversation the American speaks as he thinks, clearly
and with cohesion, articulating every syllable in a well-rounded
sentence. To an Englishman, a well-rounded sentence savours of pedantry;
so he clothes what is sometimes a most interesting remark in a few
staccato phrases and a "Don't you know?"
The chief thing that an Englishman dreads at the outset of an
acquaintanceship is expansiveness. The more the stranger expands, the
more the Englishman contracts. The only way to win his confidence is to
show yourself as reticent and as perfunctory in conversation as himself.
He will then recognize in you that rare and precious object, a kindred
spirit, thaw rapidly, and unbosom himself to a surprising extent.
The characteristic of the Englishman which puzzles the American most is
his apparent lack of interest in serious matters, and the carelessness
or frivolity with which he refers to his own particular subject or
specialty. The American, like the Athenian of old, is forever seeking
for some new thing. And when he encounters that new thing, nothing can
prevent him getting to the roots of it. Consequently, when an American
finds himself in the company of a man who possesses certain special
skill or knowledge, it seems right and natural for him to draw that man
out upon his own subject. But when dealing with an Englishman he usually
draws a blank. He is met either by a cold stare or a smiling evasion.
The man may be a distinguished statesman, or soldier, or writer; but to
judge from his responses--half awkward, half humorous--to your shrewdest
and most searching queries, on the subject of politics, or war, or
letters, you will be left with the impression that you have been
conversing with a flippant and rather superficial amateur. To an
American, who is accustomed to say his prayers to the gods of Knowledge
and Efficiency, and who, to do him justice, is always willing to share
knowledge with others, such conduct savours of childishness--nay,
imbecility.
What the American does not realize--and one can hardly blame him--is
this, that the average Englishman is reared up from schoolboyhood in the
fear of two most awful and potent deities: "Side" and "Shop." It is
"side" to talk about yourself, or your work, or your achievements, or
your ambitions, or your wife, or anything that is yours. This is perhaps
no bad thing, but it certainly handicaps you as a conversationalist,
because naturally a man never talks so well as upon his own subject. The
twin deity, "Shop," is an even more ruthless tyrant. Never, under any
circumstances, may you discuss professional matters out of official
hours. To talk "shop" is perhaps the most accursed crime in the English
Secular Decalogue (set down hereafter). For instance, in an English
military Mess, a junior officer who referred at table to matters
connected with the life of the regiment would render himself liable to
stern rebuke. At Oxford or Cambridge, an undergraduate who ventured,
during dinner, upon a quotation from the Classics, would be fined pots
of ale all around.
In short, the more highly you are qualified to speak on a subject, the
more slightingly you refer to it; and the more passionately you are
interested in a matter, the less you say about it.
However, perhaps it would be simpler to set down the Englishman's
Secular Decalogue at length, appending thereto the appropriate comments
of the proverbial Man from Missouri. Here it is.
_The Englishman's Secular Decalogue_
(1) Thou shalt own allegiance to no man, save The King. Thou shalt be
deferential to those above thee in station, and considerate of those
below thee. To those of thine own rank thou mayest behave as seemeth
good to thee.
[_The Man from Missouri_: "I own allegiance to nothing on earth but the
American flag. As a democrat, I recognize no man as being either above
or below me in station."]
(2) Thou shalt worship thine ancestors and family connections.
[_The Man from Missouri_: "You got nothing on me there. We worship our
Ancestors, too. Did you ever know an American who hadn't got his
pedigree worked out to three places of decimals? Besides, that is why
many of us have got such a soft spot for that funny old island of
yours."]
(3) Thou shalt not talk "shop."
[_The Man from Missouri_: "That strikes me as punk. As a business man,
without any mildewed delusions about ancestral acres, or the vulgarity
of trade, my aim in life is to _do_ business, and do it all the time,
and never worry about hurting the feelings of the family ghost."]
(4) Thou shalt not put on side.
[_The Man from Missouri_: "But you _do_!"
_The Englishman_: "No, we _don't_! That stiffness of manner is due to
shyness."
_The Man from Missouri_: "Very well, then. Let it go at that."]
(5) Thou shalt not speak aught but flippantly of matters that concern
thee deeply.
[_The Man from Missouri_: "There you puzzle me to death. When I feel
glad about anything, or bad about anything, or mad about anything--well,
it seems only common sense to say so. Can't you _see that_?"
_The Englishman_: "No. It isn't done."]
(6) Thou shalt never make public thy domestic affairs. Above all, thou
shalt never make open reference to thy women, in places where men gather
together, such as the Club.
[_The Man from Missouri_: "Yes, that is sound. Still, I consider that as
a nation you rather overdo the Secrets of the Harem proposition."]
(7) Thou shalt make War as a Sportsman. Thou shalt play the game. That
is to say, thou shalt not study the science too laboriously beforehand,
for that would savour of professionalism. And when thou dost fight thou
shalt have strict regard for the rules, even if it be to thine own hurt.
Moreover, thou shalt play for thy side and not for thyself. Thou shalt
visit no personal affront upon thine enemy when thou dost capture him,
for that is not the game.
[_The Man from Missouri_: "Yes, I'm with you there all the time. Perhaps
a little more seriousness and a little less pipeclay might help your
Army, but no one denies their clean fighting."]
(8) Thou shalt never be in a hurry. Thou shalt employ deliberation in
thought.
[_The Man from Missouri_: "Yes, sir, I know all about that! It used to
make me hot under the collar to sit and listen to an Englishman's mind
working--on its first speed _all_ the time. Now that I know you better,
I am getting used to it; but I confess, right now, that there was a time
when I regarded your entire nation as solid ivory from the ears up."]
(9) Thou shalt not enter into friendly relations with a stranger, least
of all a foreigner, until thou shalt have made enquiry concerning him.
When thou hast discovered a common bond, however slight, thou shalt take
him to thy bosom.
[_The Man from Missouri_: "Yes, that's right. I once shared a ship-cabin
with an Englishman on a seven-day trip. For three days we never got
beyond 'Good morning,' although I could see by the look in his eye that
he was kindly disposed, and was only held back by want of a reference.
However, the fourth day out he asked me if I had ever been in
Shropshire. I said no, but my sister had once visited there, with some
people whose name I have now forgotten. But that was enough. It appeared
that he knew the people; he was their vassal, or overlord, or mortgagee,
or something. After that he wanted to adopt me."]
(10) Thou shalt render thyself inconspicuous. Thou shalt not wear
unusual apparel, or thou shalt be committed to a special hell reserved
for those who, knowing better, wear made-up ties, or who compass
unlawful combinations of frock-coats, derby hats, and tan boots.
[_The Man from Missouri_: "Oh, you Clarence!"]