Foreign travel is one of the most useful branches of our education, but,
like a great many other useful branches, it appears to be "gone through
with" by many persons merely as a matter of course. It is astonishing
how few people out of the great number constantly making the tour of
Europe really carry home any thing to show for it except photographs and
laces. Foreign travel ought to rub the corners off a man's character,
and give him a polish such as "home-keeping youth" can never acquire;
yet how many we see who seem to have increased their natural rudeness
and inconsiderateness by a continental trip! Foreign travel ought to
soften prejudices, religious or political, and liberalize a man's mind;
but how many there are who seem to have travelled for the purpose of
getting up their rancour against all that is opposed to their notions,
making themselves illustrations of Tom Hood's remark, that "some minds
resemble copper wire or brass, and get the narrower by going farther."
Foreign travel, while it shows a man more clearly the faults of his own
country, ought to make him love his country more dearly than before; yet
how often does it have the effect of making a man undervalue his home
and his old friends! There must be some general reason why foreign
travel produces its legitimate fruits in so few instances; and I have,
during several European tours, endeavoured to ascertain it. I am
inclined to think that it is a general lack of preparation for travel,
and a mistaken notion that "sight-seeing" is the chief end of
travelling. The expenses of the passage across the Atlantic are
diminishing every year, and when the motive power in electricity is
discovered and applied, the expense of the trip will be a mere trifle;
and in view of these considerations, I feel that, though I might find a
more entertaining subject for a letter, I cannot find a more instructive
one than the philosophy of European travel.
Concerning the expense of foreign travel, there are many erroneous
notions afloat. There are hundreds of persons in America--artists, and
students, and persons of small means--who are held back from what is to
them a land of promise, by the mistaken idea that it is expensive to
travel in Europe. They know that Bayard Taylor made a tour on an
incredibly small sum, and they think that they have not his tact in
management, nor his self-denial in regard to the common wants of life;
but if they will put aside a few of their false American prejudices,
they will find that they can travel in Europe almost as cheaply as they
can live at home. In America, we have an aristocracy of the pocket,
which is far more tyrannical, and much less respectable, than any
aristocracy of blood on this side of the water; for every man feels an
instinctive respect for another who can trace his lineage back to some
brave soldier whose deeds have shone in his country's history for
centuries; but it requires a peculiarly constituted mind to bow down to
a man whose chief claim to respect is founded in the fact of his having
made a large fortune in the pork or dry goods line. Jinkins is a rich
man; he lives in style, and fares sumptuously every day. Jones is one of
Jinkins's neighbours; he is not so rich as Jinkins, but he feels a
natural ambition to keep up with him in his establishment, and he does
so; the rivalry becomes contagious, and the consequence is, that a score
of well-meaning people find, to their dismay, at the end of the year,
that they have been living beyond their means. Now, if people wish to
travel reasonably in Europe, the first thing that they must do is to get
rid of the Jones and Jinkins standard of respectability. I have seen
many people who were content to live at home in a very moderate sort of
way, who, when they came to travel, seemed to require all the style and
luxury of a foreign prince. Such people may go all over Europe, and see
very little of it except the merest outside crust. They might just as
well live in a fashionable hotel in America, and visit Mr. Sattler's
cosmoramas. They resemble those unfortunate persons who have studied the
classics from Anthon's text-books--they have got a general notion, but
of the mental discipline of the study they are entirely ignorant. But
let me go into particulars concerning the expenses of travelling. I know
that a person can go by a sailing vessel from Boston to Genoa, spend a
week or more in Genoa and on the road to Florence, pass two or three
weeks in that delightful city, and two months in Rome, then come to
Paris, and stay here two or three weeks, then go to London for a month
or more, and home by way of Liverpool in a steamer, for less than four
hundred dollars; for I did it myself several years ago. During this
trip, I lived and travelled respectably all the time--that is, what is
called respectably in Europe. I went in the second class cars, and in
the forward cabins of the steamers. Jones and Jinkins went in the first
class cars and in the after cabins, and paid a good deal more money for
the same pleasure that cost me so little. I know, too, that a person can
sail from Boston to Liverpool, make a summer trip of two months and a
half to Paris, _via_ London and the cities of Belgium, and back to
Boston _via_ London and Liverpool, for a trifle over two hundred and
fifty dollars. A good room in London can be got for two dollars and a
half a week, in Paris for eight dollars a month, in Rome and Florence
for four dollars a month, and in the cities of Germany for very
considerably less. And a good dinner costs about thirty cents in London,
thirty-five in Paris, fifteen to twenty-five in Florence or Rome, and
even less in Germany. Breakfast, which is made very little of on the
continent, generally damages one's exchequer to the extent of five to
ten cents. It will be seen from this scale of prices that one can live
very cheaply if he will; and, as the inhabitants of a country may be
supposed to know the requirements of its climate better than strangers,
common sense would dictate the adoption of their style of living.
I need not say that some knowledge of the French language is absolutely
indispensable to one who would travel with any satisfaction in Europe.
This is the most important general preparation that can be made for
going abroad. Next after it, I should place a review of the history of
the countries about to be visited. The outlines of the history of the
different countries of Europe, published by the English _Society for the
Diffusion of Useful Knowledge_, are admirably adapted to this purpose.
This gives a reality to the scenes you are about to visit that they
would not otherwise possess; it peoples the very roadside for you with
heroes. And not only does it impart a reality to your travels, but
history itself becomes a reality to you, instead of being a mere barren
record of events, hard to be remembered. At this time, when the neglect
of classical studies is apparent in almost every book, newspaper, and
magazine, I am afraid that I shall be thought somewhat old-fashioned and
out of date, if I say that some acquaintance with the Latin classics is
necessary before a man can really enjoy Italy. Yet it is so; and it will
be a great satisfaction to any man to find that Horace and Virgil, and
Cicero and Livy, are something more than the hard tasks of childhood.
Should a man's classical studies, however, be weak, the deficiency can
be made up in some measure by the judicious use of translations, and by
Eustace's Classical Tour. Murray's admirable hand-books of course will
supply a vast amount of information; but it will not do to trust to
reading them upon the spot. Some preparation must be made
beforehand,--some capital is necessary to start in business. "If you
would bring home the wealth of the Indies, you must carry out the wealth
of the Indies." It would be well, too, for a person about to visit
Europe to prepare himself for a quieter life than he has been leading at
home. I mean, to tone himself down so as to be able to enjoy the freedom
from excitement which awaits him here. It is now more than a year since
I left America, and likewise more than a year since I have seen any
disorderly conduct, or a quarrel, or even have heard high words between
two parties in the street, or have known of an alarm of fire. In the
course of the year, too, I have not seen half a dozen intoxicated
persons. When we reflect what a fruitful source of excitement all these
things are in America, it will be easy to see that a man may have,
comparatively, a very quiet life where they are not to be found. It will
not do any harm, either, to prepare one's self by assuming a little more
consideration for the feelings of others than is generally seen among
us, and by learning to address servants with a little less of the
imperious manner which is so common in America. Strange as it may seem,
there is much less distinction of classes on the continent, than in
republican America. You are astonished to find the broadcloth coat and
the blouse interchanging the civilities of a "light" in the streets, and
the easy, familiar way of servants towards their masters is a source of
great surprise. You seldom see a Frenchman or an Italian receive any
thing from a servant without thanking him for it. Yet there appears to
be a perfectly good understanding between all parties as to their
relative position, and with all their familiarity, I have never seen a
servant presume upon the good nature of his employer, as they often do
with us. We receive our social habits in a great measure from England,
and therefore we have got that hard old English way of treating
servants, as if our object was to make them feel that they are
inferiors. So the sooner a man who is going to travel on the continent,
can get that notion out of his head, and replace it with the continental
one, which seems to be, that a servant, so long as he is faithful in the
discharge of his duties, is quite as respectable a member of society as
his employer, the better it will be for him, and the pleasanter will be
his sojourn in Europe.
One of the first mistakes Americans generally make in leaving for Europe
is, to take too much luggage. Presupposing a sufficiency of
under-clothing, all that any person really needs is a good, substantial
travelling suit, and a suit of black, including a black dress coat,
which is indispensable for all occasions of ceremony. The Sistine Chapel
is closed to frock coats, and so is the Opera--and as for evening
parties, a man might as well go in a roundabout as in any thing but a
dress coat. Clothing is at least one third cheaper in Europe than it is
with us, and any deficiency can be supplied with ease, without carrying
a large wardrobe around with one, and paying the charges for extra
luggage exacted by the continental railways.
Let us now suppose a person to have got fairly off, having read up his
classics and his history, and got his luggage into a single good-sized
valise,--let us suppose him to have got over the few days of
seasickness, which made him wish that Europe had been submerged by the
broad ocean (as Mr. Choate would say) or ever he had left his native
land,--and to have passed those few pleasant days, which every one
remembers in his Atlantic passage, when the ship was literally getting
along "by degrees" on her course,--and to have arrived safely in some
European port. The custom house officers commence the examination of the
luggage, looking especially for tobacco; and if our friend is a wise
man, he will not attempt to bribe the officers, as in nine cases out of
ten he will increase his difficulties by so doing, and cause his effects
to be examined with double care; but he will open his trunk, and, if he
have any cigars, will show them to the examiner, and if he have not, he
will undoubtedly be told to close it again, and will soon be on his way
to his hotel. I suppose him to have selected a hotel before arriving in
port--which would be done by carefully avoiding those houses which make
a great show, or are highly commended in Murray's guide-books. He will
find a neat, quiet European hotel a delightful place, after the gilding
and red velvet of the great caravanseries of his native country. If he
is going to stop more than a single night, he will ask the price of the
room to which he is shown, and if it seems too expensive, will look
until he finds one that suits him. When he has selected a room, and his
valise has been brought up, he will probably observe that the servant
(if it is evening) has lighted both of the candles on the mantel-piece.
He will immediately blow one of them out and hand it to the waiter, with
a look that will show him that he is dealing with an experienced
traveller, who knows that he has to pay for candles as he burns them.
When he leaves the hotel, he will make it a principle always to carry
the unconsumed candle or candles with him, for use as occasion may
require; for it is the custom of the country, and will secure him
against the little impositions which are always considered fair play
upon outsiders. It is possible that he will find, when he goes to wash
his hands, that there is no soap in the wash stand, and will thank me
for having reminded him to carry a cake with him rolled up in a bit of
oiled silk. When he wishes to take lodgings in any city, he will be
particular to avoid that part of the town where English people mostly do
inhabit, and will be very shy of houses where apartments to let are
advertised on a placard in phrases which the originator probably
intended for English. He will look thoroughly before he decides, and so
will save himself a great deal of dissatisfaction which he might feel on
finding afterwards that others had done much better than he. Besides,
"room-hunting" is not the least profitable, nor least amusing part of a
traveller's experience. He will, when settled in his rooms, attend in
person to the purchase of his candles and his fuel, and to the delivery
of the same in his apartments; for by so doing he will save money, and
will see more of the common people of the place.
Of course he will see all the "sights" that every stranger is under a
sort of moral obligation to see, however much it may fatigue him; but he
must not stop there. He must not think, as so many appear to, that, when
he has seen the palaces, and picture galleries, and gardens, and public
monuments of a country, he knows that country. He must try to see and
know as much as he can of the people of the country, for they (Louis
Quatorze to the contrary, notwithstanding) are the state. Let him
cultivate the habit of early rising, and frequent market places and old
parish churches in the twilight of the morning, and he will learn more
of the people in one month than a year of reading or ordinary
sight-seeing could teach him. Let him choose back alleys, instead of
crowded and fashionable thoroughfares for his walks; when he falls in
with a wandering musician and juggler, exhibiting in public, let him
stop, not to see the exhibition, but the spectators; when he goes to the
theatre, let him not shut himself up in the privacy of a box, but go
into the pit, where all he will see and hear around him will be full as
amusing as the performance itself; and when he uses an omnibus, let him
always choose a seat by the driver, in preference to one inside. I have
learnt more of the religious character of the poorer class in Paris, by
a visit to a little out-of-the-way church at sunrise, than could be
acquired by hours of conversation with the people themselves. And I have
learned equally as much of the brutality and degradation of the same
class in England, by going into a gin-shop late at night, calling for a
glass of ale, and drinking it slowly, while I was inspecting the
company. There is many a man who travels through Europe, communicating
only with hotel keepers, couriers, and ciceroni, and learning less of
the people than he could by walking into a market-place alone, and
buying a sixpence worth of fruit. Yet such men presume to write books,
and treat not merely of the governments of these countries, but of the
social condition of the people! I once met a man in Italy, who could not
order his breakfast correctly in Italian, who knew only one Italian, and
he was the waiter who served him in a restaurant; and yet this man was a
correspondent of a respectable paper in Boston, and had the effrontery
to write column after column upon Italian social life, and to speak of
political affairs as if he were Cardinal Antonelli's sole confidant.
There are such people here in Paris now, who send over to America,
weekly, batches of falsehood about the household of the Tuileries, which
the intelligent public of America accepts as being true; for it seems to
be a part of some people's republicanism to believe nothing but evil of
a ruler who wears a crown. I need not say in this connection, that the
traveller who wishes to enjoy Europe must put away the habit (if he be
so unfortunate as to have it) of looking upon every thing through the
green spectacles of republicanism, and regarding that form of government
as the only one calculated to benefit mankind. He must remember that the
government of his own country is a mere experiment, compared with the
old monarchies of Europe, and he must try to judge impartially between
them. He must judge each system by its results, and if on comparison he
finds that there is really less slavery in his own country than in
Europe; that the government is administered more impartially; that the
judiciary is purer; that there is less of mob law and violence, and less
of political bargaining and trickery, and that life and property are
more secure in his own country than they are here,--why, he will return
to America a better republican than before, from the very fact of having
done justice to the governments of Europe.
As I have before said, it is better for a traveller to endeavour to live
as nearly as possible in the manner of the inhabitants of the country in
which he is sojourning. I do not mean that he should feel bound to make
as general a use of garlic as some of the people of Europe do, for in
some places I verily believe that a custard or a blanc mange would be
thought imperfect if they were not seasoned with that savory vegetable;
but, _ceteris_ being _paribus_, if the general manner of living were
followed, the traveller would find it conducive to health and to
economy. The habits of life among every people are not founded on a mere
caprice; and experience proves that under the warm sun of Italy, a light
vegetable diet is healthier and more really invigorating than all the
roast beef of Old England would be.
In Europe, no man is ever ashamed of economy. Few Englishmen even shrink
from acknowledging that they cannot afford to do this or that, and on
the continent profuseness in the use of money is considered the sure
mark of a _parvenu_. Every man is free to do as he pleases; he can
travel in the first, second, or third class on the railways, and not
excite the surprise of any body; and whatever class he may be in, he
will be treated with equal respect by all. It is well to bear this in
mind, for, taken in connection with the principle of paying for one's
room and meals separately according to what one has, it puts it within
one's power to travel all over Europe for a ridiculously small sum. You
can live in Paris, by going over into the Latin quarter, on thirty cents
a day, and be treated by every body, except your own countrymen, with as
much consideration as if you abode among the mirrors and gilding of the
Hotel de Louvre. Not that I would advise any one to go over there for
the sake of saving money, and live on salads and meats in which it is
difficult to have confidence, when he can afford to do better. I only
wish to encourage those who are kept from visiting Europe by the idea
that it requires a great outlay of money. You can live in Europe for
just what you choose to spend, and in a style of independence to which
America is a total stranger. Every body does not know here what every
body else has for dinner. You may live on the same floor with a man for
months and years, and not know any more of him than can be learned from
a semi-occasional meeting on the staircase, and an interchange of hat
civilities. This seems so common to a Frenchman, that it would be
considered by him hardly worth notice; but to any one who knows what a
sharp look-out neighbours keep over each other in America, it is a most
pleasing phenomenon. It is indeed a delightful thing to live among
people who have formed a habit of minding their own business, and at the
same time have a spirit of consideration for the rights and feelings of
their neighbours.
If, in the above hints concerning the way to travel pleasantly and
cheaply in Europe, I have succeeded in removing any of the bugbear
obstacles which hold back so many from the great advantages they might
here enjoy, I shall feel that I have not tasked my poor eyes and brain
for nothing. We are a long way behind Europe in many things, and it is
only by frequent communication that we can make up our deficiencies. It
cannot be done by boasting, nor by claiming for America all the
enterprise and enlightenment of the nineteenth century. Neither can it
be done by setting up the United States as superior to every historical
precedent, and an exception to every rule. Most men (as the old French
writer says) are mortal; and we Americans shall find that our country,
with all its prosperity and unequalled progress, is subject to the same
vicissitudes as the countries we now think we can afford to despise; and
that our history is
"----but the same rehearsal of the past--
First Freedom, and then Glory; when that fails,
Wealth, vice, corruption,--barbarism at last."
No, we cannot safely scorn the lesson which Europe teaches us; for if we
do, we shall have to learn it at the expense of much adversity and
wounding of our pride. Every American who comes abroad, if he knows how
to travel, ought to carry home with him a new idea of the amenities of
life, and of moderation in the pursuit and the use of wealth, such as
will make itself felt in the course of time, and make the fast living
and recklessness of authority and tendency to bankruptcy of the present
day, give way to a spirit of moderation and obedience to law such as
always produces private prosperity and public stability.