As you are kind enough to say, that those letters which I wrote from
this kingdom, nine or ten years ago, were of some use to you, in the
little tour you made through France soon after, and as they have been
considered in some degree to be so to many other persons, (since their
publication) who were unacquainted with the manners and customs of the
French nation, I shall endeavour to bring together, in this second
correspondence with you, not only some of the former hints I gave you,
but such other remarks as a longer acquaintance with the country, and a
more extensive tour, may furnish me with; but before I proceed any
further, let me remind you, of one great fault I was then guilty of; for
though your partiality to me might induce you to overlook it, the public
did not, I mean that of writing when my temper was disturbed, either by
cross incidents I met with upon the road, or disagreeable news which
often followed me from my own country into this. I need not tell a man
of your discernment, in what a different light all objects, whether
animate, or inanimate, appear to those, whose temper is disturbed,
either by ill health, ill treatment, or, what is perhaps more prevalent
than either, the chagrin he may feel at not being rated in the
estimation of others, according to that value he puts upon himself.
Could Dr. Smollett rise from the dead, and sit down in perfect health,
and good temper, and read his travels through France and Italy, he
would probably find most of his anger turned upon himself. But, poor
man! he was ill; and meeting with, what every stranger must expect to
meet at most French inns, want of cleanliness, imposition, and
incivility; he was so much disturbed by those incidents, that to say no
more of the writings of an ingenious and deceased author, his travels
into France, and Italy, are the least entertaining, in my humble
opinion, of all his works. Indeed I have observed that most travellers
fall into one extreme, or the other, and either are all panegyric or all
censure; in which case, all they say cannot be just; for, as all nations
are governed by men, and the bulk of men of all nations live by artifice
of one kind or other, the few men who pass among them, without any
sinister views, cannot avoid feeling, and but few from complaining of
the ill treatment they meet with; not considering one of Swift's shrewd
remarks; _I never_ said he, _knew a man who could not bear the
misfortunes of another perfectly like a Christian_.
Remember therefore, when I tell you how ill I have been treated either
by _Lords_ or _Aubergists_, or how dirtily served by either, it is to
prepare myself and you too, to be content with neighbours' fare.
When a man writes remarks upon the manners and customs of other nations,
he should endeavour to wean himself from all partiality for his own; and
I need not tell you that I am in _full possession_ of that single
qualification, which I hope will make you some amends for my defects in
all the others; for it is certainly unjust, uncandid, and illiberal, to
pronounce a custom or fashion absurd, because it does not coincide with
our ideas of propriety. A Turk who travelled into England, would, upon
his return to Constantinople, tell his countrymen, that at Canterbury;
(bring out of _opium_,) his host did not know even what he demanded;
and that it was with some difficulty he found out, that there were shops
in the town where _opium_ was sold, and even then, it was with greater,
he could prevail upon the vender of it to let him have above half an
ounce: if he were questioned, why all these precautions? he would tell
them, laughingly, that Englishmen believe _opium_ to be a deadly poison,
and those people suspected that he either meant to kill himself, or to
poison another man with it.
A French gentleman, who travelled some years since into Spain, had
letters of recommendation to a Spanish Bishop, who received him with
every mark of politeness, and treated him with much hospitality: soon
after he retired to his bedchamber, a priest entered it,[A] holding a
vessel in his hand, which was covered with a clean napkin; he said
something; but the Frenchman understanding but little Spanish,
intimated by signs his thanks, and desired him to put it down,
believing, that his friend, the Bishop, had sent him a plate of
sweetmeats, fruit, iced cream, or some kind of refreshment to eat before
he went to bed, or to refresh his exhausted spirits in the night; but
his astonishment was great indeed, when he found the priest put the
present under the side of the bed; and more so, when he perceived that
it was only a _pot de chambre_;--for, says the Frenchman, "in Spain,
they do not use the _chaise percee_!" The Frenchman is surprized at the
Spaniard, for not using so convenient a vehicle; the Englishman is
equally surprized, that the Frenchman does;--the Frenchman is always
attentive to his own person, and scarce ever appears but clean and well
dressed; while his house and private apartments are perhaps covered with
litter and dirt, and in the utmost confusion;--the Englishman, on the
other hand, often neglects his external dress; but his house is always
exquisitely clean, and every thing in it kept in the nicest order; and
who shall say, which of the two judge the best for their own ease and
happiness? I am sure the Frenchman will not give up his powdered hair,
and laced coat, for a clean house; nor do I believe those fineries would
sit quietly upon the back of an Englishman, in a dirty one. In short, my
dear sir, we must take the world, and the things in it, as they are; it
is a dirty world, but like France, has a vast number of good things in
it, and such as I meet with, in this my third tour, which shall be a
long one, if I am not _stopped_ by the way, you shall have such an
account of as I am able to convey to you: I will not attempt to _top the
traveller_ upon you, nor raise monuments of wonder, where none are to be
seen; there is real matter enough to be found upon this great continent,
to amuse a man who travels slowly over it, to see what is to be seen,
and who wishes not to be seen himself. My style of travelling is such,
that I can never be disturbed in mind for want of respect, but rather be
surprised when I meet with even common civility. And, after all, what
does it signify, whether Monsieur _ou Tel_ travels in a laced coat _et
très bien mis_, attended by half a dozen servants, or, as Pope says,
"will run
The Lord knows whither in a chaise and one."