THE ORIGIN OF ANGLOMANIA AND ANGLOPHOBIA IN ENGLAND.--A TYPICAL
FRENCHMAN.--TOO MUCH OF AN ENGLISHMAN.--A REMARKABLE FRENCH MASTER.
--JOHN BULL MADE TO GO TO CHURCH BY A FRENCHMAN.--A NOBLE AND
THANKLESS CAREER.--A PLACE OF LEARNING.--MONS. AND ESQUIRE.--ALL
LADIES AND GENTLEMEN.--ONE EXCEPTION.--WONDERFUL ADDRESSES.
The French in England are of two sorts, those who, by their intelligence,
industry, and perseverance, have succeeded in building up an honorable
position for themselves, and those who, by the lack of these qualities,
vegetate there as they would be pretty sure to do anywhere.
The former do not all love the land of their adoption, but they all
respect it. The latter, unwilling to lay their poverty at their own
door, throw the blame upon England for not having understood them, and
they have not a good word to say for her. It never occurred to them
that it was theirs to study and understand England, and that England is
not to be blamed for not having studied them and changed her ways to
accommodate them.
They never part with a shilling without remarking that for a penny they
would be able to obtain the same value in France. You often wonder how
it is they stick to this country instead of honoring their own with
their presence.
* * * * *
I have always been an admirer of that worthy Frenchman who carries his
patriotism to the extent of buying all his clothing in France. He
declares it impossible to wear English garments, and almost impossible
to wear out French ones. Besides, he does not see why he should not
give his country the benefit of some of the guineas he has picked up
over here. Like every child of France, he has the love of good linen,
and according to him the article is only to be found in Paris.
So he goes about in his narrow-brimmed hat, and turned-down collar
fastened low in the neck, and finished off with a tiny black tie, a
large expanse of shirt-front, and boots with high heels and pointed
toes. As he goes along the street, he hears people whisper: "There's a
Frenchman!" But, far from objecting to that, he rather likes it, and he
is right.
He speaks bad English, and assures you that you require very few words
to make yourself understood of the people. He does not go so far as
Figaro, but his English vocabulary is of the most limited.
Without making any noise about it, he sends his guinea to all the
French Benevolent Societies in England, and wherever the tricolor
floats he is of the party.
He likes the English, and recognizes their solid qualities; but as he
possesses many of his own, he keeps to his native stock.
* * * * *
How this good Frenchman does shine by the side of another type, a type
which, I am happy to say, is rare--the one who drops his country.
The latter, when he speaks of England, says: "_We_ do this, _we_ do
that, in England," not "The English do this, the English do that." He
would like to say, "We English," but he hardly dares go that length.
He dresses _a l'anglaise_ with a vengeance, makes it a point to
frequent only English houses, and spends a good deal of his time in
running down his compatriots.
He does not belong to any of the French societies or clubs in England.
These establishments, however, do not miss him much more than his own
country.
I once knew one of this category. His name ended with an _e_ mute
preceded by a double consonant. The _e_ mute was a real sore to him,
the grief of his life. Without it he might have passed for English. It
was too provoking to be thus balked, and, as he signed his name, he
would dissimulate the poor offending little vowel, so that his name
should appear to end at the double consonant.
He was not a genius.
* * * * *
Acting under the theory of Figaro, "_Qu'il n'est pas necessaire de
tenir les choses pour en raisonner_," I have heard an Englishman,
engaged in teaching French, maintain that it was not necessary to be
able to speak the French language to teach it.
On the other hand, I once heard an eminent Frenchman hold that the less
English a French master knew the more fit he was to teach French.
Both gentlemen begged their audience to understand that they made their
statements on their own sole responsibility.
* * * * *
I never met a French master who had made his fortune, nor have you, I
imagine.
I once met in England a French master who had not written a French
grammar.
I was one day introduced to a Frenchman who keeps a successful school
in the Midland counties. He makes it a rule to sternly refuse to let
his boys go home in the neighboring town before one o'clock on Sundays.
When parents ask him as a special favor to allow their sons to come to
their house on Saturday night or early on Sunday morning, he answers:
"I am sorry I cannot comply with your request. It has come to my
knowledge that there are parents who do not insist on their children
going to church, and I cannot allow any of my pupils to go home before
they have attended divine service."
John Bull made to go to church by a Frenchman! The idea was novel, and
I thought extremely funny.
* * * * *
To teach "the art of speaking and writing the French language
correctly" is a noble but thankless career in England.
In France, the Government grants a pension to, and even confers the
Legion of Honor upon, an English master[13] after he has taught his
language in a _lycee_ for a certain number of years.
[13] Among the nominations in the Legion of Honor, published on
the 14th of July, 1884, I noticed the name of the English master
(an Englishman) in the _lycee_ of Bordeaux.
The Frenchman who has taught French in England all his lifetime is
allowed, when he is done for, to apply at the French Benevolent Society
for a free passage to France, where he may go and die quietly out of
sight.
* * * * *
If you look at the advertisements published daily in the "educational"
columns of the papers, you may see that compatriots of mine give
private lessons in French at a shilling an hour, and teach the whole
language in 24 or 26 lessons. Why not 25? I always thought there must
be something cabalistic about the number 26. These gentlemen have to
wear black coats and chimney-pots. How can they do it if their wives do
not take in mangling?
Mystery.
* * * * *
In a southern suburb of London, I remember seeing a little house
covered, like a booth at a fair, with boards and announcements that
spoke to the passer-by of all the wonders to be found within.
On the front-door there was a plate with the inscription:
"Mons. D., of the University of France."
Now Englishmen who address Frenchmen as "Mons."[14] should be forgiven.
They unsuccessfully aim at doing a correct thing. But a Frenchman
dubbing himself "Mons." publishes a certificate of his ignorance.
[14] "_Mons._, a familiar and contemptuous abbreviation of
Monsieur."--LITTRE, "Dictionnaire de la Langue Francaise."
The house was a double-fronted one.
On the right window there was the inscription:
"French Classes for Ladies."
On the left one:
"French Classes for Gentlemen."
The sexes were separated as at the Turkish Baths.
On a huge board, placed over the front door, I read the following:
"_French Classes for Ladies and Gentlemen.
Greek, Latin, and Mathematical Classes.
Art and Science Department.
Music, Singing, and Dancing taught.
Private Lessons given, Families waited upon.
Schools attended.
For Terms and Curriculum, apply within._"
What a saving of trouble and expense it would have been to this living
encyclopaedia if he had only mentioned what he did not teach!
Since I have called your attention to the expression _Mons._, and
reminded you of its proper meaning, never send a letter to a Frenchman
with the envelope addressed as _Mons._
I know, dear American reader, that _you_ never do. But you have
friends. Well, tell them to write _Monsieur_ in full; or, as cobblers
in their back parlors are now addressed as _Esquires_, rather confer
the same honor upon a Frenchman. He will take it as a compliment.
Democracy is making progress in England. Where is the time when only
land-owners, barristers, graduates of the Universities, were addressed
as Esquires?
All ladies and gentlemen in England now.
* * * * *
Not all, though.
A young lady friend, who visits the poor in her district, called one
day at a humble dwelling.
She knocked at the door, and on a woman opening it, asked to see Mrs.
----.
"Oh! very well," said the woman, and, leaving the young lady in the
street, she went inside, and called out at the top of her voice:
"Ada, tell the _lady_ on the second floor that a _young person_ from
the district wants to see her."
_Apropos_ of "Esquire" I should like to take the opportunity of paying
a well-deserved compliment to the Postal Authorities in England.
Some eight years ago, I lived in the Herbert Road, Shooter's Hill, near
London.
After three weeks of wonderful peregrinations, a letter, addressed in
the following manner, duly reached me from France: