THE FRENCH AND THE ENGLISH

T is not without a certain apprehension that I venture upon the dangerous ground I have been asked to cover, in order to help, to the limit of my humble powers, the cause of a loyal and enduring entente between France and Great Britain.

Ever since I came to settle in London, as far back as 1900, my one desire has been to understand, not only the political ideas, but the every-day life of my many English friends, whose number grew slowly but steadily as the years went by. I was already convinced in those far-off days that, as we say in France, tout savoir c'est tout pardonner.' Not that I had anything to forgive the kind companions of my youth, who received me with open arms when I was still a young University man, fresh to every emotion and as green in most respects as a schoolboy. I was fortunate indeed to enjoy the real English hospitality which has no equivalent in any other part of the planet. And to understand the English has meant for me to become more and more appreciative of their great qualities and of the solid virtues of their public and private life. Understanding has become in my case a synonym for esteem, admiration and love.

But a man, however clever and well-intentioned, has all he can do to grasp the deepest reasons that underlie his own personal decisions. How then can he expect to fathom the inner motives of another man's actions? If this be true of individuals of the same family and of the same nation, how much more so of people belonging to another country and another race.

One is therefore forced to the conclusion that between honest nations and honest individuals almost all disputes, quarrels and wars spring from misunderstandings. This does not, of course, apply to criminals or to barbarous communities, whose only object is to seize, by any means in their power, the property of their neighbours which they covet. Even so it may well be that those very birds of prey might, if they had enough intelligence to understand not only their real interest, but also the supreme laws which govern the evolution of the spiritual world, never embark on their foolish and evil courses.

In any case the constant effort to know and to appreciate each other ought to be our daily rule, in every domain of life and thought, whether at home or abroad. This is more especially true and important in all that concerns the relations between the Allied peoples of France and England. What is indeed the history of the quarrels which for centuries set France and England so often at war, but a long and deplorable succession of misunderstandings?

Under the Kings of France, of England, and Scotland, wars were waged for very material reasons. The greed for more territories, for more gold, was the all-powerful motive behind those long and bloody struggles. But the very fact that treaties were signed and oaths exchanged, shows that there was a recognition of ideals all the more valuable in that they were more often ignored or betrayed. At the same time wars were not national calamities to the extent they are now. Kings used to fight out their quarrels with the help of mercenaries who, of course, did some damage to the countries they went through, or in which they fought. But before the French Revolution our modern world ignored that dreadful expression: 'a nation in 'arms.'

During what we now call the ancien régime the royal families of both countries, more than once united by marriage ties, managed somehow to remain most of the time on friendly terms. On both sides of the Channel our courts admired each other and copied each other's fashions; our men of letters preserved a spirit of friendship. Voltaire, nearly a century after St. Evremond, discovered England, and 'l'anglomanie' was a most elegant disease, long before the French Restoration.

Moreover the French and the English, ever since our two countries existed, can be proud of having always behaved towards each other like gentlemen-whether friends or foes. Thus through centuries we can trace between Great Britain and France a current of sympathy, good-will and mutual admiration.

Then burst on the world the French Revolution which upset for ever the ancient order of things. This is not the place to discuss the merits or demerits of that tragic upheaval. Suffice it to say that it transformed the life of all other European nations. Since this fatal epoch the States of Europe have one by one become the 'nation-in-arms ' I have just alluded to, though it is a

satisfaction to record the fact that for more than a hundred years the differences of mental outlook between France and England have never degenerated into war.

It cannot be said, however, that much progress has been made during the past century in the gentle art of reciprocal understanding. At no epoch perhaps did we misunderstand each other more thoroughly than in the times of Napoleon I, and in regard to that extraordinary man himself the misunderstanding has persisted in England. But since the controversial era of the First Empire I do not think any impartial person could contend that France has ever manifested any desire for conquest or territorial annexation.

If only Great Britain had not been haunted, since the eighteenth century, by the terror of seeing any continental nation growing too powerful, she might have helped us to avert the disaster of 1870, as she helped us in 1914 to avert another disaster, which menaced not France alone, but the very existence of the British Empire as well. Of course the English, or rather England's statesmen, do not realise what our aims and ambitions, either as a nation or as private citizens, are. They appear to see us through a sort of legendary mist, just as we see them. And our imperfect knowledge of each other's psychology is the root cause of this perpetual incomprehension. We are so entirely dissimilar in every way, in small things as in great.

The first thing that strikes a Frenchman when he arrives in London is that all traffic goes to the left, while ours goes to the right. Another little detail! In France we take off our hats all day long on a thousand pretexts. We take it off to our door-keeper if he is polite enough to wish us ' good morning' as we pass his cabin. When we enter a shop we raise our hat to the 'lady' or 'gentleman' behind the counter. Again, when calling at the house of an acquaintance, custom compels us to keep on our gloves and to take our hat with us some men even cling to their sticks as well-till we reach the middle of the drawing-room. Then we are politely asked by our hostess to put our things 'somewhere,' which some of us politely refuse to do.

I can remember agonising visits in my youth when, with only two hands, I had to play with a hat, a stick, a pair of gloves, a cup of tea and a few biscuits. The result of that juggling was sometimes disastrous, for then it required amazing dexterity to be well-bred in the French sense of the word. In Paris to-day it VOL. 237. NO. 484

is not so difficult, for when one dines with friends it is only necessary to enter the room with one's gloves in one's hand. But only a brazen anglicised person like myself has the courage to appear bare-headed, and even I have always the feeling that in doing so I am a little naked. Then when dinner is announced I offer my left arm to my hostess, whereas in England I should offer my right. And so on and so forth.

Our family life shows even more opposite points of view. In France the home circle is most exclusive. Nobody can penetrate within it, not even a relative, without being invited to do so, and then it is no longer a family circle but a more or less formal re-union. It never occurs to a Frenchman to telephone to a friendly family to ask the mistress of the house whether he may come to lunch to-day or to-morrow, or dine next week. A French hostess would be horrified at such impudence. Only in the cosmopolitan sets in Paris do such habits prevail, never in the provinces. And this rule applies equally to households where there is a cook, a second cook and a third cook, besides two or three men-servants, so that the arrival of several unexpected guests at the last moment would cause no inconvenience to

anyone.

In our respective attitudes toward marriage the differences between us are fundamental. To marry is for a Frenchman one of the most complicated legal operations imaginable. Birth certificates, and the permission of parents are required, unless you are no longer young; while in cases where the bride is older than the bridegroom concealment of the fact is impossible. Moreover, the very ideal of marriage differs in each country. As we are still under the cloud of Roman laws and customs in France, the bride is generally supposed to bring a dowry to the brave man who embarks with her on the perilous sea of matrimony. A penniless marriage is looked at askance. As soon as the happy couple become parents, father and mother, if they be honest, hard-working people, have henceforward but one thought-to save as much money as possible for the bringing up of the children and for the 'dot' of the daughter.

Even to-day young girls do not marry until their parents have secured all possible information concerning the would-be husband. Marriage is a family matter with us, just as births or deaths are family matters of enormous importance.

In the lower-middle class a burial is always an occasion for spending more money than anybody can afford. The dead person must depart in splendour, even if he has been a poor and unimportant person throughout his life. The coffin is placed on a handsome hearse, dragged by the finest horses to be found for money. In our democratic country the ceremonial of an average burial is something wonderful to contemplate. There must be, if the family is to be respected in the neighbourhood, a decorative usher with a stick, and a master of ceremonies. For miles and miles all the relations and friends follow the hearse covered with flowers, the family walking just behind, bareheaded, whatever their age, or health, and whatever the state of the weather may be.

The ladies of the family, up to the first and second cousin, are wrapped in black crêpe, and these willing victims of decorum never leave off their full mourning until months have elapsed. For a year the mother, wife and daughters of the deceased, neither go into society nor frequent the theatre. A few intimate friends may be received in the afternoons, but all the usual reception days and entertainments are cancelled.

Totally different laws regulate wills and testamentary bequests. In England a man can cut off his own son with a shilling and leave his fortune to whomever he pleases, while his wife, children, mother and father are left destitute. By French law a proportion of every fortune, however small, is reserved to the members of the family, according to their affinity to the deceased. But what is more, a son as soon as he earns his living is obliged to provide a sufficient sum out of his earnings to keep his father, mother, grandfather and grandmother if they are in need; and, if married, he is liable for those of his wife also. This law, which is very strictly enforced, applies moreover to women who are breadwinners also.

I cannot refrain from mentioning another difference which, unless clearly understood, is fruitful of misunderstandings in commercial dealings between the French and the English.

All over France, but especially in the central and southern departments, the only thing which counts, legally speaking, is the written and signed contract. Verbal undertakings are not regarded as binding. I remember my surprise when a man belonging to a noble family, who was also a perfectly honest