THE TWO SIDES OF THE CHANNEL.

Hawke's Bay Times, Volume II, Issue 28, 9 January 1862, Page 5 (Supplement)

THE TWO SIDES OF THE CHANNEL.

[From the Saturday Mevieyo.~\ It was the remark of an experienced teacher that he gained more insight into the character of -“I? P u pils from observing them in the playground than during school hours. The same thing might be said of nations. National amusements are often a more delicate index to character than serious : pursuits or public policy. We have been called : on high authority, a “ nation oif shopkeepers.’’ , W$ ■ are said to follow a selfish insular policy. How essentially superficial are these dicta, which deal ■ with us only in an assumed or professional capacity, hut do not pretend to touch the real s.tuif that lies below ! To those who found their estimate of us on such assertions, we must be content to remain a mystery. “ A nation of cricketers” would have been as logical a definition as that in which we stand photographed by Napoleon ; and, if the Continental mind could grasp the principles of the game, a much more pregnant one. “ A nation of fox hunters” would be equally expressive ; for of such there are certain leading qualities which might be safely predicated. But let us turn from ourselves to our neighbours. There is very little knowledge of French character to be gained from the despatches of M. Thouvehel. We do not feel any better acquainted -with their disposition or ways of thinking when we are told the French policy is so-and-so.' But in their amusements and the manner of indulging in them the national character is unerringly reflected. In the theatres, on the Boulevards, in the Champs Elysees, at Dieppe and Trouville, we see them as they really are men with like passions with ourselves but a marked idiosyncracy of their own. Of the European family, the nation which least admits of being identified by its sports (for the reason perhaps that, in the way in which we understand the term, it has none) is the German. They have their amusements, but they are usually of a sentimental or philosophical kind. While England and France are like schoolboys at their robust sports or games of skill, Germany is the queer dreamy lad who prefers to stay in and read Ivant, and puzzle his brains with speculations about the Absolute Ego or the Eternal One. The French are never more emphatically themselves than at the sea-side. The bathing of the human body is a simple operation, but how differently it is managed on the two sides of the Channel! Instead of the few straggling machines which are the sole accommodation of the average English watering-place, a visitor to Dieppe will find himself in the midst of a compl'cited and elaborate organization. Sea bathing is erected info a perfect system. The centre and focus of the whole is the Stablissement des Sains. This institution is of a very composite nature. In it are represented all the elements of the daily recreation of a Frenchman. It provides for all his wants, supplying him with his coffee, his cigar, his music, his billiards, his dance, his petite societe. In fact, it is an epitome of Paris, to which he gains admission on payment of a very moderate sum. But the organizing genius of the French nation is chiefly displayed iu the ceremonial by which the act of bathing is attended. It is, in the first place, an act of much more importance than we think it in England, an act of a remedial or medicinal character not to be engaged in without due consideration and advice. With us it is usually regarded as one of the ordinary incidents of a sea-side residence. Suppose a visitor to the coast of France, who takes this view of it, desirous of a morning bath. He will find a succession of obstacles, which he will probably think vexatious and petty, interposed between him and his swim. There ore so many distinct stages in the machinery of the bath. First, he will find himself in the position he usually occupies while in the French dominions, at the tail of a queue at the door of a bureau. In course of time, he will find himself fumbling a franc in the presence of an impassive but evidently contemtuous official. From him he will receive, so soon as an imperfect acquaintance with the French coinage will permit, his conge and a ticket. The latter he will present to a second official, probably of sex, who will cast a hasty glance at his size and shape, and present him with towels and the minimum of clothing combined with the maximum of colour, which Gallic law prescribed to bathers. Thus equipped, ho will pass to an inner portion of the inclosure. Here he will find several rows of huts, resembling in character the boxes in which the sentries keep guard at the door of the British Museum. In one of these, it will be intimated to him he is to undress. That operation complete, he sallies forth along a succession of slippery planks that conduct to the water’s edge, being Joined in the serai-nude procession by an old militaire with white moustache, abbe, and several members of the Jockey Club. It is difficult to describe the emotions oif a British subject—say of middle age and grave manners, ornament ot the bar or church—when he finds himself at midday arrayed in parti-colourcd drawers and gambolling in shallow water to the tune of the market chorus in JHassaniello, which the orchestra is thundering overhead. He has an uneasy sense of figuring in an indecent masquerade, or of having unawares joined a party of acrobats. The splash and jabber around remind him of pictures of Sandwich Islanders, and he almost feels as if the fate of Cook awaited him at their hands. Suddenly a thought of horror rushes into his mind. What if there should be on the shore any keeneyed friend watching his eccentric proceeding ? What if his form be recognized by the satirical brother barrister, always on the lookout for the manufacture of fun for the circuit mess, 01 the dissenting parishioner who gave him so much trouble last year about Chnrch-rates? No sooner is he out of the water, than a fresh cause of embararssment arises. The sentry-box in which his clothes are deposited is one of a row of precisely similar erections. He finds himself in the predicament of the thieves when the cunning Morgiana had chalked all the doors in the street with the same uniform mark. On reflection he is sure his clothes arc deposited in numero vingt-et-un. Suxhuit, on his giving the door a confident push, growls out an elongated saere Vingl-et «», to his joy, is empty, and he is just proceeding with his toilet when a downward glance discloses to'his View a garb of a character and cut quite at variance ■with hi# own sober taste in dros#. Out ho darts.

and in despair, shouts for a baigneur , whose valuable time he is consuming by a confused recital of his distress, when that official cute him abort by a gesture of contempt, ant), opening the door of the very sentry-box outside which he) fe standing, »l, veals P 9 his gaze the watch of bio affections ticking i over hi§ well-known travelling-wnt. , . p wbably, as ho .dresses, thd thought otossoahis ( mind, how muoh hettes wemanige these thihga Sn < England, ppg can have .the luxury of. atfaatli ; without aU this fuss. of dxi f Sanitation in .the Frenoji 'character, of which he : has just had troublesome experience is certainly : irksome .to most Englishmen, who strongly object < ,to make a toil of a pleasure. On the other hand, it must be admitted that in our relaxations wo often carry our passion for independence, and what M. Kossuth calls individuality, to a ludicrous extreme. Among other things, the aspect of an English watering-place indicates this. A triste air hangs over it, which a Frenchman finds intolerable. We enjoy ourselves after a certain morose fashion, riding or walking in directions where we are least likely to.meet an acquaintance ; and when we venture into public, it. is only to read the Times with an expression of face calculated to repel all advances. There never was a more impossible task than that assigned, inold-iashioned watering-places to the local master of the ceremonies. His function was to endeavour to induce the Briton temporarily to unbend and, through the medium of some common amusement, to make Jones acquainted with Smith, and both with Eobinson. But there is no concurrence on the part of the fortuitous atoms that crowd to the .coast every autumn. Their main object is to see aslittleas possible of each other. The notion of a common drawing-room, which is what a foreign JEtahlissement provides, would he rejected with' unanimous horror. It wonld be difficult to say in what the pleasure of an English watering-place consists. Fathers and brothers generally speak of a visit to one as a kind of purgatory which they undergo for the sake of their female relatives previously to entering,their paradise of turnip-fields on the Ist of September. They may be seen at windows with noses flattened and eyes dreamily fixed on the sea, now and then lazily handling a telescope, or mechanically counting the ships that pass. In the ennui which consumes them, the movements of their neighbours are narrowly scrutinized. They watch them in and out, and gloomily speculate as to where they come from, and howlong they mean to stay. Should chance throw a bride and bridegroom in their way, are regarded as a positive godsend, from the lively interest which aU their preceedings excite. Ot course, there is a circulating library, with a speciality f6r well-thumbed novels of fashionable life. The books which were voted unreadably dull, when had from ilucUe’s or Booth’s in the spring, are quite palatable at the seaside, and indeed suit the general atmosphere ofdulness which hangs around. Paterfamilias is glad to vary the monotony of his life by a little marketing. The return of the fishing-boats is one of the most exciting incidents of the day. He may even be seen on the sands bargaining for soles and lobsters. Now is the time when he acquires a smattering of the principles of domestic economy. In the purely passive state of his intellect the price of mutton assumes gigantic proportions. Having nothing else to do, he takes to meddling in matters which he had far better leave alone ; and, having come for the benefit of sea-bathing, probably ends by getting metaphorically into hot water. All this does not look much like pleasure. An unprejudiced observer from a neutral country would hardly doubt which side of the Channel appeared the liveliest. It is hardly fair, however, in comparison of national amusements, to pit Westbburne-super-Mare, with its three machines and desolate parade, against any of its sparkling rivals across the channel. The watering-place is so much more to the Frenchman than it is to us tliat we may well afford to let him carry off the palm as a superior caterer of sea-side enjoyment. When an Englishman is in the mood for' active pleasure, he usually finds in it cricket, shooting, or the hunting—field. These are sports which he thinks it worth his while to organise. But at the sea-side he leaves all to hap-hazard, consequently his stay there may be pleasant, moderately pleasant, dull, or very dull. Begging his pardon, this is a mistake. Without bringing his billiard-table to the water’s-edge or engaging an ‘orchestra to fiddle him into his morning bath, be might greatly add to the enjoyment which he and his family annually derive from the sea-breeze if he would be guided by a few simple principles in making his vacation arragements. He is very unlucky if he cannot, by a little previous ventilation of plans, secure for himself the benefit of agreeable company. A few well-chosen friends of similar tastes are the best preventive of ennui, and should be a sine qua non to whatever coast he turns his steps. In the interest of his mental constitution we venture to make another suggestion. Instead of addicting himself, with, unnatural voracity, to a course of bad novels, most wearisome and depressing to the spirits; let him bring with him a few books really worth reading. The books like the friends, must be well selected, not too ponderous nor too trivial, not all prose nor all poetry. We have not space to enlarge upon the principles by which the selection should be guided. Enough has been said to expose us to the vengeance of all marine librarians.