Free Cross Channel by Julian Barnes

But I had not then shrugged off my melancholy and I regret that on occasions suspicionand hostility overcame me. That the postilions wear pigtail queues and vault into boots the size of milkchurns while still encumbered by their shoes—that the gentlemen of Paris carry umbrellas over the heads on fine days against the sun—that the same gentlemen employ the service of barbers for their dogs—that the horses are ratty in aspect—that lemonade is sold in the streets—I have come to a warmer understanding of such things than I had at the time—& a warmer understanding than the frequently perspiring & foul-tempered Mr Hawkins will perhaps ever do.
    It is true however that some of the inns are indeed squalid & that we have more than once witnessed—no, my dear, you do not need to be informed of such things, especially in a letter which your sister might take from your grasp. There are two aspects to this country which Frenchified as I am I yet accustom myself to with much difficulty—the infernal division of the calendar into jours maigres & jours gras—we incessantly hear the cry of jour maigre whenever the stomach craves a good beefsteak—the French would rather commit foul murder than devour the wrong part of God’s creation on the wrong day—it is all most vexing & God bless England for the land of reason. Nor can I accustom myself to the lack of a pretty girl to gaze upon—in truth they are a swarthy race & from Boulogne to Paris & from Paris to Lyons we saw naught but women who might as well be muleteers—in a hostelry southward of Lyons as we were about our dinner at last a pretty girl entered & the whole company French & travellers gave her the tribute of applause to which she was evidently accustomed—you must not mind any of this—I cast my eyes upon the locket each night before I say my prayers.
    The common people are much dirtier than the common people in England—they are meagre & half-starved—yet their starvation is not such as to prevent them from ill humour, indecency & crime—they are an impulsive race of course—in Montpelier I witnessed a coachman whip a horse which had fallen to its knees on the street & could not get up—it was a savage sight—Hawkins forbade me to intervene as I would have done at Nesfield—& when he was through whipping the beast his master emerged from the house & gave the coachman a whipping in his turn until the fellow was on his knees like the horse beside him—then the master retired into the house & the coachman flung his arms around the neck of the horse—I draw no lesson from this but if I were to begin the narrative of the cruelties I have seen you would enjoin me to return without ever setting my eyes upon Italy.
    The people of quality are in my judgment more attentive to their own persons than in England—while our common people are less dirty & less slovenly than their French equivalences—the people of quality here would not neglect their external dress as the English might happily do—the Frenchman must have his laced coat & powdered hair & must appear clean & well-dressed—nevertheless his house will often be filled with litter & dirt such as an Englishman would not abide—it is almost a riddle from the nursery would you have an orderly man in a disorderly house or a disorderly man in an orderly house?—ask that of your tutor when next he entertains you with moral philosophy. We have witnessed the filth & disarray of their houses because of their natural hospitality & warmth which they extend even to a bear cub and his ill-humoured tutor—they are indeed the friendliest & most welcoming race Ihave met although you will say that my evidence is less than it could be but I have been in Edinburgh do not forget.
    I have enquired most particularly of many persons of quality concerning the sports they practise and have received little information—there is racing of course—there is hunting—there is gaming which subject I have not mentioned to you