Upon the whole we are proud of our travelling; but yet we must own that, as a nation of travellers, we have much to learn; and it always seems that the travelling English family which goes abroad because it's the thing to do, with no clearly defined object as to the pleasure to be obtained or the delights to be expected,—with hardly a defined idea of the place to be visited, has, as a class,[7] more to learn than any other class of tourists.
In such family arrangements daughters of course predominate. Sons can travel alone or with their own friends. This arrangement they generally prefer, and for it they are always able to give substantial reasons, in which their mammas may, or may not, put implicit5 confidence. Daughters can travel alone too occasionally, as I hope to be able to show by-and-by in a sketch6 of that much abused but invaluable7 English lady, the Unprotected Female Tourist. But such feminine independence is an exception to the rule, and daughters are generally willing to submit themselves to that paternal8 and maternal9 guidance from which the adult male tourist so stoutly10 revolts. Paterfamilias of course is there, paying the bills, strapping11 up the cloaks, scolding the waiters, obeying, but not placidly12 obeying, the female behests to which he is subject, and too frequently fretting13 uncomfortably beneath the burden of the day, the heat and the dust, the absence of his[8] slippers14, and the gross weight of his too-matured proportions. And he has, too, other inward grievances15 of which he can say nothing to any ear. Something of the salt of youth is left to him,—something of the spirit, though but little of the muscle,—and he thinks of his boys who are far afield, curtailed16 in their exploits by no petticoats, abridged17 by no stiff proprieties18; and he wishes that he was with them, feeling that his trammels are heavy. The mother, of course, is there, kind to all her party, but too often stiff and hard to all beyond it, anxious that papa should have his comforts, anxious that her girls should see everything, but afraid to let them see too much, sometimes a little cross when the work becomes too hard or the pace of the pony19 is too rough, somewhat dowdy20 in her cotton dress, and ill-suited to the hat which she wears. She possesses every virtue21 under the sun. Of human beings she is the least selfish. Her heart is full of love, and all who know her dote upon her. At home[9] she is charming, at home she is graceful22 and sweet to be seen. But on her travels things do not go easily with her, and her temper will sometimes become ruffled23. The daughters are determined24 to do the thing well, to see everything, to be stopped by no English prejudices, to be at their ease, or at any rate look as though they were; to talk French boldly in spite of their little slips; to wear their dresses jauntily25, and make the best of themselves; to have all their eyes open, and carry home with them something from every day's work. Who will say that they are wrong? Nay26, who will not declare that they are right in all this? But they overdo27 the thing in their intense desire to utilize28 every moment; they are, alas29, sometimes a little ashamed of papa and mamma; and as they return down the Rhine, having begun in Switzerland, and done Baden Baden, Frankfort, and Homburg on their way, their dresses are not quite so jaunty30, nor their gloves so neat, nor their hats in such perfect[10] trim, as when those articles were inspected on the evening before they left home. That resolve to make the best of themselves has been somewhat forgotten during the stern realities of their journeys. A French girl will remember her crinoline and her ribbons throughout every moment of her long day's work,—will think of them through it all, preserving herself that she may preserve them, if they were worth a thought at the beginning. If she is minded to end dowdily31, she will begin dowdily. But the trouble of such continued care is too much for an English girl. She lapses32 first into indifference33, and from indifference to aversion; till at last she takes an absolute pride in the absence of those little prettinesses which she had at first been determined to maintain so stoutly. Who has not seen her at the Dover railway station on her return home, as she stands there grasping with one hand an Alpine34 stock and an umbrella, while she leans listlessly on the other, regardless of the torn extremities35 of her gloves and[11] the battered36 form of her hat?
Such is the family that goes abroad because it is the thing to do. The spirit that instigates37 them to roam afield is no hankering after fashion. The father and mother, and daughters also, of the family of which I speak, are well aware that such tourings are too common to confer fashion or distinction. The days in which we heard that—
Mrs. Grill38 is very ill, And nothing will improve her, Unless she sees the Tuileries, And waddles39 down the Louvre,—
are well nigh over, and are certainly over for such sensible people as I am describing. It is not fashion that they seek, nor is it chiefly amusement. Paterfamilias, when he starts, knows that he will not be amused, and already wishes that the journey was over, and that he could be back at his club. Mamma dreads40 it somewhat, and has more of misgiving42 than of pleasant anticipation43. She has not much of happiness when papa is cross, and he is usually cross when he[12] is uncomfortable. And then the people at the inns are so often uncivil; and she fears the beds! And the girls look for no unalloyed satisfaction. They know that they have hard work before them, and the dread41 of those slips in their French is not pleasant to them. But it is the thing to do. Not to have seen Florence, Rome, Munich, and Dresden, not to be at home as regards the Rhine, not to have ridden over the Gemmi or to have talked to Alpine climbers at Zermatt, is to be behind the world. And then there is so much to be done in Europe! Ars longa, vita brevis. Last year papa wouldn't move,—that is, he wouldn't move beyond Cromer. Carry is, alas! twenty-nine; Fanny is twenty-seven; even Sophie,—the childish Sophie,—is twenty-four. Under such circumstances, who can dare to think of ease, or even of pleasure? Years are flowing by, and the realities of life,—still doubtful realities, but with so much of pain in the doubt!—are coming on. Who can say how soon the income arising from paternal energy[13] may be at an end, and that the modest means of pensioned age may render all such work impracticable? It is imperative44 that the places be seen, that the lions be killed and ticked off as difficulties done with and overcome. What may be the exact balance of advantage to any of them when the tour is over, neither Carry nor Fanny stops to inquire; but they put their heads together and determine that the thing must be arranged. They feel that they are right. "It is education," says Fanny, with her eyes glittering. "Home-staying youths have ever homely wits," says Sophie, thinking perhaps too much of her own advantage in point of years. "I will talk to papa in earnest," says Carry, with resolute45 mildness. She does talk to papa in earnest, conscious that she is thereby46 doing her duty; and thus the family goes abroad, because it is the thing to do.
In the old days,—days, let us say, that are now some hundred and fifty years old,—young Englishmen used to travel for their education; but it[14] entered into the minds of those who sent them that they should see something of the society of the countries which they visited. And in such travelling time was given for such intercourse47. But with the ordinary English tourist, and especially with the ordinary English tourist family, there is no such attempt now, no hope of any such good fortune. Carry and Fanny mean to talk French boldly, but they intend to do so in railway carriages, at hotel dinners, and to the guides and waiters. No preparation is made for any attempt at social intercourse. Letters of introduction are not obtained, nor is there time allowed for any sojourn48 which would make an entrance into society possible. That does not come even into Fanny's programme, though Fanny is enthusiastic. Scenery, pictures, architecture, and a limited but minute geographical49 inquiry50, are the points to which it is intended that attention shall be given. And of these much is learned. A true love of scenery is common to almost all who will take[15] the trouble to seek it. I think that it is, at any rate, common to all English men and women. Of pictures the knowledge acquired is most frequently what may be called dead knowledge. Carry soon learns to know a Rubens from a Raphael, and almost learns to know a Titian from a Tintoretto. She stores her memory with facts as to individual pictures, remembers dates, and can tell you who was the teacher of whom. She is sometimes a little restless and mildly impatient during her labours in the galleries, and rejoices often when the hard day's work is done and the custodian51 bids her depart. But her toils53 have not been barren, and she enjoys after a fashion what she has learned. Architecture comes easier, as the time given to it is necessarily less, and the attention may be more vaguely54 applied55. But, on that account, less is carried away, and the memories of the cathedral have dwindled56 to nothing, while the positions of the world-famous pictures are still remembered. As to the geography, it[16] comes unsought, and remains57 unappreciated; but it is not on that account the less valuable. How few of our young ladies can define the position of Warsaw; while so many know accurately58 that of Wiesbaden!
Many accusations59 have been made against travelling English families, touching60 that peculiarity61 of theirs in going hither and thither62 without an attempt to see and know the people of the countries they visit; and it is alleged63, and truly alleged, that Frenchmen and Germans coming here do make efforts to come among us and see us, and learn of what like we are. But I think that we can defend ourselves on that score. We travel among Frenchmen and Germans in bulk, while they come among us by twos and threes. Our twos and our threes see as much of them as they see of us. With them families do not go abroad because it is the thing to do. How many an Englishman stays in Paris two days to see the city; whereas no Frenchman comes to London[17] for such a flying visit, unless he be a commis voyageur, or has some business in hand.
The family that travels because it is the thing to do, is, I am sure, in the right. Fanny understood her point when she said that it was education. It is education; but if one can judge from the faces, voices, and manners of the persons undergoing it, it is not often pleasure. The work has been too hard, the toil52 too unremitting, the endeavour to make the most of the short six weeks too unrelenting, to allow of much of the softness of summer enjoyment64. The stern Fanny, who, as she has gone on her way, has made the foreign Bradshaw all her own, has allowed no rest to her weary father, no ease to her over-driven mother. "If we don't do Munich now, we shall never do it," she has said with energy. And thus the sullen65 father and the despairing mother have been dragged along further dusty railroads, to another hot city of pictures, in which Paterfamilias found nothing to comfort him but the beer, and mamma[18] no alleviation66 but the excessive punctuality and neatness of the washerwoman.
But, at last, they are at home,—the penance67 is over, and the true pleasure begins. They have done the work and have garnered68 the wages. Papa is sufficiently69 happy in feeling that he cannot be again taken away from his dressing-room and cellar, at any rate, for ten months; and mamma, as she once more creeps into her own bed, thanks God that she has been enabled to go through her duty. Carry and Fanny hide their travelling gear with some little feeling of shame, and, as they toil at their journals for the first week of their return, take pride in thinking that they have seen at any rate as much as their neighbours.
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1
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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naught
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| n.无，零 [=nought] | |
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3
homely
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| adj.家常的，简朴的；不漂亮的 | |
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4
lodgings
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| n. 出租的房舍, 寄宿舍 | |
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implicit
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| a.暗示的，含蓄的，不明晰的，绝对的 | |
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sketch
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| n.草图；梗概；素描；v.素描；概述 | |
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invaluable
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| adj.无价的，非常宝贵的，极为贵重的 | |
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paternal
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| adj.父亲的，像父亲的，父系的，父方的 | |
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maternal
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| adj.母亲的，母亲般的，母系的，母方的 | |
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stoutly
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| adv.牢固地，粗壮的 | |
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strapping
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| adj. 魁伟的, 身材高大健壮的 n. 皮绳或皮带的材料, 裹伤胶带, 皮鞭 动词strap的现在分词形式 | |
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placidly
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| adv.平稳地，平静地 | |
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fretting
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| n. 微振磨损 adj. 烦躁的, 焦虑的 | |
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slippers
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| n. 拖鞋 | |
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grievances
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| n.委屈( grievance的名词复数 )；苦衷；不满；牢骚 | |
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16
curtailed
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| v.截断，缩短( curtail的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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abridged
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| 削减的，删节的 | |
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proprieties
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| n.礼仪，礼节；礼貌( propriety的名词复数 )；规矩；正当；合适 | |
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pony
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| adj.小型的；n.小马 | |
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dowdy
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| adj.不整洁的；过旧的 | |
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virtue
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| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
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22
graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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23
ruffled
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| adj. 有褶饰边的, 起皱的 动词ruffle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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24
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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jauntily
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| adv.心满意足地；洋洋得意地；高兴地；活泼地 | |
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26
nay
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| adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者 | |
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overdo
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| vt.把...做得过头，演得过火 | |
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28
utilize
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| vt.使用，利用 | |
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29
alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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30
jaunty
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| adj．愉快的，满足的；adv.心满意足地，洋洋得意地；n.心满意足；洋洋得意 | |
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31
dowdily
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| adv.懒散地，下流地 | |
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32
lapses
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| n.失误，过失( lapse的名词复数 )；小毛病；行为失检；偏离正道v.退步( lapse的第三人称单数 )；陷入；倒退；丧失 | |
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33
indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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34
alpine
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| adj.高山的；n.高山植物 | |
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35
extremities
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| n.端点( extremity的名词复数 )；尽头；手和足；极窘迫的境地 | |
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36
battered
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| adj.磨损的；v.连续猛击；磨损 | |
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37
instigates
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| n.使（某事物）开始或发生，鼓动( instigate的名词复数 )v.使（某事物）开始或发生，鼓动( instigate的第三人称单数 ) | |
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38
grill
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| n.烤架，铁格子，烤肉；v.烧，烤，严加盘问 | |
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39
waddles
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| v.（像鸭子一样）摇摇摆摆地走( waddle的第三人称单数 ) | |
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40
dreads
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| n.恐惧，畏惧( dread的名词复数 )；令人恐惧的事物v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的第三人称单数 ) | |
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41
dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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42
misgiving
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| n.疑虑，担忧，害怕 | |
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43
anticipation
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| n.预期，预料，期望 | |
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44
imperative
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| n.命令，需要；规则；祈使语气；adj.强制的；紧急的 | |
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45
resolute
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| adj.坚决的，果敢的 | |
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46
thereby
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| adv.因此，从而 | |
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47
intercourse
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| n.性交；交流，交往，交际 | |
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48
sojourn
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| v./n.旅居，寄居；逗留 | |
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49
geographical
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| adj.地理的；地区(性)的 | |
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50
inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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51
custodian
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| n.保管人，监护人；公共建筑看守 | |
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52
toil
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| vi.辛劳工作，艰难地行动；n.苦工，难事 | |
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53
toils
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| 网 | |
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54
vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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55
applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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56
dwindled
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| v.逐渐变少或变小( dwindle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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57
remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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58
accurately
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| adv.准确地，精确地 | |
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59
accusations
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| n.指责( accusation的名词复数 )；指控；控告；（被告发、控告的）罪名 | |
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60
touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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61
peculiarity
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| n.独特性，特色；特殊的东西；怪癖 | |
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62
thither
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| adv.向那里；adj.在那边的，对岸的 | |
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63
alleged
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| a.被指控的，嫌疑的 | |
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64
enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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65
sullen
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| adj.愠怒的，闷闷不乐的，(天气等)阴沉的 | |
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66
alleviation
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| n. 减轻，缓和，解痛物 | |
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67
penance
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| n.（赎罪的）惩罪 | |
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68
garnered
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| v.收集并（通常）贮藏（某物），取得，获得( garner的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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69
sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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