No
one seems to know or to care what my nationality is, and I am treated, on
the contrary, with the civility which is the portion of every traveller
who pays the bill without scanning the items too narrowly. This, I
confess, has been something of a surprise to me, and I have not yet made
up my mind as to the fundamental cause of the anomaly. My determination
to take up my abode in a French interior was largely dictated by the
supposition that I should be substantially disagreeable to its inmates. I
wished to observe the different forms taken by the irritation that I
should naturally produce; for it is under the influence of irritation
that the French character most completely expresses itself. My presence,
however, does not appear to operate as a stimulus, and in this respect I
am materially disappointed. They treat me as they treat every one else;
whereas, in order to be treated differently, I was resigned in advance to
be treated worse. I have not, as I say, fully explained to myself this
logical contradiction; but this is the explanation to which I tend. The
French are so exclusively occupied with the idea of themselves, that in
spite of the very definite image the German personality presented to them
by the war of 1870, they have at present no distinct apprehension of its
existence.
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