The Frank was tall in height, with a very white skin, blue sparkling eyes, and a powerful voice. His face was shaven, save upon the upper lip, which earned a heavy mustachio. His hair, of a beautiful blond colour, was cut behind, and long in front. His dress was so short as not to cover his knees, and fitted tightly, showing plainly the form of the body. He wore a shoulder-belt, ornamented with nails, and plates of silver or inlaid metal. From his girdle hung an iron knife, an axe with short handle and heavy keen iron head (battle-axe), a very sharp ponderous sword, and a pike of medium length, the stout point of which was armed with several barbs or sharp teeth, turned back as in a fish-hook. Before going to battle, the Frank dyed his hair red. The hair itself was frequently held together by a golden net, or a copper circlet; at other times he dressed himself with the spoils of wild beasts.

We are able to extract from historical recitals an exact idea of the Frankish woman. She was powerful, and wore a long robe of dark colour, or bordered with purple. Her arms were left uncovered, and her head was wreathed with flowering broom. Her looks, sometimes fierce, bespoke masculine vigour and a character which did not shrink from sanguinary conflict.

The Celtic and Iberian languages gradually disappeared among the Franks, being replaced by Latin dialects.

The Gauls and Franks, who were subdued by the Romans, received into their blood the Latin element, which rapidly increased. Restrained for a while by the invasions of tribes from the north and east, by Asiatic hordes of Mongolian race, among which we may name the Huns; the Latin element again assumed the ascendant at the commencement of the sixteenth century; men and manners, language and art, bore witness more and more to Latin influence: the fair hair and white skin of the Frank alternating with the black locks and brown skin of the Latin people. Thus it is that the French lost the athletic frame and vigorous limbs of the Gaul, gaining in their stead the suppleness and agility of southern nations. Thus also the French language became gradually formed, modified from Latin dialects.

The existence of a single written language renders it difficult to mark the characteristic distinctions among the French of the present day. We may however, distinguish the French properly so called, who inhabit the lower district of the Loire, and whose dialects are most akin to the written language; the Walloons, in the north, whose pronunciation somewhat approaches that of Teutonic nations; and the Romanians, in the south, where the dialects become confused with those of the Spaniards and Italians. The French of the interior are those who most resemble the Celts; those of the south possess the vivacity of the ancient Iberians or Basques; and those of the north have suffered still more from Teutonic influence, the effect of which is more especially appreciable in Normandy.

Owing to the diversity of his origin, and the different races of men which have been moulded into his type, not omitting also the effect attributed to the great geological variety of the soil of France, where samples of all parts of the earth are to be found, the Frenchman, considered organically, possesses no peculiar physiognomy, which nevertheless does not prevent the complete identification of his French nationality.

From a physical point of view, and setting aside certain extremes, it may be said that the Frenchman is characterised, not so much by special features, as by the mobility and expression of these features. He is neither large nor small, yet his body is in all respects well proportioned; and although he may not be capable of developing great muscular action, he is fully qualified to contend successfully against fatigue and long journeys. Agile and nervous, as prompt in attack as in parrying a blow, full of expedient, supple, and cheerful, skilful both physically and morally, this is the character we shall easily recognise in our typical soldier of the next page.

Considered intellectually, the Frenchman is distinguished by a readiness and activity of conception which is truly unsurpassed. His comprehension is quick and sound. A halo of feeling surrounds this intellectual activity. Add to this a very fair amount of reason, solid judgment, and a veritable passion for order and method, and you have the French character.

To this combination of various qualities must be referred the respect which the French nation entertain for science and art, the admirable order which is found in their museums, and the excellent preservation of their historical monuments. This also goes to explain their excellent organization for public instruction, both in art and science, the forbearing and kindly tone of their philosophy, which above all things seeks the practical rules which govern human action, their excellent judicial system and admirable civil code, which has been copied more or less by all the nations of the New or Old Worlds.

Although the Frenchman respects science, loves the arts, and takes an interest in the productions of thought, it must be admitted that he is loth to take any personal part in them. He is glad to make use of the practical applications of science, and gratefully acknowledges the service they render him; but he shuns the idea of studying the sciences as such, and the very name of savant conveys to his mind a tiresome person. The sciences, which at the end of the last century brought so much honour to France, now languish. Scientific careers are avoided, and in the country of Lavoisier, Laplace, and Cuvier, science is visibly on the decline.

To make science palatable to French readers, the edge of the cup must be coated with honey, and the preceptor must clearly comprehend what dose of the sweetened beverage he may administer, so as not to overtax the powers or present humour of his patient.

We may say the same of the liberal arts. The Frenchman takes delight in artistic works, in fine monuments and buildings, costly statuary, magnificent pictures, engravings, and all the productions of high art; but he does nothing whatever to encourage them. France is at the present day at the head of the fine arts, and her school of painting is without a rival; and yet her artists, whether they be painters or sculptors, must seek elsewhere an outlet for their talents.

In France, the people are content with rendering a formal homage to the merit of their works of art, and leave to the government the task of encouraging and propagating them.

This encouragement consists in an annual exhibition of their paintings and sculptures, entry to this exhibition being obtained only by payment. When it is over, the various works are returned to their authors, and medals of different value assist the public to appreciate the excellence of their productions.

In France, then, the people are, properly speaking, neither studious nor artistic: they merely profess great esteem for the arts and sciences, and render them homage without the least wish to know more of them or an attempt to further their cultivation.

A very excellent quality of the French nation is its sociability. Whilst the English and Germans shut themselves up in their houses with misanthropical concern, the Frenchman prefers to share his dwelling, to inhabit a sort of hive, in which the same roof shelters a large number of individuals of all ages and conditions. He can thus perform and exchange many services, and, while living his own form of existence, enjoy that of others. See how, in French villages, the houses are grouped together or placed back to back, or, in the large towns, those houses where fifty lodgers hardly separated from one another by a scanty partition, have one common domestic, the porter, and you will at one recognize the instinct of sociability, and external affability, which is peculiar to the French nation. The readiness which each manifests to render the little services of life, to aid a wounded person, or assist in extricating his neighbour from embarrassment, are all signs of the same praiseworthy spirit of sociability.

The delicacy of feeling and thought, the extraordinary taste for order and method, and the love of art, which characterize the French nation, are all to be encountered in their various industrial products. A feeling for art is essentially characteristic of French industry, and gives it that well-known good taste, distinction, and elegance, which are so justly appreciated.

Although he is neither student nor artist, the Frenchman knows therefore perfectly how to call science and art to his aid, demand their co-operation and inspiration, and transfer them with advantage into practice. Thanks to his instinct for order and method, he succeeds in drawing material profit from studious or sentimental subjects.

Having considered the bright side of the French nation, we will now see where they are deficient.

It is a recognized fact, that, among the French, one-third of the men and more than half the women can neither read nor write: this is equivalent to saying, that of the thirty-eight millions of individuals composing the population of France, fifteen millions can neither read nor write.

The French peasant does not read, and for a very good reason. On Sunday he has read to him extracts from the Almanack of Pierre Larrivay, of Matthieu Laensberg, or some other prophet of the same cloth, who foretells what is about to happen on each day of the year; and this is as much as he wants. La Bruyère drew of the French peasant in the time of Louis XIV. a forcible and sinister picture, which in many cases is true even at the present day: in the course of two centuries, the subject has altered but little.⁵

The French artisan reads very little. Works of popular science, which for some years past have happily been edited in France, are not read, as is imagined, by the working classes: those who seek works of this class are persons who have already received a certain amount of instruction, which they desire to increase by extending it to other branches of knowledge; these, for the greater part, include school-children, and persons, belonging to the different liberal professions, or engaged in commerce.

The bourgeois, who has some spare time, devotes a portion of it to reading, but he does not read books. In France, books are objects of luxury, used only by persons of refinement. The crowd, when they see a man go by with a book under his arm, regard him with respectful curiosity. Enter the houses, even those of the most wealthy, and you will meet with everything which is necessary for the comforts of life, every article of furniture which may be called for, but you will seldom or never find a library. Whilst in Germany, England, and Russia, it is thought indispensable, in France a library is almost unknown.

The French bourgeois reads only the papers. Unfortunately, French journals have always been devoted to politics. Literature and art, science and philosophy, nay, even commercial and current affairs, that is, all which go to make up the life and interests of a nation, are excluded with most jealous care from the greater part of the French journals, to make way for political subjects. Thus it is that politics, the most superfluous and barren of subjects, have become among the French the great and only object of consideration.

The press which indulges in light literature is much worse. Its articles are founded on old compilations. The bons-mots of the Marquis of Bièvre are borrowed from Bièvriana, and laid at the door of M. de Tillancourt; then Mlle. X. des Variétés is made the heroine of an anecdote borrowed from the Encyclopediana, and the trick is complete. The paper is sold at a sou, and is not worth a liard.

The papers are the chief means by which the French bourgeois stuff their heads with emptiness.

The weakness of instruction in France becomes still more apparent by comparison with that of other nations. Traverse all Switzerland, and in every house you will find a small library. In Prussia it is a most rare matter to find a person who cannot read; in that country instruction is obligatory. In Austria every one can read. In Norway and Denmark, the lowest of the peasantry can read and write their language with accuracy; while in the extreme north, in Iceland, that country given up to the rigours of eternal cold, which is, as it were, a dead spot in nature, prints are numerous. We need not say that the English and Americans are far in advance of the French as regards instruction. Nay, more, all the Japanese can read and write, as also all the inhabitants of China proper.

Let us hope that this sad condition of things will change, when, in France, gratuitous and obligatory instruction has become the law.

Uninstructed and unambitious of learning, timid artisan and plodding husbandman though he be, the Frenchman has yet one ruling virtue. He is a soldier; he possesses all the qualities necessary for war – bravery, intelligence, quickness of conception, the sentiment of discipline, and even patience when it is called for. If in 1870 a combination of deplorable fatalities forced the French to yield to the dictates of a people, who even yet wonder at their victory, the reputation of the French soldier for bravery and intelligence has in no way suffered by this unforeseen check. The day for revenge upon the barbarians of the north will come sooner or later.

Another peculiarity of the French nation is their spirit of criticism and satire. If, in the days of Beaumarchais, everything in France closed with a song, nothing at the present day is complete without a joke.

There is nothing which the French spirit of satire has not turned to ridicule. In the art of the pencil it has created la charge, namely, the caricature of what is beautiful, and the hideous exaggeration of every physical imperfection; on the stage it has introduced la cascade, a public parody bringing before the audience in an absurd manner, history, literature, and men of distinction; in the dance, it has given birth to the obscene and nameless thing which is composed of the contortions of fools, and which with strangers passes as a national dance.

The French woman is perfectly gifted in what concerns intelligence; she possesses a ready conception, a lively imagination, and a cheerful disposition. Unfortunately, the burthen of ignorance presses sorely upon her. It is a rare thing for a woman of the people to read, as only those of the higher classes have leisure, during their girlhood, to cultivate their minds. And yet even they must not give themselves up too much to study, nor aspire to honour or distinction. The epithet bas bleu (blue stocking) would soon bring them back to the common crowd – an ignorant and frivolous feminine mass. Molière’s lines in Les Femmes Savantes, which for two centuries have operated so sadly in disseminating ignorance throughout one half of French society, would be with one voice applied to them.

With this ill-advised tirade, persons who think themselves perfectly right, stifle the early inclinations of young girls and women, which would induce them to open their minds to notions of literature, science, and art.

A question was once put forward whether we should permit our young women to share the education which the University affords to young men. We are speaking of the courses which were to have been held by the college of professors, according to the plans proposed by M. Duruy. But this attempt at the intellectual emancipation of young girls was very soon suppressed. Being barely tolerated at Paris, these courses were soon interdicted in the departmental towns, and woman soon returned to the knee of the church, or, in other words, was brought back to ignorance and superstition.

This want of instruction in the French woman is the more to be regretted, since, to an excellent intellectual disposition, she adds the irresistible gifts of grace and physical charms. There is in her face a seduction which cannot be equalled, although we can assign her physiognomy to no determinate type. Her features, frequently irregular, seem to be borrowed from different races; they do not possess that unity which springs from calm and majesty, but are in the highest degree expressive, and marvellously contrived for conveying every shade of feeling. In them we see a smile, though it be shaded by tears; a caress, though they threaten us; and an appeal when yet they command. Amid the irregularity of this physiognomy the soul displays its workings.

As a rule, the French woman is short of stature, but in every proportion of her form combines grace and delicacy. Her extremities and joints are fine and elegant, of perfect model and distinct form, without a suspicion of coarseness. With her, moreover, art is brought wonderfully to assist nature.

There is no place in the world where the secret of dress is so well understood as in France, or where means are so admirably applied to the rectification of natural defects of form or colour. Add to this a continual desire to charm and please, an anxious care to attract and attach the hearts of others through simplicity or coquetry, good will or malice, the wish to radiate everywhere pleasure and life, the noble craving to awake grand or touching thoughts, and you will understand the universal and charming rule which woman has always held in France, and a great portion of the influence which she perforce retains over men and things.