English Pharisees, French Crocodiles, and Other Anglo-French Typical Characters

In Short

This book is a series of lighthearted yet incisive essays exploring the divergent national temperaments of the English and French. The author, a seasoned observer of both cultures, catalogues the quirks, political habits, religious attitudes, and social hypocrisies of his neighbors across the Channel. By turns playful and critical, he examines everything from the "John Bull" archetype of English industry to the "Jacques Bonhomme" peasant-proprietor of France. It has endured as a charming example of Victorian-era cultural journalism, capturing a moment when cross-Channel rivalry was defined by mutual fascination and pointed, gentlemanly ribbing.

The Story

The author begins by addressing "Jonathan"—his American audience—with the suggestion that while the New World leads in industrial energy, the Old World has much to teach about the art of living. From this premise, the narrative embarks on a tour of character sketches. The reader is introduced to "John Bull," the quintessentially English figure: a man of immense industry, deep-seated conservatism, and a stubborn insistence on the perfection of his own institutions. He is a person who bows to the majority and respects the law, yet is quick to blame the Irish, Scotch, or Welsh when things go awry. Contrasted with him is the French "Jacques Bonhomme," the landed peasant who focuses his entire world on his family, his garden, and the modest security of his retirement.

The middle chapters shift toward an examination of the social friction between the two nations. The author analyzes their different approaches to religion—the French Catholic tradition, which appeals to the senses and the heart, versus the English Protestant model, which appeals to reason and public duty. He does not shy away from controversy, noting how the English celebrate their Sunday with a rigor that closes museums and leaves the poor with few options but the public house, while the French find piety in a more fluid, daily devotion. He also skewers the "snob," defined here as a man who is ashamed of his origins, focusing on the French pretender who adds a "de" to his name to simulate nobility.

As the narrative progresses, the focus turns to the political sphere. The author laments the "vulgarization" of politics in democracies, where the desire for votes leads leaders to favor short-term popularity over genuine statesmanship. He critiques the English practice of granting massive financial rewards to generals and politicians, contrasting this with the austere, honor-based tradition of the Romans or the French. The book concludes with a spirited defense of France’s contributions to the world, particularly during the "Golden Age of 1830," when the nation produced an extraordinary array of literary, artistic, and musical genius. Through these comparisons, the author seeks not to declare a winner, but to illuminate the underlying human impulses that drive two neighboring nations to act in such contrary, yet equally human, ways.

How It Unfolds

The cultural invitation The author sets the stage by inviting the reader to sit under a tree and contemplate the differences between nations. He establishes the tone of an impartial, philosophizing observer who has spent his life watching the English and French from both sides of the Channel.

Defining the archetypes The narrative moves into specific portraits of the national character, contrasting the industrious, stoic Englishman with the family-centered, frugal French peasant. This section grounds the book in the everyday lives of the people rather than just their governments.

The clash of customs The chapters branch out into the practical differences of daily life, such as which side of the road to drive on or how to handle domestic finances. These anecdotes serve as lighthearted illustrations of how two neighbors can be so close geographically yet culturally worlds apart.

The critique of institutions The author deepens his analysis by looking at religion, politics, and social status. He tackles the "snob," the hypocrite, and the statesman, arguing that democracies often force leaders into a performative, populist role that cheapens their work.

The final assessment The book concludes with a historical review of France’s resilience and intellectual output. It serves as a reminder that national identity is shaped by both trauma and achievement, ending the survey on a note of national pride.

The People

The book relies on archetypes rather than a single protagonist. John Bull acts as the embodiment of English character: steady, law-abiding, and deeply pragmatic, yet prone to a specific type of religious and social hypocrisy that the author finds both exhausting and predictable. In contrast, Jacques Bonhomme represents the French ideal of stability—a man whose world is limited to his hearth, his savings, and his deep affection for his children.

Jacqueline, the French peasant woman, appears as a paragon of quiet patriotism, noted for her selfless hospitality to soldiers during the dark days of 1870. She represents the resilience of France’s rural heart. The author also introduces the French Snob, a man of middle-class origins who desperately masks his identity behind fake titles, serving as a foil to the "genuine" nobility. Finally, the Statesman—often modeled on contemporary figures like Gladstone or various military leaders—serves as the central point of political critique. The statesman begins as a potential leader but, under the pressures of democracy, inevitably slides into a role of a populist entertainer, trading dignity for the fickle favor of the masses.

In Its Own Voice

The author highlights the contradictions inherent in the English spirit, particularly regarding their public displays of devotion.

When he prays, he makes a grimace, or hides his face in his hat, and reminds one of Heinrich Heine's sayings, "that a blaspheming Frenchman must be a more pleasing object in the sight of God than a praying Englishman."

The author offers a sharp definition of the social climber, focusing on the lack of true distinction.

The snob is the man who is ashamed of his origin, and wishes to occupy a better place in society than he is entitled to; who hires a couple of flunkeys by the evening, to make folks believe he keeps a grand establishment.

Reflecting on the nature of international observation, he notes the inherent ease of prejudice.

People very often speak ill of their neighbors, not out of wickedness, but merely out of laziness; it is so much easier to do so than to study their qualities and all the circumstances that might oblige you to change your opinion.

What It's Really About

At its core, the book is a study of "national temperament." The author argues that much of what we call national character is actually a series of habitual responses to history, religion, and geography. He explores the tension between "British philosophy"—a pragmatic, cold-cream-applying resilience—and French "sensitiveness," where victory is seen as glory and defeat as absolute disgrace. The underlying question is whether it is possible for two such distinct cultures to truly understand one another, or if they are doomed to remain amused, critical neighbors who prefer the comfort of stereotypes over the labor of deep study. The book is an argument for tolerance, suggesting that while national habits seem absurd to outsiders, they often serve an internal, logical function.

Why Read It Today

Readers who enjoy the sharp, opinionated essays of the 19th century will find this a delight. It feels like a long, brisk conversation with a well-traveled, highly opinionated friend who has seen enough of the world to know that everyone is at least a little bit ridiculous. You will appreciate the author’s wit, his ability to craft a stinging observation, and his genuine warmth toward the ordinary people of both countries.

However, prospective readers should be aware that the book is very much a product of its time. Its attitudes toward the roles of men and women, its references to specific political scandals of the 1890s, and its sometimes sweeping generalizations about "the Irish" or "the Germans" reflect the period’s biases. The structure is episodic rather than narrative, meaning it is best read in small, thoughtful sips rather than as a continuous story. If you can move past the dated period attitudes, you will find a charmingly written account of how two great nations once viewed each other. It leaves the reader with the lingering sense that national differences are often just different ways of protecting the same fragile human dignity.