The Sun.
London, England, 1870-09-27 00:00:00

PUBLIC FEELING IN FRANCE.

The correspondent of the Telegraph, in giving an account
of his journey from Rouen to Tours, writes as follows :
"As we dashed along yesterday the talk turned on sub-
jects very different from the richness of the landscape, the
fall of the old noblesse, or the triumph of democracy. One
of my companions was ' a French officer, whose
sturdy frame and clear blue eye told of unlessened vigour,
although his iron-grey hair bespoke the advance of years.
He had belonged to the army of MacMahon, and had been
at Sedan. The result was a wound in the leg, from
which he had not yet recovered, and which obliged him to
rest his limb on the cushion of the carriage. A
young traveller, apparently not more than two-and-
twenty, was also an officer ; but his battle-fields
had still to come. A third was a middle-aged army sur-
geon, who had been in the Crimea, and wore the medal of
Sebastopol. A fourth was a noisy civilian critic,
who led the conversation on the events of
the day, and dealt out summary judgment to
the statesmen and the soldiers of France. When the
conversation turned upon the siege of Paris, all the speakers
chewed themselves to' the typical Frenchmen, by setting
aside the very idea of surrender as too absurd even for
debate. Nothing, indeed, can be more unmistakeable
than the conviction of the French that Paris must not only
fight, but fight to the bitter end. The beauty of her
boulevards, the lines of trees which the fire may consume,
the stately erections which the shells may deface, the
belt of woods which must be burnt in order to withhold
a shelter from the cnemy, and the priceless treasures of
art which must be exposed to the risk of destruction—
all this is totally forgotten in presence of the over-
mastering fact that Paris must not fall into the hands of
the Prussians, or must undergo such a degrad ,tion only after
a fight which, by comparison, shall make the burning of
Moscow seem tame. In the language of gesticulation,
the general feeling of determination was expressed by
one of my travelling companions with all the energy of
speechless grimace. First, he implied, the forts must be
defended so long as a stone of the walls could give shelter
to the garrison ; then the ramparts must be held to
the like extremity ; and, at the waist, there
would still remain a system of defence which he deemed
impregnable, and the aggressive force of which a copious
command of words failed to describe. There would re-
main Rochefort and the cry of ala barricade. 4t the
mention of these words the eloquent commentator became
speechless ; and, if confronted with Bismarck, he
slowly, gravely, solemnly made the most contemptuous
gesture at his command. Perhaps Paris may have
already attested the truth of Alphonse Karr's prediction,
that she would lay down her arms if deprived of fresh
strawberries for a single morning. Yet the fact remains
that, on every side, the French people--women no
less than men—declare, not with boasting or vulgar
loudness, but with a quiet, grim, almost religious
sedateness, that France must now fight until the
bitter end. Whatever may have been the case at
first, the French people are now thoroughly iu
earnest, and are throwing their whole heart into
the war. Their earnestness fills them with un-
wonted sadness. You hear little martial music, no cheer-
ing, little boasting, no attempt to undervalue the foe, or
to disguise the tremendous sacrifices that await
the country. The only signs of merri-
ment or noisy patriotism come from the soldiers
as they enter the railway stations in the military
trains ; and on the eve of battle the soldier of a natioh is
always the most reckless citizen. The civilians of France
are drilling in the quiet grim silence which befits men who
mean to fight, and know what fighting means."