The Sun.
London, England, 1870-09-28 00:00:00

THE BATTLE OF THE NINETEENTH,

The more detailed reports (especially those published
by the Francais and Opinion _Nationale) enable us to form
a clearer idea of the battle of the 19th than the official
account, which, though truthful as far as it goes, is not
sufficiently explicit as to the real cause of the defeat of the
French, for it cannot now be questioned that this battle
of the 19th was a defeat, and a serious one, as it enabled
the enemy to take up positions of such vital importance
as those of St. Cloud and Meudon. No ono not familiar
with the locality can form an idea of the ground from the
maps, however detailed. South of Paris, between
the Sevres and the Bievre, is a plateau of no great
height; it is bare and barren, and studded with frequent
quarries and marl pits. That is the plateau of Longboyau,
and it is that which the official report describes I
as the heights of Villejuif. In the rear of that
plateau are the heights of Bicetre, which are pro-
tected by a fort, from which the whole of the city,
with the Arc de Triomphe and Mont Valerien in
the distance, can be clearly described. It slopes down
west to the valley of the Bievre, in the direction of Sceaux.
The ground then rises again, and a succession of sloping
hillocks, stubbed with numerous villas and pretty villages,
extend ;iortli-west in the direction of Chatillon, Clamart,
Vanes, Issy. Mendon, and Bellevue. There the road from
Versailles to Paris runs via Sevres in a.deep hollow, beyond
which abruptly rise the woods of Ville d'Avray (called in
the maps Bois des Fausses Reposes), and the picturesque
heights of St. Cloud. The French with four divi-
sions
of infantry, made up probably. of Vinoy's corps
and the debris of the army which escaped from '
Sedan, and of a very large force of artillery—one
account says twelve batteries, or 72 guns—occupied
an inner semi-circle between the forts and the vil-
lages of Villejuif at the extreme left, and Meudon
on the extreme right. The Prussians NV:n.O
marching from Ghoisy-le-noi on Versailles in very
nearly a straight line, but naturally covered its right flank
by occupying, or trying to occupy, the woods between
Sceaux and Bellevue. Whether it was that the French
line was too extended for its strength--and 40,000 infantry
appears a small number to act off,:miively along a curved
line of upwards of five miles, 1.: ~I:en by trees and
houses—or that they were ill connnanded, or that they
were outnumbered, or from all these causes combined, it
would be impossible to say ; but the hest and steadiest
troops, on whom the duty devolved of • holding the heights
of Mendon, and who thus formed the extreme right
of the French, were seized with a panic, broke
fled precipitately back to Paris, and created a panic
there by their doleful stories of another disaster. The signal
• for the flight was given by a provisional regiment formed
out of the debris of the Ist and 3rd Regiment of Zouaves,
and the rumour of the right having given way, which
spread like wildfire through the rest of the corps, made
immediate retreat necessary, the troops having got it
into their heads that they were " turned," and that
the Prussians were getting between them and Faris,
The artillery behaved splendi• and is said to have
tired no less than 25,00, shp.t,i. The French seem only
Co have lost the eight guns of position which they had

plab t n in the earthwork of Chatillon ; but the loss (3- .ite
heights of Mendon and St. Cloud, and more than that the
demoralising consequences of the fearful example given
by the trained soldiers running away panic-stricken, trrat
have consequences more serious by far than the abandon-
ment of a few guns. —Paris Correspondent of the Standard.

THE FRENCH FORCES IN THE NORTH.
The special correspondent of the Daily Telegraph,
writing from Douai on Tuesday, gives a very discouraging
description of the men France relies upon to retrieve her-
self. He remarks :—Any military man who should
at the present time visit this and the other fortified
places. to the north of Paris, must perforce arrive
at the conclusion that France has determined to
shew the world at large how "not to do it." Every
reasonable person in Europe has long ago come to the
conclusion that if ever a country had, to use a homely
phrase, got into a mess, France is that country. Evea
l'renchmen no longer try to deceive themselves on this
s2ore. They admit that they have been beaten, that
their soil is invaded by legions which seem never to end,
and that, even if their capital is not besieged, some
twenty years must pass before the debt now duo
to the Prussians can be paid in full, before the
destruction necessarily caused by the army of hall a
mqlio,. men now in France can become a
.thing of the
past. And yet they seethed determined to make Lad
worse. They were not able to drive back the Prussians
when the latter were doubtful as to their comparative
powcr and when France had three magnificent armies
in the field; and now they are trying to make

lemselves believe that they can overcome au enemy

hushed and confident with victory, when they have
really nothing save some two hundred thousand un-
taught arid undisciplined Gardes Mobile, and the
remnants of their beaten regiments. I have within
the last few days visited Lille, Valenciennes, and
Douai, and have seen the so-called troops with
which France seems in her madness determined
to drive the enemy away from Paris. The sight of thess
men—the sight of so many fine young fellows going forth
to certain and utterly useless death—has made me sad.
Take the roughest of the Whitechapel roughs, make him
perspire freely ; and when he is in that state roll him in
the dust ; then dress him in a blouse with a bit of red
serge on the sleeve ; give him a musket which he can-
not handle, a bayonet of which he does not know
the use, and ammunition with which he cannot
load his rifle ; parade him one or twice a day, but
let him have very much his own way iu the ranks ;
let him be commanded by officers who never served
before, who cannot drill him 'low, and whom he
tioroughly despises. When he is doing nothing in the
Nv ay or duty—that is during eleven-twelfths of his
hour keep preaching to him away a levy
2,a:-se, and make him thoroughly believe that

he and his fellows are destined. to restore the
military glory of France. And when you have
dune ail this—when you have taken what little
good in the way of industry there. is in the man,
and made him an idle loafer about the town, you
will then have manufactured a very fair sample of
what a Garde. Mobile iu France, in these our days,
is made of. With these men the Provisional
Government of this land proposes to bring Prussia
to terms. • With make-shift regiments, composed
of such soldiers, they seriously tell the people of the
country that they can defend Paris, attack the Prussians
in the rear, and-drive the enemy out of France ! There
must either be great ignorance or great wickedness
in high places when so palpable au impossibility is
gravely
.put forth as the programme of the policy
that is to restore France to her place amongst the nations
of Europe. it is said that France will never consent
to give up Lorraine and Alsace, and that, even if
the Provisional Government agreed to peace on
the terms proposed by Prussia, they would have to
resign immediately. But is not this exactly what
all France has been blaming the Emperor for since the
defeat of Sedan? Do they not say that he insisted upon
hopeless battles being sought in order to give the
XnAire one more chance of living ? And is it not to the
4311,imbrielf.ed to fight in order to uphold a Republican as
an 33g -vial Government ?

OUR COTET/IPORARIES—This

THE WAR.

DESOLATION NEAR PARIS.

The special correspondent of the Cologne Gazette, under
head of " Before Paris," writes of the scenes he saw
around the city :—" I have just returned from an excur-
sion from Sivry, via St. Denis, and thence back to
Meaux. The same stillness of death was pre-
vailing on all sides. A patrol of Saxon Uhlans
that I met just before I got into Meaux was the only
indication that we were not in times of peace. The farms
on the sides of the roads were deserted, open doors and
windows, no living thing save the cat, the only faithful
guardian of the fireside, whom I meet now in
nearly all my excursions. In the first ten miles of my ride
towards Paris I met at Claye an old woman seated in the
open courtyard of the hotel Cheval Blanc,' picking and
sorting rags, the only human being that I saw, who de-`
clared to me that she was of German origin, and had
been expelled from Paris. All was devastated and
destroyed from the garret to the cellar. Chignons and
false curls, crinolines and petticoats—in fact, every article
of female toilette lay about in the passages ; plates, dishes,
pots, kettles, &c., in fact, all the household utensils
lay about in the greatest disorder. Everything was
damaged, broken, smashed, torn—in fact, utterly
destroyed. To the right and left of the entrance to the
little town lay handsome villas, gardens with flower-beds,
and the prettiest shrubs. I rode through one of the iron
park-gates and made my way up to the steps leading to
the door and went into the villa, which denoted the rich
retired tradesman taking his ease after his labours.
The tables were laid in the saloon, but the things on them
were filthily dirty, and covered with empty champagne
and claret bottles, broken plates, and glasses strewn
about, betokening the wildest orgies. Remains of joints,
pasty, dessert, &c., lay in confused heaps on tables and
floors. The curtains were torn from the windows, mirrors
over the mantelpieces had been smashed by having bottles
thrown at them, disgusting sketches were made with coal
and charcoal, the costly carpets covered with all kinds of
filth, broken clocks, pictures, and engravings destroyed
and torn from the walls. Such was the sight that pre-
sented itself to me in the downstairs apartments of several
of these charming little spots. Ido not make any men-
tion of the beastly condition of the upstairs rooms, of the
devastation of the sleeping-chamber of the lady of the
house, of her boudoir, &c. No drawer, no cupboard had
been spared ; the locks had been broken open, and the
contents strewn about in the wildest disorder, from the
garret to the cellar. I rode for one whole hour
through the town without seeing a single soul. At last I
caught sight of a man, who came forward with a book in
his hand, and introduced himself to me as the only remain-
ing inhabitant of the town, the superintendent of the Paris
Omnibus Company. `We have to thank our own people,'
said he, ' for all this devastation. During the last few
days we had to shelter and feed those from whom we
sought protection and defence. The last inhabi-
tants of the town who had the necessary courage to stand
by and take care of their houses and homes live been
driven away by the lawless excesses of our men ;
the women were insulted and outraged, and the men
attacked with swords and bayonets ; and they only left
when nothing remained ro plunder or to satisfy their
lusts.' . . . About two miles behind Claye I found
already a proof of the formidable preparations for the de-
fence of Paris—that is to say, a barricade made of square
paving stones that barred the road. Accompanied by two
Jagers from headquarters, we continued our advance
about a mile further than the barricade. We saw
neither Ga.,:e Mobile nor Franc-tireur. From the
depths of the forest a handsome residence looked down
upon us, and we took the road leading to it. Everything
still and quiet, no ambuscade, no shot from the thicket,
no sudden attack. The iron gate of the courtyard yielded
to our touch. We could neither see nor hear anyone.
The linen which had been washed still lay bleaching
on the lawn behind the house. Everything denoted
that the inhabitants had yesterday or the day before made
a hasty flight. Strange feelings seem to come over me
when I visit these empty halls and castles. I expect in
each room to find some human being, but only the pic-
tures of the ancestors and venerable forefathers seem to
look down upon us, the beds with their hangings are un-
touched, and the modern paintings of sporting gods and
goddesses hanging on the walls seem to be sadly out of
place. On the table lies an open book, shewing how re-
cently the reader has left his or her place. Nets and
fishing-rods have still been left in their former places, the
hunting gear is either saved or stolen, and only useless
game bags denote that in former times the owner of this
castle was fond of hunting and shooting, and the setter,
nose to the ground, seeks in vain in the halls, passages,
and garden walks, where goddesses and marble figures in
the alcoves and shrubberies gaze mournfully into the dried
up basins of the small fountains. The reader must pardon
this lengthy digression about deserted castles, towns, and
villages, for during the last week I have been passing
through a series of deserted Paradises in which magpies
hopping from branch to branch, or a lizard creeping
through the leaves, or even a plain domestic cat, seem to
enliven the lovely scene."