The Sun.
London, England, 1870-09-05 00:00:00

THE FRANCS-TIREURS IN PARIS.

A correspondent of the Daily News thus describes a
performance for the benefit of the Francs-tireurs :—At
the Porte Saint Martin Theatre we have had a "repre-
sentation pa triotique au benefice des francs-tireurs," last
e's ening. The francs-tireurs are a popular and pictur-
esque corps. Their Parisian friends and relatives flocked
to the performance, which comprehended a couple of
speeches from the stage, by two deputies, M. Cremieux
and M. Esquiros. The programme of the night was of an
intensely warlike character. Every seat was taken, and
there was quite a cerulean belt or sky line of blouses in
the region above the glowing pyramids of the gaselier.
Prices for places, indeed, rose to famine or fever
height, and at about ten o'clock no room could be
had. The audience heard with admirable patience a
trifling play which preceded the " conference" on
" Rouget de l'lsle et la Marseillaise " by M. Cremieux.
The speaker made vigorous use of his text, and was
listened to with the most profound attention and enthu-
siasm. His points were caught up instantly,. and
cheer after cheer greeted the bouquets of noble
sentiments which he kept displaying merely alter-
ing the arrangements, as it were, occasionally
of the most familiar flowers of French rhetoric.
He had by him the inevitable table and the
glass of water, while in the background and at the side
were standing hundreds of the Francs-tireurs, in whose
interest the exhibition was promoted. The Francs-
tireurs were also scattered throughout the stalls and
boxes, which are constructed after the fashion of
those theatres in London which have been provided
for spectators who might defy the propensities
of the flogging Orbilius mentioned by Sydney Smith. The
orator was vehement, almost wild in gesticulation. His
voice ran through an octave of inflections ; he wailed, he
roared, he whispered, he nearly sang, he growled, he put
on his tremulo estop, he seemed to pray, to weep, to de-
nounce, and in every mood he was followed by the vast
crowd, many of whose faces grew white with excitement
and eager suspense. When he concludes the applause is
deafening, there is a hoarse simultaneous roar from every
Kith), and the Francs-tireurs rush forward to salute the
worthy little gentleman, who seemed net a whit the
worse for his exhausting oration. He is sum-
moned forth like a prima donna to receive the
compliment of a second reception. And now the
" Marseillaise," embodied in the person of Mademoiselle
Agar, appears to give illustrative effect to the " con-
ference." She is admirably fitted by nature and by art
for the role. Her forehead is low and broad, her eyes
black, her hair is dark and loose, her bare arms are
shapely, though somewhat muscular, she moves in a
crouching, tiger-like attitude, she is hoarse, as though
choking with passion. In a white dress she stoops and
glides to the footlights, and commences her chant as
though she were a Brocken witch, murmuring an unhal-
lowed incantation. The blouses aloft are still as mice,
a warning hush-h stifles a solitary chatterer in the
stalls. Every line is dwelt on with an emphasis which
would be grotesque in its exaggeration but for the
terrible and oppressive earnestnee with which
each syllable is listened to. We come to a climax
when the tricolour is unfurled, and Mdlle. kneel down,
and the Francs-tireurs kneel also, and the audience rise.
At the close of the song Mdlle. is recalled, and is
accompanied by a Franc-tireur, who holds her by
the hand, with a bow sufficiently expressive of his
and his comrades' resolve to live or die for the nation.
Another warlike solo is delivered by a gentleman
who is a trifle too fat to produce unmixed
emotion, and whose rotund build is rendered over
palpable by a pair of yellow tight drawers worn below a
short jacket. We have a tender ditty by a young lady
and gentleman, who quaver and quiver in that sight
away, die-away fashion which belongs to the school of
French drawing-room music, corresponding with our
own boudoir ballads of amorous desolation and despair,
necessitating the expression of a desire to be a bird or
a butterfly. A piece of declamation by Mdlle_ Agar on
"Liberte," and we conclude with "Le chceur des
Enfants de Lutdce par tons les artistes de la Porte St.
Martin."

A FALSE ALARDL—This letter is written from
Sedan, a small but very strongly fortified town in the
Ardennes. A thousand or fifteen hundred men might
hold it for at least six months. It is an important position,
commanding the valley of the Meuse, and the only place
of refuge from the enemy for the very large population
inhabiting the neighbouring villages. Last night no less
a personage than the Prince Imperial slept here, putting
up at the sub-prefect's house. In the course of the even-
ing, about nine p.m., a drunken hussar - raised the
cry that the Prussians were at the gate. The cry
everywhere was " aux anus!" At the table d'hote of the
Hotel de l'Europe, where I was doing my best to eat a
very late dinner, every one rushed off at once. The town,
I must tell you, is only garrisoned by the Garde Mobile
and Garde Nationale, with a few artillerymen to work
the guns. Of the former corps upwards of a thousand
were under arms very quickly, but the confusion and
crowds in the streets prevented them from reaching their
posts as quickly as they might have done. That, of
course, could scarcely be avoided. But you will hardly
believe that, when the men were assembled, it was found
that no ammunition had been served out to them, and
they were consequently utterly useless. Fortunately the
alarm was a false one, or nothing could have prevented
the Prussians from making good their entrance and
carrying off the heir to the Empire.—Cor;respondent of
Telegraph.
THE RUSH FOR STORES.—A French writer has
the following entertaining paragraph :—" At present the
chance of Paris being besieged seems to have become
much more distant, and all individual efforts have slack-
ened in consequence, though the Government has not
relaxed its activity. But a few days ago Paris offered a
curious spectacle. There was a mad rush of every house-
keeper to the provision and grocers' shops to lay in
stores which might keep during a siege. Salt
meat, cheese, rice, even sardines, anchovies, and
jams, were bought up eagerly. I have known Parisians
(who could have thought it ?) stoop even to Australian
mutton. On Saturday not a ham was to be had in Paris
for love or money. For sugar, orders could only be exe-
cuted to the extent of 50 per cent. Every customer at
the grocer's shop was expected to carry away his or her
purchases, and some favour or good luck was re-
quired to get one's demands attended to at
all. There were many comical episodes, and if the
truth were not so sad there would be much to laugh
at. Perhaps we may be able to smile again some day—
when we think it all over—but one can hardly fancy it
possible now. One gentleman I know considered himself
fortunate in having been able to lay in a stupendous
stock of macaroni in provision for the approaching siege.
It was, he said, his favourite dish—au gratin ; but he was
suddenly precipitated from the heights of his exultation
when he was asked whether he would like macaroni plain
boiled in water as well, since most certainly in a belea-
guered city butter would be a very scarce commodity.
OUTPOST DUTY AT STRASBURG.—About eleven
a.m. our breakfast was brought, consisting of black
bread, pork, some potatoes, and a bottle of wine, and
down we sat in the quarry to a not very tempting
meal. The French, however, were determined we should
not enjoy it peaceably, for scarcely had I got a piece
of bread into my mouth, when the report of a gun, fol-
lowed by the whistling of a shell, made me scramble to my
feet. Bang it went, bursting in the air some hundred
yards short of our party. About a minute after came
another, this time going clean over us. I now scrambled
out of the quarry, and made for a tree just in time,
for a shell dropped right into the quarry we
were sitting h., and, burying itself in the straw, ex-
ploded in the midst of the officers. Of course I expected
to see nothing but their dead bodies, so you may judge
of my surprise when I heard a hearty laugh from the
officer in command • not exactly comprehending how
the bursting of a ;hell could have caused so much
merriment, I hastened to ascertain the cause, and I must
confess the scene was sufficiently ludicrous. The
shell had exploded in their midst, without touching one
of them, but it had blackened their faces as though they
had been so many Christy minstrels. One young subal-
tern still remained flat on his stomach, a piece of pork in

one hand and a bottle of wine in the other ; an old
lieutenant was cursing the ill luck that had broken the
cherished china bowl of his pipe ; whilst the captain in
command was endeavouring to wipe the powder out
of his eyes. The French now commenced shelling in
earnest, so much so that we were forced to seek some
other shelter, unfortunately not before we had lost six
men killed and two wounded. After about half an hour
they stopped, and we returned to our quarry. The rest
of the day was'passed much in the same way until the
evening, when I went into camp to get something hot if
possible, no fires being allowed on outpost duty. When
I got to the Colonei's quarters I found great rejoicings
over a tin of potted salmon and a box of sardines that
had just been discovered in some Marketender's waggon,
and after a hearty meal I returned to the outposts
just as the sun was setting.—Correspondent of Telegraph.

THE IMPERIAL BARK IS GOING OUT WITH
THE TIDE,

The thoughtful and attentive reader of David Copper-
field cannot fail to have been impressed with the striking
parallel in many points of their worldly career between
late lamented Mr. Barkis and the present Napoleon 111.
In suggesting this comparison, we crave pardon of the in-
jured spirit of the departed Barkis for likening him in his
manly, straightforward life of a common carrier of honest
property with the Imperial adventurer in his
crooked existence as an uncommon receiver of all
sorts of stolen goods. The .first marked appearance
of Mr. Barkis on the stage of public life repre-
sents him with an insatiable appetite for " the
apple pasties " and other edibles of Peggotty's
compounding. How like the action of the illustrious
Emperor in his hunger for the treasures and throne of
France ! " And so she made 'em, did she ? And she
makes all the apple pasties and doos all the cooking, do
she ?" asked the shrewd and hungry Barkis. " P'raps if
you was a writin' to you'd reelect to say that Barkis was
willin'." And down went a cake into his capacious
mouth, which he " ate at one gulp exactly like an ele-
' phant, and which made no more impression on his big
face than it would have done on an elephant's." And so,
undismayed by the rebuffs of Strasbourg and Boulogne,
the hungry. Emperor continuedto express his "willin'ness"
to France, gulping down power after power with a sturdi-
ness at which one can only wonder., Nor was he in the
least gorged by the savory morsels; but having swallowed
his cakes he crowded the youthful David of a French
Republic so persistently off his seat that the poor boy
was fain to stand and suffer in silence rather than venture
to remonstrate against the encroachments of the all-con-
suming monster. When at length Barkis's waiting was
crowned with success, and the red-cheeked Peg-
gotty consented to love, honour, and obey him,
who can forget with what grudging reluctance
the elephantine. carrier gave her the scanty
pittance with which to supply the commonest wants, and
how at the same time he tried to create the impression
that he was doing deeds of unheard-of magnificence and
generosity ? He was a little "near," said the generous
soul, with pious fraud. Had it been Peggotty's old
self—the Peggotty who dared the wrath of the
Murdstones, and braved the scorn of Betsy Trotwood—
how different would have been the result ! But
Peggotty had had her buffets, and: desired to lead
an easy and peaceful life ; and hence, without a mur-
mur, she accepted the situation. So France,
long torn and harassed by war and dreams of honour
and ambition—seeing the prospects of a republic fading
away, having dared and met all Europe—at last yielded,
for sheer hope of peace, to the malignant sway of the
usurper, and calmly accepted such boons as he might dole
out to her. At length there comes a hope of better things.
In his last days, worn and bent by disease, loving his
money with a miser's passion, with what infinite agony,
physical and mental, did Barkis, scrape out of
his mysterious box under the bed the little
trifle wherewith to keep peace with Peggotty
and do honour to David's coming. So from his
storehouse of stolen things did our Imperial autocrat dole
out to hungry France the scraps labeled " Universal
Exposition," "Plebiscitum," " Responsible Government,"
and other hollow-sounding names -mere tinsel and glitter
—all the while grasping with eager hands the box which
contained his stealings and parading it as if the whole was
his. "If he lives till it turns," said Mr. Peggotty, "he
will hold his own past the flood and go out with the next
tide." The poor, decrepit, broken-down Emperor did
hold his own till past the flood of one tide which
threatened to take him out with it. But now " they're
both going out fast." The day comes when
all his pain and toil will go for naught. "He
was lying with his head and shoulders out of bed, in an
uncomfortable attitude, half resting on the box which had
cost him so much pain and trouble. Time and the world
were slipping away from beneath him, but he clung
feebly to the box, and muttered feebly, `old clothes.'"
So the arch conspirator against the liberty and welfare of
France clutches in his feeble and trembling fingers the
crown which he filched, claims that he has wielded his
power for the good of France, as Barkis indulged the
pleasant fiction that he held the box in trust for Mr.
Blackboy ; and now, it being low water, he goes out with
the tide.—New York Tribune, August 18.