On slight pretext, Germany in 1864 and in 1866 had made wars against
Denmark and Austria that might easily have been avoided.
France took notice of the warlike ambitions of her neighbor and began
to prepare for the war that she knew would soon come between her and
Germany. The French emperor probably also desired this war, but the
French people did not and France was not ready for it.
The Prussian chancellor, Bismarck, was a man of "iron and blood," for
only by these two forces did he believe the Germans could advance.
In 1870, the Spanish Liberals expelled Queen Isabella II and offered
the crown of Spain to a Hohenzollern prince. The offer was declined,
but after Bismarck saw to what its acceptance might lead, he succeeded
in having it renewed. Then the Emperor Napoleon informed King William
that he would regard its acceptance as a sufficient ground for war
against Germany. The Hohenzollern prince, however, rejected the offer
and the matter might have ended here, had not Napoleon directed the
French ambassador to secure from King William a promise never to permit
a Hohenzollern prince to accept the Spanish crown.
King William who was at Ems refused to do this and declined to give the
French ambassador another interview as he was leaving Ems that night.
He telegraphed an account of the affair to Bismarck who realized that
here was his chance to bring on the war he desired. He changed the
wording of King William's telegram in such a way that when it was given
out the next day, it gave the impression to Germans that their king had
been insulted by the French ambassador and to Frenchmen that their
ambassador had been insulted by the king of Prussia.
"There is little doubt," writes a German historian, "that, had this
telegram been worded differently, the Franco-German struggle might have
been avoided."
French pride would not now allow France to withdraw her request, and
the war that Bismarck desired became certain--a war caused by a scrap
of paper on which were written German lies signed by German leaders.
After reading this story of the falsity of the greatest of all Prussian
statesmen, Bismarck, it does not seem strange that another scrap of
paper on which the Prussian government had written lies brought England
into the World War and assured the defeat of Germany.
Poorly prepared, France could not stand long against the Prussian war
machine. After a sharp conflict lasting about six months, the French
National Assembly at Bordeaux was forced to ratify the unfair treaty
which required her to pay a great indemnity in money and to give up the
coveted provinces of Alsace and Lorraine, with the exception of
Belfort. The beautiful country which had been the home of Jeanne
d'Arc, the sacred heroine of France, was to be given over to rough and
haughty bands of soldiers such as she had given her life to expel from
her beloved France. But France had to choose between losing a small
portion of the country, or meeting with complete destruction in war
against greatly superior forces who had already destroyed the French
military power.
[Illustration: Jeanne d'Arc, rising in her stirrups, holds on high her
sword, as if to consecrate it for a war of Right. This inspiring
statue, located near Grant's Tomb on Riverside Drive, New York City,
overlooks the Hudson, where it bade Godspeed to all the American
soldiers and sailors going overseas to deliver France from the Hun.]
One morning in that fateful year of 1871, a notice was posted in the
towns and villages of Alsace and Lorraine telling the people that the
next day these provinces would pass from French into German hands. In
anticipation of this, petitions from these provinces had continually
been sent both to France and Germany declaring deep loyalty only to
France. For the last forty-eight years these glowing words have been
true.
"France cannot consent to it. Europe cannot sanction it. We call upon
the Governments and Nations of the whole World to witness in advance
that we hold null and void all acts and treaties . . . which so consent
to the abandoning to the foreigner all or any part of our Provinces of
Alsace and Lorraine."
And their plea, drawn up and signed by the fifteen representatives to
the Reichstag, is still kept at Metz. Some one has well said that it
is "one of the _scraps of paper_ against which the strength of the
German Empire has been broken."
The Germans after hearing innumerable petitions became exasperated.
They imprisoned many of the inhabitants, censored the press, and
established such a strict system of passports that "a veritable Chinese
wall was raised around the annexed country."
And more than this, although the Germans may not always have realized
that they were doing so, they humiliated the people by degrading things
looked upon by them as holy. For instance, the Kaiser had a statue of
himself, upturned moustache and all, placed upon the cathedral of Metz.
He wore a Biblical cowl and was pointing impressively to a parchment
scroll. He was supposed to represent the prophet Daniel. This statue
was found headless in December, 1918.
Despite the petitions, for all those years the policy of the government
never varied. The chancellor, Bismarck, replied every time that
Alsace-Lorraine was not annexed for the sake of the people. They could
move to some section still under French control. The provinces were
taken from France only to further the interest of the German Empire.
"If this were a permanent peace," he said, "we would not have done it.
So long as France possesses Strassburg and Metz her strategical
position is stronger offensively than ours is defensively." There was
going to be another war and Germany needed these provinces for military
advantage!
But the German government did realize more and more how bitterly
opposed to the annexation were these unfortunate people, and decided to
crush out everything French in Alsace-Lorraine. The people were
forbidden to write or speak the French language; even the signboards at
the street crossings were changed to German. How the children spent
the last day that French could be taught in the schools is told by a
little Alsatian boy.
That morning I was very late for school, and was terribly afraid of
being scolded, for M. Hamel, the schoolmaster, had said he intended to
examine us on the participles, and I knew not a word about them. The
thought came into my head that I would skip the class altogether, and
so off I went across the fields.
The weather was so hot and clear!
One could hear the blackbirds whistling on the edge of the wood; in
Ripperts' meadow, behind the sawyard, the Prussian soldiers were
drilling. All this attracted me much more than the rules about
participles; but I had the strength to resist and so I turned and ran
quickly back towards the school.
In passing before the town hall, I saw that a number of people were
stopping before the little grating where notices are posted up. For
two years past it was there we learned all the bad news, the battles
lost, and the orders of the commandant; so I thought to myself without
stopping: "What can it be now?" Then, as I was running across the
square, the blacksmith, Wachter, who was there with his apprentice,
just going to read the notice, cried out to me:--
"Don't be in such a hurry, little fellow, you will be quite early
enough for your school."
I thought he was making fun of me, and I was quite out of breath when I
entered M. Hamel's little courtyard.
Generally, at the beginning of the class, there was a great uproar
which one could hear in the street; desks opened and shut, lessons
studied aloud all together, with hands over ears to learn better, and
the big ruler of the master tapping on the table: "More silence there."
I had counted on all this commotion to gain my desk unobserved; but
precisely that day all was quiet as a Sunday morning. Through the open
window I could see my schoolmates already in their places, and M.
Hamel, who was walking up and down with the terrible ruler under his
arm. I had to open the door and enter in the midst of this complete
silence. You can fancy how red I turned and how frightened I was.