IN GERMANISED LORRAINE.
At the railway station of Nancy, I was met by a French family party, my
hosts to be in a château on the other side of the French frontier.
We had jogged on pleasantly enough for about half an hour, when the
gentlemen of the party, with (to me) perplexing smiles, briskly folded
their newspapers and consigned them, not to their pockets or rugs, but
to their ladies, by whom the journals were secreted in underskirts.
“We are approaching the frontier,” said Madame to me.
I afterwards learned that only one or two French newspapers are allowed
to circulate in the annexed provinces, the _Temps_ and others, the
names of which I forget; for the first and second offence of smuggling
prohibited newspapers, the offender is subjected to a reprimand, the
third offence is punished by a fine, the fourth involves imprisonment.
Now, as all of us know who have lived in France, the _Figaro_ is a
veritable necessity to the better-off classes in France, the _Times_ to
John Bull not more so. Similarly, to the peasant and the artisan, the
_Petit Journal_ takes the place of the half-penny newspaper in England.
This deprivation is cruelly felt, and is part of the system introduced
by William II.
Custom-house dues are at all times vexatious, but on the French-Prussian
frontier they are so arranged as to provoke patriotic feeling. It may
seem a foolish fancy for French folks, German subjects of the Kaiser,
to prefer French soap and stationery, yet what more natural than the
purchase of such things when within easy reach? Thus, on alighting at
the frontier, not only were trunks and baskets turned out, we were
all eyed from head to foot suspiciously. My hosts’ newspapers were
not unearthed, certainly; perhaps their rank and position counted for
something. But one country girl had to pay duty on a shilling box of
writing paper, another was mulcted to half the value of a bottle of
scent, and so on. There was something really pathetic in the forced
display of these trifles, the purchasers being working people and
peasants. All French goods and productions are exorbitantly taxed. Thus
a lady must pay three or four shillings duty on a bonnet perhaps costing
twenty in France. On a cask of wine, the duty often exceeds the price of
its contents, and, according to an inexorable law of human nature, the
more inaccessible are these patriotic luxuries, so the more persistently
will they be coveted and indulged in.
Custom House officials on the Prussian side have no easy time of it,
ladies especially giving them no little trouble. The duty on a new dress
sent or brought from France across the frontier is ten francs; and
we were told an amusing story of a French lady, who thought to neatly
circumvent the douane. She was going from Nancy to Strasburg to a
wedding, and in the ladies’ waiting-room on the French side changed her
dress, putting on the new, a rich costume bought for the ceremony.
The officials got wind of the matter. The dress was seized and finally
redeemed after damages of a thousand francs!
Persons in indifferent circumstances, however patriotic they may be, can
subsist upon German beer, soap, and writing paper. The blood tax, upon
which I shall say something further on, is a wholly different matter.
A short drive brought us to a noble château, inside a beautifully wooded
park, the iron gateway showing armorial bearings. Indoors there
was nothing to remind me that I had exchanged Republican France for
autocratic Prussia. Guests, servants, speech, usages, books, were
French, or, in the case of the three latter, English. Every member of
the family spoke English, afternoon tea was served as at home, and the
latest Tauchnitz volumes lay on the table.
Difficult indeed it seemed to realise that I had crossed the frontier,
that though within easy reach, almost in sight of it, the miss, alas!
Was as good as a mile.
Alsace-Lorraine, I may here mention, is a verbal annexation dating
from 1871. Whilst Alsace was German until its conquest by Louis XIV.,
Lorraine, the country of Jeanne d’Arc, had been in part French and
French-speaking for centuries. Alsace under French _régime_ retained
alike Protestantism and Teutonic speech. We can easily understand that
the changes of 1871 should come much harder to the Catholic Lorrainers
than to their Protestant Alsatian neighbours.
Bitterness of feeling does not seem to me to diminish with time. On the
occasion of my third visit to Germanised France, I found things much
the same, the clinging to France ineradicable as ever, nothing like the
faintest sign of reconciliation with Imperial rule.
One might suppose that, after a generation, some slight approach to
intercourse would exist among the French and Prussian populations. By
the upper classes the Germans, no matter what their rank or position,
remain tabooed as were Jews in the Ghetto of former days.
At luncheon next day, my host smilingly informed me that he had filled
up the paper left by the commissary of police, concerning their newly
arrived English visitor. We are here, it must be remembered, in a
perpetual state of siege.
“I put down Canterbury as your birthplace--” he began.
“Good Heavens!” exclaimed I, “I was born near Ipswich.”
“Oh!” he said, smiling, “I just put down the first name that occurred to
me, and filled in particulars as to age, etc.,” here he bowed, “after a
fashion which I felt would be satisfactory to yourself.”
This kind of domiciliary visit may appear a joking matter, but to live
under a state of siege is no subject for pleasantry, as I shall show
further on. Here is another instance of the comic side of annexation, if
the adjective could be applied to such a subject. In the salon I noticed
a sofa cushion, covered, as I thought to my astonishment, with the
Prussian flag. But my hostess smilingly informed me that, as the
Tricolour was forbidden in Germanised Lorraine, by way of having the
next best thing to it, she had used the Russian colours, symbol of the
new ally of France.
Another vexation of unfortunate _annexés_ is in the matter of
bookbinding. French people naturally like to have their books bound in
French style, but it is next to impossible to get this done in Alsace.
If the books are bound in France, there is the extra cost of carriage
and duty.
A very pleasant time I had under this French roof on German soil. Our
days were spent in walks and drives, our evenings entertained with music
and declamation. Now we had the Kreutzer Sonata exquisitely performed by
amateur musicians, now we listened to selections from Lamartine, Nadaud,
Victor Hugo and others, as admirably rendered by a member of this
accomplished family, all the members of which were now gathered
together. I saw something alike of their poorer and richer neighbours,
all of course being their country-people. This social circle, including
the household staff, was rigorously French.
Let me now describe a Lorraine lunch, as the French _goûter_ or
afternoon collation is universally called, our hosts being a family of
peasant farmers, their guests the house party from the château. We had
only to drive a mile or two before quitting annexed France for France
proper, the respective frontiers indicated by tall posts bearing the
name and eagle of the German Empire and the R.F. of France.
“You are now on French soil,” said my host to me with a smile of
satisfaction, and the very horses seemed to realise the welcome fact.
Right merrily they trotted along, joyfully sniffing the air of home.
The Lorraine villages are very unlike their spick and span neighbours of
Alsace, visited by me two years before. Why Catholic villages should be
dirty and Protestant ones clean, I will not attempt to explain. Such,
however, is the case. As we drove through the line of dung-heaps and
liquid manure rising above what looked like barns, I was ill-prepared
for the comfort and tidiness prevailing within. What a change when the
door opened, and our neatly dressed entertainers ushered us into their
dining-room! Here, looking on to a well-kept garden was a table spread
with spotless linen, covers being laid as in a middle-class house.
An armchair, invariable token of respect, was placed for the English
visitor; then we sat down to table, two blue-bloused men, uncle and
nephew, and three elderly women in mob caps and grey print gowns,
dispensing hospitality to their guests, belonging to the _noblesse_
of Lorraine. There was no show of subservience on the one part, or of
condescension on the other. Conversation flowed easily and gaily as at
the château itself.
I here add that whilst the French _noblesse_ and _bourgeoisie_ remain
apart as before the Revolution, with the peasant folk it is not so.
These good people were not tenants or in any way dependents on my
hosts. They were simply humble friends, the great tie being that of
nationality. The order of the feast was peculiar. Being Friday no
delicacy in the shape of a raised game pie could be offered; we
were, therefore, first of all served with bread and butter and _vin
ordinaire_. Then a dish of fresh honey in the comb was brought out;
next, a huge open plum tart. When the tart had disappeared, cakes
of various kinds and a bottle of good Bordeaux were served; finally,
grapes, peaches, and pears with choice liqueurs. Healths were drunk,
glasses chinked, and when at last the long lunch came to an end, we
visited dairy, bedrooms, and garden, all patterns of neatness. This
family of small peasant owners is typical of the very best rural
population in France. The united capital of the group--uncle, aunts and
nephew--would not perhaps exceed a few thousand pounds, but the land
descending from generation to generation had increased in value owing to
improved cultivation. Hops form the most important crop hereabouts. This
village of French Lorraine testified to the educational liberality of
the Republic. For the three hundred and odd souls the Government here
provides schoolmaster, schoolmistress, and a second female teacher for
the infant school, their salaries being double those paid under the
Empire.
Now a word concerning the blood-tax. Rich and well-to-do French
residents in the annexed provinces can afford to send their sons across
the frontier and pay the heavy fines imposed for default. With the
artisan and peasant the case is otherwise. Here defection from military
service means not only lifelong separation but worldly ruin. To the
wealthy an occasional sight of their young soldiers in France is an easy
matter. A poor man must stay at home. If his sons quit Alsace-Lorraine
in order to go through their military service on French soil, they
cannot return until they have attained their forty-fifth year, and the
penalty of default is so high that it means, and is intended to mean,
ruin. There is also another crying evil of the system. French conscripts
forced into the German Army are always sent as far as possible from
home. If they fall ill and die, kith or kin can seldom reach them.
Again, as French is persistently spoken in the home, and German only
learnt under protest at the primary school, the young _annexé_ enters
upon his enforced military service with an imperfect knowledge of the
latter language, the hardships of his position being thereby immensely
enhanced. No one here hinted to me of any especial severity being shown
to French conscripts on this account, but we can easily understand the
disadvantage under which they labour. I visited a tenant farmer on the
other side of the frontier, whose only son had lately died in hospital
at Berlin. The poor father was telegraphed for but arrived too late, the
blow saddening for ever an honest and laborious life. This farmer was
well-to-do, but had other children. How then could he pay the fine
imposed upon the defaulter? And, of course, French service involved
lifelong separation. Cruel, indeed, is the dilemma of the unfortunate
_annexé_. But the blood-tax is felt in other ways. During my third stay
in Germanised Lorraine the autumn manoeuvres were taking place. This
means that alike rich and poor are compelled to lodge and cook for
as many soldiers as the authorities choose to impose upon them. I was
assured by a resident that poor people often bid the worn-out men to
their humble board, the conscripts’ fare being regulated according to
the strictest economy. In rich houses, German officers receive similar
hospitality, but we can easily understand under what conditions.
The annexed provinces are of course being Germanised by force.
Immigration continues at a heavy cost. Here is an instance in point.
When Alsace was handed over to the German Government it boasted of
absolute solvency. It is now burdened with debt, owing, among many other
reasons, to the high salaries received by the more important German
officials; the explanation of this being that the position of these
functionaries is so unpleasant they have to be bribed into such
expatriation. Thus their salaries are double what they were under
French rule. Not that friction often occurs between the German
civil authorities and French subjects; everyone bears witness to the
politeness of the former, but it is impossible for them not to feel the
distastefulness of their own presence. On the other hand, the perpetual
state of siege is a grievance daily felt. Free speech, liberty of the
press, rights of public meeting, are unknown. Not long since, a peasant
just crossed the frontier, and as he touched French soil, shouted “Vive
la France!” On his return he was convicted of _lèse majesté_ and sent
to prison. Another story points to the same moral. At a meeting of a
village council an aged peasant farmer, who cried “We are not subjects
but servants of William II.” Was imprisoned for six weeks. The occasion
that called forth the protest was an enforced levy for some public
works of no advantage whatever to the inhabitants. Sad indeed is the
retrospect, sadder still the looking forward, with which we quit French
friends in the portions of territory now known as Alsace-Lorraine.
And when we say “Adieu” the word has additional meaning. Epistolary
intercourse, no more than table-talk, is sacred.