THE CHAMELEON THAT IS THE COUNTRY OF ALSACE.

Star (Christchurch), Volume XLIV, Issue 77, 31 March 1931, Page 8

THE CHAMELEON THAT IS THE COUNTRY OF ALSACE.

1 0-Day’s Signed Article.

A Generation Of Frenchmen Who Cannot Speak Their Own Language.

By

Stephen Bonsai

When the political observer has heard the not infrequent if whispered regrets in Trieste over the departure of the longhated Austrian, when he has seen the Fascist Italian behaving as foolishly in the South Tyrol as ever did the Germans in the Reichsland, and when he has been perplexed by the irreconcilable differences over the Danzig Corridor he will be apt to suffer from shattered nerves.

And the pick-me-up I advise unreservedly is a sojourn in Alsace.

There in the rich recovered Rhineland, in the shadow of the blue Alsatian Mountains, there are a million people who know that God lives and who believe that the Treaty of Versailles (while not absolutely perfect) is the noblest work of God.

QP COURSE, I heard a little grumbling. I should have been alarmed if I had not. Some of the French officials who administer the recovered province do not understand the Alsatian mentality; and small blame to them, for they have been brought in contact with a peculiar, a very peculiar people, whose mental processes are their own. These same mental processes will not be assimilated with those of others, at least not for a long time; and most Alsatians hope they never will be, and so do I who am against a monotonous world and a monochrome scheme. I sat at the feet of the statesmen and the editors in Strasburg and in Colmar for many days. They told me many interesting things about their present difficulties, but I think it was the farmer I chanced to meet at the crossroads who put the matter more clearly than anyone else. A Farmer Puts The Case. “It is this way, monsieur: We love the French and the French love us, and we owe them more than we can ever repay. And when we think of that we are all aglow, and we go out to the assessor and say, ‘ Let me pay some more “impot;” you are not charging us enough for the honour and the privilege of being Frenchmen again.’ “ But, you l see, we are not aglow all the time; and when we are in the cold fit we joggle each other, and then you see how it i®- For a moment—but just for a moment—the greater benefits are forgotten. Let me explain it to you. You see, I have a team of horses, and when they have been ploughing together for weeks thev are just one eight-legged animal. I can tell you. But suppose I let the mare go, as I often do, to Hochwald, to haul timber out of the forest in the frozen months. Now, when she comes back in the spring she can’t pull in double harness with her old mate. They interfere with each other, they are always out of step. At times they snarl like dogs, threaten to bite each other; and it is a long, long time before they settle down and begin to pull peaceably in double harness again. Fifty Tears of Hatred. “And so it is with us and the French. And you must remember that against our will and under the lash we have been working with the Boches, who hated us and whom we hated, for fifty years. It will take some time for us to get into step and to work back into the old gait, but we will do it, never fear. We are very happy in Alsace, never forget that. It is costing us a pretty penny to be French citizens again. But it is cheap at the price. It is cheap at any price.” Now this matter of the taxes that the Alsatians have to pay is a very difficult problem, and I do not envy the unfortunate administrators and economists who have to solve it. Further, I am not prepared to say how much more taxes the Alsatians pay than do other Frenchmen. Some Alsatians think they pay three times as much, while others admit that this disagreeable excess is really not more than 25 per cent. . The Alsatians have their special laws, notably what they call their social laws, largely put in force by the Germans since 1870. Now, they are good laws, or, at least, most of them are. Old age insurance is in full force, and there are accident and sick

ness provisions in harmony with the most enlightened labour legislation. Costly Legislation. Without entering into the exact - figures, which are hotly disputed and in some cases at least probablv misleading, it is certain that in commercial life the Alsatian merchant is handicapped by the costly special legislation for which he has to pay. Putting it at the lowest figure that I have heard mentioned, the 25 per cent excess taxes paid by the Alsatian adds very considerably to the overhead and the constant charges of his commercial activities. The merchant outside of the Alsatian frontiers can and does undersell him. Then, while the hated German flag flew over Strasburg, the old cathedral town was the market place and shopping centre of probably a million people from Baden and other adjacent German districts. A Hated Language. But there remains the grievance of some of the older people, whose tongues are tied to the once imposed language they hate. They can talk only German and the Alsatian patois, and both are Sanscrit to many, if not to all, of the French officials. I came in contact with a charming old lady several days, after she had had a bout with one of these thoughtless young men. “And you know what he said? Well, he said, as I am sitting here, * Well, madam, if you cannot speak French but only German, I am forced to the conclusion that you are a Boche.’ ” I will not repeat what the dear old lady told this official, but it was quite a good deal, and I have reason to know that it will not be forgotten. “Is it for this,” she went on, “ that I have suffered imprisonment and fines and been called * Franzosenkopf * (head of a Frenchman) by the Germans for fifty years?” Was it for this that her father had bushwhacked the German army in 1870? Was it for this that her son had deserted the German regiment in 1914 and gone over to the people with whom he belonged ? “ Ah, me, it was not for this. Ah, me, it was not for this.” The French official sent her a charming letter of regret and flowers in addition, but the word rankled, and only time can wipe out the memory of it. “Give Peace to Alsace.” One scene in Alsace I shall never forget. The school children in their holiday garb are bringing flowers to the liberated shrine of Saint Odile, where for so long the Germans were entrenched. How reverently proud they are as they kneel at the feet and look into the eyes of their patron saint, who seems to be so happy once again under the French flag. All about the mountain lie the ruins of the great forts where, since the very dawn of history, the ancestors of these children took refuge and sought to defend their homes and lands from the barbarian invaders. Stout little boys and brave little girls with their clear blue eyes scan the horizon as though on the lookout for another migrant horde. They light their candles and withdraw softly from the chapel singing; while I, too, am moved to unusual prayer. “ Our Gracious Lady, work miracles as in. the days of old, and give peace to the children of Alsace.” (Anglo-American N.S.—Copyright.)