On looking at the pictures hanging on the wall, I could see plainly what these people would have to thrust aside. The pictures on the walls, as well as those that dwelt in their memory, were to be changed. In our every-day life, we soon forget what the ornaments on the wall are like. But if they are not in accord with the times, then we find out what was once ours, but has now ceased to belong to us. On my hinting that Germany would adopt the regained provinces with increased affection, my brother-in-law sprang up, rolling his eyes and striking the table with his fist, and swore that he would emigrate. My sister then said that an oath at such a time was worthless; but he answered in bitter scorn--he could speak nothing but French--"And if no one will accompany me--I cannot force the trees in the forest to go along--my dog, at least, will be my companion. What do you say, Fidele--you'll go with me? You won't take bread from a German; you will rather starve with me?" The dog barked and licked his master's hand.
I could see what a difficult task I had before me, but I did not give it up. In the village, in the houses, and before the court-house, wherever the people were gathered together, I spoke words of peace and encouragement to them. They would listen to me as if they were forced to do so; and once I heard a man behind me say, "The whole thing is a lie, white hairs and all; he is some young fellow in disguise." I seldom received a straightforward answer; the nearest approach to a reply was, "What are we to do?" "What are we to learn." The feeling at the bottom of all this was,--to-morrow the French will be back, and drive the Germans away. It is impossible to conquer the French.
I then visited my brother-in-law, the parson, who lived a few miles further on. He spoke of nothing but the excellent behavior of the soldiers that had been quartered on them. They went to church on Sundays and joined in the singing; and officers of high rank had been there, too. He seemed nervous, and did not dare to express his joy--either because he feared the maid-servant who was going in and out, or else because he disliked to lay bare his thoughts. It was only while walking in the woods that he unbosomed himself. I do not like to repeat what he related, as I preferred not to believe his story. He told me that the French government had received the assurance from the priesthood, that the South Germans would not take the field against France. I do not believe this, but it is the current opinion, and so I feel forced to repeat it.
He also said that the beggars from the Catholic villages of the vicinity had, for some time past, ceased asking for alms. They had walked around boldly in his village, selecting the houses they intended to occupy as soon as the Protestants had been exterminated.
Thus wickedly had religion been mixed up with this war.
"The thought of Germany," said the parson, "always seemed to me like a silent, yea, a criminal dream. Now I see it realized in broad daylight. We are like the prodigal son of Scripture, but the truant in Alsace is this time not in fault, and it is that which makes his return to his home so painful. I have often thought that the father of the prodigal must have offended against his son, although the Scriptures do not say so, otherwise he would not have been thus afflicted."
He was merely drawing a parallel, yet he made my heart beat with the thought of Ernst.
The father of the prodigal son is also at fault. What had I been guilty of?
When we returned from our walk, we were told that a French soldier, who had served his time, had called to see me; he had not given his name, and would return.
Who can he be? I must wait to find out. But I met a man in the village whom I had forgotten.