Don Quixote still
remains the "noble knight" for whom--if he appears in the age
of firearms--we still fire three salvos of honor over his
grave.
And then, when we mention the word "France," there arise all
the memories of the imperishable cultural values which its
people have given to us. I believe that there are many, very
many among us, who in their hearts hope that there may once
again be something like a co-operative understanding and
journeying together of Germans and Frenchmen, even if in a
distant future which the youngest among us will probably not
live to see--an agreement which through a union of German and
French elements of culture will promise vast achievements for
the purposes of humanity. In the last analysis--for that has
in these very days been more frequently expressed--these two
nations belong together; they are of equal worth, of equal
spirit, of equal fineness, and yet so different that they can
give each other infinitely much.
Just as has the hate against England, so has this friendship for France
found poetic expression. In the Hamburger Kriegsblatt we read a poem by
Wilhelm Hoehne, the final stanza of which reads:
Ma pauvre France! Wann siehst du es ein
Dass all deine Buendnisse Trug und Schein?
Was meinst du, waerst du mit dem vereint,
Der dich niederringt heute--ein ehrlicher Feind!
Auf "Deutsche Treue" da koenntest du zaehlen!
Mit uns im Bund koennt'st der Welt du befehlen.
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