In the greater part of war-stricken Europe Christmas, 1915, has been but a sad festival. To find a Christmas of true happiness, one must go to the trenches or to those towns and villages of Alsace... The Alsatian feels that he has a right to rejoice and be thankful, which neither the danger of bombardment nor even the loss of his dear ones killed can destroy.
I have just spent Christmas in a small Alsatian village a few miles behind the first lines. The enemy can bombard it at their ease whenever the fancy seizes them, but the inhabitants, with such hospitality, proved to us how lightly they hold death and danger in comparison with the joy and consolation of once again being French.
They bore themselves as men who are the first fruits of the final victory... The guns round the Hartmannswillerkopf had been thundering away remorselessly, but the Alsatians paid no attention to the terrific bombardment. They were concerned with something far more important — the weather.
In every house, poor and rich, there was a Christmas tree, which every friend and relation must come and admire. The windows of the little shops were gay with Christmas trees. In the little hotel where we were staying, there was a tree that reached the roof, decked humbly with candles, oranges, and simple toys.
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