Эрнст Юнгер - A German Officer in Occupied Paris - The War Journals, 1941-1945

Stood outside the portal of Sacré Coeur to cast a last glance over the great city. I watched the stones quiver in the hot sun, as if in expectation of new historical embraces. Cities are feminine and only smile on the victor.

Visited Florence at noon. This may be our final Thursday.

Walked back through the heat on Rue Copernic. There I purchased a little notebook of the kind I used to use when I was a journalist in more stirring times. As I walked out of the shop I ran into Marcel Arland, whom I became aware of in the last weeks after reading his novel. I respect his courage, which at times approaches hubris. We shook hands.

[I love candied grapes / Because they have no taste, / I love camellias / Because they have no fragrance / And I love rich men / Because they have no heart.]

The verses suggested the notion of including dandyism as one of the precursors of nihilism in my treatise.

Farewell visits in the afternoon; last times together. Walk with Charmille along the banks of the Seine. Every great watershed is expressed in countless private goodbyes.

Left in haste when it got dark. I straightened up my room, placed a bouquet of flowers on the table, and distributed tips. Unfortunately, I left some irreplaceable letters behind in a cupboard drawer.

Journey via Sézanne, Saint-Dizier, Toul, Nancy, to Saint-Dié in Lothringen [Lorraine]. The roads shimmered in the late summer light; fighter-bombers patrolled overhead. We drove past numerous burning vehicles. Others had already been reduced to white dust.

Stayed in a garrison that was called Witzleben Barracks just a few days ago, but which has now been stripped of this name. [1] Field Marshal Erwin von Witzleben was executed after the 20 July 1944 bomb plot on Hitler’s life. During the night, vivid dreams in extremely sharp outline, just like looking through a telescope the wrong way around so that not only the shapes but also the colors were intensified. I was standing on a marble staircase with snakes slithering up the steps.

With Klaebisch in Hotel Moderne in the evening. He had brought along a comrade who debriefed us on the progress of our withdrawal from Paris. Kniébolo’s strict order to blow up the bridges over the Seine and leave a trail of devastation behind had not been carried out. It appears that among those courageous souls who resisted this desecration, friend Speidel was at the forefront right beside Choltitz.

Arrival of the president yesterday evening; Neuhaus and Humm accompanied him. The president inspected my room once more; he found it tidy and in good order. Our farewell from the staff of the Raphael was cordial, even emotional.

In the afternoon had a swim in the Meurthe. Its surface was glassy, but with clear ripples that carried curling strands of pale green aquatic plants. Had a view of the round-topped foothills of the Vosges.

Current reading: Maurice de La Fuye’s Louis XVI . Given the events of our day and age, this king’s reputation gains as much as Napoleon’s loses. Such reversals are evidence of the degree to which historiography depends upon the historical process itself. In some obscure way, all clocks that have run down seem to be connected to the great clock of fate.

The destruction of the Old World begins to manifest itself with the French Revolution, or rather with the Renaissance, and corresponds to the dying of organic fibers, of nerves and arteries. Once the process is complete, men of violence appear; they attach artificial threads and string to the corpse and manipulate it in a more intense and also more grotesque political game. They themselves embody this character of jumping jacks—a quality that is shrill, blatant, and often frightening. Modern nation-states tend toward weakness. They can only prosper where some legacy is available. When that is consumed, the hunger becomes unbearable, and, like Saturn, they devour their own children. It is thus out of pure self-preservation that we might contemplate other systems of organization than those established in 1789.

Took a walk with the president to the large cemetery up the hill. As usual when I have such opportunities, I note a few inscriptions for my journal. Among these were the following from a small oval bronze plaque:

Ici repose Paul Rotsart, Bon de Mertaing. [2] E. J. copied Rotsart’s title incorrectly. It should read “de Hertaing.”

Né à Bruges (Belgique). Mort loin de sa

Famille pour ses idées trop liberals.

[Here rests Paul Rotsart, Baron de Mertaing. / Born in Bruges (Belgium). Dead far from his / Family for his too liberal ideas. / 1835–1885.]

When I ponder such a short life span, I sometimes get the feeling that I am understanding the fate of an anonymous person more deeply than any biography can convey. The details melt away.

Read further in Louis XVI . Certain sections, like the flight to Varennes, move me so powerfully that I have to alternate my reading with chapters from Dauzat’s Géographie linguistique .

De La Fuye notes that the flight to Varennes is remarkable for a host of symbolic references and cites examples of these. There is nothing astonishing about this, for the more significant an event, the more meaningful its details will be. In moments of earth-shaking consequence, the core of symbolic connections is revealed. Golgotha thus becomes the hill of the world; the cross, the fate of man; Christ becomes mankind.

Went swimming in the Meurthe in stormy weather. There I joined some boys in a hunt; they were turning over rocks in the current and using forked spears to impale fish hiding underneath. The finger-length creatures were marbled (or rather, flecked) with green and strung on a line in great numbers “ pour faire la friture” [for frying]. This process was delightful for that small-scale economy Goethe appreciated so much, in contrast to the greater one.

In the evening read further in Géographie linguistique , from which I took a few notes for my work about language and physique. The question of literature has been bothering me since this orgy of fire began. We shall learn to appreciate the fact that countries like Switzerland have been spared. Incidentally I consider the Swiss support of the reestablishment of intellectual and cultural standards to be their contribution to the incredible advantage of neutrality. This is no longer a given, because it is not the balance of power, but rather the fate of the world at stake. In this respect, the preservation of Switzerland is a particularly happy outcome, and not just for the neutral nations, but for everyone else as well. Something of the riches of the past survives here.

New arrivals, including Lämpchen, [3] Lämpchen. Nickname for Ursula Lampe, art historian. who took a walk with me along the Meurthe, and Toepfer, who was still in Paris on Saturday evening, the day before yesterday. Our troops had established defensive positions [4] E. J. refers to such bases as Igelstellungen , “hedgehog positions.” around the Majestic and around the Ministry of the Navy. Rifle shots could be heard on the island [Île de la Cité], on the Place de la Concorde, and in the outer suburbs. On many streets people were already displaying the tricoleur [flag] from their windows.