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

The Americans have entered Paris. Went to the Meurthe again in the afternoon. The tops of the Vosges mountain range and their dark cliffs have a calming effect and convey a sense of earthly stability.

While sunbathing, I thought about the consonant clusters cl, kl , as well as schl —perhaps sounds the lips make in imitation of something closing. For example, clef, claves, χλεíξ, klappe, clapier, claustrum, clandestine, Schlinge, Schluss . [5] Key, key, valve, rabbit hutch, cloister (prison, enclosure), clandestine, noose (snare), conclusion (end). Here we have connections that transcend time. Modern etymology with its derivations persists in the same empiricism as Darwinism in zoology.

Walked in the darkness through the forbidden gardens.

Toepfer came by in the afternoon and took part of my Appeal with him to Hamburg for Ziegler. I am carrying a further portion of the essay among my portable files. The third section stayed behind in Paris, while the fourth is concealed beneath the false bottom of an insect display case in Kirchhorst.

In the evening went to the hunting lodge in the forest with the president and Lämpchen, who drove us.

I have come to understand diversity and its various systems—such as that found among insects. The appeal lies in their visual display embedded by those hundred thousand facets of natura naturata in the core of the natura naturans . [6] Natura naturans , “nature naturing,” that is, expressing its own self-generating activity, which is the infinite essence of God; Natura naturata , “nature natured,” that is, all created things, the products of God’s attributes. The beams of light are those of an inverted prism. They dazzle the eye primarily by reflecting the colors of the spectrum. In the realm of variegated color, our sense of wonder predominates; in white light, by contrast, we respond with joyous and apprehensive dread. The mind descends into the treasure grottoes where the great sigillum [seal] resides, the prototype for all subsequent creation.

And then, the workshops. When I look down from the cliffs into the coral gardens into the activity of the colorful creatures at the life source—how superior are such images to all destruction of individuals, to all selfish enmities. I have gained magnificent insights, and I am overcome by a feeling of gratitude when I consider that I may still have many a year of such visions before me.

Life is like a stalk of bamboo that forms recurrent nodes, thereby achieving height and strength. Similarly, now and again we encounter forces when purely chronological progress, the aging process, becomes concentrated in a meaningful way. These are birthdays in a higher sense, stages of maturation and not mere aging. When we die, we close the circle of life again before the fecundity of eternity.

A group of soldiers is billeted at a farm. When chickens are stolen, straw is confiscated without a receipt, or further excesses take place, someone or other among them will recognize the illegality and try to prevent it. It might be the farmer’s son who is looking out for his father’s property. When the order came to arrest hostages, I observed among the upper echelons, such as those of the commander-in-chief, that members of the staff were deeply affected and suffered as if the act cut to the core of their consciences. On the other hand, a primitive person follows the maxim, “anything my group does is good,” and unfortunately, it seems that this primitive behavior is increasing unchecked and with it, the bestial character of politics.

What can one advise a man, especially a simple man, to do in order to extricate himself from the conformity that is constantly being produced by technology? Only prayer. Here even the lowest human being has a vantage point that makes him part of the whole and not just a cog in the machinery. Extraordinary benefit surges from this source as well as self-mastery. This applies beyond the bounds of any theology. In situations that can cause the cleverest of us to fail and the bravest of us to look for avenues of escape, we occasionally see someone who quietly recognizes the right thing to do and does good. You can be sure that is a man who prays.

In the afternoon with the president on La Roche Saint-Martin, one of the nearby peaks marked by a cliff of red sandstone. From its summit, we had a panoramic view across the green meadows and the dark rounded hilltops of the Vosges region.

In the evening, read the book by Filon about Empress Eugénie. All the while rifle shots echoed from the nearby Kempberg [mountain]; now it is in the hands of the Maquis. [7] Maquis: armed resistance groups who hid in rural areas of occupied France. Began preparations for defending the cottage where Sergeant Schröter and I were sharing quarters. It was like remembering an ancient, half-forgotten craft.

In a dream, I was walking through a magnificent city. It was far more elegant than all the others I have known, chiefly because ancient Chinese and European designs merged there. I saw the street of grave monuments, the marketplace, the tall buildings of red granite.

As usual when I take such strolls, I also collected a few beetles in my ether flask. When I emptied it to examine my booty, I noticed two or three creatures I did not recall picking up. Among them was an almost transparent carnelian red Anoxia [dung beetle]. Upon awakening, however, I recalled that a few nights ago, in a different dream, I had thrown it into the flask, and was astonished that it seemed as if it were something intruding into this world in such a strangely concrete way.

I’ll make the journey to Hannover tomorrow; the military commander’s staff is disbanding.

Cavalry Captain Adler has just returned from a conference at headquarters. Himmler gave a speech there, too. His message was that one had to be tough. He told about a junior officer who had deserted and been returned to his battalion busy drilling in the barracks courtyard. The matter moved quickly and a verdict was reached. The man was forced to dig his own grave and then shot. The earth was thrown on top of him and stamped down. Then the drilling continued as if nothing had happened.

This is one of the most gruesome acts I have ever heard of in this world of butchery.

In Colmar by evening. A splendid rainbow shimmered over its houses. I spent the night in the room of a doctor in a cot covered with black oilcloth where he examined his patients. When I opened the window another rainbow hung there in the heavy atmosphere, magically connecting the Vosges with the Black Forest.

Early morning arrival in Hannover, where I was able to get a few hours of sleep. I then reported to General Loehning and, on my way, noticed to my amazement the green vegetation that was already covering the ruins. Grasses and plants had sprung up on the masonry rubble in the city center.

Kirchhorst. Was welcomed home. New refugees in the house. The garden gone to seed. Fences in disrepair. The hallways are overflowing with suitcases and crates.

The walnut tree I planted in 1940 is bearing its first fruit.

New housing for refugees in the village—this time they are Dutch, people who no longer felt safe in their own country. The persecutions will be called by other names, but they won’t stop.