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

Of all the things we used to refer to as style in the old days—the instinctive extravagance that a man displays openly in his own milieu—all that remains is the company of a beautiful woman, and she alone gives the feeling of this vanished condition.

The great cities not only refine the senses, they also educate us to things that belong to their own genera —things we would otherwise enjoy only in isolated or specialized contexts. For example, in Barcelona, I noticed that there were specialty shops for all things salted. The pastry bakeries, antiquarian bookshops selling only eighteenth-century bindings, and others, only Russian silver.

Current reading: Anatole France, Sur la Pierre Blanche [ On the White Stone ]. Alexandria—the thoughts have lost all their organic components, thereby permitting a linear analysis that is clearer and more mathematical. The style is filtered through all the strata of skepticism; in this way, the clarity of distilled water communicated itself to him. Prose like this can be read at twice normal speed just because every word stands in its logical place. That is its weakness and its strength.

Took leave of my little apartment in Vincennes. In the bedroom there hangs a photograph of its owners who fled—a photograph I found unpleasant from the start. Their expressions had something strained, distorted, and agitated about them. They bore the marks of a querulous spirit, which is reflected in the contents of their library. I often thought of removing the picture, especially in the evenings, and only the reluctance to change anything about the furnishings prevented me from doing so. It now seemed as if I were discovering a new character trait in the face of this unknown and involuntary landlord, as though from beneath the mask there gleamed and smiled something different, a glimmer of understanding, of sympathy. That struck me as odd—almost as a reward for the fact that in this apartment I had always behaved like a human being. On the other hand, maybe it was a sign that of my own accord I had penetrated the individual surface to that core where we are all united and can understand each other: penetrated to the pain, the suffering, that is the universal substrate.

On the afternoon of 5 June, we marched off. The girls of Montreuil and Vincennes formed two columns in front of the gates of the fort as the beauties of old had when Alexander’s troops departed from Babylon. Höll also said goodbye to me. My contact with artists of a free and lighthearted style of life has always been the most valuable.

We marched through the woods of Vincennes, then via Nogent, Chelles, Le Pin, Messy, and Vinantes to Montgé, where I spent three days with the company. The name of the town is supposedly derived from Mons Jupiter . I am living here in the house of a Monsieur Patrouix and his wife, both of whom are quite aged yet energetic and vivacious. The man is an engineer who carries on his business in Paris during the week. The woman takes care of the house as well as the large garden, which is watered by seven springs and produces a rich fruit and vegetable harvest. As we chatted about flowers and fruits, I recognized in her a dilettante in the best sense. Evidence for this is that she likes to give away the extra produce from her abundant harvest, but never sell it. Monsieur Patrouix is a Catalan born in Perpignan. We discussed his language. He told me that of all living tongues, it is closest to Latin.

In order to reach old age, he says, people must work. Only the lazybones dies early. I tell him that in order to grow old, we have to stay young.

Marched through the great, steaming woods in heavy rain as far as Villers-Cotterêts. There I warmed myself at the stove of a doctor in whose house I was billeted. I conversed with him as we ate together, and when he was called away to an urgent case, he left his daughter behind to keep me company. I found her—the wife of a surgeon—to be well read and well traveled. We conversed about Morocco and the Balearic Islands, then about Rimbaud and Mallarmé, especially about the first strophe of “ Brise Marine ” [“Sea Breeze”]. Here the study of literature always refers to a finite canon and its contents, while back home, ideally, we speak of specific individual works, naming distinct schools and often distinguishing them by their political sympathies. Things are similar when it comes to painting. In Paris, I saw ordinary people stop in front of art dealers’ windows and heard them make sound judgments about the pictures on display. Literary appreciation surely corresponds to that of painting. Yet it is remarkable that in a musical people like the Germans, the corresponding sensitivity to sculpture is so poorly developed.

We marched as far as Soissons, where I got some sleep in the Lion Rouge. The house façades were riddled with bullet holes. Often it remained unclear whether these were from the last war or this one. Perhaps this is the way the images of each one coalesce in memory.

Strenuous march to Nouvion-le-Comte. High up on the right, the massive ruin of Coucy-le-Château. Rested at noon in the glass factory of Saint-Gobain. The inclement weather forced us to eat inside the building among huge piles of bars and sheets of glass. The sterile quality of this material impressed me. In the evening, despite my fatigue, I did a little hunting for subtiles [brown mushroom beetle]. [8] Subtiles : Cryptopleurum subtile , the brown mushroom beetle, a collecting passion of E. J. who was an accomplished amateur entomologist. In 1967, he published a book on his beetle collecting forays with the punning title, Subtile Jagden [ Subtile Hunts ]. Such entertainments are like a bath that washes off the dirt of duty; there is freedom in it.

We spent the rainy twelfth of June resting. I wrote letters, updated my diary, and worked. In the evening, slightly tipsy from white Bordeaux as I read Giono, Pour saluer Melville [ Melville: A Novel , 1941]. In such moods, we are more receptive to books. We also read more into them; we fantasize over them, as over a piano keyboard.

Regimental march with combat training. In the Bois de Berjaumont. At around eleven o’clock at night, we reached our quarters in Saint-Algis. I sat for another hour around the stove with my landlord’s family, enjoying cider, cheese, and bread. We had a good conversation. Finally, the woman made us coffee and offered sugar and a little glass of brandy.

I particularly liked the paterfamilias , a fifty-six-year-old man who wore the same vest at the table that he had worn in the fields. I wondered how such a simple, good-hearted, childlike creature could still exist in this day and age—maybe only because he is so completely disarming. His face, especially in the gaze of his blue eyes, communicated not only inner joviality but also an exceedingly gracious quality. I could easily imagine myself being in the company of a vassal from olden times. I sensed this especially at several of his questions, which were directed to me with great delicacy, such as, “Vous avez aussi une dame?” [Do you also have a lady?], and his eyes lit up when he heard that I possessed one, as well as property.

In the morning, I had coffee in the company of my hosts, and then we marched to Origny for a combat exercise. During the final discussion on a hot hill, General Schede took me aside and informed me that I had been promoted to the staff of the High Command. I could see that Speidel had been thinking of me. Time resembles a hot object whose temperature cannot be reduced but can be endured for longer and longer periods by shifting it from one hand to the other. The situation I find myself in reminds me of someone who has a supply of gold coins he needs to change into smaller denominations. He searches in vain in his pockets for the smaller coins. On several occasions, especially back in Dielmissen and during the first half of my stay in Paris, I got swept into the rapids, but I always maintained the minimum amount of breath to make it possible to swim, or at least float. I predicted this situation years ago, but the ways it has come about have surprised me.