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

This new year of life began with a solitary nighttime vigil, during which I permitted myself a small ceremony using the following readings:

1. The 73rd Psalm

2. Goethe, Urworte: Orphisch [“Primal Words”]

3. Droste-Hülshoff, “ Gründonnerstag ” [“Maundy Thursday”]

4. Johann Christian Günther, “ Trost-Aria ” [“Aria of Comfort”]

The poem by Droste-Hülshoff recaptures one of the ancient, secret hurdles in my life and, at the same time, utters a powerful exhortation to modesty. In that respect, it fits this double occasion of birthday and Maundy Thursday well.

The Trost-Aria also has wonderful passages like these:

[Finally the aloe is in bloom, / Finally the palm tree bears its fruit; / Finally vanish fear and pain; / Finally agony is abolished; / Finally we see the vale of joy, / Finally, finally, come all of you.]

Rosenkranz visited in the afternoon. Together we planted a butterfly bush in the garden in order to attract that insect. Later General Loehning joined us; yesterday, he lost his apartment and all his property in Hannover, yet nowadays, such things are no more disturbing than it used to be to move from one house to another. Perpetua set a bounteous table and had not only wine but a bottle of champagne, so we feasted merrily.

Americans in Brilon and Paderborn. Out on the streets there is a sort of surge of unrest, of fever, which is typical when a front is advancing. The farmers are beginning to bury their silver and provisions, and are preparing to go off into the moor. Behind the village, defensive ditches are being dug. Should a firefight erupt between the large gun emplacements at Stelle and tanks approaching along their route of advance toward Celle—as is planned—then all these villages and farms that survived the Thirty Years’ War are doomed. I paced through the house and its rooms, especially my study and the library.

Ernstel. When someone in a family dies, it can seem as if a forward scout has been sent ahead at the approach of great danger. For wisdom prevails there, but we do not know the situation.

Began reading Evelyn Henry Wood, Vom Seekadetten zum Feldmarschall [ From Midshipman to Field Marshal (1906)], specifically to learn about the English fleet, one of the great institutions and formative establishments of our world, like the Jesuit order, the Prussian General Staff, or the city of Paris.

The book begins with the siege of Sebastopol. Wood takes part as a midshipman in a battery landed from the HMS Queen . During these last years, I have come upon different descriptions of this episode in the course of my reading, such as Tolstoy’s and Galliffet’s. It’s no coincidence that the truly grave and painful side of modern warfare (those aspects that will cause him suffering) come up early and powerfully in all encounters that have to do with Russia. One can already sense this in 1812 and also at the Battle of the Nations at Leipzig [1813]. The Russian element comes clearly to the fore. The Crimean War and the Russo-Japanese War predict all the horrors of subsequent wars of attrition, and by now, our eyes have seen unspeakable hells like those of Stalingrad or the Second Sebastopol. When Spengler warned against any incursion into Russia because of its size, he was right, as we have seen in the meantime. Any such invasion justified on metaphysical grounds is even more spurious because one approaches one of the great repositories of hardship, a Titan, a genius in the stamina of suffering. Within that sphere of influence, one will learn to know agony in a way that surpasses imagination.

And yet it seems to me as though the Germans may have learned something there. I sense this occasionally in conversations with soldiers returning from the cauldron battles.

In the afternoon went with Fritz Meyer to the Oldhorst Moor to survey the land. The second bloom of the year is beginning to die back in the garden. I got particular joy from a carpet of yellow narcissus, violets, and bush anemones. The intensity of two complementary colors is enhanced by adding white. It seems to radiate a concealed harmony of the whole and its parts. Perhaps the play of colors is revealing the same truth that the Pythagorean theorem does for geometry.

Before the storm. In the afternoon had a visit from General Loehning and Diels, who has been released from prison. Diels brought his wife, Göring’s sister, who divorced him. [50] Diels was actually married to Hermann Göring’s cousin. Diels was in a good mood; Loehning had stuck him into the uniform of a Luftwaffe corporal. Later a junior officer appeared carrying a letter from Manfred Schwarz asking that this courier should be given a copy of my essay on peace, so that Manfred could take it with him to southern Germany. So it seems that the essay is beginning to have some effect independent of its author.

At the same time, I had the leaders of the Volkssturm [Civil Defense] in my library so that I could issue orders to them. During the past weeks, I haven’t gotten around to recording the details, which are gripping and very complex. The Volks­sturm was founded by the Party; its orders come from Burgdorf. But it also relies on cooperation with the mayors, rural leaders, the Arbeitsdienst , [51] Reichsarbeitsdienst [RAD]: The official state labor organization established during the Weimar Republic, originally to counter unemployment, and adapted and expanded after 1933. and the military units. This brings a host of delicate contacts into play. The approaching catastrophe exposes the conditions more blatantly. I gather from radio reports that many local authorities are inclined to order a few minor executions as they make their exits. This creates respect and makes it easier to flee. One would not like to abet their efforts and make their departure any easier—especially not at one’s own risk.

The Volkssturm leaders are farmers; in this landscape, the old Guelph traditions are the ultimate political reality. We talked through a plan to construct tank barriers. When we broke up, confused and dazed, someone said, “The farms must be kept intact.” That, of course, is not up to us alone, but I had the impression that every man agreed in his heart.

I dreamed about Ernstel for the first time, at least at that deep stratum where memory resides. He died, and I embraced him. I heard his last words, which expressed the hope that we would see each other again.

In addition to him (he was wearing a dark blue sailor’s uniform), I also dreamed of Pfaffendorf, my comrade from World War I. His character had changed without sacrificing any of his style. He had become a notary in a medium-size city and gave a banquet for me where a lot of strange and, to some extent, intimidated guests were present. Upon awaking, I realized that he must have been in Kassel, which fell yesterday after a brief but violent struggle.

In the morning, I received a visit from the Feldmeister [52] Feldmeister : a rank equivalent to lieutenant in the Reichsarbeitsdienst (RAD) . of the large gun battery, who wanted to know how I was planning to assemble the Volkssturm when the tanks approached. Because I keep my own counsel on such matters, I told him that I was still awaiting orders and weapons. He then revealed to me his intention to “level” the P.O.W. camps, as he put it, with his long-range guns.