Outbreak of War 1914 - Ernst Jünger
First Printed 1934
Wulf Dieter Müller, "Ernst Jünger". Berlin
I like to remember the weeks before the war, which were characterised by a restless and relaxed atmosphere, like before summer thunderstorms. People were more open -minded and carefree, yet their activities went on as usual. So the events did not prevent my family from making the usual annual trip to the island of Juist .
This time I did not accompany my parents and brothers, but stayed in our secluded home to prepare for my final examinations in peace. I felt a desire to be free of the school desk, which seemed increasingly depressing. I felt that I was naturally destined for a breadth and freedom in life which I rightly suspected would be impossible to achieve in bourgeois Germany. A year ago, I had already attempted a violent coup and fled at night and in the fog to seek adventure. But, as is usually the case with young fugitives, I soon returned, and my practical father arranged with me that I would first receive a higher education and then be free to travel the world as I saw fit. This pleasant prospect greatly stimulated my enthusiasm.
I had already made great progress in my studies when, on that momentous day in August, near the end of the summer holidays, I climbed onto the roof of our farm building, which had been destroyed by fire the previous year and was now being rebuilt. Our gardener, Robert Meyer, was working on it along with an unknown worker who had been sent by the fire-resistant roof sheeting factory for a few days. I joined them and we chatted while they nailed the sheets to the roof beams.
From the roof you could see all the Dutch countryside where our house was located. To the east the view was bounded by the great Steinhuder Meer, and to the west it was lost to the great moorland where, according to ancient tradition, Germanicus' army had been defeated. To the south, the last foothills of the Weser Mountains protruded into a plain which extended northwards to the Nienburg bogs with dark pine forests. All elements of this landscape, which I considered my home, were thus within my sight.
As we sat on the sun-heated roof and talked, the village postman drove past on his bicycle, as is usual at this time of day. Without leaving his seat he addressed us with two words: "Mobilisation orders!". which the telegraph had been sending out continuously for hours, without a second thought, throughout the town and the countryside.
The roofer had just raised his hammer to strike. He stopped mid-movement and gently lowered it to the ground. At that moment a new calendar came into effect in his house. This was a professional who was due to report to his regiment in the coming days. Meyer was a reservist and would also be mobilised. Like hundreds of thousands of others at the time, I decided to volunteer for the war.
Like everywhere else in Germany where men gathered, our small, peaceful community suddenly turned into a military one. We packed our gear and decided to go to the village for a drink. In front of the town hall we saw that a mobilisation order had already been posted. There wasn't much excitement in the coop - the Lower Saxon farmer is a stranger to enthusiasm, the tenacious earth force is his real element. It wasn't until late afternoon that we returned home and sang a beautiful song on the deserted country road:
"Auf, auf Kameraden von der Infanterie,
es gilt für unser Leben – –.«
The next day my parents returned. All the resorts emptied out in a hurry. In the afternoon I went to Hanover to enlist in the regiment. Along the railway tracks you could sometimes see dolls stuffed with straw rippling in the wind. Gatekeepers hung Tsar Nicholas.
On Ernst Augustus Square the outgoing regiment marched. Soldiers sang, women and girls crowded into their ranks and decorated them with flowers. Since then I have seen many other enthusiastic crowds, but none as deep and powerful as that day.
The next morning I went to the barracks of the 74th Infantry Regiment, which were already besieged by thousands of volunteers. Advancement was absolutely impossible. Only on the third day did I manage to reach the 73rd Infantry Regiment, where I was declared fit and registered. When registration was over, the secretary called me again: "Who are you? A high school student? Do you want to take your final exams too?". It was a question I had completely forgotten about in my enthusiasm; it no longer seemed so important. Anyway, I got my certificate and spent five days taking written and oral exams with a few fellow students. The test was, of course, frivolous, and passing it was not as difficult as failing it, although one of us was unfortunate enough to have managed this. As soon as I registered at Heidelberg University, I was spared all my worries.
For the next few weeks I woke up every morning with a feeling of complete peace of mind – especially if I had dreamed before that I had not yet passed the examinations. In fact, I had only one sorrow: that the news of the victory in the papers frightened me. The ranks of the German cavalry had already seen the towers of Paris; if this continued, what would be left for us? We still wanted to hear the whistle of bullets and experience moments that can be called the true baptism of men.
Finally, the long-awaited order arrived: I was to leave to join the troops on 6 October. The training weeks flew by quickly, the days were spent at Vahrenwalder Heide or Waterlooplatz, and the evenings were spent with good friends, or with a girlfriend, as the case may be. I learned how to shoot and walk, and mastered Prussian discipline, which at first I stumbled brutally around corners and edges, but to which I still owe more than all the schoolteachers and books in the world.
On 27 December 1914 we were suddenly alerted: the front was waiting for us. Heavily laden but cheerful, as on a holiday, we made our way to the railway station. In my coat pocket I had a small booklet for daily notes. I knew that what awaited us was irreversible and I approached it with the greatest curiosity. I also had a natural aptitude for observation; I had an early love for telescopes and microscopes as tools for seeing big and small, and among writers I have always appreciated those who, in addition to having a keen eye for all things visible, have a flair for the invisible.
It was already dark when the train arrived. We rode through the night and sang. As we drove like this, in the light and noise, past isolated villages and farms, parents sitting at tables with their children must have said:
"These are soldiers. They are going to war."
And perhaps the children asked:
"What is that - - the war?"