So that is who has ruled Germany for the last four years. That is who set the tone, and commanded and suppressed and reprimanded, and made Weltpolitik, for four years. These were the heroes of a people which revered itself through them. These two? Good God!
There is currently a small, very interesting, exhibition in the Paris National Library, to which even the fine people come, in their automobiles. The press has, justifiably, spoken a great deal about it, although it really isn’t very big. It contains a selection of exclusive treasures of the library: manuscripts, first editions, autographs, bindings, medals and old maps. And among these Renans, Lafontaines, Dantons, Bouchers, gold coins and leather bindings, I suddenly read in a glass case:
The battles which Heine and Börne had to fight against censorship were battles against the red marking pen. The censor crossed out. The battles which film has to fight against censorship are battles against the scissors. The censor cuts. We don’t have freedom of the press, if one asks, “Free from what?” But we do have a sort of freedom of book publication.
The landscape is wide. Mountains, valleys and lakes. The trees rustle, the springs flow, the grass bends in the wind. Barbed wire runs right across a clearing in the woods, through the woods, across the road: the border. Men are standing on both sides of it, but the ones over there are wearing blue uniforms with yellow buttons, and the ones over here, red uniforms with black buttons. They stand there with their guns, some are smoking, all have serious expressions.
A Count de Montmorency once boasted to a Basque about how old his name was, and the history of his nobility and his family. He boasted about the great men from whom he was descended. The Basque answered, „Count, we don’t descend from anyone!“